Author Note: Well, this took a while. Hopefully the length will make up for the amount of time it took. This chapter clocks in at almost exactly 14,000 words. It probably could have been two, especially considering the amount of shit that happens, but I feel like it all needed to be together.
I want to send a huge thank you to all of the people that have reviewed, added this to their favorites list, and followed. You make this worth doing. This story is yours just as much as mine. I would like to encourage all of you to review and let me know what you think, what you want to see. I'm here for you. And for all your PMs if you would rather send those.
Also, when you get toward the end of the chapter when things get a little steamy I would like to encourage you all to listen to "Ghosts 8" by Nine Inch Nails and close it off with "Ghosts 13" also by Nine Inch Nails. It paints a beautiful picture. Trust me.
I hope you enjoy.
"It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm
We can roll ourselves over cause we're uncomfortable
Oh well, the devil makes us sin
But we like it when we're spinning in his grip."
~Massive Attack "Paradise Circus"
"You know, Harley, it takes eight minutes and twenty seconds for the sun's light to reach the earth. If it were to go out now, we would still get that glorious sunrise." The edge of the low wall scraped at his leather gloves as the Joker leaned against it to stare down at the street below. "I'd get to watch it light up your pretty face and then poof! We'd be nothing. Frozen in place and eventually crumbling to dust. Doesn't seem like a bad way to go, really."
When he glanced over at Harley, she didn't seem to be listening. Too busy inspecting the rig he had attached the body to. Likely trying to figure out how they were going to drop him and still manage to get away.
Her worries were for naught, of course. The way she acted, it seemed as though she believed him to be some amateur half-wit criminal. Hadn't it been mere days ago, a week at most, when she had congratulated him on the most elaborate heist a Gotham bank had ever fallen victim to? Did she expect him to have lost all of his ability to plan as soon as the stakes were upped?
No, he was too good for that. Too thorough. There was an out, always an out. He could see five from where they stood against that lip of wall alone. Only one of them was likely to end in death, and there was no way in hell he would allow that to be the way they went.
Harley – his Harley – deserved to go out with a bang, in a blaze of glory so rich and beautiful that the world looked back on it as poetic. Even freezing from a dying sun seemed too boring for her. When she went, she would burn. That girl was too full of fire and passion for anything else. She would become the dying star, a supernova, a force of gravity to be reckoned with. Jumping from the roof the escape the authorities was the coward's way to go. Neither of them were cowards, least of all her.
Tonight had proven that. She had shown her true colors brilliantly to him and he knew her better for seeing them. The minute she had believed him to be in any sort of danger she rose to the occasion. Became fire and hate and rage for the length of exactly five breaths. During that time he had witnessed her true self, her most delicate state. All of her danger had been flayed open and exposed at its barest fibers and he knew in that moment that deep down she was like him.
It scared her, he knew it had, which was why he had her up here. Absolving her guilt by showing her that this was all his fault, all part of his plan, would make the memory of Brian's death hang lighter on her conscience. If he ever wanted her to properly see his side of things, if that smile was going to earn its place on her face, he was going to have to ease her into it.
Such clarity could not be dropped on a person with all of its weight and crushing complexity, it needed to be tested like the waters of the ocean. One had to become accustomed to diving, learn to handle the weight of the water above them inch by inch before they could properly explore the depths. It had taken him nearly a decade to adjust and begin to learn to blend in with the ocean floor, and now that he knew what monsters lie there he knew he needed to expose them for what they were.
Yet she still didn't trust him, still didn't realize that he was doing this for her. They were testing the waters together. Her first dive had been difficult, a little too deep. Now she seemed too timid to even glance at the vast sea before her for fear she would nearly drown again. Silly little thing still couldn't wrap her head around the fact the rest of the ocean should have feared her. That one day it would recognize her for the goddess she was, Amphitrite born anew and more dangerous than before.
"He isn't going anywhere, you know." It was a joke, but she fixed him with a glare violent enough to kill a man.
Frowning, he swaggered over to where she stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He had never imagined her to be the type to internalize anxiety, especially when it came to something of this caliber. It was beginning to agitate him. The anger with which she regarded the entirety of her surroundings seemed to flow through the invisible threads that connected them and became his struggle as well. Half of him wished she would just cry already so they could talk it out and get past this.
Because she would cry eventually. That stoic façade would crumble like a statue to give way to her rage and tears. And he knew the exact way to pull her strings and lift her spirits again. Had already planned what he would say and the way he would kiss her forehead and whisper against tear-streaked lips. All he needed to do was give her a little push to get them there.
Pink and orange lit the skyline as the sun began to kiss the horizon and he used that arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the edge of the building. Together they stood with knees grazing the wall that separated them from oblivion. From falling hundreds of feet, all flailing limbs and fleeting moments of panic before sweet blackness overtook them.
"Gonna be a hot one today." It seemed obvious to both of them, but he felt the compulsive need to point it out, to say anything to get her attention and stop her moping.
"Yeah." She sounded distant, distracted.
Heaving a sigh, he tightened that grip his glove had on her shoulder. Maybe if her hurt her badly enough she would cry. That would get her to break out of this trance she seemed to be in.
No. No!
He knew better than that. Knew that she had already been smacked around more than a few times in her life. No sense in adding to the problem and losing her trust. Getting Harley to talk was going to take a gentle hand.
Gentle had never really been something he excelled at, but he was learning with Harley.
She was teaching him, whether she realized it or not. Ever since that first time he had seen her cry in the coffee shop, when she had nested herself against the counter to wallow in her odd form of shame. That had been the first time in years he had comforted someone. And all of that was nothing compared to the other night in the shower when he had held her through tears.
Honestly, he still could not wrap his head around what had come over him. That insistent pull that had settled him behind her naked form to hold her and whisper against her skin was still so strange. So unexpected. But Harley – his Harley – could not be weak on his watch. Could not doubt her beauty, her spirit, just because Victor Zsasz and the mob had taken it upon themselves to try to teach him a lesson.
He could not wait to return the favor.
The plans were already coming together, the pieces falling into place perfectly. Upon seeing Batman go beyond the city's jurisdiction to get to Lau, the mob had retracted all previous threats against him, had overlooked the way he carved Gambol up and left he and his boys for dead. Now he had them right under his thumb, right where he wanted them. From here it was just a matter of picking them off one by one while they still believed he was on their side.
Once again Harley's eyes had wandered back to the dead body. The body she had created. Turned into a lifeless object rather than a living human. He wanted to feel sorry for her, to sympathize in some way, but continued to come up cold.
Killing had never been a challenge to him. After that first time at sixteen when he had done away with both of those drug addicted scumbags that gave life to him, he had realized just how little effort it took to snuff the little spark out of someone's eye. Hell, it was easy to make it look like an accident.
Joining the army had been second nature. Any excuse to be put in the heart of violence and death seemed like the absolute right environment for him, a good way to sate the blood lust without being held accountable for his actions.
And now that he was at war with the world, with society itself, there was true satisfaction in the act of taking life. An art to the process and a certain amount of creativity behind every drop of blood spilled. If everything in this world was a joke, death was really the greatest joke of all.
It was different for Harley, though. She had yet to see the real hilarity of it. The great satire that her life became the moment she, a truly innocent girl mixed up with the wrong man, murdered a man hiding behind a false sense of justice.
Brian Douglas had not been a good man. He was a vigilante in every sense of the word with less respect for human life than his hero Batman. Brian Douglas had a trail of dead bodies left in his wake during the search for justice. Meanwhile, Harleen Quinzel was a girl that came up short on luck with almost every draw. A girl that had somehow managed to draw a wild card that would now influence every move she made.
