My First Kiss At The Public Execution
"So won't you hold me closer, just one minute, until the execution's over?" –Blood Brothers
Rated T for minor language and some violence, including self destruction.
Foreword
So this is intended to be the Harley Quinn story for Heath Ledger's Joker. Originally from Batman the Animated Series, she was one of the few characters that started in animation and then was introduced into the comics. She even had her own comic series for a while. What I've done for this story is combine aspects of the animated origin by Paul Dini and Bruce Timm in "Mad Love" and from Harley Quinn #5 by Karl Kesel and Terry and Rachel Dodson and other stuff to create a familiar but still unique character for "The Dark Knight."
I've gotta say this is the quickest and most random thing I've ever written. It wasn't on my schedule of things I was writing or posting but I just couldn't not write it. Because I absolutely love Harley Quinn. Who doesn't, really?
Also, I used a song title for my title, but this is not a song inspired story. I'm just really lazy when it comes to titles and I think using something that already exists as a title works pretty well, in this case at least.
Last thing: vote in the poll that's on my profile. As fellow Batman fans, I'm sure you'll all appreciate it.
The One And Only Chapter
The knife was in her mouth, lightly skimming the sensitive flesh of the inside of her cheek. It didn't have a particularly long blade, but it was sharp and probably pretty rusty. She wasn't sure. She hadn't thought to look properly before it disappeared from view. At least she knew for a fact that it was a knife. She'd heard he carries around a potato skinner with him sometimes, too, and was glad that she only had the pocket knife in her mouth. She imagined a potato skinner would be harder to cut through flesh, and therefore, it would be much more painful.
Not that the pain was a problem right now. She closed her eyes and forced her mind to go to a very quiet, peaceful place with green grass, flowers, butterflies…
She winced slightly when the steel pinched further against her cheek. She opened her eyes and looked as far down as possible to see the bulge protruding from the left side of her face. But it hadn't broken the skin yet, not even after a good ten minutes had passed with it in her mouth. She groaned. If she couldn't do it now, she'll never be able to do it.
There was a mirror in front of her, maybe a foot away on the desk she sat at. She glared at herself, at her round, pale face, her unkempt scraggly blonde hair, her scrawny neck. What a sad, pathetic girl. No, not a girl, she reminded herself. A woman. A grown woman who was disrespected by her peers and treated like a girl by the rest of the world. She turned her attention to her hand and the tiny blade she'd shoved in her mouth. Her arm was shaking slightly from holding it there for so long. With a sigh, she lowered the knife and set it back on the desk.
"Why…so…serious?" she whined pathetically to herself.
For a week now she'd been trying to mimic the Glasgow smile scars that could be seen on the face of her idol. Her hero. Her love. She wondered how the Joker had really gotten them. Was it his father's doing, or were the wounds self inflicted for his wife's sake? She'd heard all these stories, and more, in Arkham. But she honestly suspected he was telling the truth when he said he'd carved himself up, not long after the Batman first showed his masked face.
The costumed criminal population in Gotham seemed to be doubling weekly since the vigilante attempted to clean the streets. It was ironic really what Batman was doing. Almost paradoxical in a sense. Though it was just as bad that she was so desperate to join their nightly cabaret, even after all she'd gone through to be a normal, successful person.
Harleen Quinzel had graduated top of her class at Gotham University and received a PhD in Psychology. It seemed she'd wasted the prime of her life studying the human mind and psyche. But she couldn't help it. She was fascinated by the subject, especially when it came to criminal psychology. Why exactly does a normal person, born and raised like anyone else, grow up with a desire to do nothing but wreak havoc? It was queries like this that brought her to Arkham Asylum on a very distinguished internship.
At twenty six she was the youngest and most desirable doctor in the place by both patients and colleagues. And she was undoubtedly attractive, with her petite, thin gymnast body, flowing blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. But all the beauty in the world couldn't help her when it came to forming meaningful connections with fellow human beings. Opening her mouth to say as much as a "hello" would surprise and generally elicit cruel jokes from even the nicest people. Her voice was shrill, nasally, and overall very unpleasant to hear. Masking it completely was painful for her vocal cords, so most of the time she just tried keep quiet about everything. But in Arkham she was expected to be able to hold sessions with inmates and talk to them to hopefully probe their sinister minds. Her daily work became very difficult as everyone—be they doctors or patients—in the asylum disrespected and mocked her. Except him.
