A/N: Just a little drabble bit. I don't know. I'm in a weird mood hahah. I do not own Batman or any related characters. If I did, Joker would be forever tied to my bed. And I don't think he'd like that too much. But I would. Title also belongs to Blue October. I just find this song incredibly fitting. Read, review, etc.

We talked

Together, sharpening a knife

Like killing partners for a life

Hey, we can hide the bodies on the ride home

…

The Joker had never taken anything seriously.

He prided himself on this fact. He prided himself on many things, really- his intellect, his charm and wit, his ability to always always always get the punch line right.

But above all he prided himself on the fact that he never took anything seriously. Life was just one big game, a gag, a fucking joke he was a joke too but he tended not to think about that.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the getaway car, the endless sky above him and Gotham all around him, he had to amend that thought. He had never taken anything seriously before.

He would never admit it, of course. Because he prided himself on being able to lock up his emotions. Because admitting it would make him weak, and he prided himself on being strong all the time just a different kind of strong than the rest of the fucking world.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced over at the beautiful blonde driving the car. She wasn't paying him any mind at all, just humming along to the radio with her wrist draped over the steering wheel.

The Joker had never taken anything seriously, until Harley fucking Quinn stepped into his life.

Of course, he would never admit it. His thoughts were all just a tangled mess, madness and schemes and Batman and finding the perfect punch line. And somewhere in all of the chaos, there was Harley. And she was the only thing that was calm. She was the only thing that kept him sane well as sane as he could possibly fucking be.

Harley must have felt his gaze upon her, because suddenly she was looking over at him, grinning wildly as she pushed down harder on the accelerator. Her smile was beautiful, this carefree smile that he just loved, the kind of smile that wasn't serious at all. He loved that smile, loved it so much that he had started to hate it, because hate was the obvious reaction to love. Eventually people start to hate everything that they love because it's easier to hate than love, because hate doesn't hurt you only everyone else and it was okay to hurt everyone else because there was something so fucking funny about seeing someone screaming.

He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. And they fled, mostly, except those of Harley. Of course, he would never admit it. He prided himself on being in control of his thoughts. Except those of Harley. Those crept in whenever they pleased, traipsing around the confines of his mind, throwing things and breaking them and making a big fucking mess.

Harley made a sharp turn and then slammed on the breaks, and suddenly they were home. She killed the engine and looked over at him, waiting for his command. She was always waiting for his command, never making a move without his permission. And he loved that about her, and he also hated it, because he hated everything that he loved eventually.

His thoughts were all just a tangled mess, and he couldn't separate anything.

And then.

Then Harley's hand was on his thigh, so light and yet the heaviest thing he'd ever felt in his life. Her fingertips trailing in little circles, and suddenly he was feeling so much calmer well as calm as he possibly could be. Of course, he would never admit that Harley had this effect on him.

And he would certainly never admit that he was dying to do little more than take her straight in to their bed, strip her down and hold her naked body against his, if only to feel something real and familiar and safe. She was, too, she was the safest thing he had ever known because she loved him all the time no matter what, and for some reason Harley was able to just love and love and fucking love and it never ever turned to hate for her.

Instead he recoiled from her, shoving her away as he climbed out of the car, and he slammed the door extra hard because that was just how he was. Because he prided himself on the ability to always act cold to her. Best not to let her know that she had such an effect on him, because then she had power over him. And he prided himself on always having the power.

But the truth was staring him right in the face, in the form of those beautiful blue eyes he loved and therefore hated. The truth was that he loved this girl at least as much as he possibly could and he knew that she knew and so he supposed she already had the power. The truth was that he acted cold all the time but whenever she came around he was able to let down his guard and relax. And somehow he was able to turn off the racing thoughts that were always so tangled, the madness and scheming and Batman and getting the punch line right.

The truth was that the Joker took everything seriously.