Disclaimer: I do not own Harley Quinn, the Joker, or Harvey "Two-Face" Dent. They are original characters owned and copyrighted by DC Comics and I am only borrowing them for my own twisted entertainment. I am making no profit off of this story. If you sue me you will only get a laptop, half a pack of cigarettes and a few sticks of gum.

I finally pulled myself up off the floor about an hour after he left, every inch of my body hurt but nothing seemed to be broken. I don't think I had ever seen him that pissed, all because his own bomb exploded ten minutes before it was supposed to. But… as usual, it was my fault. I guess I'm lucky I passed out when I did, otherwise I might be dead. Wiping a hand across my eyes I finally manage to stand up without falling back down from a head rush, I could feel the bruises forming on my skin and the thought of moving hurt like hell, but I had to leave. Who knew if he would come back to finish what he started? I did, and I wasn't going to let it happen. Not this time, not again. I grab a bag of my stuff, random clothes, some extra make up, a couple guns and a few grenades, and head out the door. It was freezing outside, but for some reason I couldn't feel it.

My feet seemed to have a mind of their own; they carried me two miles to the abandoned warehouse district. This was where many of the lesser known's made their hideouts. I knew that one in particular had always been open, it was sort of like a criminal halfway house, and everyone had been there at least once. Like our sanctuary, you would use it when you needed it and then move on to let some other poor schmo have it for a while. Hopefully it was empty tonight, I wasn't going to make it much farther.

After pushing in the heavy door and nearly collapsing I made my way down the two flights of stairs to the basement. I couldn't see anything in the dark but for some reason I could smell cigar smoke. Squinting my eyes through the gloom I located the feint glow of a lit cherry and carefully made my way over to it.

"Hello, Quinn…" I couldn't see his face, but I recognized that voice.

"Two-Face?" I asked, I knew my voice was weak…. I was weak. He shifted in the cracked leather chair and I could feel him looking at me. I had to admit, only to myself of course, but it was nice to not be alone… even if he was my company.

"You look like hell," He said, and I just sighed, sitting my bag down on the dirty floor. I didn't say anything, relieved that he hadn't tried to chase me out, and sat down on the beat up couch next to him. I'm not sure how long we sat there, me lost in thought, breathing in the sickly sweet smoke of his cigar. It felt like hours, and he finally said, "Left you again, didn't he?"

"Yeah…" I whispered, blinking back tears.

"And you're going to go crawling back in a few days, aren't you?"

I only nodded, looking down at my hands. It seemed weird to be having this conversation with Harvey Dent. Normally when we ran into each other there would be some massive argument, followed by a few gunshots and one of us going to the hospital or back to Arkham, I didn't know what was different this time…. Until I looked up at him. My eyes had finally adjusted to the dark and I could see it. There was a look of pity on his face, or at least half of it. Great, just what I needed.

"Here," *He was holding out a bottle of some clear liquid, I took it from him and looked at the label. "It's just vodka, Harley; you look like you could use it." Harley? Since when did he call me that? I opened the bottle and took a very long, deep drink. The alcohol burned down my throat, making my chest warm, it already felt like it was melting away the pain. I could finally look up at him.

"Well, we know why I'm here… what about you? Last I heard you were doing pretty good."

He sighed and took a swig from the bottle he was holding. "Sometimes you miss your old life." He said, it almost seemed cryptic. Did he mean when he was one of the major players in the crime field? Or did he mean older than that? When he had a wife and a daughter and was the DA? It wasn't any of my business, and for the first time in almost ten years I didn't feel like pressing any buttons to find out.

A few more drinks later and he lit up a cigarette, I cautiously asked for one and he graciously handed it to me, lighting another for himself. I didn't actually smoke, but sometimes, like now when I'm stressed, or years ago when I was still a doctor at Arkham and the Joker had escaped, I reached for a smoke or two. Surprising how something that is a stimulate can somehow make you relax more. I looked at the bottle in my hand and realized that it was half gone. Why didn't I feel drunk? It usually didn't take much.

