Joker was dead.
Yet here she was, being beaten to a pulp by a man she once loved, who she once thought was dead after she found his face in that police station. Joker wanted her to take another chemical bath, lose all sense of fear and security that made her human; he wanted her to become more like him, to be more…
Free.
And yet, Harley didn't want that. She had come to terms with Joker's death (after her bout of crazy with Deadshot, but what does that matter?) and she was what she believed to be the equivalent of happy, even if she didn't exactly know what that word really, truly meant due her psychotic state. The only way she was able to escape her ex was to slit her own wrists and twist around in the blood until her hands could be free of those metal handcuffs that weren't being used in the kinky way that she usually liked.
Deadshot was dead.
Yet here she was, whispering furiously to the man whose cold, limp, lifeless body had been clutched in her arms as the rest of Suicide Squad had to fight Regulus to return to headquarters. Deadshot had made her feel somehow alive after Joker died, even if they once had a small… fling, you could say. Nothing had happened, but Harley wanted it to. She wanted a relationship with him, had even gone as far as almost dying all because she no longer loved Joker as she once had. Even if their reunion after both their near death experiences had been bloody and she had once again gotten a beating. This one, she like however.
Harleen was dead.
Yet, Harley could hear her former, pre-Joker self clearly in her mind, claiming that she was back and here to stay. Harley feared Harleen, but why, she couldn't be sure. Maybe Harleen meant that Harley was going as insane as the Joker, maybe it was because that her former, boring self was going to be back at the reigns of control.
Harley doesn't like sharing too much.
Harleen represented a period in Harley's life that she didn't like to think of too often. It brought back too much pain, too much fear, even if being Harley brought her such glorious freedom that she never could have experienced as boring, old Harleen.
But, maybe Harley was just an excuse.
Harley shook her head at that thought. No. Harley was her, and she was Harley, no matter if Harleen was back in the picture or not. Harley was her true, psychotic self that held no chains and had no fear to be her true, evil self. She didn't have to hold back when she was Harley. Harleen would've kept her from her truest, best potential.
Harleen let out a glorious grin, one that could even match the Joker's.
Joker was dead.
Deadshot was dead.
Harleen was dead.
Or so she thought.