They were connected now, their fates forever intertwined. She needed him, depended on his protection and the way he made her feel. Because she did have feelings for him. Wouldn't have killed Brian if she didn't. Harley needed him, Harley had feelings for him, Harley probably loved him without fully realizing it yet. That sort of loyalty was not easy to come by and he refused to let it fade over a completely necessary death.
Under his grip, her shoulder tensed and her head snapped toward the sunrise. There was something in her face, something he had missed before. The way her eyes looked too big and her teeth ground together with the tightening of her jaw. Her breath was coming too fast, her pulse probably fluttering beneath his gloved fingers.
That was fear.
Sucking on his teeth, he glanced between Harley and the body that so actively held her attention.
"Never seen a dead body before, have you, sweetheart?" From the way she closed her eyes and finally glanced toward the skyline he knew he was correct.
"I've…sort of?" Clearly unsure how to answer, she tried to glance back at Brian, but he caught her chin with his free hand and locked eyes with her.
"Yes or no question. Have you ever seen a dead body?"
Those blue eyes grew impossibly wide under his gaze and she shook her head. "Not like this."
All the pieces began to fit then and he reveled in this new epiphany. Knew exactly how to work with that fear. He was accustomed to that fear, knew it well from his early days in combat when the new recruits got their first look at a hostile freshly introduced to a lifeless state.
"Funerals don't do it justice, do they?" He leaned a hip against the wall and tried to get a look at her eyes. "Those bodies in the caskets are just faking sleep. People like to dress up the dead to look like the living, give all the mourners this false sense of death being peaceful. It doesn't do anything to capture what the state is really like. How fragile the line between the life you're living and the grave actually can be. Because death isn't peaceful at all, it's just an end."
Something in Harley's eyes sparked and twinkled in the early morning light. "I always wanted it to be beautiful. They always said death was beautiful. All of the poets and bleeding hearts try to make it this great accomplishment." Her fingers bent and twisted together as she spoke. "It's always just assuring you that your death will be painless, that other people are happier for being dead. But they don't tell you that when you take a life it feels beautiful too. I know…I know it shouldn't have. I don't like it or want to repeat it and I…I hate that it happened. It scares me to know I have that ability. I never want to make that decision again."
There it was, he knew that had been dwelling within her somewhere. Only that sort of realization could have her feeling as guilty and looking as distraught as she did. The guilt had come not from taking a man's life, but in enjoying it.
My girl is a killer.
Wetting his lips, he leaned down as though to kiss her, but she turned her head away.
A breath was blown through his teeth at her resistance. "What if you had to save me again?"
"Never put me in that position again." Her eyes caught his to anchor him in her warning. "I don't appreciate you using a man's life to test me and I swear if you try to do it again I won't lift a finger to help. If you ever actually need me again, I will not hesitate to save you by any means necessary, but I will not kill on a fucking whim for you."
Those eyes were still alight as though she wanted to go on, but refused. Simply shook her head and brushed away the rest of the thought. Even when his grip on her shoulders tightened to pressure it out of her, she simply shrugged in response.
"You know, Harley, death is a funny thing." His voice was low and droned on with his thoughts, only picking up momentum when the words lined up properly for him. And once they had, he knew exactly how reel her in to see his way of thinking again. "People always want to tell you death is beautiful and peaceful and all those other nice things because they want it to be. They dress up the corpse – the inanimate object left behind by life – and tell us that the soul is in a better place. They try to make death into a victory, the gold medal at the finish line.
"But when you see a dead body, a real dead body, you see the truth. Death is defeat. Because life, as you know, is a fight. One we all lose eventually. People hate losing. Even though loss and failure are a necessary part of everything, they can't stand the reality of it. And these people are so terrified of losing, of going before they think it's 'their time,' that they don't fight at all. They give up too early, throw in the towel as though the pacifist route is going to save them from an end that is inevitable. They don't realize that the real defeat isn't in death itself, but their stagnation. There is no glory in going down without a fight. In the end, we all end up like Brian there, but at least he went down swinging. You gave him an honorable death."
There was light in her eyes and he was near certain he had sealed the deal. She was searching his face for something, fingers digging into the lapels of his jacket.
When he bent his head to kiss her, she shook her head and pushed away. "I didn't want to. He didn't need to…"
Narrowing his eyes, he pulled her right back to him. "But he did, sugar. His death is a symbol of that defeat I was just talking about. I'm trying to encourage the good people of Gotham to get back in the ring, fight for the life they keep avoiding actually living. Because you may not have wanted to kill Brian, but the choice to kill him gave you power. It was him or us and you chose us, and it felt damn good. Don't try to tell me for a fucking second that it didn't. I know better."
She didn't say anything and that was enough for him. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, he knew the truth. Regardless of morals and pointless talk of a high road, it would always be best interests that won out. It was the great irony of life. Soon enough she would see it for what it was.
And in the meantime, he had her just where he wanted her. He had pushed her to her limits to find she was a fighter through and through.
Again his head inclined and he traced greasepaint across her jaw and up to her lips. This time she didn't push away, but kissed him back with less enthusiasm than normal.
Stitches brushed against his scars and he was once again reminded of how they matched. Of how alike they were. How one day she would come around fully to his side, see his way of thinking and not hesitate to act on things as she saw fit. One day he would teach her to play the world into her hand just as he had.
"What are we going to do with him?" she asked suddenly, her lips brushing against his with each word.
Pulling back, he glanced back at the body and shrugged. "Told you, honey. We're going to drop him."
"Yes, but how? When?"
He grinned, once again reminded of that lesson in patience he had promised to give her. Perhaps tonight after the first cards from his hand had been laid out for all of Gotham to see. Surely he would need a way to blow off some steam after Harvey Dent, the Commissioner, and Judge Surrillo had been disposed of. He could already picture Harley with her wrists tied to the bedpost as he took his time with her. Fucked her nice and slow, only teasing at the things he had learned she liked until she begged him to make her come.
"You'll know when the time is right," he said at length, trying to push the image of her bound wrists from his mind. It was too sweet, too distracting.
"Do you always have to be so cryptic?" Though she laughed, he could hear the edge in her tone.
He loved riling her up like this. It was so easy to get a rise out of her that he could not resist the chance. That fire in her made him laugh, which only seemed to irritate her further.
"I'm not being cryptic, sugar." When he grinned, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "There's a timer. I was planning on rigging him up to a little device that was going to drop him, but some idiot managed to fuck up the whole mechanism."
His fingers brushed against the device in his pocket, the one that he could probably get working. At this point it seemed pointless. The security guards had been paid off to look the other way, though they had no idea what their eyes were avoiding. Escaping down a back staircase would be quick and easy. All they had to do was wait for the opportune moment. They had all the time in the world, and he still hadn't managed to get Harley talking. Not like he wanted her to.
"Don't be so hard on yourself, puddin'." The smile she gave him was innocent enough, though the stitches on her mouth made it menacing. "You're not an idiot. Just not always great with your hands."
A split second of anger before he burst out in fits of laughter, just like he did every time she took a cheap shot at him. It still threw him that she could be so quick, her tongue sharp and subtle. She was a weapon in and of herself, one that the world would never see coming. Each blow would be gentle and they would thank her for it before bleeding to death.
She may not be opening up yet, but even with all of the turmoil she was internalizing she seemed sharp as ever.
Cocking his head, he stepped close to her. Invaded her personal space until they were sharing breath and his fingers were in her hair.
