Chapter Nine

She wouldn't speak the rest of the night.

Not until J carried her from the car into their home did she regain consciousness, and she could feel it, the blood that spotted her face, that deep crimson that dyed her knees and her dress, blemishing her shoes, her palms, her elbows. The smell was so strong, the sweet metallic scent filling her nostrils and lingering there, refusing to leave, to let her smell anything else but its revolting odor.

Tears prickled at her eyes while she pressed her face against his shoulder, as he carried her inside and to their bathroom. She refused to look at him as he placed her on top of the sink, removing her shoes, then lifting her dress off of her. Harley kept her gaze low, tears concealed as they pecked at her eyes. She couldn't look at him, but he made her look at him. Grabbing her chin, he lifted her gaze to him, with an eerie uneasy gentleness. Their eyes locked and for the first time she felt it. She felt pure hatred. A scowl took over her face as his stare penetrated into her being. It was as if he wanted her to hate him, was tantalizing her. At that moment she hated him so much, with such a pure bellowing repulsion. She hated him so much that her hands curled into fists and lightly she began to tremble. Even as he wiped the blood off her skin with a towel, she imagined herself killing him. And for the first time that night a sense of loathing joy pounded at her chest as she engaged the fantasy.

As they laid in bed in the darkness of the night, he tried to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and bring her close to him. She refused his affection repeatedly. Was he rewarding her? Was he proud of her accomplishment? His touch felt like burnt coal and she pushed him away each time he made an advance. After several attempts he had given up silently, turning his back to her.

She laid for an hour in near silence, the only audible noise was his light breathing beside her. She stayed there lost in a parade of thoughts, preventing her from sleeping. She could still hear Alexandra's voice, begging for her life, could still feel the bat in her hand, her fingers still sore from her harsh grip on the wood. And her actions replayed themselves over and over in her mind-the swinging, the frenzy of swings she took at her.

As she remembered, her eyes closed shut in agony and distress, her body curling into a ball, while tears stung inside her eyes. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't make a sound. But she could feel the horrible pain in her heart. And there she realized it was not him she truly hated, but herself.

Silently, she rose from the bed, going to the bathroom. As she closed the door and turned on the light, she stared at her reflection. She could still see a few specks of blood on her face. Her makeup was messily washed off, eyeliner smeared under her eyes. She could feel an uncomfortable breeze travel up her short nightgown. For a long moment she gazed at the mirror, tears streaming down her face, silently shuddering as she grasped onto the corners of the sink. With her heavy breathing, her shoulders lifted and fell. She did not recognize the person she saw in the mirror. She didn't know who she was supposed to be now, but she did not want to be this thing he was trying to create. She could not allow him to turn her into a monster.

Violently she shook her head at the thought, shutting her eyes as the misery of the situation took hold of her. "No," she whispered. "No...I won't let this happen."

She felt her body crumble, collapsing to the floor, curling underneath herself as she buried her face in her knees. "I won't let this happen," she sobbed again, and there she lifted her head and wiped her eyes, her face distorting into a dire expression.

Swiftly she stood and exited the bathroom, the bedroom, walking down the hallway until she entered his office. The door creaked as it opened, and there was an uncanny serenity as she walked into the darkness. The cold air hit her skin, she could still feel the ache in her wounded foot. Straight to his desk she walked, seating herself on his chair, remaining there for a moment taking deep, audible breaths.

Small droplets began to taint the wood of the table. She allowed them to fall mercilessly from her eyes. The scent of his cologne lingered in the room, and she could feel his energy, his presence. It drove her mad, insane. It made her want to kill again, want to do anything to make him happy. It made her despicably sick.

Heaving a loud sigh through her nose, she hastily opened one of the drawers, one in particular she had remembered from that afternoon. Her heart stopped when she noticed the untouched contents. There remained the hand gun, shinning a bright silver in the darkness. It almost looked like jewelry to her. As she picked it up by the handle, she licked her lips, holding it close to her, looking at the weapon with coinciding fear and lust.

She was sobbing uncontrollably now, yet silently, as tears fled her eyes in thick layers. Lifting the gun, she closed her eyes and pressed the tip against her temple. It felt soothing on her skin, like a cool, affectionate touch. Yet, she could barely hold it steadily as a mad tremor took over her entire body, the gun unsteady in her grip, the metal tickling her head.

Whimpers evaded her mouth now, her eyes closing even harder, her body shaking more feverishly.

This was not the life she wanted.

This was not the life she was promised.

This was not the person she wanted to be. She would not become this person. She would not let him mold her into his image.

She had seen only a glimpse of his true form, and it was enough to scare her away forever.

And with a deep breath, she positioned her index finger at the trigger.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Instantly her eyes burst open, gasping as she repositioned the gun to aim ahead of her. There she saw J's silhouette against the door. He stood there dreamily, leaning against the entrance rather casually, his arms folded at his naked chest. The darkness emphasized his sleek angular jaw, the depth of his deep eyes, the arch of his brow bone.

