A/N: Hi! Again, I'm sorry this took so long. I'm not very good at getting myself to not procrastinate. I was a little scared to write this chapter, I think, because while I have what I want planned out, it's still a lot of stuff, and I'm not sure how I want the rest of it to go down.
It's a lot that I'm planning on trying to stuff into four chapters.
Yikes.
Also, every time I started to write this chapter, I realized it wasn't really Harley's voice. More like mine. Way too sane. So then I just focused on trying to get back into Harley's mind. I still feel like she's a little off in this chapter, but I decided to just stop fussing with it and finally post.
Double yikes.
Anyway, school has started. So that's fun. Last year, I had a lot of free time in my classes to do what I wanted. This year...not so much. *frustration* It's hard being a Junior.
I'll stop taking up your time...
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or any of the characters within.
Warnings as I feel like I keep forgetting this: bad language
Last chapter...
It all makes sense now. It probably did before, but this just proves it.
My weird hunger earlier, and the craving, the lack of Aunt Flo for the past few weeks...the throwing up.
This is a lot worse than a lot of the other punishments the Joker has inflicted on me, one almost has to wonder if it was intentional. The Joker has no wish that I know of to ever inflict his spawn upon the world.
Oh god.
I look Wayne in the eyes, barely able to get the words out. I don't want to say them, because that would mean that this is real.
But I look him in the eyes, and I say it, because I know I must.
"I-I think that maybe...I'm...pregnant?"
Two months later-Arkham Asylum
In Arkham Asylum, the Joker was never alone. He was constantly surrounded by goons of his own making or fawning crooks who wished to know the secrets to success.
To be frank, it was a little irritating. The Joker could never just have that bit of alone time that he'd even sometimes had acheived in previous visits to the facility. Mainly, those bits of alone time had been because of...her.
Mista J refused to even think her name, let alone say it aloud. The girl had been nuts, but useful. She had successfully kept away the other inhabitants of Arkham with threats of physical violence, via her overly-large mallet. Any prisoner with any sort of sense knew not to get in Har- her way or disobey her rules.
But now that she was gone, the Joker was always in danger of falling off his rocker. Well, he supposed, that had already happened. Maybe just going into a seizure after the fall. Petty criminals asked for advice, or even worse, autographs.
It was disgusting, and the Joker came to wonder when Arkham had started welcoming common crooks as well as the certifiably insane. After all, that was the reason he was here, right?
Anyway, it didn't matter. As soon as the Joker figured out a way to escape from Arkham this time, he would find the bitch and burn her alive. She was the reason he was in here again, after all. She was supposed to help keep him out, for fuck's sake!
The loony cunt would get hers, and Mista J would make sure of it! As soon as he got out...
Speaking of...
Every time another inmate escaped, the bosses in control of Arkham Asylum commissioned builders to fix the damage (usually from a bomb or riot of some sort) and make sure that the building was secure and no one could escape.
But there was always another way out. The problem with Gotham city was that everyone was corrupt. Almost everyone was someone's bitch, until you reached the top of the chain.
Usually the people calling the shots wanted the chaos and havoc that the villains of Gotham could bring about with the twitch of a pinky finger and a paper clip. That meant that the person in control of Arkham's construction crew wanted the best out, if that made sense.
In this case, Alex Rosewater was the president of the corporation controlling Arkham Asylum. Alex Rosewater usually commanded the leader of his crew to leave something behind for only the cleverest of evil-doers to find, something to help them escape.
It was almost always either the Joker, the Riddler, Hugo Strange, or Two-Face who discovered the current way out. Occasionally, it was the small time kids who found it, and usually by accident.
The Joker shuddered. There had been a time when Calendar Man found the way out, and the result had been catastrophic, even to his standards. The key to keep on living was never letting something like that happen ever again.
The current problem was finding that way out without letting the guards know it. The frustrating thing about Arkham Asylum? Most of the guards weren't crooks.
The Joker snorted into his beef stew. The idea of an uncrooked cop or rent-a-cop these days, in this town? It was laughable. But apparently, all the clean ones had found their way to Arkham Asylum, which made the task of escaping much harder than it actually had to be.