He wasn't costumed or even called the Joker back then. In fact no one had any clue as to what his true identity was. He'd first been picked up for a simple robbery gone wrong after Jonathan Crane, now known as the Scarecrow, had left Arkham Asylum. The doctors were confounded by this mystery man with the pale, scarred face who was completely unresponsive and spent hours staring at the blank wall of his cell with that creepy half grin of his.
That is, unless Harleen walked past his cell. Then he would turn his head to stare through the glass wall and follow her with his dark eyes until she disappeared around a corner. She felt a connection then, like a spark that flared up whenever the two briefly made eye contact, even though they were yards apart. She was determined to be the one to finally get him to talk. Then maybe she'd finally get some respect as a psychologist.
It took nearly three weeks to set up a session, and then the two were finally alone with only a steel table to separate them. It was a first meeting that she would never forget.
They stared at each other in silence for at least five minutes, him with that smile on his face. She stared back just as hard with her own smile, though hers was one of professional fascination rather than his morbid scrutinizing. Finally, when he realized he couldn't scare away this doctor with his face alone, he licked his lips.
"Why so serious, doc?" he said in a low, but amused tone.
She didn't say anything in response, but jotted down on her clip board a note that he was the first to speak. When she remained silent, he spoke up again, grinning as though they were playing a game of wits.
"Whatcha, ah, writing there, doc?" he said, licking his lips again as he leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her paper. "Or are you drawing my portrait?" He turned his head sharply to the right and pointed to his scarred cheek. "Cause this is my…better side."
She cleared her throat. "You enjoy art, Mr…?"
He turned back and folded his hands together on the table. "Ah, no…not really. Except for Bacon…love the Bacon. He has a…dark morbidity that I…admire very much." He leaned forward and grinned at her, still playing her game as he pointedly avoided the question of his identity. Instead he licked his lips and said, "would you like to know how I got my scars, doc?"
"I would love to," she said in her high pitched voice that didn't seem to faze him at all. On the outside she kept her calm smile, but inside she was teeming with anticipation. He'd never said a single word to anyone before, but now he was practically telling his life story—and he was telling it to her.
"Well…" he licked his lips. "Ya see, I was abandoned as a child…no idea who my parents were…" She eagerly wrote his every word while keeping her gaze locked in his. "…I was raised by hyenas and, well, you know happy they always are." She stopped writing and tried very hard to keep the disappointment from showing through her face. "But I didn't smile enough…apparently didn't have the jaw for it. So one of them growls at me 'why so serious?' and put its claw in my mouth and cut open my face. Now I can't help but smile," he concluded with a wide, forced grin, revealing his yellowed teeth.
She was reminded of stand up comedians when she saw him speak. He used a lot of hand gestures and strange facial expressions as though to emphasizing a joke. It seemed strange to her that someone as dark and withdrawn as he was would act like everything he said was in jest.
"Alright, doc," he said as he leaned casually back into his chair and put his feet up on the table. "That's my life story…tell me about you. I want to hear more of that lovely voice of yours."
She couldn't tell if he was making fun of her or not, but she decided to comply in the hopes of getting him to talk again. "Alright. My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel and I work as a psychiatrist here in Arkham to research a book I'm writing about psychological behaviors in criminals."
He was silent for a moment before blinking and licking his lips. "That…that's all? That's your story? Wow, doc…really boring. At least mine had hyenas in it." He let out a short laugh before composing himself again. "You get points for the name though…Harleen Quinzel…I like it!"
"Thanks," she said with a grin. "My friends call me Harley."
He laughed again. "Come on, doc…you don't have any friends."
A scowl grew on her face at that, despite the fact that what he said was absolutely true.
"Tell you what," he continued. "I'll be your friend…cause I really like your name. I really do. Sounds like…like…harlequin. Harley Quinn!" He clapped his hands together. "And you can call me…Joe Kerr."
She had started writing it down but stopped when she came to a realization. "Joe Kerr…Joker…Joker?"
"Ah, yeah…I mean no…no, just call me J."
"Jay…?"
He rolled his head around in an awkward nod. "Yup. That's it…just J…Mister J."