She was still shaking, still crying, and she flicked the gun, making sure he was well aware she was pointing directly at him.

"Leave me alone, Mistah J!" she spat out, her voice cracking. "I'm gona do this and you ain't gona stop me!"

He chuckled however, lowly, lightly. "Are you really that weak, Harley? You really gona blow your brains out over a person you didn't even know?"

"She didn't deserve to die!"

"Shit happens, Harley! It's a part of this lifestyle!"

She stiffened as he began to approach her now, her grip on the gun tightening as she held the handle with both hands. He leaned before her, pressing his elbows on the opposing end of the desk. She could feel his hot breath hitting her skin.

Looking him directly in the eye, she brought the gun back to her head, her lips trembling. "I don't want to be part of this life," she retorted shakily.

"You made a choice." His stare was deadly, as his gaze never left hers.

"I didn't make any choices!" she yelled, digging the gun into her flesh as a hysteria took over her. "You made all my choices! You fried my brains and threw me in the tank! You ruined my life and fucked me up! I didn't have a choice! You lied to me! And because I loved you I followed you like a fucking idiot!"

She motioned to pull the trigger, pursing her lips, but he could only laugh.

"Well if you're so serious about it, then do it," he taunted her, reaching his finger and placing it securely at her forehead. "End your miserable life. For the first time tonight I was proud of ya. But it looks like I was wrong about you, Harley. Because you're weak. So just do me a favor and off yourself so I can get some sleep."

Deep in the pit of her soul did she feel her rage burn. At that moment she felt a pure blithering abhorrence. She saw his face grinning at her and she wanted to destroy him. There her trembling stopped, and the tears ceased to fall. With a quick, firm hand she flipped the gun from the side of her head and pressed it onto the center of his forehead.

"I'll kill you first," she spat, her hatred towards him pouring from her glare. "Do the world a fucking favor."

He chuckled again however, unphased by the weapon threatening him. Instead, he rested his cheek against his palm.

"You think you'll be a fucking hero?" he chortled. "You filthy fucking murderer."

"I'll be a fucking saint! A martyr! And you'll just be a dead fucking clown!"

"Oh, shut up, Harley. Just shut up. Do you hear the shit you're saying? Stop making yourself the fucking victim. You ain't no victim, sweetheart. The second you decided to bust me out of Arkham you became one of us."

"You lied to me! You told me we would be together!"

"Well, looky here! We are together! One sweet happy couple!"

"Not like this!" The sobs came back to her, as she began to weep mercilessly, crumbling before him. "Not like this, Mistah J!"

Her finger smoothed over the trigger, trembling there for a moment. "This is the only life I can give you," he whispered to her, as a thick glassiness consumed her eyes. "This is the only life I know. If you love me, you'll just suck it up and grow some fucking balls."

Even to his surprise, she then stood from the chair, a peculiar smile tugging at her lips. "If I love you?" she mocked him, laughing as she wiped at the wetness on her face with her forearm. "If I fucking love you?"

Climbing onto the desk, she kneeled before him, taking the gun and smashing it against his jaw. His neck turned sharply from the impact.

"Harley, if you love me you'll jump into the tank!" she screamed, hitting him again, jamming the weapon on his forehead. The blow sent him onto the ground, landing on his rear. Jumping off the desk, she landed on top of him, straddling him.

"Harley if you love me, you'll kill this lady for me, because I'm too big of a bitch to do it myself!"

She elbowed him powerfully into his stomach, in which he grunted. A passionate lunacy had overtaken her now, as she kept hitting him over and over again, pounding the gun into his head. However, a smirk had curved his lips as blood dripped from his mouth.

"That's enough," he choked, overpowering her as he grabbed her shoulders and threw her down, her head hitting the wooden floors painfully. He struggled to take the gun from her grasp, but succeeded, now having her at his mercy.

"I've had it with your outburst," he bellowed, clutching her neck and lifting her body to meet his gaze. His face was bloodied and bruised, his breath boiling her flesh. He squeezed her neck tighter, causing her to gasp.

"Now you're gona get up, beg for my forgiveness, and go back to fucking bed. Do you understand me?"

She stared at him coldly, gasping for breath.

"Well do you?"

Instead of answering, she kneed him in the chest and smashed her forehead against his.

He grunted, the blow sending the both of them back. Harley attempted to stand, but he grabbed her leg and pulled her to him, in which she kicked him in his abdomen. He fought through her strikes at him, however, finally grabbing her and slapping her cheek with such a force she saw absolute blackness for a long moment.

"Fuck you, J! Fuck you to hell!"

He hit her again, and she groaned from the pain. She felt the palm of his hand strike at her jaw once more, and then his fist crash against her nose. Keeping a muffled cry trapped in her throat, she closed her eyes shut, waiting for him to continue to pummel her, clenching her body beneath him in preparation for the pain.