So, then. Usually, there were clues that Rosewater's men secretly hid around the previous escape. So, all the Joker had to do was casually take a look around the Warden's office. That time, there had been a bulletproof window who's screw had been loosened. All one had to do was jump right into it, and slide down the rocky slope three stories beneath the window.
Hey, Rosewater's escape plans weren't for the faint of heart.
The Joker frowned. He could easily convince one of the other prisoners to help him out in exchange for his own escape. The only problem was-
His thoughts were interrupted when a paper-thin man with thick-rimmed spectacles sat down across the table from him. He automatically glared at the riddling fool, who preceded to wipe his glasses as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"You're already thinking of the way out, aren't ya, Joker?" A thin smile wrapped across the Riddler's face. "I can see it in your eyes, you know. You're a very open book when you're pissed."
"What, no riddles to make me despise you further?" The Joker spat, dropping his spoon back into its bowl.
The thin man slid his glasses back onto his face with an amused gleam in his eye. "Oh, no. I want out as well, and I've decided that riddling you would not make you want my help."
"You're right about that, fool," the Joker muttered, never taking his eyes from his table-mate. One never knew what the minor crazies were thinking inside their muddled up noggins.
"I am, aren't I? Anyway, I have some information for you. Something I thought you'd be interested in." The Joker tried not to look even vaguely interested, but supposed he must have failed when the Riddler gave him a small mocking smile.
"It's about Miss Quinn, the only information you'd truly want at this point, I believe."
For some very, very odd reason, the Joker's ceramic bowl of beef stew suddenly found itself shattered on the floor, with contents probably not even consisting of beef spreading across the floor.
On the table was the Joker's hand, suddenly finding itself clenched into a fist. His knuckles hadn't even caused a dent on the hard oak surface, so in addition to his pumping blood, he could feel a dull throbbing emanating from his bleeding metacarpals.
"Don't," the Joker said through clenched teeth. "Say her name."
The Riddler held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I can do that." He smiled again, fake, mocking sympathy seeping through every action, every word. "The former object of your, er, affections was seen by a contact of mine."
The Joker stared at the Riddler dubiously. "Is that actually supposed to interest me?"
The Riddler grinned, lacing his fingers beneath his chin. "That's not it, though. She was seen with Bruce Wayne, you know, that dashing, debonaire young billionaire that sent you back here."
"Save your flirting for that ludicrous bird-obsessed boyfriend of yours," the Joker snarled. "What the fuck is that whore doing with Wayne?"
A cold though tolerant smile smoothed across the Riddler's face. "I would think it's quite obvious what Miss Quinn's doing with the handsome Mr Wayne, especially when you know that they were seen at a maternity clinic."
"WHAT?" The Joker roared, all but lunging across the table at the Riddler.
The other man remained infuriatingly calm, which just angered the Joker further. "You heard me, Mista J. Ma-ter-nit-y cli-nic," he spoke slowly, as if to a child.
The clown's hand flew to the Riddler's throat, squeezing tightly.
"You feel that, Edward?" Joker snarled in Nygma's ear. He squeezed tighter. "That's your body fighting to live. Right about now, your vision is going dark, and my voice sounds as if it coming through a tunnel."
No longer cool and collected, the Riddler gasped for air and clawed at the Joker's bleached hands. "The cells in your brain are shutting down, and your movements are growing sluggish." Joker released Nygma, and the oxygen-deprived prisoner flopped to the ground, clasping at his throat in a weak attempt to protect it from further harm.
"Taunt me again, say her name again, and I promise you that the next time? The effect will be permanent." The Joker spun, returning to his seat at the table, picked up his bowl, and began eating what was left.
"Now then," he said cheerfully, as if he hadn't just almost murdered a man. "How shall we go about escaping this time, huh?"
These past two months have passed a lot quicker than I thought they would. Everyone always talked about how time seemed to go slower when you're worried about something, but for me, it seems to be the opposite.
I find that I hate that more than a little. I feel like I haven't had time to process what's happening to me, but this growing bump where my stomach used to be doesn't leave much time to figure it all out. It's still very small, hardly noticable to anyone who isn't looking.
But I notice. And every time I see myself in the mirror, it's all I can do not to have a meltdown on the spot. I feel like the only thing that's keeping me sane (ha) right now is focusing on Ivy.