"I'm plenty good with my hands and you know it." That made her shiver visibly and he ate up the way her eyes dilated at the thought.
This time she was the one that moved to kiss him, all gentle touches and soft lips. Though it had been nearly a week since she was attacked, he could tell the cuts on her mouth still bothered her, kept him from devouring her each time they kissed. The gentle way their lips met now was almost too sweet, nearly enough to gag him. Sometimes he wished he could bite out her tongue just to taste blood mix with her overwhelming sweetness.
"Do I need to remind you, sugar?" His lips brushed against the shell of her ear as a firm hand travelled up her craggy ribs to grip her breast through clothing.
There was no mistaking the tension in her muscles, her entire body winding up and ready to snap. Now was clearly not the time or the place. Before she even moved, he knew she was about to step back. That she would tell him she wasn't feeling it here, that she was overwhelmed and he was not helping, nor was he being funny.
The warmth of her body moved away and he watched the way her eyes fell on his feet.
"I'm sorry," she near-whispered. "It's just…tempting as that offer is, I'm not sure I want to do it up here. Doesn't really seem appropriate. What, with the body here and…I just…"
"Your heart ain't in it. No harm in that." Grinning harmlessly, he held up his hands and stepped back. "Don't try to be diplomatic, honey, you won't hurt my feelings."
"Today has just been too much." Her voice was starting to waver, throat tightening audibly around the words. "I didn't want to be part of this, I didn't want to hurt anyone."
And just like that, the tears came. Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, she tried to dam the tears. "And you…you…"
He grinned. "Me?"
"You keep pushing me!" Gritting her teeth, she stabbed an accusing finger at him. "I didn't ask for this, didn't want to get roped up in whatever it is that you do, but somehow… I should have told you to go fuck yourself that first day you came into the coffee shop. But no, I had to go and get mixed up in this. Had to let that asshole from the mob cut open my face, had to let you take me away… And now this. I'm in so far over my head… I just want to go home and forget any of this happened."
There it was, the start of whatever confession he was trying to get out of her. Clearly she didn't mean half of it, knew life was better for the two of them being together, but he was certain it felt good to try throwing their relationship in his face. If she could pretend to not feel anything for him, it would be easier to distance herself from what she had done to Brian, what she had done for him.
"Don't say things like that, sugar." Though his feet itched to move toward her, he continued to lean against that wall. "I know I got carried away, I know I asked too much of you. I should have just done away with him myself. I was just trying to have a bit of fun with you, didn't think you'd actually kill him. I'm sorry, Harley. I shouldn't have put you through that."
It was bullshit, every line, but it was enough to make her face soften. Each calculated word and feigned apology, she ate up all of it and believed him without question.
"You should be home," he went on, her doe-eyed innocence urging him forward. "We should be in your apartment having coffee. The first time I fucked you should have been in that cozy little bed of yours, or up against your kitchen counter because we could never keep our hands off each other there. I had plans for us, sugar. I never meant for the mob to do this to you. I wanted you to be happy. I thought we would find you that cozy little place you'd been dreaming of and send you back to grad school. Maybe we can still make that happen, and in the meantime I'm just trying to protect you. Deep down you know that."
A reluctant smile took her lips and she took a few cautious steps toward him. He'd meant some of that last part. It was impossible not to. She was supposed to be his secret, his guilty pleasure. He missed her apartment and the idea of occupying space alongside her. There was something comforting to it, something that bordered on the kind of normalcy he had lacked for most of his life.
But much as he enjoyed it, much as he missed them having a space that was just for the two of them, he knew that no matter what had happened he would still be here. Brian Douglas would still be dead, the mob would still have hired him, Gotham would be blissfully unaware that it was on the verge of complete and utter chaos. The only difference was she was beside him instead of watching from the sidelines. Honestly, he preferred it this way.
There were arms around him suddenly and she was weeping against his coat, though that smile had not faded from her lips.
"You make me so angry sometimes." She sniffed and rested her cheek against the rough wool. "I just wanted life to stay like it was forever, you know? I loved coming home from work to find your little notes and the pots of coffee you'd make. It didn't last long enough."
Despite himself, he smiled right back at her. "We can still have that, sugar. Might be a different place and a different coffee pot, but a change of scenery never hurt anyone."
Harley shook her head. "But we can't, not really. Things can never go back to normal now."
Rolling his eyes, he fixed her with a cynical look. "Normal is a social construct, Harley. We were never gonna be normal because there's no such thing, not with me. And try as you might to pretend we could have had a boring little life where you worked at that coffee shop forever, we both know better. I've been robbing banks for the last six months, planning all of this for years. I would be up here today whether your face had been carved or not."
Her face darkened. Clearly he had said something she didn't like. And then she smiled, threw her head back and laughed good and loud. Her shoulders shook with it, her entire body seeming to relax suddenly as tilted her head toward the grey and pink stained sky.
Curiously he watched her body shake, her hands coming up to cover her stitches. Laughing seemed to tug at them, he remembered those days, but still she didn't seem able to stop. For a moment he worried that she had completely lost her mind. Wouldn't have surprised him, given her choice of company. Any girl willing to spend her time with him was bound to have a screw loose somewhere.
"So what you're saying," she said eventually, immediately drawing his attention back to her. "Is that you were going to use stolen money to be my sugar daddy."
He blinked. Twice. And then he was laughing right along with her. Of course she would find a way to make a joke of that, completely break the tension that was starting to itch at his skin.
Sharp as a knife, she was, and just as quick and deadly.
His face grew serious and pulled her close. Rested his hands on her hips, thumbs pressing against the bones that jutted there as he appraised her face. From the slight swelling of her lacerations to the humor that had yet to fade from her eyes, it was clear the anger was starting to dispel. That she was coming back to him.
Leaning down, he brushed the puckered skin of his scars against hers. The sensation made his eyes slide shut.
Matching. Mine.
Scars tugging up with his lips, he moved to nip at her ear. "Well, you know I like it when you call me daddy, sugar."
Laughter burst from her throat as she shoved playfully at his chest. "Don't you dare start that again!"
He held her tighter, pulled her to him as though trying to bury her within his flesh. "You were the one that called me your sugar daddy."
"It's a figure of speech!" When she tried to seem defiant, his fingers dug into her sides and she gasped and cackled.
Squirming in his arms, she squealed and tried to escape his fingers. It was like music to his ears. Harley – his Harley – finally sounding like her proper self again. All spark and sharp tongue and giggles at his bad jokes. All it had taken was a bad night to send her full circle, to break her away from the self-doubt those cuts had left her with, to finally make her admit that she was homesick. She wished they could go back and he could not blame her.
But now that there were here, the only way to move was forward.
Forward motion would propel them to new heights, new adventures. New coffee pot, new apartment, new day, new beginning. It was the start of something magical. Something new and rich and fresh and burning with potential that he was itching to unleash.
He glanced from Harley to the sun now nestled squarely above the buildings stretched out before them. Fingers curling around the back of her neck, he kissed her as though he meant to devour her. And this time she consumed his power and handed it back in spades. This time he knew she meant it.
The boys were listening to Outkast in the SUV, bass cranked so loud the windows shook and Zak could feel the vibrations in his chest as he leaned against the door with a cigarette poised between his lips. A grimace tugged at his mouth and he pounded a fist against the tinted window. It rolled down at a lazy pace, smoke reaching into the sweltering summer air in thick white tendrils upon descent.
Disgusted, he took a drag off his cigarette and tried to swallow rage. "Oh, Jesus, please tell me you idiots weren't hot boxing in the boss's car."