But instead he kissed her, deeply, passionately, the blood from his mouth leaking into hers. And though her first instinct was to fight him off her, instead she moaned into his embrace, trapping her arms around him, her legs clutching at his hips. The gun had clamored onto the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room. She hadn't forgotten why she was upset, and she still very much cared. But the brutality had caused her body to be hot and ravenous, and too quickly did they remove their clothes and give into their manic heated desires.

She felt him fill her and she moaned loudly beneath him, extending her neck, bending her knees. He moved inside her with such a satisfying roughness that she felt her first climax arrive almost immediately, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest as her center began to burn with a euphoric glorious passion. Her moan left her mouth in a shriek, her entire body quivering, while her center throbbed in pure satisfaction.

A grunt evaded her throat as he picked her up to her feet, spinning her body around and throwing her face onto his desk, her cheek pressed against his notes as she bent over the table. Her fingers dug into the wood of the desk as he entered her from behind, thrusting into her brutally, angrily, powerfully. It hurt and yet it felt so horribly wonderfully, hitting the perfect spot inside her, causing her to burst into a nonstop series of deep throaty moans, screaming his name, burying her face on the table as she became absolutely immersed in the ecstasy of the moment.

Her climax came to her in long intense session, consuming her core and radiating throughout her body. It was an explosion of pure uninterrupted pleasure, and the harder he moved inside her, the bigger and stronger it grew, until it evolved into a feeling she could no longer handle, her body shaking and consumed by a tremor. Screams were fleeing from her now, her fists pounding on the desk. She was screaming and the high was not disintegrating but growing stronger and beautifully chaotic.

She felt him grab hold of her hips, turning her around and lifting her so she sat on his desk. Sweat dripped from both their bodies, their breaths heavy and uncontrollable. Their eyes met and Harley parted her lips as he grappled her knees and pulled them apart, her center pulsating and leaking wetness. When he pressed himself inside her again, her back arched as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She tried to moan but no sound came out. Slipping his arms around her, he held her close to him, as she entangled hers around his neck, holding him as securely as she could.

She could feel his sweat mix with her own, their bodies sliding against each other. Her mouth pressed against the side of his neck, her tongue glossing over his wet warm skin. She jerked at every intense thrust, felt his fingers dig into her shoulder blades as a manic passion took over him, moving swifter and more frenzied within her. The desk began to shake, and more screams left her throat. As he reached his own magnificent finish, they held onto each other closely, securely, and even after he groaned and ended inside her, they remained in that position, in that sticky sweaty embrace, the sounds of their breaths uniting and creating their own elegant rhythm.

She hugged him harder, and after a moment he returned the gesture, squeezing her as well. And there he picked her up and carried her back to their bed, placing her down gently. She laid flat on her back, staring blankly at the ceiling, a light breeze hitting her naked body, causing her nipples to pucker.

When she felt his weight fill the space next to her, she sighed, leaving them in silence for a while.

"J," she whispered.

"Yes Harley."

"Sorry I beat the shit out of you."

He paused. "No, you didn't."

"Yea. I kind of did."

She heard him sigh as well, and could sense his annoyance. When he didn't respond, she turned on her side to look at him. He laid just as she was, hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

"Well? Ain't you gona apologize for beating the shit out of me?"

He didn't even look at her. "No. I don't ever apologize. Ever."

A frown curved her lips, and she found herself turning her back to him and nestling against her pillow. After a while, she felt him snuggle up against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back to him. This time she didn't push him away.

"Hey J," she began again quietly.

"Yes." She felt his breath hit her ear.

"Will I have to kill more innocent people like that?"

He didn't answer her immediately, while he sighed against her hair. "Not too many. But sometimes it's mandatory. Do you understand, Harley?"

There was a graveness in his tone, one that made her uncomfortable and fresh tears sting at her eyes.

"I feel sick," she confessed.

"They always do at first," he spoke softly. A pleasant sigh lightly left her throat when she felt him graze continuously over her nipple.

"You'll get used to it," he finished, and slowly she fell asleep, crying quietly onto her pillow.

~oOo~

She laid in bed in absolute pain, her body feeling as if she had been dipped in boiling water.

While her complexion looked flawless, she felt blistered and disfigured. She was alone in the bedroom, and could hear the television on in the background. All that covered her body was an oversized tee shirt, and even the cotton lightly touching her skin was excruciating. The dim lights in the room burned at her retinas.

"Next on Channel 9 news, more on the story regarding the horrific escape of the Joker from Arkham Asylum and his hostage Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

Though she heard the news anchor's words, she didn't even bother to lift herself to gaze at the screen. She could only close her eyes and sigh. And here she pondered on what was to become of her, exactly what life she had entered into. She could never go back. And if she did, she couldn't go back to the life she had. Her career was over. Her past was done. Her future was the Joker now, and whatever plans he had in store for her.

Oh how things would have been different, she thought weakly, if only he had been assigned another doctor. And oh how love had made her do crazy things. Absolutely batshit crazy things...

A/N: Thanks for reading and the nice reviews! :) There will be no more flashbacks moving forward FYI.