Oh, yeah! I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Ivy's finally awake! It took her for freakin' ever, didn't it? It was just a couple days after the ending of the last chapter, and I feel like I just felt all of my unhappiness float away!
Which was really great for a moment, until I had to tell Ivy what had happened. Boy, was she upset! I swear, the number of death threats I've heard her level at the Joker in the past week alone would be enough for any jury to convict for attempted murder.
At least, that's the way it would happen in Bones or something. Probably not in real life, though.
Anyway, the minute Ivy heard what Mista J had done to me, it was all Bruce and me could do to keep her in that bed. I think Butler Man was on the verge of cuffing her to the railing, which I feel like Ivy would have enjoyed way too much under her current medicated fog.
Really, I've never seen Ivy horny before. It's just weird. I honestly thought she was plant-sexual or something, but maybe it's just the meds.
I said anyway before, didn't I? I have a lot of anyways, and yet I'm going to end up never getting to my point.
Shit. I don't remember what my point is anymore. Hold on...
Oh yeah! (This is how the Ivy tangent got started if you remember.)
Right, I hate the fact that I'm carrying...ugh. The Joker's kid. I suppose it's not the kid's fault where it comes from, right? I mean it's not like it was given a choice. It was forcefully brought into the world, like it was forcefully forced on me!
I've stopped making any kind of sense. I apologize.
Maybe I should get to current events, eh?
In the two months it's been since my little discovery, aside from Ivy waking up, Bruce has been helping me make preparations. First thing was first, of course, find some trustworthy doctor who wouldn't spill their guts to the press about me. And the fact that Bruce Wayne had brought me.
The whole thing is just one big pile of awkward, awkward, and more awkward. I'm not completely sure why, but that's what it feel like to me. Awkward. Is this a pregnancy thing?
Le sigh. I'm still not completely sure what's going on, or what's going to happen. Bruce is insisting that I'm welcome to stay at his place for as long as I need to, and he's slowly starting to convince me.
Last night was more than helpful. Ooh, it was very...persuasive.
Well, aside from taking me to that maternity clinic to get checked out, Bruce has helped me check out books and classes necessary for childcare, and the more I look into it, the more I'm startin' to think I'm just not ready for this.
It's all so much responsibility, and I don't know if y'all have noticed, but I'm not exactly the most responsible person in the world. Nor trustworthy. Nor...well, a bunch of things.
Perhaps I should get the ball rollin', huh? So maybe you guys can actually get to readin' some actual content that isn't just what's probably inside my Secret Diary of a Crazy Girl.
Right, then! Manor, and Ivy is awake!
Which is what I'm doin' right now. Wait, no. Where I'm goin'. Yeah, that sounds right.
I'm goin' to visit Ivy in her room. She's more than capable of moving around at this point, she just chooses not to. She's more interested in regrowing all those plants she lost back at her home.
Which is why as I approach her door, all I can smell is leafy goodness. I pause outside it, touching my hand to the hard wood of the door. Even though I know the mahogany is long dead, it thrums with life underneath my palm.
As I push the door open, I wonder if that's why I was sort of attracted to Ivy, in more ways than one. With the Joker, everything is all about death. I was always constantly surrounded by it. With Ivy, everything is alive, even if it's long dead.
I smile at that thought, then smile again at Ivy, who is sitting cross-legged in the middle of her floor. I sit across from her, and a small half smile appears on her ruined, beautiful face.
"How are ya, darlin?" I ask, putting a hand on her knee. She opens her eyes and smiles. "Better, now. It's been two months, you know. There's hardly any pain left."
"Uh-huh," I snort. I touch my fingers to her cheek, and Ivy winces. "I don't believe that.
She adopts a sort of defensive position. "Well, it's not like I'm that bad off! This would will heal, even if it leaves scars! Yours..." Ivy falls silent.
I raise my eyebrows. "Yes...?"
"You know what I mean," she mumbles, rubbing her temples. "What you've been forced to go through? It should never have to happen to anyone, ever. And now you're left with the consequences that he forced on you."
I smile bitterly. "I had realized. I take it you still think I should get that abortion, huh?"
