Disclaimer: DC Comics owns everything!
-A/N- Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! Sorry this is such a short chapter. I received a PM from a reader who stated she felt Harley was developing feelings for the Joker too fast and it wasn't normal. I just wanted to take a minute and state firmly that Harley isn't normal, she has mental issues which I hope becomes more clear after this chapter. I hope you all enjoy this peek into the Joker and Harley's relationship. Please read and review!
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The clothing had arrived the night Wolfgang the Tailor had assured the Joker it would.
Harley had just executed a series of flawless back flips across the mat in the gym when she was interrupted by a crude whistle. Shocked, Harley spun around so quickly she nearly landed on her rear end.
The Joker was at the opposite end of the mat with his hands behind his back and a strange look on his face. His expression was that of a person looking over a fine piece of jewelry - appraising. She wasn't sure she cared for him looking at her in such a manner.
"Good news, Harleykins, the first part of your trousseau has, uh, arrived." He waggled his brows at her. "Wanna come see?"
She nodded and slipped her feet into her sneakers before following him out into the chill of the Gotham evening. Sunset had just passed and the sky was a deep charcoal gray; a few streaks of dark scarlet and purple still staining the very edge of the horizon. "It's going to rain."
He turned toward her wearing a slight frown. "Huh?"
Harley had seen this expression most often when he was interrupted while deep in thought.
A smile broke over her lips. "I said it's going to rain tonight."
Smacking his lips, he cast his blackened eyes toward the sky and nodded absently. "Yeah, looks like you're right."
She had a growing sense the longer she spent time in the Joker's presence of when to shut up - and now was one of those life preserving times. Only a few days earlier one of the newer men kept pestering the Joker with question after question about truly ridiculous, petty situations around the compound. At first, Billy had tried to shut the guy up, but Billy finally let the guy go with a 'Oh what the hell! Don't say I didn't warn you' shrug.
At first the Joker, seated on the couch staring at the news, seemed to be ignoring the fool.
Then in a surprise move so fast Harley nearly missed it, the Joker stirred. There was a strange little gurgle from the offending party across the room as he began to list back and forth like a ship without a mooring. She had stared in revulsion at the stiletto knife protruding from the dying man's right eye. The minute the man hit the floor, Billy let out a particularly vicious string of curses; vividly expressing his disgust at having to get rid of so many corpses, before dragging the dead man's body away.
The Joker's prowess with a blade was not to be underestimated.
They passed a few guards on the way to the communal living quarters, but most were inside either milling around in the kitchen or upstairs playing poker in the loft; where their sleeping and living quarters were. Billy was seated on the couch looking at something on his laptop which had obviously pissed him off based on the expression he was wearing.
The Joker ignored the others and headed straight for his bedroom.
Harley gasped as she stared at the red, white, and black outfit laid carefully across the bedspread. The clothing was a work of art - the cloth itself of the best quality and finely hand stitched. She had never seen anything like it...
"Yeah, impressive isn't it?" The Joker asked as he set a box on the nightstand. "Wolfgang threw this in for free."
Harley knew logically she should be terrified of this man, but instead she was drawn to him like a bee to a flower. She had been frightened when she'd woken up to find the Joker in bed with her - yet she felt secure as well. Oh, he could kill in a second flat, maybe he would someday as he'd warned her months earlier, but Harley felt protected by him as well and she liked it.
"Should I try it on?"
He nodded. "I wanna see how it looks."
Harley flashed a tiny smile in his direction. "Okey-dokey, Big Boss Man. I need to shower first, I don't want to ruin anything."
The Joker smirked. "Good girl, I would hate to have to spank you. I'll be talking with Billy." He shut the door quietly leaving her alone.
Harley had been making some decisions of her own over the last few weeks. As she grew stronger physically, she wanted to become more and more like the Joker. He wasn't afraid of anything and she envied his audacity with all her heart. She'd spent the better part of her life so far terrified - it was going to stop.
She made her way to the little bureau by the door and rifled through her panty drawer until her fingers connected with the two boxes she was looking for. Pulling them out, Harley stared at the hair dyes with a critical eye. Billy had picked them up for her, a strange look in his eyes at her request.
Padding into the bathroom, Harley stopped in front of the mirror and gazed at herself critically.
"The last vestiges of Harleen Quinzel have to go." Harley murmured as she fingered her strawberry blonde locks.
'Harleen...'