"Mister…Jay?"
He laughed when she said it. "Yes! J for Joe…Joe Kerr…"
"Alright," she said. He was still playing with her—still doing silly little mind games. He was in fact the joker and she was his willing patsy. "Mister J…"
He smoothed back his hair and leaned even closer to her, almost uncomfortably so, before saying, "are you…flirting with me, doc?"
That's it. She'd lost the game. She dropped her pen and clip board in surprise at the question as a flush rose in her cheeks. Her eyes darted around the room as she straightened her glasses and pointedly avoided making eye contact with him again. "What? Why…why would you…say that?" she said as she cleared her throat and tried to at least pretend to react professionally to his question.
"It's okay if you are…Harl," he said genuinely. "We are…friends after all."
"How do you know I'm not…already with someone? I could be married…" She looked up again and stared into his hypnotizing dark eyes.
He licked his lips. She already lost count of how many times he'd done that. "Cause I know your type. You're a, ah…career oriented young woman…a loser whose never had time for anything fun. I could help with that, you know," he said, his voice suddenly low. "Us being friends and all…we could go…have a little fun…"
She blinked at the now frightening grin on his face. She didn't know then what his idea of fun was, and at the time she hadn't wanted to find out. But he didn't give her much of a choice. With lightening quick speed he leapt over the table and wrapped his thin, dirty hands around her throat, knocking her firmly off her chair and onto the floor with a thud. She choked and stared up at him while he spoke.
"Your throat goes tight…you can't talk…can't breathe…heart pounding…room spinning…"
The guards watching from outside burst into the room and pulled him off of her before he could cut off her airway completely.
"Aww, come on guys," he yelled as they pulled him away. "That was just a…a joke…it was a joke! Get it? Don't you get it?!"
Then they were gone and all she could hear was his laughter as the guards dragged him back to his cell. Harley was left there on the floor, gasping and coughing raggedly as she tried to take a deep breath. Her heart was pounding but for some reason she wasn't really scared. She felt…exhilarated.
She went home after that but couldn't keep the inmate out of her mind. Joe Kerr, he'd said his name was. Mister J. She couldn't even sleep. She needed to talk to him again, now out of personal curiosity rather than for professional analysis.
The next day she went to speak to him again, this time through the wall of his cell rather than face to face. When she took a seat in the hall in front of him he smiled as though he already expected she would be back to see him.
"Mornin' Harl," he greeted with a lick of his lips. "No hard feelings about yesterday…right?"
She glared back at him. "I don't know why you thought you could get away with trying to strangle your doctor…"
"Come on…" he said with a grin as he glanced down at her neck. "But you bruise so…so…beautifully."
She wasn't sure if she should accept that as a compliment or not. "Thanks…"
"We ended on a…bad note before," he said as he scooted his chair closer to the glass wall. "But…you're the only one here I can…really talk to…so let's just…talk."
"Alright," she said pulling out her pen and paper. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Friends don't lie to friends…and we're good friends now. But yesterday…when we were talking…I kinda lied to you a little."
"About the hyenas?"
He threw his hands up into the air. "YES! About the hyenas. No, hyenas…" Then he leaned close and grew serious again as he pointed to his face. "My…bastard father did this to me."
She gasped slightly. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but for some reason, that wasn't it.
"Ya see…" he said calmly. "The only time I ever saw my dad happy was when we went to this…circus thing when I was a kid. The man loved clowns…don't know why…but, anyway…we get home and he's already drunk off his ass, as usual. So...so he comes to me…says I could be a clown, but I don't smile enough. 'Why so serious?' he says. I says, 'I dunno, dad,' but he doesn't like that…not one bit. So…you know what he does? He grabs a knife and makes it so I'm always smiling…and then he says I'd be an ugly clown anyway." He leaned back and licked his lips. "And here we are, Harl. Now tell me…do you think I'm an ugly clown?"
"I… No. No, I don't think you're..." she stammered over her words for a moment before swallowing hard and composing herself. "Besides—it's not a person's outward appearance that matters, it's what they do with their lives that makes them…ugly or not."
He put his hands together in a slow applause. "Wisely said, doc. Wisely said." He licked his lips. "I'm so glad I have someone…like you to listen to my…ah, problems."