Ivy's eyes hardened. "Yes, I do. You shouldn't be forced to live with the Joker's douchery." I take her hand, smiling gently. "No, Ivy, you know I can't do that. This kid has done absolutely nothin to deseve death, nothin to deserve not being given a chance to live."
I sigh, tracing lines in her palm absently. "I don't think I would be able to live with myself, Ivy, if I took away someone's life before they could live it."
"But it's the Joker's!" Ivy protested. I know she'll likely never understand my decision to have this kid. She knows how uncertain I am about all of this, and doesn't understand why I won't just get rid of the problem.
"It's also mine," I remind her. "And no, he wasn't coneived willingly. But...I want to give him a good life."
Ivy sighed, smiling. "And that's what I love about you. I do wish you happiness, love, even if I don't understand the path you've chosen."
We're both silent for a moment, and it takes just about that amount of time to remember what I've come to tell her.
"Oh!" I perk up almost immediately. "You know that dinner Bruce asked me to last night?"
Oh, right. You guys know that sound of a record scratching to a stop when a character reveals something shocking in a tv show? Yeah, remember that sound for a just a moment before you go on to the next paragraph.
Alright. So, you remember that sentence twenty-four indents ago? The one about last night being especially persuasive? So there's a thing about that. Um, how do I say this? I suppose it doesn't really matter, but I care for some damn reason.
So, I guess I think I've kinda been fallin' for Bruce Wayne.
Hmm, shocking, I know. And the weird thing is, I think he was fallin' for me too.
Actually, I know he was. If he wasn't fallin' for me in some way, last night definitely wouldn't have happened. I would giggle, but I don't know how to do that in writing without sounding creepy.
I giggle, and Ivy smirks. "Is this going where I think it's going, because I'm fascinated."
"Well if you think it ends in his bed, you're correct."
"HALLELUJAH!" Ivy whoops, and I almost fall over laughing.
Ah, it really had been a lovely evening. I don't think either one of us ever planned to even have so much as a candlelit dinner, and then suddenly there we were...in bed.
Wow.
Honestly, even while I'm talkin' about this with Ivy, even while I'm tellin' you guys about this, I suppose it hasn't even really sunk in yet. The thing that happened last night, I mean.
All the other stuff has had sufficient time to sink in, for the most part. Mista J is really is pure evil, I'm pregnant, and my life will never be the same again. In addition to being a goody two-shoes now, I've got to worry about raisin' a kid!
I mean, I suppose y'all remember that scene from the movie where the witch lady gave us all those perfect little visions of our dream lives to distract us? I think that in that life, I was ready. I thought I was ready because I thought I loved Mista J, and now I don't.
Everythin' is confusin', and within a single moment, my life has gone off the reservation. Even further off the reservation, I mean.
Every single line from before is blurred, and while the world wasn't all black and white before, it certainly wasn't all gay rainbows. The only things that seem certain are Ivy, and, well, Bruce.
In the past two months alone, the man has given me more security than I ever had with Mista J, and he had body guards all around all over the place.
Honestly, I'm still wonderin' what's gonna happen next. Aside from feelin' like a minivan is driving through my vagina in five months, I really don't know what to do.
And now I should point out that I've been sharin' my thoughts with Ivy while I shared my thoughts with you all, so we can skip the dialogue and get straight to Ivy's very wise advice.
"I think you should just go talk to him, hon," she says simply, playing with our fingers.
Yes, m-hmm, very wise. Like I said.
"Is that really it, Ivy?" I complain. "Well‽ What do I say‽ What do I do‽ How do I act‽"
Ivy chuckles, watching my almost panicked expression. "What would you normally do, Harl?"
"Uh, steal a car or somethin'! I've never liked anyone not crazy before, Ivy! I don't know what to do!"
"Just talk to him," Ivy says soothingly. "Let the conversation flow naturally, and everything will be alright."
I nod, trying desperately to calm myself down. Finally I stand and open the door. I pause to look back at Ivy. "It's just...ya know I don't know how to do any of that, right?"
Ivy laughs again, and all the plants in her room grow an inch or two in a few seconds, seeming to glow with life. "Go!" She encourages me, and I smile at her before leaving her room.