Adrian, one of the new hires, was the first to respond. Bloodshot eyes looked Zak up and down before he spat out the window and tilted his head back in defiance. "
"What? Like we're going to stand in the middle of the fuckin' street and smoke this?" The boy laughed at the seeming absurdity of the idea. "Don't be crazy, man."
Blinking a few times at the sheer amount of disrespect the boy was spewing, Zak folded his arms across his chest. This one would be dead in hours, he would make certain of it. Funny how years in the army had done that to him, completely desensitized him to the idea of death and murder. Between the army and Jack his conscience had burned and dispelled like the end of his cigarette.
Not Jack, the Joker. J, as they had decided to call him sometime back as a compromise. Someday he would break himself of that habit. Accept that his old friend had burned the name Jack Napier the moment he first donned that facepaint.
"Jack died in that fucking shack. He was gone the minute they cut my face and I can't resurrect him."
He pushed that thought away with all of his might, focused on the boy before him and that smarmy grin plastered on his pock marked face.
"Of course," Zak retorted, sarcasm so thick on his tongue he feared he would choke on it. "Best not to draw attention to yourself."
"Damn straight, old man. Boss would be angrier if we got caught, right?" Adrian lifted his chin in a way that was supposed to look intimidating, but missed by miles.
Inhaling deeply off his cigarette, Zak rolled his eyes. "Right, because the black SUV with deafening bass idling in an alley is way more subtle than the off chance a cop might smell your weed if you were out here."
"What the fuck you want us to do, man?" That was the other one. Johnny, if Zak remembered right. It didn't matter. He would be dead with the other one soon enough. These two were on this little trip specifically to be disposable if a distraction was needed.
The volume in the car increased when Zak opened his mouth to respond. Hissing through his teeth, he wrenched open the driver's side door and muted the radio with a violent slam of his palm.
"Listen, you little shitheads, we've got some fucking ground rules around here that you need to start following." There was no hiding his impatience now and smoke seeped out of the cracks in his teeth as he spoke. "Rule number one, we need to be undetectable. No loud music, no getting high in the getaway car. Common fucking sense. Rule number two, if you fail to follow rule number one either I will put a goddamn bullet between your eyes, or I will let the boss come up with some creative fucking way to dispose of you. You've seen his girlfriend's face and he likes her. What do you think he'll do to you idiots when he doesn't give two shits about you?"
That last threat made him feel a little guilty. He knew damn well that the Joker had not been the one to give Harley those stitches, but it was a convenient enough way to intimidate the idiots they were working with.
And intimidate them it did. Hell, they seemed scared sick at the very idea of the Joker being allowed to have his way with them. Not that Zak could blame them. In the addition to the stitches on Harley's cheeks, they had seen their boss lose his temper often enough to know what he was capable of. That dead body they had transported earlier that day should have been indication enough.
Speaking of…
"We've just been out here a long ass time, man. We was gettin' antsy." Johnny sucked in a breath, glancing between Zak's stern face and the city hall building. "What's the hold up?"
There was a thud, like the sound of a bird hitting a window. For a breathless moment, Zak looked up to see a body now dangling off the roof of city hall. There was a face staring back at him from at least ten stories up, dirty blonde hair whipping about in the wind. And just as quickly as it appeared, the face was gone.
A walkie-talkie on the dash crackled to life and J's voice filled the small space. "Two minutes tops."
The engine groaned as the car was thrown into gear and Zak took one last hit off his cigarette, itching to be out of downtown. Stunts like this always made him nervous. Though he knew J planned them well, though he assisted in said planning, the execution still made him nervous.
"What the hell was that?" Adrian asked, trying to crane his neck up to glance up to where the sound had come from.
From this angle, the body was a mass of black, bumping against the glass face of the building with each gust of wind. It was hard to tell the shape was even a man from here. Not that this angle mattered much to anyone. Soon all of Gotham would know about the body, about the tape that had preceded the man's death and the Joker's plans to see the city burn.
He opened the hatchback and rifled through the camera bag until he found the tape.
"Hey, Adrian." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he placed the DVD in an envelope. "You're a fast runner, right?"
Closing the hatchback, he came around to the passenger side and opened the door. Adrian looked panicked, scared even. Especially when that envelope was pressed into his palm.
"Out of the car, kiddo. Time to see if your track record holds." Self-satisfied mirth filled Zak's voice as he clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and began to urge him out of the car.
"Why do I have to run it?" Adrian sputtered, nearly dropping the envelope from his clumsy, shaking hands. "Why can't you? Why can't Johnny?"
Patiently Zak grinned, trying to look sympathetic but falling short. "Well, Johnny is driving, so he can't do it. And me? I've got better things to do."
The emergency exit of city hall burst open into the alley and Harley came barreling out, the Joker a few steps behind her. Zak opened the back door for them and watched Harley clamber inside before sliding into the passenger seat.
For a moment the Joker hung back, eyeing up the envelop in the boy's hands.
"You know what that is?" His tongue snaked across his lips and he leered forward, watching the boy shrink under his eyes.
"Y-yeah, boss." Sweat was beginning to dampen the boy's brow.
"Good, then you understand how important it is." Eyes wide in mock empathy, the Joker nodded with encouragement. And then his face went dark and he flashed the knife in his right hand. "If that tape doesn't make it to GCN, I will personally feed you your own intestines, understand?"
Without a word, the boy took off like a rocket down the street, sprinting for all he was worth toward the news building. Rolling his eyes, the Joker climbed into the back of the SUV and slammed the door as the vehicle sped off in the opposite direction.
On her last day of grad school, Harley had been told brazenly that she was not defined by her circumstances. Ironic, considering this was her last day of grad school specifically because of her circumstances, but it had stuck with her all the same. Come to be a sort of motto by which she lived her life. No matter the circumstances, she would overcome them.
She was not defined by her circumstances.
This was no different, of course. In the face of a desperate moment and bad circumstance she had acted rashly. Desperate times, desperate measures, desperate choices. Those things did not make her a bad person, they did not make her a murderer. They did not make her like him.
Him. The very man she had sacrificed a part of herself to protect.
He'd pushed her to those extremes, forced her hand until she was left with a singular choice. One play that she refused to allow under her skin no matter how desperately it tried to seep in through her pores.
The two showers she had taken over the course of the last twenty-four hours should have been enough to wash it away, but still guilt clung to her. Refused to run down the drain with the blood that blow to Brian's head spattered her with, or J's greasepaint that seemed to cling to her skin every time he touched her. Even now there was paint on her neck from where he had kissed her before heading off to crash Harvey Dent's fundraiser. She rubbed at it on instinct, unsure if she was trying to wipe it away or relish in its presence.
And the moment her fingers brushed the thick substance, she knew without a doubt it was the latter.
Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to be properly sort out her feelings toward him. After what he had forced her to do she wanted to hate him. Wanted to be sick at the very thought of him and his raucous laughter and stupid purple suit. She wanted to rip at that stringy green hair and scream at him with all her might until she her throat burst.
Just as she wanted to kiss him senseless and hold him to her until their bodies melded and became one.
She needed to scream at him, though. Needed to find the opportune moment and lay into him for cornering her as he had. It was unfair, unacceptable, and he needed to know that.
In theory she could have really gotten into it with him on the roof of city hall, had an all out yelling match when no one was around to hear. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. At the time, the little talk they had shared seemed like enough. They had admitted their mutual longing to go back to her old apartment, to share a space that belonged to them and only them. It had seemed sufficient, it had seemed like things were healing.
