"We are not having this conversation again, Harley." He said.

This was the third time Harley had the courage to bring up the topic of settling and having a family. Admittedly, she didn't expect his thoughts on the matter to change—she knew he was quite satisfied with their current lifestyle—but she couldn't be blamed for trying.

She sat down beside him.

"Aww, come on, puddin'." She cooed, as sweetly as she could. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'puddin'?" He said. She gave him the biggest puppy eyes she could manage as she tried to stir the conversation back to topic.

"But what's wrong with having k—"

"We are not talking about that." He snapped.

"Mistah J!" She protested.

"Look, pumpkin," He cooed, staring her in the eye. His rage was almost perfectly hidden beneath his clown-like appearance, but those bloodthirsty eyes and malevolent grin told her that he was indeed serious. "Do you think any of us is even qualified for that?"

"Aren't there like, seminars for raisin' kids?" She said, getting more nervous by the minute. His eyes grew dark as a black hole, absorbing every single iota of light—and hope—from her baby blues.

"We are not having kids, and that's final." He growled.

His words struck her like sharp knives piercing her heart. There was a silence as she stared at her Mr. J, paralyzed with whatever it was she felt inside. Sadness? Anger? Disappointment? Naivety? She forced her mouth open so she could manage a few words.

"Why not?" Her voice was so small, she sounded like a little girl who couldn't get what she wanted. The rage in his eyes disappeared and was replaced by what she liked to convince herself was affection.

"Aren't I enough for you, Harley?" He asked, with just a touch of melancholy to make him sound sincere. He was an expert at that, and she fell for it every time.

"Of course ya' are." She said.

"And do you really want to have brats with the fact that we are trying to get ourselves killed everyday?" She had considered that painful fact every night, but hearing him say it with so much sense seemed to hurt a thousand times more.

"N-no. Of course not."

"Then why are we even having this conversation?"

"I dunno." she said, as tears rolled down her cheek.

"Get over here..." He opened his arms to receive her. She wiped her tears as she surrendered herself, burying her face in his chest. "Why are we even talking about this? What with you taking the pill and all..." A realization struck his mind as he patted her reassuringly on the back. "You are taking it, right?"

She gave no answer, sobbing even harder.

"Harley!" He pushed her back and she fell on the floor.

"I am!" She cried. "I am...I'm taking it."

He stared at the woman lying helplessly on the ground. Her eyeliner ran down her cheeks. Her smooth skin was tainted with bruises he'd given her in the past. It was enough to make him smile. She was his property. He was in charge.

"Well you're gonna have to forgive me if I don't quite believe you." He said as he took a knife from his pocket.

"Uh, puddin'?" She crawled back slowly. "W-what are ya' doing?" He stood up and approached her. Like an animal, he could smell her fear. Her sweet, sweet fear.

"Sorry, pumpkin," He pulled her up by her hair and jabbed the knife into her stomach. "Just have to be sure you're not lying—not that I don't believe you. But..." Tears streamed down her face as she screamed. He grinned at her. "Well, I don't." He removed the knife, the sting almost unbearable for her.

"Now," He hefted her over his shoulder. "Let's get 'cha patched up."

They entered a room that served as an infirmary. He threw her on the bed and she moaned in pain. The blood stained the bed as she kept on sobbing. He stood beside the bed, his head tilted as he observed her, the beautiful young woman who had taken so much beating from him. The one whose innocence he had stripped away. The one who continues to love him no matter what he did.

No one in their right mind could possibly love him, that's one of the reasons he let her hang around. She was undoubtedly out of her mind. If he was to let her die for talking about something he didn't like, he knew it would take him a while to find another one like her. He wasn't prepared to waste his time for that.

She stopped crying. She wiped her tears as she looked at her Mr. J just standing there. She was sure he was still contemplating whether to patch her up or let her bleed out. More likely, he was just trying to scare her.

He wiped her blood and stitched her wound. She remained silent through the process.

It amazed him how strong she truly was, enduring so much. He wondered if she was already like this before she met him. Had he really changed her or was she the same Harley that attracted his attention a few months ago?

"That feel alright?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said, smiling. "Mistah J? I, uh...I'm sorry."

"Just do me a favor, kid—never talk about that again. Ever." Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving her alone. She watched as the door closed. A smile managed its way unto her face.

Her puddin' wasn't perfect, but she would never meet anybody that could make her feel the way he did. That was good enough.

Author's Notes:Special thanks to Twilight Scribe for beta-ing. Reviews (Negative or Positive) are appreciated. :)