"So, Mr. J," she said, becoming professional once again. "Do you suppose it was your father's actions that led you to violent criminal behavior?"
He laughed at that. "You are one daffy doc…but I like that…I respect that. So I'll let you in on a little…secret. Ya see…I'm kinda lying to you…again. I did this…" he gestured to his mouth "…to myself. The only person I blame is that…God…damned…Batman!"
"The masked vigilante? Why would he have led you to a life of crime?"
"No, not crime…per se…more like a, ah…passion for it. He thinks he can just…wear a mask and strike fear into the hearts of mob bosses and petty thieves. But what he's doing…what he's really doing…is making more people like him. People who have a flare for the…dramatic and a love for things that…explode."
"You are referring to yourself?"
"Mmm, yes…of course I am. But I want to stop the Batman…stop him before Gotham is…overrun by crazies like me…like the Joker."
She had nothing to say to that. He looked dead serious, as though his entire life's goal was manifested into this desire to defeat the crazy hero man who dressed like a bat to intimidate criminals. And Harley had to admit, she agreed with everything her patient was saying—the Batman was causing more problems than solving them. He needed to be stopped.
Their session finished not long after that and she made a point to see him and talk to him every day for the rest of that week and the week that followed. Every day he would tell her a different story of how his face was carved like it was, and after a while she just accepted them as his morbid little jokes.
He would always talk of destroying the Batman, and as she became more and more fascinated—and even infatuated—with him, the more and more she wanted to help him. She was smart, smarter than most girls at least, but not smart enough to know when she was being manipulated.
Then, one night, completely on a whim, she helped him escape. He hadn't even instructed her too—she felt she was doing it on her accord. She planned everything to the second. She had all the key cards she would need to get into the asylum, and she'd even manufactured her own gas bombs and explosives. It was amazing the kind of things one could find on the internet, if one was so inclined.
When midnight rolled around, she put her plan into action. As an employee of Arkham she knew the ins and outs of the building as well as the fact that the asylum fortunately did not use as much security as it probably should have. She was dressed all in black with her hair slicked back so she could easily slip through the shadows unnoticed. She disabled the alarms, froze the security cameras for the wing where the Joker's cell was, and set off a massive explosion on a higher floor, just to keep everyone distracted.
She slipped down the hall to his cell and forced open the reinforced door, thankful that she'd cut the right alarms. She could just make him out in the darkness, staring at her from where he sat with a wide, malicious smile. She grinned back.
"Knock, knock," she said in her overly obnoxious voice. "Say hello to your new improved Harley Quinn."
She held her hand out to him and he grasped it tightly as she led him through the halls and out of the back Arkham Asylum. It would take the orderlies and security hours to sort through the mess she'd caused and round up all the other attempted escapees. They wouldn't even notice the Joker was gone. Besides…at this point he was a nobody. A petty criminal. No one could ever have predicted the monster he would become.
They escaped without any incident and she brought him back to her apartment where he would be safe. He didn't have much to say during the rescue, but the sly smile on his face was all the thanks or attention Harley needed. She loved his hypnotic smile.
She surprised even herself when she invited him into bed with her for the night. He did so with a grin and didn't even object when she laid her head on his chest. They did nothing more than sleep, but that was fine by Harley. She was just glad to have someone to be close to for once.
The next morning she awoke to an empty apartment. He was gone. Nothing else was gone—not her money or any of her valuables. Just him, who had been, for that one night, the most precious thing in her tiny room. She'd never cried harder before in her entire life.
She returned to Arkham and followed her usual routine, doing a pretty good job of looking surprised to see the building scorched and partially demolished. When asked about the disappearance of her patient, she could honestly say she had no idea where he might be going. She wasn't even suspected in the arson or his escape.
Normally Harleen would have sulked for a while and mourned the loss of her one true friend but then quickly get over it and move on with her life. But this was different. He was different. She couldn't get him out of her head, especially when she started him seeing on the news and in the papers barely months after she'd helped him escape.
His new appearance shocked and even frightened her a little. His scared face had been accentuated by messy caked on clown makeup, and his unkempt, usually light brown hair was now olive green in color to clash with his unique purple wardrobe. He'd become just what he said he was out to destroy—a costumed freak like the Batman.