And then they had pulled up to a warehouse near the docks and a fresh wave of anxiety had chilled her to the bone.
This makeshift apartment was not a space that they could inhabit in a long-term sense, it was not a home for them. It was a convenient place to rest for the time being. The instability made her uncomfortable.
It turned her into a time bomb, despite how well he had treated her that day.
He'd been too kind all the way home, pulling her head against his shoulder in the backseat of the car, leading her up the stairs to their new temporary home with apologies about how it was far less grand than their previous hiding place. Then, sensing her discontent, had promptly excused himself to prepare to kill three public officials. He'd stuck his head in for a brief moment before they left, kissed her and told her to be good, left instructions about getting dinner, and left before she managed to say goodbye.
That was how she had ended up here, curled up on a threadbare couch with half-eaten boxes of Chinese takeout on the floor in front of her. The old television was on and GCN kept playing that clip of the Joker torturing Brian, and the longer she stared at the image the less real it felt. As though the entire ordeal was some bad dream. It played out over and over and with each repetition she became a bit more desensitized to it.
Even when the report shifted to a new development, the newscaster saying in a solemn voice that Judge Surrillo and Commissioner Loeb had been killed, she couldn't be bothered to care. Simply wondered why Harvey Dent's name wasn't on that list.
The question was promptly answered.
"We are receiving reports that the Joker has been sighted at Harvey Dent's fundraiser, making demands to have the DA delivered to him. The district attorney managed to escape safely. One guest was attacked, but the vigilante known as the Batman…"
Harley turned the channel.
A stream of cartoon and bad actions movies passed her glassy eyes. At some point she settled on a romantic comedy, some old nineties film about the school bad boy falling in love with the local bitch on a dare. It made her smile in its sheer absurdity, at how the main characters danced around each other for so long until one gave in. Movies like this had given her hope back in high school, back before reality set it.
Reality in the form of one particularly bad ex boyfriend. The one she would never shake, no matter how hard she tried. He had broken her in such a subtle way, done so carefully and slowly until she was completely under his spell. And even when that spell had been broken, when she had finally left him in a desperate attempt to reclaim her sense of self, she was still not the woman she had been. The past six months had not been enough to heal the damage he left and some days she feared she would never fully recover.
And perhaps that was why getting involved with J frightened her so much. After being with a man that had convinced her that she should always be the one to bend over backwards to please him, it was something she did without any real thought to her own well being. With J she had to be careful. Doing what he asked without thought to what it could do to her could prove dangerous, had already proven deadly. She knew better than to lose herself again.
A bang downstairs, something that sounded very much like a gunshot, drew her attention and she glanced over at the clock. It was after midnight. J should be home by now. And that cackle that followed the shot let her know that he was.
Speak of the devil.
Footsteps echoed up the stairs and she tried to pull herself together, to look like she had done more than mope on the couch in his absence. He was humming, muttering the words in some semblance of a tune as he opened the door to their room. His suit looked slightly mussed and she could see places where his facepaint had been smeared, nearly gone in some places.
"It's been a long time since I've rock and rolled. Been a long time since I did the Stroll. Ooooh, let me get back, let me get back…"
Smiling, she rolled her eyes at him and his horrible rendition of Led Zeppelin.
"You seem cheerful," she said, retreating farther into the crook of the couch.
"Course I'm cheerful, sugar." Grinning like a fox, he sat on the arm of the couch beside her. "You still doing alright?"
It was almost funny how quickly he abandoned the Joker persona once he was with her. Yes, it was part of him, always dwelling below the surface. In many ways it was all of him. He was the Joker.
And yet, sometimes when he was with her, he was not. Sometimes he was just J, and she was fine with that. Felt spoiled to get that little part of him that no one else even knew existed.
This was Jack as she had known him. This was the man that had first come into the coffee shop and enchanted her, made her feel something for the first time in too long. This was her little secret, one she swore she would never tell. It was too rich, too special, to share with anyone else.
For a moment she took him in, all well-fitted suit and painted face with fading green hair. He looked every bit as dangerous as she knew him to be, and yet he was grinning at her like the rising sun. Not that menacing little smirk of his, no, he was downright beaming at her. It nearly took her breath away, and when he swooped down to kiss her she allowed him to suffocate what little air she had left.
He sprawled her beneath him on the couch, stealing her air and eating up the little sounds she transferred to him. His tongue plundered her mouth, gloved hands pushed up her shirt and splayed over her skin.
It was so much so fast and she was dizzy from it. Each time she tried to draw breath he closed his lips over hers as though he meant to suffocate her. His thumb grazed her nipple and she gave an involuntary shudder as she tried and failed to gasp for air.
Too much, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
When she pushed against his chest he broke away for just a moment before going for her neck, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head. Panting for breath, she drew a long, shuddering breath through her nose. Inhaled the scent of his coat. All the gunpowder, gasoline, sweat, and…something else. Something subtle and floral with hints of vanilla.
Perfume.
Winter overtook her insides and she pushed hard at his shoulders, any heat he had been building within her vanishing completely. The sleeve of his coat smelled like perfume, expensive perfume at that. At some point during that party he had been close enough to a woman to come home smelling like her.
His tongue swept over her jaw and she hissed as though burned. "Stop."
Barely lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"
Throat tight and heart pounding, she attempted to retreat further into the couch. "I said stop it!"
A very strange surge of jealousy shot through her and she shoved him off of her completely. What if he had cheated? He'd been gone long enough, there was plenty of time to hook up with some rich floozy at the fundraiser. It made her sick to even think about, had her eyes tearing before logical thought could intercept the stray train her thoughts had taken.
One last shove at his shoulders and she was sitting up, kneeling on the couch to get in his face. "If you think you can stay out all night at some swanky party fucking Gotham's elite and then come home to fuck me too, you're in for some massive disappointment."
The lines of his face became more noticeable as he frowned at her, brow knitting in confusion. "Fucking Gotham's… You realize that is a figure of speech, right, sweetheart?"
Another slow inhale meant to calm her nerves had her once again inhaling that floral scent and it nearly made her sick. "A figure of speech didn't get perfume on your jacket, fucker. Who was she?"
He laughed then. Actually threw back his head and cackled at the ceiling as Harley tried to get up from the couch. Immediately the smile faded from his face and he caught her with a quick hand, pushing her back against the cushions.
"I haven't been fucking anyone else, sugar." With measured patience, he sighed and tried thumb her hair away from her face. "We've talked about this. No one else wants me, just you."
That didn't sit well with her. His phrasing seemed off. After all, he had been in full form at that party, had even threatened an old man according to the reports. The girl he fucked may not have wanted him, but that didn't mean he didn't want her. That thought alone was enough to nearly make her sick.
"She didn't have to want you." She felt heat rise to her face, insides twisting painfully as she gave life to that thought. "All you needed to do was bend her over one of those nice catering tables…"
"You shut the fuck up right now." That tone left no room for argument and he was on his feet in a flash, beginning to pace the floor in front of the television. "I have no idea what the hell has gotten into you or what the fuck you are on about, but I reeeeeaalllyyyyy don't like it."
Her eyes burned and logic began catching her ridiculous allegations. Perhaps she had been overreacting, perhaps it had been her imagination. But she couldn't stop now, not when she had already made this mess. All of her rage and insecurity from earlier came rearing up and suddenly she felt ready to blow everything they had built to shit around them.
"I just want to know why the hell you were getting cozy with some chick at Harvey Dent's party when you couldn't even get your hands on Harvey Dent." It was barely more than a whisper, but from the way his head snapped in her direction she knew he had heard. "The sleeve of your coat still smells like her perfume."