"The city is just too noisy," He said, and I looked up.

"What?"

"It's quiet here, enough to think at least. Sometimes you just need to think," He didn't say anything else, taking another deep drink. I tilted my head.

"Think about what?"

He turned to look at me, "Don't try to psycho-analyze me, Dr. Quinzel."

"I wasn't… I just wanted to know is all…." I frowned, looking down at my hands again. I heard the cracked leather chair creak and suddenly felt the couch go down beside me, I looked up, seeing him sitting there staring straight ahead.

"Do you ever wish you could go back, knowing what you know now and stop yourself?" He asked. It seemed like such a venerable question coming from him. Two-Face, one of the few people in this world that actually scared me… but maybe that was just because I knew what he was capable of. I decided to just answer.

"If you'd have asked me that a week ago I might have said no, but now…" I just took another drink.

"Now what…?"

"Now I think you might be onto something."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's taken me damn near ten years, but I'm finally starting to realize that love may not be enough…" I said it before I realized it. Blinking. Was it true? For so long I had convinced myself that my love for the Clown was going to save both of us. That if I kept trying I could change him, make him love me back. After years of being shoved out windows, shot, stabbed, almost blown to pieces and beaten to near death, I finally realized that it wasn't enough, it would never be enough. I also didn't notice that I was crying again.

"I think there's more to love that just the emotion, Harley," He said, and then did something so uncharacteristic of him that I nearly screamed. He pulled me into his lap, and wrapped his arms around me. I was almost in shock, with my forehead pressed against his scarred cheek. The skin was cool, and it wasn't rough like it looked, it was smooth. Like a rock in the desert that had been polished by the ever blowing sands. Bumpy, yes. But soft. It wasn't long before I felt myself just melt into his arms. It had been years since anyone had held me, and it felt so good. And to be honest, at this point, I didn't care if he was doing it out of pity.

"What do you mean more than the emotion?" I asked, looking up at him. For once, I didn't find him grotesque.

"Love itself is an emotion, Harley. You should know that. But a relationship isn't. It's two people, draw together by the emotion, but it takes more than that to make it work. And when one half of the two doesn't feel the same, it just can't be." Where the hell did THAT come from? I just blinked at him, he was right and I knew it. The clown didn't love me. He had some kind of obsessive desire to keep me around… when he needed me. But beyond that he could flat out kill me and not think twice about it. That isn't love… that isn't even like. I was a possession to the Joker, a toy. Useful for a few days he would grow bored, I was disposable and replaceable. Even in the areas that he couldn't use his other goons for… he had money and there were always a multitude of whores out there. Not that he had wanted anything like that from me in months.

I took another drink and looked back up at Harvey. He was looking straight ahead, into the darkness. "You miss your wife, don't you?" I asked, knowing that bringing that up was likely to get me dropped to the floor.

"Ex-Wife." Was his only response.

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, I miss her. Maybe not her as much as I just miss having someone to hold." He said, still not looking down at me. I frowned, so this wasn't for me, it was for him. But… was it really that bad? By making himself feel better he was making me feel better. Win win, right?

"I miss being held," I said, unconsciously shifting closer to him. He finally looked down at me, and I was looking right back. It was almost incomprehensible in the dark, but I saw his lips pull into a soft smile, a smile that I was going to return until those same lips descended upon my own. I froze in shock, and noticed that his lips weren't moving, just sitting, pressed against mine, like he was waiting for me to return the kiss.

And I did. Moving a hand up into his hair and pulling him to me more. There was the tiniest voice in the back of my head telling me to stop, but I ignored it. I needed this, and so did he. It didn't matter that we would likely regret it in the morning. It didn't matter that tomorrow we would go our separate ways and probably be back at each other's throats every time out paths crossed. All that mattered was that then, in that moment, we had each other. That for the first time in years someone was touching me, kissing me because they wanted to, not because they were overcome with basic human desires and needed a release.

