Author's Note: This fanfic is strongly based on Gotham Adventures #10 Mightier than the Sword and later on Gotham Adventures #14 Masks of Love. I also bring in elements of the Harley Quinn & Gotham Sirens comic series (specifically her backstories). I've used the comics as a strong basis for this fic but with some deviations to look more deeply at the HQXNW romance (though in the end, staying true to JXHQ). Reviews welcome, Flames not. I write to get it out of my system, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: Typewriter Melancholy

There, in her line of vision, towering over her with his trademark smile. She could feel her heart fluttering, both in fear and adoration. He looked just as good as he did on the day they were arrested again, placed into Arkham, separated by walls and glass. She bit back her urge to run towards him, willing the only sane part left in her body to walk away.

But she was too late, as he grabbed her and pulled her up onto the roof, wrapping his hands tightly around her neck. His cold eyes looked deep into hers; that smile…

"I'm going to wring your neck in a minute…you naughty girl…" She saw a swift shadow of red and green behind him, but knew that he would have already sensed Robin a mile away. "After a quick bratwurst!" He swung and let go, her falling hard onto the rough tiles of the roof. "Come on Brat, do your worst!" She watched for a moment, Robin sprayed with the laughing gas, the Joker laughing in hysterics.

She took that moment of insanity to run and hide, letting her instincts take over, hopping over fallen beams and broken glass, finding refuge in a dark corner on the roof opposite to her building.

"Harley! Harley! Come out come out! Daddy can't kill you if he can't find you…" She placed her hand over her mouth, trying to calm her erratic breathing. She could tell he may be serious, and contemplated her options. She could leave now, find somewhere safe and secure. Forget about writing her book. But she would have to go back and get her things. Either way, she needed to wait. She knew him, knew his level of patience. Soon he would grow bored and find other things, better things to spend his time on.

Robin was laughing manically as Nightwing struggled to administer the antidote to Joker's venom. His shaking body rendered it difficult, and eventually Nightwing managed to jab the needle into Robin's arm. They had landed in a heap of arms and legs, tangled as Robin's voice; strangled with glee, made obvious observations about their inability and lack of time to catch the Joker.

Nightwing waited with Robin for a moment, counting the seconds for the antidote to work. He could hear Joker's coaxing from above. He hoped Harleen was strong enough not to take the bait, or at least get away.

"Robin, I have to go, I have to make sure she's okay. You wait here, I'll be right back for you."

As he ascended the fire escape stairs, creaking noisily in his urgency, he hoped she had gotten away.

She had waited over an hour, the sun higher in the sky, warming the morning chill. Surely he would be gone by now, his patience wearing thin. She stood up, her back aching, her arms and hands numb. Quietly, she hopped over the small gap between the two roofs, slowly making her way back down the fire escape. Carefully she climbed back through her window-

"What. Is. This?!" There he was, perched on her bed, thumbing through her latest work, his eyes ablaze with a fury that she knew would end in her beating. She stood silent, willing her brain to come up with something, anything to get her out of this situation. Where had Robin and Nightwing gone? She needed them now, was she really alone? "This is not your autobiography Harley." His face skewed up in a look of bewilderment. "It's a romance novel!"

"You shouldn't believe everything you see on Tv…." She backed away slowly. "It's a 'Harley-Quinn' Romance…get it? I couldn't resist!" He turned his attention to her, his eyes narrowed in cold hatred. He reached out and pushed her down across the desk, looming over her, one hand holding her down, the other clutching a torn piece of her book. In another place, another time, she would have relished this moment, his body pressing against hers. She would have to rewrite that section…

"About a female master criminal who falls in love with a cape crime….Named Owlman?!" He turned away, taking the next chapter and reading through its content. Carefully she sat up, watching him for a moment. She could feel her reserve slipping away. He hadn't tried to kill her yet. Maybe he was genuinely interested…she took that moment to walk up behind him, wrapping her hand around his shoulder. She shouldn't have. She knew that. But she just wanted to touch him.

"You're the first to read it. It's called Masks of Love….what, what do you think?" She held her breath, waiting. Always waiting for his approval.

She went flying across the floor, the power behind the sting of his slap excruciating. She should have expected it.

"This is the worst thing you've ever done to me!" To him? She didn't understand. When she didn't respond, he kicked the chair, sending it crashing into the wall behind her, splints of wood and broken bones. "A story about you, and…and Batman?!" Was he really jealous? Did the love of her life actually care?

"Owlman…It's fiction, it's not real life." Her body throbbed with fear and hope. Maybe they could reconcile, maybe things could change, maybe he could change…

"Like that matters Harley? That's not what people will think! Everyone will be laughing at me!" He shoved the desk, trapping her into the corner.

"I thought that was good, people laughing at you…" His eyes grew darker, colder, the scowl on his face deeper. In that moment she realized, he didn't love her, he wasn't jealous, he didn't care that she had written a romance that paralleled her and batman. It was that she had at one stage belonged to him, listened to him, obeyed him. At one stage, he was her whole world and everybody knew. And now, now she was defying him, embarrassing him, humiliating him. He didn't care about her. He only cared about his reputation, he only cared about himself.

"With you, people are supposed to laugh with you." He pressed up against the desk, holding her down. "I don't understand you Harley…How could you be around me all these years, and just never get it?" He picked up her typewriter, holding it above his head, ready to smash it down onto hers. "And after all those times I tried to rub off on you…" He mused. "Well Gertude Stain….you're going to get it now." She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst, shielding her body as best she could. And then…

His shadow was no longer looming over her, threatening her. She opened her eyes to see him crawling on the floor, scratching at every part of his body that he could reach, moaning in agony. "What is it will all this itching?! It's unbearable! Harley, could you scratch my back for Daddy…" She watched him curiously as he withered on the floor, pushing the desk away from the wall and hoping onto it.

"I can't imagine what could be causing this Mister J…." She pondered for a moment. Itching. Ivy. Posion Ivy. His escape. He must have used some method of Ivy's to escape. "Unless you came into contact with one of Poison Ivy's giant beanstalks in the last twenty-four hours…" A flash of recognition across his face. "That's it, isn't it?" He must have tricked Ivy somehow. Ivy would have never have helped him on her own. She loathed him, the Joker. As Harley watched him squirm, she realized this was her moment. Her moment to change things. To end things. She took a deep breath and summoned her courage.

"You want scratching puddin'? Well how about this!" She kicked him hard in the stomach. "For that time you kicked me out of your gang!" Another kick, harder, making him wince and laugh all the same. "And this for that time you were going to drop an atomic bomb on me and the babies!" A third kick, him laughing harder. "And this…" She grabbed her typewriter, high above her head, her foot holding him down against his throat, tears streaming from her eyes. "This is because you never really loved me…"