But she forgave him for this and for his rising death toll. And the more she saw pictures of him and heard stories about him, the more she wanted to be with him again. She went to every crime scene, followed every lead, and scoured Gotham City in the hopes of finding him. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she looked, her love was always ten steps ahead and too far out of her reach.
And then things escalated dangerously. What he did to Harvey Dent and his scuffles with the Batman… It was no wonder he was finally caught. He'd gotten the attention he so desired and was going to pay the ultimate price. By midnight tonight he would be strapped into an electric chair and have ten thousand volts shot through him until he was pronounced dead. Then and only then, would Gotham be safe again.
Harley Quinn couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen. They weren't going to take her Puddin' away from her, not now after almost an entire year had passed since she'd seen him face to face. And so she sat in her dingy apartment ready for the next great escape. Only this time she was going to do it in style. It is what he would want after all. But, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to shove a knife through her own cheek.
"Damn it!" she yelled as she pounded her fists against the desk top. She couldn't do it. She was a coward. A stupid little…
"Now, calm down, Harl," she told herself. "We don't have time for this. You're being too serious. He'll still love ya." She smiled and stared adoringly at the pictures and newspaper articles of him that were posted on her walls.
"NO!" she yelled again suddenly as her mind continued its breakdown. "It's just not enough!"
In one swift, sudden movement that she hadn't consciously decided to make, she snatched up the knife again and tore it through the left side of her face. Blood poured out of her mouth and she screamed in agony, but the screaming only made it worse as her open mouth tore further through the gash.
"FUCK!" she screamed, spitting blood all over her mirror. She stared at it, gasping in pain, and got a look at the jagged cut in her mouth. She'd finally done it. She had a Glasgow smile, just like he did. With that realization she threw her head back and laughed maniacally, no longer bothered by the pain in her cheek.
She sank down onto her chair, still giggling slightly, and picked up a rounded needle strung with black thread. It took a long time, but eventually she had a haphazard line of stitches on her cheek that made her look like she had a permanent disturbing half smile. But only a half smile. And now, looking at the time, she realized she wouldn't have the time or the adrenaline to cut through the other cheek
So she wouldn't have both the scars on her face. Whatever. At least she'd have all the makeup. She smeared white all over her face, wincing slightly as she brushed over the fresh wound. She scrunched her nose and brow to be sure that every line on her face would cause the makeup to crack and flake, just like his did. She slopped bright red lipstick over her mouth, drawing it up from the corners and over her stitches to form a more exaggerated smile. Then she accentuated her blue eyes with black to give her that sunken, crazed look.
It had been days since she'd left her apartment, so her wild and unkempt appearance didn't need much to exaggerate. Her blonde ratted hair was pulled loosely into two pigtails while strands of wavy hair hung over her painted face. Glancing in the mirror she even managed to frighten herself. Then she smiled at how absolutely…Jokerish she looked.
But unlike the Joker, she was going with the red and black look rather than purple and green. Tight pin striped black and red pants, black on black Converse sneakers, a red tank top, and a slightly frayed and very oversized black jacket decorated with random mismatched red patterned patches. As a final touch, she embellished the front breast pocket with a wilted red rose. She stuffed the rest of her coat pockets with Joker cards and small knives she'd had lying around her apartment, then hung a make shift, light weight wooden sword from her belt as an ode to the harlequin. She didn't have any sort of handgun, but she did still know how to make a small, but very powerful explosive. She was especially careful when she shoved those in her coat pockets.
Her plan was soon set in motion as she found herself sneaking around in the ventilation ducts of lower Arkham Asylum. She may have left her internship there months ago, but she did manage to keep some of the keys without anyone knowing it. The problem now was that the
Joker had much, much more security on him than he ever did before. She couldn't get any further than just past the gate of the hospital.
If there was one thing Harley Quinn was good at it, it was improvisation. The other thing was physical stamina, which she definitely needed when she decided to scale the back side of the building and enter through the roof. From there she crawled through the duct and reached an empty elevator shaft. She hauled herself downward until she found a particular metal tube she was looking for. One that would lead her right outside of the execution room.
She could just see, through the gate below her a handful of guards standing outside of the locked room. Inside was the Joker, already strapped in and awaiting his fate. She took in her surroundings quickly and determined that one, well placed explosion would take out the guards and give her access to the door. But she would have to act fast.