Blue eyes widening, Harley turned toward the door.
Bree stood there with a scowl. 'Harleen, what are you doing?'
Harley frowned at the tiny girl. "I'm not Harleen anymore - I'm Harley, Harley Quinn."
'No. This is bad - you're gonna get in trouble.' Bree's somber words echoed off the bathroom tiles, hollow in Harley's ears.
"You're dead, Bree," Harley began quietly as she fumbled opening the hair dyes. "Dead, dead, dead. Go away and leave me be."
'I'm not dead.' Bree answered patiently.
Harley wanted to scream and howl as Harleen's pain and uncertainty came creeping back to her; memories surfacing that were better left unexamined. She took a deep breath and faced the doorway where her four year old sister stood with solemn eyes.
"Yes, Bree, you died with Mommy, Daddy, Andy, and Pat." Harley spoke tenderly. "Why are you here? Can't you just leave me alone?"
Bree stared at Harley a moment before speaking. 'I've always been with you. Remember? When those men at the hospital tried to hurt you, I was there. In that dirty room they locked you in, I was there. I'll always be here. Harleen.'
Harley turned back to the mirror. "You have to go away, Bree. I can take care of myself now."
At the silence which answered, she turned toward the door and relief rushed over her.
Bree was gone.
Turning her attention toward the dyes, Harley began to hum Nirvana's Heart Shaped Box.
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"What do you think?"
The Joker had been waiting for nearly two hours - it was pissing him off. He turned his attention from the GCN program he was watching hosted by that moron, Mike Engel, and felt his mouth go dry instantly.
Harley Quinn stood just outside the door to his bedroom.
He blinked and stood as shock leeched through his body; turning him numb. This was most certainly not the Harley he had spent the last few months molding.
The woman standing before him was... beautiful beyond all comprehension.
She wore a fitted scarlet and white pinstriped silk blouse with long sleeves and a deep vee which made her small cleavage appear quite - voluptuous - and a matching scarlet satin corset around her waist which was tied up the front with black laces. The ebony colored A-line skirt she wore ended about two inches above the knee and was constructed from the same heavy, expensive wool as his pants which would lend some practicality to her outfit. Black nylons with a diamond design disappeared into a pair of knee-high black leather boots with a petite heel which gave the illusion of a spike, but the stability she would need to run. Scarlet leather gloves, elegantly stitched H's on the backs, fit snugly on her tiny hands completed the outfit.
Harley hadn't simply changed her clothing - she had changed her entire physical appearance and this captivated the Joker.
Her once lovely strawberry blonde hair had been dyed raven black on the right side and scarlet red on the left. She had gathered her hair into pigtails and the effect was not unlike some psychotic little girl deciding to play dress up. Harley had gone one step further and made up her face with his grease paint...
Chalk white base covered her creamy skin with a small, perfectly spherical red circle on each cheek. Harley had emphasized her diamond shaped scar by painting it black and simply lining her other eye with black; the effect made her eyes stand out like cold, blue jewels. She painted her lips the same color as his, but accentuating a line on each side which gave her a tiny frown he found ironic and charming.
This was not Harleen Quinzel - this was his Harley Quinn.
"I like it," The Joker muttered as he circled her like a lion closing in for the kill. "I like it a lot. Very, very good-uh."
Harley smiled up at him and the painted frown gave her an eerie innocence which he enjoyed - the expression would be both creepy and upsetting to most normal citizens of Gotham.
"Thank you." Harley bobbed in a little curtsey.
The Joker chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment; his eyes narrowing. "Get back in the bedroom." Harley's smile faltered. "Are you deaf?" He hissed angrily. "Go. Into. The. Bedroom."
She looked confused but did as he asked.
He turned and flashed a glower in Billy's direction. "Everyone out. Now."
Billy closed his laptop and stood. "Sure thing, Boss."
Shaking his head, the Joker turned and went into the bedroom. He threw the locks into place and leaned his back against the door. Harley was perched on the edge of the bed - her face cast down toward the floor - looking for all the world like an abandoned doll.
Something had roared to life inside of him when the Joker had seen Harley Quinn all decked out in her finest; feelings he thought long dead began to crawl around in his chest like maggots on road kill. 'Sure,' he thought. 'I've screwed women before - every last one bribed with a nice wad of cash - but still. I know what lust is...'
Confusion set in.
