Black Mischief and Red Kisses

4. Must We Burn?

X

Oswald Cobbelpot watched Bubbles give a lap dance to a rather seedy looking thug who worked for Maroni. He kept touching her thighs which was normally forbidden but when the thug showed up at 2pm with a wad full of hundred dollar bills there was little Bubbles could do but accept his fondling. Cobbelpot sighed. Criminals could be such low lifes.

His mobile phone began buzzing in the pocket of his waist coat and he pulled it out to see a number he didn't recognize flashing on the screen. He rarely received calls from people he did not know—generally he didn't receive calls at all so he decided to answer reluctantly.

Rather than saying hello he simply cleared his throat.

"Why hello Ozzy," came the slick snicker on the other side of the line.

Cobbelpot groaned and stalked to his office. "Hello Joker. I hear you've managed to escape Arkham. My congratulations."

"Yeeeeaaaaah," The Joker drew the word out for a while and sighed. "Thanks. Listen, I'm looking for someone and all signs point to you. Have any idea who I mean old pal?"

"I'm not sure what you mean at all, Joker." Cobbelpot said smoothly. He had decided choosing a side between Maroni and the Joker was futile and could only hope to be as evasive as possible.

"I think maybe you do," the Joker said snidely. "Cute blonde, great legs, possibly might have alluded to being thrown out of a window at some point…"

"You mean your famous friend Miss Quinzel, do you not?"

"Where is she?" The Joker growled, the humor leaking from his voice.

Cobbelpot sighed. "I'm sure if she wants to see you, she'll find you." And with that he snapped his phone shut, hoping he hadn't just solidified Harley's more than likely painful death at the hands of the Joker.

He turned on the news, hoping to be distracted seen as Bubbles had disappeared to a private dance room with her greasy yet wealthy mobster. The entire situation was not ideal—especially since seeing Harley and Harvey Dent speaking in low tones the night before had not escaped his notice. They seemed very buddy buddy. He could not begin to imagine what the Joker would do if Dent somehow got his girl into bed.

"—at least twelve dead and eight injured, Julia. Paramedics arrived on the seen minutes after the explosion at the clinic but the blast was big enough to obscure entry into the building."

Cobbelpot's beady eyes jerked to the screen, his interest peaked. It was probably the Joker.

The anchor woman repeated this thought. "Beth, is there any chance this is the work of the Joker who has yet to make a move since his escape from Arkham?"

"It's unlikely Julia, partially due to the lack of evidence that he generally leaves at the scenes of his crimes but also two people were seen leaving the site after the explosion."

"Do we have any information on these two suspects, Beth?"

Beth seemed to struggle a bit with her response and she cleared her throat. "Witnesses say the man appeared to be Harvey Dent, former District Attorney who was assumed dead at the hands of the Batman and an unidentified woman."

Julia could not help but blanch. "Harvey Dent? She looked around frantically and a picture of Dent's smiling campaign photo was brought up on the screen. "Could this just be witness speculation?"

Beth continued to look uncomfortable. "Wounded victims inside the building confirm that it was indeed Harvey Dent who is especially identifiable by the severe burns on the left side of his face. Police insist they are looking in to it and that so far there is no evidence pointing towards a teaming up of Dent and the Joker. The woman, however was described as being a petit blonde with blue eyes."

"Thanks Beth," Julia said faintly, clearly shaken.

As most of Gotham would be. Harvey Dent alive and murderous.

The Penguin made an irritated sound. Why couldn't they all behave a bit more civilized?

X

"Boss—you're going to want to look at this—" a thug approached the Joker carefully, not wanting to upset him after his clearly very disappointing conversation with whomever he'd been on the phone with. His shoulders were hunched under the purple coat, his lips twitching, sucking on his lips ravenously while he tried to think clearly. Harley did not want to be found. The bitch.

"Boss— It's Dent—Harvey Dent's alive."

The Joker whipped out a knife from his sleeve and threw it at the man; it landed in his chest with a sickening smack sound. It was only then that he realized what the thug had said—Harvey Dent was alive? Scrambling over his own feet the Joker hurried into the next room where three more thugs were huddled around the gritty old television. He hit one over the head with the butt of his gun to clear a space and watched with astonished pleasure as Harvey Dent's picture flashed across the screen.

He'd blown up a free clinic in the narrows—Harvey, his little Harvey that he'd pushed over the edge to madness all on his own. It was delicious—Batman had thwarted the game before but now Harvey was back proving himself not the martyr they all wanted him to be. No, finally, after months, the white knight had fallen.

The news anchor continued, interrupting his blissful thoughts. "The woman was described as a petit blonde with blue eyes."

This new nugget of information made all the joy seep out of him within seconds and he let out a low animalistic snarl that prompted several of the thugs to move away.

So. Harley and Harvey were playing bad guys together, hmm? He could not fathom the number of things this could mean—most undesirable was that Harvey had seduced his old flame to spite the Joker for killing Rachel. But surely he'd been forgiven after helping sleff of Harvey's moral coil.

Most desirable was that Harley had taken up his own mantle and encouraged Dent to make his presence in Gotham known. She was smart enough to do that. But perhaps now— She was, after all, still Dr. Harley Quinzel, respected psychiatrist and productive member of society. At least that was what the world had been lead to believe.