His kiss was tender, soft. His lips moving against mine gently. His arms tightened around me for a moment, almost like a hug, and his hand moved. Slowly down my shoulder, softly across my collar bone, and rested lightly on one of my breasts. This simple gesture seemed to make me come alive again, gasping in a deep breath my lips pressed harder against his, my hand tightening in his hair and pulling him even closer. He returned the gesture, his arm behind my back lifting me more to him. The kiss quickly changed from tender need to blazing passion, I could hear soft moans come from his throat as his lips moved with mine. His hand on my breast kneading the tender lump hard.

I moaned and squirmed in his lap, our lips moving more chaste, and he finally caught my bottom one between his teeth, biting it softly. I yelped, breathing hard and growing more desperate by the moment. I had never felt anything like this, this passion, this need. It was incredible to me, the longing tingle between my legs, the desperate warmth that was spreading through my abdomen. My chest was heaving with heavy breaths, my small noises growing more demanding. I made a sound of rejection when I felt his hand leave my swollen breast, but felt it move slowly down my abdomen, brushing across my thighs and….

"Oh!" I cried out when his palm pressed against my weeping sex. He was stroking me through my torn outfit. The cloth so thin it felt almost like there was nothing there anyways. My hips were wiggling around in pleasure, and it wasn't long before I could feel myself soaking through the silky like material. I was crying out with an orgasm that my hips were riding out against his hand, when they finally came to a stop I felt myself lifted, those same lips crashing against mine again. Then I was laid back onto the old bed, his hands wandering over me for a moment before he pulled back and ripped my outfit clean off of me. I felt completely exposed, mind and body, lying before him naked as his eyes raked over me.

"You are beautiful," He said, stripping himself of his jacket, tie and shirt. I let my eyes wander over his well toned chest, able to tell that he took very good care of himself. Ah fuck it, his body was amazing. Perfect, despite the scars that consumed half of his chest. I watched as he removed his pants, my eyes growing wide at what was hidden inside of them. He was huge, and I felt another surge of liquid soak my lower lips. I was breathing hard again as he clamored on top of me, using his hips to separate my legs. His lips were on mine again and that little voice forever silenced when he pushed into me. I cried out his name, my legs going around his hips instantly. I clung to him, moaning, yelling out as he rocked his hips into me, pushing himself deeper and deeper into my core.

My legs tightened, my hips grinding, and bucking beneath him. My vocalizations getting louder and louder as he moved harder and harder until I was finally screaming his name. My nails clawing at his back, our bodies slamming together violently. It was amazing, the way his hips moved, how he always managed to hit that one little button inside of me. I had never had it like that. With the Joker it was always rushed, most of the time angry and he never cared if I felt anything… pleasure or pain.

But Harvey… he was doing everything he could to make me feel. Every thrust, pump, twitch, made me squirm, and scream. His lips were moving over my neck, to my chest and when he enveloped one of my nipples into his mouth my back instantly arched to him. My swollen clit was grinding against his pelvic bone and it only made my hips buck more, I could feel my internal walls closing around him, every muscle in my body growing tight, I was close, I was….

"HARVEY!" I finally screamed, my body releasing it seemingly endless cries, bucking and seizing beneath him like I had never felt before. It felt like I was falling and I could feel him in ever nerve in my body. He was moving harder, his own groans getting louder until…

"FUCK HARLEY!" He yelled into the room, his hips sealed against mine and I could feel him twitch inside of me, pumping out his orgasm. His arms were shaking as he looked down at me, both of us covered in sweat and breathing hard.

After a minute he laid down at my side, pulling my shaking body against his and holding me tight. I almost wanted to cry. The word "cuddling" did not exist anywhere in the Joker's mind. I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heart beating rapidly. The sound lulled me to sleep quickly.

The worst night of my life had just become the best.

The end… for now. I may continue this, but I'm not sure. Part of me wants to add more and the other part is happy the way it is. Maybe I should flip a coin?

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