Harleen had so many dreams.
She had dreams of Olympic gymnastics and Hollywood stardom and a brilliant medical career. She dreamed of being beautiful, talented, celebrated, and respected. But most of all she dreamed of being loved.
She dreamed of a handsome husband and small faces with bright blue eyes framed by golden blonde curls, beaming up at her in adoration.
As a girl, Harleen thought she could have it all.
She clowned her way through enough school plays to know she had no real talent for acting, and an ankle injury cut her gymnastics career short before it had really begun. Medicine was still within reach, though. She had the smarts, and she knew how to work hard.
Beauty never let her down, either. She had her pick of high school sweethearts, and no shortage of attention in college. She liked the attention, liked how it made her feel important, powerful. It gave her a rush, being pursued. Being wanted. So she had fun with it.
Once or twice she may have gotten carried away with fun at the expense of her studies, but she knew how to use her assets to make up for that, too.
She still dreamed. Dr. Quinzel strolling confidently through the hospital corridors, heels clicking rhythmically against linoleum, patients she had cured looking on their savior with awe.
Chubby hands reaching for her, rosy cheeks and a cherubic smile, and a tiny voice calling out: "Mamma!"
She got bored.
Eventually the attention didn't give her that same rush anymore. As soon as she stopped indulging them, her suitors disappeared, making her realize how shallow their interest in her had always been.
In the absence of distractions, her grades benefitted. She graduated in the top five percent of her medical school class, which was enough to land her the exclusive internship at Arkham.
Costumed freaks and so-called "super criminals" were a new and exciting challenge. The thought of the accolades and renown that would be granted to the doctor who could successfully treat them was dizzying.
The thought of a baby of her own was a little more melancholy, with no romantic prospects in sight, but even so, she still dreamed of that, too.
Meeting him changed everything.
Harleen had never dreamed of falling in love with a patient, let alone a sadistic megalomaniac. She'd never dreamed of pledging her life to a murderous clown and following him into a life of crime. She'd never dreamed of giving up her promising career for a man.
And yet Harley couldn't imagine anything better.
Except…Harley dreamed, too.
The curls were acid green instead of gold, but still, she dreamed.
There was just one obstacle to her dreams becoming a reality: Batman.
The self-righteous vigilante constantly tormented her Puddin. If Bats had his way, Mr. J would never have any fun at all, and that was just wrong. Until the overgrown rodent was out of the picture, he'd never have a moment's rest, and they'd never be able to settle down and raise their crazy little family.
Something had to be done.
The little bird practically fell into their hands; they hadn't been particularly looking to capture him. But there was a saying about a bird in the hand, so they took full advantage of the opportunity.
Mr. J was as gleeful as she'd ever seen him, beating Robin senseless. She was surprised when he handed her the crowbar and told her to take a few swings. She hadn't thought he'd want to share this one, the greatest blow he'd delivered Batman to date. Really, her Puddin was too generous with her sometimes.
It did make her uneasy at first - the boy looked awfully small, curled in on himself in pain. Without his mask, she could see how young he actually was. Just a kid, really.
But he was Batman's kid. And why should Batman get to have a happy family anyway, when he stood in the way of her happiness?
She struck him once in the stomach, twice in the ribs. The grunts of pain and the sound of bone fracturing were pleasant, but not enough to satisfy her. The boy's blue eyes were clouded and filled with tears, but for a moment he managed to focus and meet her gaze, as if silently begging for mercy.
She raised her arm to strike again, but Mr. J grabbed her wrist. "Not the face," he purred in her ear, still giddy with excitement. "Wouldn't want to damage that pretty face. Batsy's gotta be able to ID the brat."
The boy's eyes drifted shut, and Mr. J let go of her. Obediently, she redirected the blow to his chest, then the stomach again, then the legs. Again and again she hit him, not to hurt him really, but to strike at Batman, and by extension everyone and everything else that had ever stood in her way.
Eventually Mr. J got bored with watching and took the crowbar back. With every blow, Robin's body was more still, his labored breathing fainter. Harley imagined the pale hands that meted out the boy's death tousling a small head of downy hair, bouncing a laughing child on his knee. Her eyes filled with tears of her own.
She had never been so happy.
The boy's death did not have the desired effect. Rather than scaring him off, it made Batman more vigilant, and more violent, than ever.
It wasn't long after that Harley's dream came true. Well, part of it, anyway. She was pregnant.
But with the Bat still around, could she really have her happy ending?
Mr. J was so sweet about it when she told him. Of course he would be happy, he said. Would be, if the circumstances were only better. It was no good, see? They had things to do, people to kill. A baby would only get in the way.
Besides, he told her confidently, if she thought about it, she'd see she didn't really want this anyway. "Why, you tortured a child to death only last spring," he reminded her. "Some mother you'd make."
He was right, of course. Her Puddin was always right.
He took care of everything. He was a real prince, her Mr. J. She was so lucky to have him. He found a doctor who could be discrete, made all the arrangements, even brought her to the clinic himself.
He was right, of course. It was no good. Some mother she'd make.
Still, she had dreamed…
She cried through the whole operation. The doctor and the nurse averted their gazes and said nothing. She screwed her eyes shut, but all she could see were bright blue eyes and golden blonde curls.
"What if…"
Her voice trailed off in the darkness. Mr. J made an annoyed noise at her unfinished thought. He hated it when she did that.
"What if what?"
"Oh, it's nothin'."
"Harley."
"I was just thinkin'...what if one time, just once, for laughs, you know? What if we spent a whole day just...bein' normal?"
He chuckled at the idea, and she beamed. She hadn't been trying to make a joke, but it was always a joy when she could make her Puddin laugh for any reason. And it did sound kind of absurd now she thought of it. Being normal.
"Normal," he said flippantly, "is a setting on the dryer. We will never be normal."
She giggled at his joke and buried her face in his shoulder. He was right, of course. She'd never be normal. He was all she'd ever need, dreams be damned.