Walking down the hallway, I try hard not to plan the conversation between me and Bruce. Ivy had said to let it flow naturally was the best course of action. Still, there's nothin' wrong with an introductory statement, is there?
In my two months here, I've learned both the narrow and wide halls of Wayne Manor a lot faster than I thought I would. It's easy to find where I want to go, and right now I want to go to the sittin' room, where Bruce is most likely to be this time of day.
I'm about to walk through the doorway into the sittin' room when I hear a noise inside. I immediately freeze and tense, wonderin' if maybe some burglar managed to find a way inside. But surely not! There are too many cameras on the walls and gates, and if someone tried to break in, Alfred and Bruce would know!
Slowly and quietly, like Mista J taught me for emergency stealth jobs, I peek around the corner into the room. My eyes widen, and I watch Bruce move to stand next to the piano.
He lifts the lamp from its place above the sheet music with one hand, while the other plays a small tune, like the musical password from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
I narrow my eyes as Bruce touches the place where the lamp sat a moment before, and the grandfather clock on the opposite wall slowly began to move out of position. What the what...?
The lamp is put back into its place, like nothin' ever happened, and Bruce proceeds down into the small tunnel the grandfather clock has revealed. Quickly, I make my way to the grandfather clock, and slip in before it has a chance to close for good.
The passage carries sound well, and echos a lot. I have to be careful...
I slide off my slippers, deciding my bare feet will make less sound on the wet, stone stairs than house shoes that make a clopping sound every time they meet the ground.
And again, slowly, I make my way down the stairs, clinging to my slippers while my hand traces down the moist wall, wonderin' what the hell is goin' on.
There's light, now. I can see bright industrial lights glowing at the bottom, and I slow down even more. I want to see whats goin' on, and it would be just my luck if Bruce caught me now. Slowly, slowly, I step out of the tunnel, and my jaw drops immediately.
We're in a large cave that brightly lit, with dozens of small tunnels leading in different directions. Off to the left, I can see what appears to be a main road, leading south out of the house. To the right is what looks like a showroom, which is what makes my jaw drop even further.
I step among the glass cases, staring in wonder at the trophies that are stowed here. In one case, what appears to be Two-Face's original double-sided coin is preserved carefully on a small plastic platform.
In another, a dangerous-looking umbrella is held open, though it has been relieved of anythin' dangerous.
There are dozens of these treasures, stolen from the multiple gang lords of Gotham City. There's only one thing missin'...
Somethin' colorful flashes in the upper part of my vision, and I look up. I stifle a gasp, placin' my hand over my mouth and backin' away quickly. A large poker card is suspended in the air, malevolently keepin' watch over a cave that has officially given me the creeps.
It's the Joker card.
I turn away quickly, desperate to my stare and thoughts to anywhere else in this curious place.
From the stairs, I couldn't see it before, but now I can. Around the corner to the left are large computer monitors, suspended above a very complicated-lookin' desk. I step toward it, eager to get away from the baleful glare of the Joker.
I run my fingers along the smooth keys, staring curiously up at the screen, and anythin' else that might help me to understand what this place is.
"Curiouser and curiouser," I murmur, pressing gently on two or three keys.
Which apparently are keyed to a specific purpose, as somethin' behind me starts movin' and steamin', and I turn quickly to watch as a car is robotically driven out through a set of what look like metal garage doors.
The steam rises slowly, and I squint my eyes and ste forward, itchin' to get a look at the car.
"Harley‽"
I whip around to face Bruce, who stares at me and the scene behind me in shock. "H-hey, Bruce!" I say, attempting to put an innocent look on my face. Though what for, I'm not sure.
"You shouldn't be-" He starts, but I cut him off.
"Down here, I know. I just...I saw ya come down here, and I was really curious. I just wanted to see what was happenin' down here, and-" I turn to gesture toward the car I haven't seen yet, but stop mid sentence instead.
...the Bat's ride?
One month ago...
We take a step into my room, and all I want to do is collapse on my bed. It's been a long day, and I've done nothin' but stress, stress, and stress some more.
Bruce stands beside me, gently holding my arm. I never said anything, but he seemed to understand anyway. I appreciate the closeness to another human being he's given me these past few worrisome hours.