He made a bitter sound that could have been laughter. "Fuck you for even implying… Christ! I'm a lot of things, Harley, but rapist isn't one of them. I threatened the, uh, the Dawes girl that Harvey has been shacking up with. Got real close and held a knife to her, hoping to draw out Dent. Didn't work, but it did get Batman's attention." His hand went to his side for just a moment and prodded carefully, shrugging before going on. "So, yes, I got close enough to Rachel Dawes to threaten her, told her a nice little story that you inspired about how I got my scars, and then I threw her out a window. But I promise I didn't fuck her or anyone else at that party."
Harley snorted and allowed her tongue to run away with her. "Well, at least you draw the line somewhere."
Hands shaking in rage reached toward her before his fingers curled unevenly into palms. Immediately she regretted those words, but anger refused to allow her to apologize. No, she wasn't sorry, wasn't anywhere near it.
Shoulders hunched and head tilted, he began removing his top layers of clothing. "You're testing my patience, Harley."
Testing his patience? She nearly laughed at the way it made her bristle to hear that. Was she supposed to feel bad for testing his patience when he had pushed her hard enough to kill a man? She wanted to push back. Wanted to see just how completely she could break him for what he had made her do.
"What are you going to do?" The challenge settled in the air like static behind him. "Crush my head with a sledgehammer like I did to that poor fuck in the slaughterhouse? Or maybe you'll finish what Victor Zsasz started and slit my throat? Or maybe you'll throw me out a window too! Huh? I'm not fucking scared of you, Jack!"
In three long strides he was back to her, hands clad in those purple gloves and his shirt sleeves rolled up. "Don't call me that. You know better than that."
Chin raised stubbornly, she narrowed her eyes. "What? Am I pushing you too far, Jack?"
Sarcasm dripped off her words and it hardly surprised her when he bent down to leer over her, hot breath wafting over her face. Even with his makeup she swore she could see his face turning red, the creases in his forehead deepening as black eyes pinned her in place.
"You are really starting to piss me off, Harley." His voice was thick and low, seeping over her skin like mud.
She laughed in his face, quick and bitter. "I. Don't. Care. Jack."
Those deceptively strong hands gripped the collar of her shirt and hoisted her off the couch to spin her around. With measured patience he took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself. There was no way in hell she was allowing that to happen.
"Come on." The dare came from somewhere deep within her, some black pit where her self-preservation should have been. "What are you going to do, Jack? Hit me? Come on! I want you to do it! Fucking hit me!"
He drew in a shaking breath. "Stop calling me that, Harley."
At his sides, his hands were curled into fists. She was getting to him now and it only egged her on. Abandoning all sense, she lunged forward and shoved him.
Or, at least, she meant to.
On reflex he grabbed her wrists and forced her back against the wall, holding her arms on either side of her head. Her teeth gnashed and she tried to lash out at him.
"Coward," she spat. "Didn't even have the guts."
Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he drew her hands together above her head and pinned them in place with one hand. The other came to rest on her clavicle, leather-clad thumb teasing at the idea of pressing into her throat.
"It's not about guts, Harrrleeeyyy." Licking his lips, he surveyed the trail of her arms and traced them down to the hand at her neck. "It's about knowing when someone is trying to push your buttons, trying to make you do things you'll regret. You seem awfully good at that today, don't you?"
With a grimace, he adjusted his body to block any escape she may attempt. It just added fuel to her fire, had her squirming against him in attempts to have another go at shoving him. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to bite and claw and pull at his hair until he understood the war raging in her mind.
"Now you." Those black eyes darted across her face and his tongue snaked out to poke at the scar on his bottom lip. "You are just begging for trouble because you're angry with me. You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or that pret-ty lit-tle mouth of yours could have gotten you in deep trouble." That hand moved to grip her throat, pressing just hard enough to limit her air. "Wouldn't want that now, uh, would we?"
Glowering at him, she lifted her head and spat in his face. "Fuck. You."
Saliva dripped down his cheek as he barred his teeth in a grin. "That's what I thought."
That pressure got worse. Suddenly she was gasping for air, fighting against the hand restricting her airway. She had been waiting for this, for him to get properly angry with her. They were equal now. Both tangled in rage and hate and love…
Love.
Funny how attaching that word to her feelings for him had seemed like such a stretch. She recognized it now that it was staring at her head on. All of the hate and anger, it was all a front. A wall she had put up to protect herself from this man, the way he made her heart race and lit her insides up with swarms of butterflies every time he looked at her right. Love was terrifying, love was something she had sworn herself away from after it had led her astray a few too many times.
But she recognized it, knew without a sliver of a doubt that she was falling in love with the man holding her to that wall.
Struggling for breath, she wriggled her wrists in his hand. Tried harder than ever to escape that revelation and put space between them.
The muscles in the arm holding her wrists flexed beneath the skin. It made her lick her lips as she glanced from that arm back to his face. They were nearly pressed against each other, his body heat radiating straight into her. And now not only did she realize she was in love with him, but this position they were in was starting to turn her on.
He was teasing her, trying to seem threatening while not actually doing anything to harm her. After all, he was making certain she still had enough give in her throat to breathe, simply wanted to see what she would do when he pinned her. And somehow knowing the most dangerous man in Gotham would never actually harm her had her nearly melting at his touch.
All of his strength and power and that awful sense of humor, somehow it was exactly what she wanted, what she needed. He was the perfect cocktail of destruction, the kind of man she had craved on lonely nights in that shithole apartment. It was no wonder she had welcomed him into her life with open arms, clung to him like a life raft, and now found herself drowning in the realization that she had fallen hard enough to be dizzy from it.
"Jack…" Her throat strained at the name and she saw the way it made him twitch.
"Ah-ah, none of that. I'm sick of you saying that name. See, Harley, this is why you don't want to make me angry." His voice had taken on that sickly-sweet tone, made her eyes snap up to his. Those black holes had returned, drew her in with all their gravity and horror. She was lost to them instantly. "And I'm not really angry with you, sugar. I just want you to realize what a waste of air those little threats of yours were. No sense in wasting perfectly good air, hmm? Because now that you have to work for it, it's a little harder to think of nasty things to say. I like the fight you've got in ya, but you've got to have something worth fighting for." He grinned, sharing a slow deliberate breath with her. "Now, I'm going to let go and you're going to say something nice or fight with me about something worthwhile, understand?"
Though she wasn't certain she agreed, she nodded all the same. His hand fell away from her throat to rest against her collarbone. Immediately she gasped for breath, her head growing light and her knees weak. That odd scent of his filled her lungs, the lingering floral gone with his coat, and she felt her breathing hitch. She was aware of their closeness once again. Aware of his breath against her neck and the dampness between her legs.
He moved again and she could feel his hard length against her thigh. Either he was still turned on from earlier, or this was getting him hot too. Maybe both. It didn't matter.
"Fuck, J." It left her lips in a shuddering breath and she moved her hips in search of friction.
His mouth opened as though he intended taunt her and then he paused. Those black orbs searched her face again as a grin took his lips. "Haaarleey. Are you turned on, sugar?"
Cocking his head to the side, he leaned close and nipped at her ear. Immediately she melted into him, a moan escaping on her breath. His hand left her neck to move down her torso with careful precision. Brushed against her breast, roamed over her ribs, and came to rest between her thighs.
"Awfully hot." A quiet chuckle ghosted over her skin. "Do you like when I'm a little rough with you?"