The urge to rip off her panties and screw her silly warred with the part of him which was determined to protect Harley. Oh there was lust in the Joker for her, but there was also a feeling which sickened him down to the marrow of his bones.
The Joker cared about Harley.
He blinked. "It isn't true."
"What?"
The fear and uncertainty in her wavering voice brought him back to reality.
The Joker reached in his jacket and fingered his favorite knife as he rested dark, calculating eyes on the woman seated across from him. He knew exactly what should be done - he should cut her throat quickly and as painlessly as possible. Dispose of her before she became a liability.
He released the knife with a sense of self-loathing he'd never experienced before. The Joker couldn't make himself kill Harley as much as he wanted to rid himself of what he realized would be not only his ace in the hole, but his Achilles Heel.
"Stand up," he ordered.
Harley immediately did as he asked.
The Joker approached her carefully as though she were made of glass. "Don't look so downtrodden, sugar. As you know, I don't like a long face." Immediately she flashed a very convincing smile in his direction. "I'm quite... pleased with how your ensemble turned out."
She brightened. "You are?"
"Yes," he nodded at her. "You're beautiful." The Joker breathed out the last word just as his leather clad fingertips skimmed across her temple. "We're peas in a pod - you and I."
Harley's blue eyes had grown so large they appeared in danger of popping from their sockets. "I..."
"Hush." He gave the command in a soft, almost hypnotic voice as he leaned close and breathed in the scent of her skin. Harley smelled clean and vaguely floral; like the morning dew on his mother's rose bushes so long ago. His fingers traveled down the side of her neck and her delicate shiver didn't go unnoticed by his all consuming gaze.
The Joker could feel his blood beginning to heat and head straight down to a certain part of his anatomy he tended to ignore. "The only time you wear this outfit and the paint is when we go out. I like seeing your pretty skin when we're here." Taking a calming breath, he captured her hand in his. "Do you like me, Harley?"
She nodded mutely.
"Say it."
"I like you," Harley whispered.
He could feel the sincerity in her words. "Good." Licking his lips nervously, he leaned down. "How much do you like me, peaches?"
Harley's eyes darkened to a sultry midnight blue, he noted with satisfaction. "This much, Daddy-O." She raised herself up to her tip-toes and grasped him by the collar before pressing her painted lips against his.
The kiss was hesitant on both sides; Harley had never kissed a boy and the Joker had never kissed a woman, not even the prostitutes would allow him that no matter how much cash he'd dangled before them.
He reveled in the sensation of her soft lips pressing against his scarred flesh - she tasted a little of mint and some indefinable spice which aroused him beyond words. His hands closed around her upper arms and held her still so he could peruse her mouth at his leisure.
The taste, the warmth, the little sexy mewling sounds escaping her throat - it was all intoxicating.
Suddenly, she ripped herself away from him and landed a sharp slap to his right cheek. Harley was breathing hard and staring at her gloved hand in shock.
The Joker, however, howled with laughter as he cradled his smarting cheek. "Was I getting too fresh for you?"
"No," she locked her eyes on his. "That was for not kissing me weeks ago."
He laughed and whipped his hand out; firmly slapping her left cheek hard enough to wipe away some of the grease paint. "And that, pumpkin, is for parading around like a strumpet in just your knickers and a tee shirt when I'm trying to go to sleep at night. Teasing is not nice!"
Harley blinked and slapped the Joker's other cheek hard; her chest rising and falling faster. "This is for those times I had to watch you all sweaty in the gym!"
Most men would have been thoroughly pissed - probably pushed beyond the limits of self-control - but the Joker enjoyed her violent outburst. He was hard as a rock and his entire body felt like it was on fire; masochistic tendencies were firmly rooted in his psyche. Pleasure and pain were so entwined in his mind, he often couldn't tell the difference.
Reaching out, he grabbed one of her pigtails and yanked it until tears welled in her eyes. "Keep hitting me, Harley, and I'm gonna end up screwing your brains out." He flashed a twisted smile down at her. "Just so you can't claim I didn't warn you."
She promptly kneed him in the groin.
The Joker collapsed to his knees, hands, clutching his aching balls - laughing hysterically the entire time. "I knew you had a little fight in you." He panted. "You're a very naughty girl, Harley."
Harley began to ease away from him, her breathing hitched, as she pulled at the strings on her corset. "You want it," she breathed out in a soft voice as she allowed the corset to fall to the floor. "Come and get it."
He grinned.