Today, we went to a maternity clinic. My doctor, Doctor Kirstin Maldonado, pulled out a machine, rubbed some cold stuff onto my growing belly, and showed me pictures of my baby, and told me how far along it is.
I still can't tell whether I love it or hate it, but Bruce was right beside me the entire time. He's done more for me this past month than anyone ever has, and it's a little distressing, to be honest.
I keep expecting that he'll ask for somethin' back at some point, like some sort of equivalent exchange. But he nevers does, and I begin to like all the better.
Back to now, he releases my arm, and I head straight to the bed and fall flat on my face. He crouches beside me, and I turn my face to look at him.
"How do you feel?" He asked softly.
"A little sick, I guess," I mumble into my pillow. He smiles slightly, then straighten. "How about I get you a little feel-better food then, huh?"
I nod. "That sounds nice." He leaves the room, and I stay still for a moment before sitting up, then moving into the adjoining bathroom.
I stare at my reflection, and all the negative emotions I've been fightin' for the past few weeks suddenly flood to the surface, and I bend over the sink, letting a short, anguished howl escape my throat.
I grip the edges, suddenly fightin' to keep my balance, and somehow, fightin' to keep my life straight.
I stare back into my own eyes in the mirror, feeling all the hate and revulsion I felt when I first figured out what's wrong with me. This thing inside of me is taking my life, and it's all I can do not to let out a full volume scream.
I want it out, God, do I want it out
I feel like the world is crowding in on me, and I can hear the voices of everyone I don't want to hear right now AND THEY'RE INSIDE MY FUCKING HEAD
I clutch my head, falling back into the toilet seat and rocking with a silent shriek.
I WANT IT OUT
"You know you wanted this, my little whore," the Joker chuckles balefully in my head, though it sounds as if he's talking in my ear. "You wanted us to have a wittle family-wamily, didn't ya?" He lets loose with his bone-chilling, screaming laugh, and a shudder works its way up my nerves.
GET IT OUT
The voice changes, and miraculously, it's Harleen. I'd thought she was gone, though I was happy to hear her again. Maybe she could drive away this insanity.
OUT
"Hello, Harley," she says, nicely enough. "I'm sorry for what's happened to you. It's not a fate that anyone wants." So far, so good...
Then; "But you know this is your fault, right? If you had just behaved when Mista J told you to, you wouldn't be in the position! Ivy wouldn't be injured, you wouldn't be playing cat and mouse with Bruce fucking Wayne, and you wouldn't be FUCKING PREGNANT!"
Shit, that's not Harleen.
FUCKING HELL GET IT OUT
"HARLEY!" A panicked cry and the sound of shattering porcelain brings me back to reality, and it's all I can do not to scream. There's blood on my hands and underneath my fingernails, and my stomach is screaming in pain. I'm crying, and a solid, warm body is holding me close.
I sob into the ridiculous blue knit sweater, the kind billionaires weren't supposed to own because they're so rich.
"It's okay, Harley, you're okay. I'm right here, you'll be alright..." He just keeps repeating those words, though I'm not sure if it was for my benefit or his.
It's him.
I stare at Bruce, confusion the only emotion I can find in my head right now. "You're...the Batman?" That doesn't seem to fit, it doesn't track.
His dark blue eyes stare at me, worry evident. "Yes."
"Why...why didn't you tell me?"
"It wasn't the right time."
Confusion is fading to anger, and it is violent. Far more violent than any other anger I have ever felt in my life. He lied to me.
"You lied to me," I murmur, breathlessly at first.
"Harley, please, I promise I was going to-"
"You lied to me!" I shriek, and all reason goes out of my head. "You were supposed to be different."
I want to get up in his face, I want to hit him and kick him and punch him. I want to pick up my first mallet from his little museum and smash him in the face with it.
All of my anger, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do, period.
I stalk past him, hoping to escape before we can go further. I am not sure how much longer I can restrain myself.
Thankfully, he has the sense not to grab my arm or some shit.
I'm at the bottom of the tunnel stairs when he speaks. "Harley...please."
I spin around, a snarl painted on my face. "I trusted you! You were supposed to be better."
And then I turn and flee up the stairs before he can say anything else.
No one needs to know that I'm crying as well.