She wanted to deny it. Wanted to pretend like rage still consumed her, like this was a clever ruse to get free. But the longer they stood pressed together, that closeness became all she could focus on.
There was still violence in her fingertips, rage burning in her stomach. But all of it was manifesting into raw lust. Became an insistent need to claim him as her own, to ruin him to any other woman. To erase all doubt in her mind that he was hers and only hers.
"Haaarrleeeeeyy, I asked you a question." His grip on her wrists tightened as he began kissing her neck. "Do you like it when I'm rough with you, sugar?"
His teeth grazed her flesh and she gasped and writhed beneath him. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."
When he smiled against her neck she could feel the mutilated skin of his scars curving. "Mmmmm. How rough do you like it?"
She had no idea how to answer that, no grasp on what her limits were. All she knew was that, for so much of her life, she had craved been forced to deal with more than she was comfortable with. Had been wound tight with stress and anxiety and responsibility, and she just wanted to forget. Being dominated had always been high on her list on kinks because it seemed the logical way for someone to take all the weight and responsibility from her.
And right now, with him pinning her arms above her head and pressing up against her, she wanted nothing more than to trust him. To willingly hand over that control and let him prove that he deserved her affection.
"I asked you a question, sweetheart." That hand between her legs pressed hard against the seam of her jeans. Hard enough that she could feel the full force of his fingers through the fabric. "Tell daddy how rough you like it."
Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated huff. "Never gonna call you daddy."
His lips ghosted over her stitches. "Stop avoiding the question."
She sighed in response. The few other sexual partners she had been with were all quite boring in their tastes. Same few positions, hair pulling was a rare treat, biting and clawing nearly out of the question. She'd never been with a man like J and she had no idea where to even begin.
"I don't know," she replied at length. "I…I've only ever fantasized about it. Never had a guy that was into…anything, really. Last boyfriend was vanilla as they come."
His attempt to bite back a smile failed and he stared her down like a shark that had smelled blood. "Vanilla men, addicted to missionary. Where's the fun in that?" He snorted at the very idea and pressed against her hard enough to let her feel his arousal. "But you have fantasized about better things, so clearly you like it. Tell me, sugar, what do you fantasize about? You want me to tie you up? Spank you for being naughty? Whatever you want, first thing that comes to mind."
That question sent her mind reeling. Dozens of things she had never tried popped into her mind too quick to put into coherent thoughts. Should he tie her up? Maybe blindfold her? She was near certain she didn't want him to actually slap her, but spanking didn't seem out of the question. A lot of people were into that.
"Fuck, Harley, I can see the gears in your brain turning." Though he laughed, his face didn't light up with it. "Stop over thinking things. Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. What do you want me to do to you?"
Frowning, she tried to process that question for a moment.
Shaking his head, he pressed his forehead against hers. "First thing that comes to mind, sugar. It ain't rocket science. Tell me where to start and we can ex-per-im-ent from there."
"I want you to fuck me against the wall." The response was almost immediate and surprised them both. "I…I want you to take control. I trust you to figure out what I like."
The thought seemed to make him shudder and his eyes rolled shut as he nodded. When he looked at her again, something in those black holes seemed to change. His tongue prodded at his scars as he began unbuttoning her jeans.
"A whole list of kinky shit to choose from, and you go for a dirty fuck against the wall." It seemed to amuse him and he grinned as he began to push down her pants.
When he let go of her hands and she immediately began to loosen his tie. Shaking his head, he grabbed her wrists and pushed them away.
"Did I say you could do that, sugar?" Though his voice was teasing, there was an unmistakable edge to it.
"No."
"No." Wetting his lips, he sunk to his knees in front of her, leading her jeans and panties to the floor. "See, if you're going to give me control, you need to learn to do as I say."
Chuckling at the very idea, she shook her head. "Fat chance."
For a moment he glanced up from removing his gloves, the idea of a smile playing at his lips. "We'll see."
Fingers trailed lightly up her leg as he rose to his feet. For a moment they hovered above the damp hair between her legs. A smirk tugged at his scars and she watched the paint crack around the expression.
Two fingers entered her so quickly she thought her knees would give out. It drew a cry from her lips and her hands gripped helplessly at the wall behind her. For a moment he paused, allowing her body to adjust and accommodate him. And once she had, he was using those to fingers to fuck her mercilessly.
His thumb moved and bumped her clit as he pressed and curled those fingers into her. Cursing and moaning, she gripped his hair despite the noise of protest that he made. It didn't matter, she didn't care, because he was thirty seconds him touching her and she was already seeing stars. If they kept up like this, he would send her over the edge in a matter of minutes.
"Now, there is a catch to this, sweetheart." That sickening-sweet voice drew her half-lidded eyes to his. "You're only allowed to come once tonight."
She struggled to understand what he was telling her through the sensations coursing through her. "What?"
"I'm only going to let you come once." And just as suddenly as those fingers had entered her, they were gone. "We're gonna do it together, though, don't worry. I was just getting you warmed up."
Practically dizzy from the speed at which things had picked up, Harley heard the cling of metal and rustling of fabric. It took her a moment to process that his pants and boxers were around his ankles. A warm hand came to grip her upper thigh, making her breathing hitch.
Licking his lips, he gripped the other thigh as well. "Alright, sugar, put your arms around my neck."
Without hesitation, she complied. Wrapped her arms around him and felt her heart rate pick up as he lifted her. Long, slender legs wrapped around his waist on instinct as he lined them up and shuddered as he entered her.
The moment her hips rolled to take him in further, her mouth latched onto his. Kissed him until the strain on her stitches made her face ache, until she was tracing those red-stained scars with her tongue and reveling in the taste of greasepaint. It made him sigh and groan against her skin, all while their hips found rhythm together. And once they had, he was easily moving against her, filling her and making her moan against his skin at an almost lazy pace.
But neither of them would be satisfied with a slow grind against the wall, not really. Not when her fingernails were digging into the back of his neck and she was trying to encourage him to move faster each time she undulated against him. The moment he complied, she gritted her teeth and hissed against them.
"You like that?" The strain of holding her came through in his voice.
"Yes!" Unfocused eyes searched his face as she gave him a weak smile.
"Is this what you wanted?" He moved their bodies back and slammed her against the wall.
Her answering cry had him grinning and running his tongue against the shell of her ear. Each thrust was met seamlessly, her breath heavy against his neck. Each time he pulled back and crashed forward, she answered in kind. Made certain to grind her clit against him and closed her eyes when stars began to return to her vision.
It was almost sweet, the way that fleeting moment of pain mixed with the sensations coursing through her the moment her back hit the wall. This was even better than she had imagined it, she decided. Even with the strain of holding onto him and the way her muscles burned with each movement. They would both be thoroughly exhausted by the end of this and she wondered vaguely if she was interrupting any plans he had for the night.
The thought almost made her laugh, had her smiling against his neck as she bit back giggles. After the fuss he had caused at the fundraiser tonight, she was certain there was a whole mess of things he should be seeing to.
The man that had just killed the commissioner and one of the most respected judges in the city, the man who crashed Harvey Dent's fundraiser and worked the city's elite into an absolute terror, was now whispering her name like a secret against her skin. His greasepaint covered her neck, her face, and trailed in patches down her arms. Patches of skin were becoming exposed on his face, the colors of his face bleeding oddly into the white paint.
One of her hands moved to his face, her thumb sweeping along his jawline and taking paint with it. He didn't pay it any mind, just groaned and let his eyes slip shut to focus solely on her touch. Her palm pressed against his cheek, thumb tracing the uneven ridges of his scar. A quiet sound of approval egged her on and soon she was cupping his face in her hands as she kissed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, the paint began to fade and she found the man beneath.