Something had to be done.

X

Later that evening Harley was back at the Iceberg Lounge. She'd attempted to go back to her apartment to get some clothes but there were cops out front. Not a huge surprise considering she and Harvey had just blown up the free psychiatric clinic in the Narrows. It seemed a fitting message to send to the world and it had done the job of getting Harvey out of martyrdom. No, he was a villain. The world should see him as such. And she'd done her part in that.

It was all over the news that he'd been at the scene of the crime. As nonchalant as he tried to be Harley could see he was secretly pleased for getting credit for their caper.

As for Harley, well, no one recognized her. She was sure she wanted to keep it that way for at least a little while longer.

She caught Cobbelpot's eye behind the bar and offered him a tight smile which he returned grimly and went upstairs to her room. Living above a strip club for the time being wasn't exactly thrilling but—well—Harley had no other plans. Maroni had mentioned putting her up in an apartment where the Joker wouldn't find her.

Harley very much doubted this would happen. He would find her eventually and it would probably be sooner rather than later. It didn't disturb her as much as it had before, to know that a murderous psychopath was going to come for her. It was just she didn't know what he would do when he found her.

And what was worse, she didn't know what she would do when he found her.

There was no point in worrying over it, although she did little else. No one could control the Joker. Least of all her.

Harley pushed the door to her room open and flicked on the light. Her heart nearly stopped as soon as the room brightened from the dim light on the bed side table illuminated the wiry form of the Joker stretched out on the bed. She gave a rattling gasp and almost turned to run when she realized he wasn't moving or mocking or strangling—but sleeping.

He was just lying on top of the covers sleeping. Purple coat flung over the chair, he wore the narrow purple trousers and dark green waistcoat she remembered so well; the blue octagon pattered shirt was rolled up at the sleeves with his hands tucked under his head.

Overwhelmed, she couldn't decide if she should still run and tell Cobbelpot that the Joker was in his establishment. But then where would she go—Maroni? Harvey? Gordon?

Harley found herself drawn to the bed and his sleeping form, unable to look away or run. Her eyes pricked with tears and she desperately hoped she wouldn't start crying. At least not until he was sawing off her fingers or similar. She sat on the bed and stared at his face, unable to process why she was so sad to see him rather than afraid like she should have been.

It had been the same before. During the trial she had just been sad—but that was the pathetic mousy Harley, she was not that woman anymore.

Even so, as she watched him sleep her heart swelled with memories of times in the past when he'd been capable of being so peaceful. Through the clown make up she could see the lines around his mouth and eyes where they'd crinkle when he smiled. The scars so imperfect but lovable anyway because she had made them for him. Black eyelids shut hiding those wonderful green eyes capable of so many emotions. Especially when he glanced at her from under his eyelashes and they'd share a secret look. So much more satisfying than talking.

She'd started crying quietly at this point, single tears escaping the corners of her eyes unbidden. His hair was that dirty blonde again since the green had faded from it and it was clean and curly from daily showers at Arkham. A piece was tucked delicately behind one of his ears as a small child would. And then his body—still the same body almost but not as skinny—now he was wiry and that hidden strength was more apparent than before.

Harley couldn't help herself. She touched his hair, half expecting him to wake up and grab her hand and snap it in half but he remained asleep as she petted him a few times, wishing so hard that this was the same man she used to love.

She gave up. She slid down next to him, praying he wouldn't wake up and knowing she was more or less signing her own death warrant by her actions. She tucked herself up next to him, her back pressed against his chest and felt so content for the first time in years she didn't think she was capable of moving. Killing people had been close to this kind of release, but no where near as good.

He smelled of gunpowder and coffee. Just like she remembered.

His hand snaked up her leg suddenly and Harley froze, fear instantly paralyzing her when she realized that there was a very good chance she'd die in the next ten minutes for snuggling a serial killer.

He traced his fingers over her hips and briefly across her arms before wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, his face buried in her neck with every inch of her pressed against him. She could feel his breath, hot and human against her cheek and it practically killed her thinking how much she'd missed him. Not the Joker.

Harley couldn't move or think clearly. She just hoped maybe he missed her on some level and was enjoying having her near. Kind of like a 'This Doesn't Count' moment. But then she felt him chuckling to himself, his chest rumbling against her back and his fingers trailed up her torso to her neck where, after hovering for a moment, his palm clamped down on her throat and cut off her airway.

She tried to gasp but couldn't drag in a breath as he rolled her onto her back and peered down at her curiously.

"Hmm. Hey Harley. Long time no see."

She grappled at his wrists, struggling violently to breathe but this just seemed to amuse him.

"To be honest," he sighed, long suffering and conflicted. "I've been really curious about you. Didn't know what to expect what with you running around with the Italians these days like a common criminal." He pushed her harder into the bed and shook his head. "But here I am, lying here minding my own business and you come cuddling up—very stupid Harley. Very, very stupid."

Harley's vision was beginning to blacken around the edges and she could only just make out his grinning clown face. She flailed against him trying to be released but his grip on her throat was relentless. She managed to scratch his cheek and catch her fingers in his blonde curls before pounding on his arms with all the strength she had left in her.

"Aww, baby. I missed you too." He cooed.

Harley passed out.

X

Note: just a lickle chapter. Please review!