The duct she was in ran parallel to the wall with the door. She estimated the perfect spot to place her bomb and left it in the duct set on a twenty second timer made out of a stop watch. Then she fell smoothly through the grate and spun so her back was to the execution room door.
"Hey," one of the guards yelled when she landing, backing up against the door. The rest of them drew their weapons and fell into line next to him, making a neat row of four directly below the massive metal structure that was seconds away from exploding. Harley grinned, bearing her bloodied teeth to the guards. "What in the hell do you think your—"
He didn't get a chance to finish, as a sudden deafening boom filled the room. Harley had ducked and covered her face at the last second, but the guards hadn't been expecting a bomb. When the dust settled after a moment, they were all left crushed and moaning beneath the heavy metal duct.
"Wow," Harley squeaked. "I can't believe that actually worked!"
One of them was still conscious, so she kicked him hard in the face as she skipped by. She slipped her hand in his pocket and pulled out the card key for the door. She straightened up and waved pleasantly to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room, knowing that more guards would be coming soon after hearing the explosion. She would have to move very quickly if she was going to get her and her Puddin' out of this.
She had three bombs left, clenched in her one fist, all ready to go off the second she threw them. She was going to toss two of them to the right towards the viewing room where Commissioner Gordon and a dozen other cops and spectators sat. The third one would be thrown in the direction of the glass box that separated the execution chair from the rest of the room. Hopefully that would take out the guard with his hand on the kill switch as well as break through the glass. Then she and the Joker could escape through the chaos, tossing knives at anyone who got in their way. Finally they'd be free and could live happily ever after together.
She sighed as a contented smile grew on her face at the thought, even though blood was beginning to drip from her wound again. She faced the door and took a deep breath before sliding the key card through. A beep sounded as the door was unlocked and hissed open. She didn't hesitate for a second as she tossed her weapons and ducked to the left.
All three of the bombs hit their respected targets even better than she could have even planned. The viewing room was in rubble, and the executioner was lying on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. She turned back to the glass box just as the smoke started to clear, expecting it to be shattered so she could run right to her love.
But the glass was more reinforced than she had originally thought. It was inches thick, and apparently built to repel bullets and explosions like the one she'd just caused. She pounded against it with her fists and even her wooden sword. She knew she must have looked ridiculous but it didn't matter. She couldn't bring herself to quit now, not when he was barely five feet from her on the other side of the glass.
Even while he was strapped down and awaiting death the Joker had a dark smile on his face as he stared blankly ahead. But when the explosions went off and the dust cleared his gaze turned to Harley while she struggled in vain to get to him. She saw clearly the almost shocked recognition in his eyes as he stared at her, and for a second she saw a warm, contented smile grow on his face. He was beautiful and innocent and sweet again, just like she knew he would be.
She threw herself against the barrier that separated them, still fighting and laughing maniacally even as desperate tears streamed from her eyes and smeared her makeup. Her stitches broke and her face bled anew, but she didn't care. Everything was falling apart. She couldn't save him again. She'd failed.
Suddenly she heard yelling from behind her as more guards poured into the room with their guns raised. She couldn't make out what they were saying over her own cries, but it sounded like they were telling her to stop. Instead she fought harder, until her sword had splintered against the glass and her fingernails were all cracked and bleeding from clawing at its smooth surface. And the Joker just stared at her, now with an almost pitied look in his dark eyes.
The guards didn't hesitate as they opened fire. She felt a number of bullets rip through her torso, but she still refused to give up, even as her desperate throes grew weaker and weaker. She stared into her wannabe lover's eyes again as she fell still and saw for the briefest moment as his lips parted.
"Thanks for trying, Harl," he mouthed silently, licking his grinning mouth after he did so.
She smiled back and whispered, "I love you," even as one last bullet blew through the back of her head, smearing her brains and blood over the glass as she collapsed out of the Joker's view.
And despite all that had just happened, even with Harley Quinn's death on his hands, he laughed. The Joker laughed and laughed, right up until the second they sent the shocks through his body just to shut him up. Then he was still, his dark eyes wide and glazed over. But even in death he held that same sinister smile that struck fear into the hearts of all except young Dr. Harleen Quinzel—his lovely and crazy little Harley Quinn. His soul mate.
END.