It didn't all come away, stubborn bits of red and white clung to the crevices of his face and the black around his eyes seemed a permanent fixture. But the idea was there, his skin showing through paint in uneven patches. Greasepaint covered her hands now, mixed in swirls of red and white with her pale skin.
He was a part of her now, painted and stained across her skin and transferred to everything she touched. And that was how it had to be.
Their eyes met for a brief moment and she swore he read her mind. Could see every thought laid out like a map around her insides and through her soul. His teeth barred against that vulnerable way she saw him and he pushed into her with a vengeance for it.
This was what he had been craving all along, this merciless pace and his fingers gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She cursed and screamed and took everything he had for her like it was a gift. Her muscles tightened around him each time she drew him in, made him curse and spit right back at her, whispering things in her ear that would have been vile if he'd been capable of making them intelligible.
Fingernails clawed at his shoulders, curled into his hair and pulled. His breath was coming fast, sweat making his shirt cling to his torso like a second skin. Eventually holding her on his own became too much and he crushed her against the wall, grinding against her and eating up the way she moaned in approval with her mouth against his.
With the slight shift of position, she readjusted her weight and began to use the wall as support. Leaned her shoulders against it and dug her heels into his back. Her skin felt heavy and too warm, like a prison for the ecstasy she was on the verge of. Just a bit more and she would break out of it completely, burn straight through her skin and take him with her. They could burn in her flames together and she was certain he would thank her for it.
"Getting close, sugar?" It sounded like he was trying to taunt her, though exhaustion saturated his breath.
"Mmmmhmmm." She threw her head back against the wall and held him like an anchor.
His head rested against the wall next to hers, turning just enough to let his lips brush against her jaw. She could hear the way his breath was catching, picked up just how close he was to losing himself. Memorized the skin she had exposed beneath his paint and the way the colors all bled together in the places they still clung.
This was hers, only hers. Only she was allowed to share these moments with him. It had been stupid to think he would give another woman the privilege of holding him close and seeing him vulnerable. Still she craved that assurance, needed to hear him say it.
"You'll only fuck me like this, right, J?" Though the words came out in haggard breaths, he latched onto them all the same.
"Only you, sugar." And he nipped at her skin for good measure as her fingernails dug into his scalp. "Never gonna be anyone else."
"And – ah, fuck – I promise it's only you." Her forehead rested against his, her entire body clinging to him. "No one else. Not ever."
"I'll kill 'em if they try."
It wasn't a joke and they both knew it, but she grinned anyway. His breath was humid against her neck, each panting exhale making her infinitely more aware of exactly what she was doing to him. Encouraged her to push those heels into his back and draw him into her as completely as possible. Held him there and moved against him, lighting up her insides with fire.
A stream of curses were hissed against her neck as his muscles went rigid and his fingernails dug into her thighs. With a satisfied grin she realized that she'd made him come first, that for all his talk she had still managed to outlast him.
And ultimately it was that satisfaction that sent her spiraling after him. The next movement of his hips ripped her mind completely from her body. Had her burying her face in his shoulder as she cursed and screamed. Fire consumed her, made her burn in his arms like a phoenix on the edge of rebirth. Her lips caressed any trace of exposed skin she could find as she struggled to continue holding herself up against the way her entire body shuddered through the waves of pure flame lighting her up.
Her insides turned to ash as those waves subsided. Had her crumbling against him and she felt herself begin to slip down the wall.
"Can't stay up." Even as she said it, her legs were going slack around him.
He grunted words she didn't quite understand as he eased out of her and stepped back. On unsteady legs he took a few steps back, making certain her legs would hold her before allowing her to stand on her own. With shaking knees, she stumbled over to the bed across the room and allowed it to catch her as she collapsed.
A moment later he was next to her, their breath still heavy, limbs sweat-drenched and shaking. His arm fell across her stomach and he pulled her close, nuzzling against her neck.
"Was that everything you wanted, sugar?" Hearing him so out of breath and completely sated made her grin.
"Yeah." She nodded and gulped in all the air she could manage. "Hell of a workout."
Even his laugh was weak. "Yep. Just wait til next time. Think I'll tie you up."
She smiled despite herself. "Only if I get a safe word."
"I think you've already got one, sweetheart." A light hand brushed the hair away from her face and she looked over at him.
"Do I?" Breath began to come more evenly, her voice gaining some strength.
"Jack." The name rolled off his tongue like acid. "You call me Jack and I can guar-an-tee I'll stop whatever the hell I'm doing."
Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "But you don't like it. I don't want to call you something you don't like."
Shrugging, he caught her eyes. "I don't like it because it's not who I am anymore. When you say it, it's…different. You're not calling me Jack because of memories of the soldier I was, you're saying it because I told you it was my name. Shouldn't have done that. But I can't seem to stop you, so I think this is a good use for it."
"I like it." Her thumb traced across his lips and up his scarred cheek. "Certainly easy to remember."
"Yeah, well, hopefully this way I'll hear it less."
Though she tensed for a moment, fearing that he would come to hate the name even more if she used it, she couldn't help liking this agreement. The chuckle he gave put her at ease and she rolled to lie on her back again.
Silence spread between them, broken only by his breath in her ear. Exhaustion was making her feel too heavy, her eyes closing no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. Sleep would claim her soon and she only hoped he would follow. After nearly two days without sleep and endless running, he was bound to be even more sleep-deprived than she.
"We fit, you know." His voice was warm and she did her best to look at him, though her eyes remained half-lidded. "The Joker and the Harlequin. It makes sense. Nobody's ever fit me like you do."
For a moment she was confused, not entirely certain how he had put those things together. And then she remembered that day at the coffee shop when she had told him her name. When she had admitted that she'd like to take her mother's maiden name and he commented on how the name could be switched about. Leave it to him to allow that name to stick with him through everything they'd done.
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You know Quinzel isn't my real last name."
"Not legally, no. But you'll always be Harley Quinzel to me, sugar. Harley Quinn would be one hell of a sidekick name."
That made her laugh right out, her spent lungs protesting and making her cough.
"Are you shitting me?" Try as she might, she couldn't manage to look cynical through her giggles. "Sidekick? What happened to partner in crime?"
He snickered, ghosting kisses against her jaw. "Fine, partner in crime."
Smiling broadly, she rolled on her side to face him. "You going to get me a fancy suit like yours?"
His lips moved to trace her stitches almost reverently. "Nah, I'll get you a sexy jester costume. Something skin tight to show off your tits and ass. Nobody will even put up a fight if you try to rob a bank like that."
Turning her head, she caught him in a kiss. "But you said yourself that I don't have bank robbing in me."
Even through sleep she could see those black eyes start to burn. "We're way passed bank robbing, anyway, sugar. I know what else you've got in you."
A flash of brain matter had her scooting away from him, but he caught her and held her against him. As though he sensed her stomach turning, he shushed her and shook his head.
"I won't ask you to do it again, I promise. And I'm a man of my word." Warm hands held her like an anchor, brought her back to him and erased the horrors of her mind. "Anything you do from here on out you do because you want to."
Though she tried to smile up at him, it was lost in a yawn. "Right now, I really want to sleep."
"Then go to sleep, sugar." He kissed her one last time gentle enough to steal her breath.
Their fingers laced against her stomach and she closed her eyes, feeling perfectly at ease with the world. She was in love with the Joker and she was absolutely certain that, in his own strange way, he loved her right back.
