A/N: Hello, lovelies! I want to apologize for my absence yesterday. I hope this chapter makes up for it! Well, I've really got to hurry off to work now so I'm not late. Finishing this was more important to me.

Harley really wasn't surprised that she couldn't sleep. With everything going on in their lives, everything changing so rapidly, it was to be expected. Her thoughts were all so muddled and tangled she couldn't even separate them.

Joker was sleeping soundly at her side, the lucky bastard. Harley supposed it was because nothing really seemed to faze him. At least, not that she could tell. He just floated through life, carefree and relaxed. She so longed to live that way, never letting anything get to her.

But that just wasn't how her mind operated. She was always finding something to stress about, school or her newfound relationship or the way all her friends seemed to be slowly, slowly pulling away. After a while, she gave up on trying to sleep all together. Being careful so as not to disturb her lover, Harley slid out of bed and padded across the room. She dressed quickly, just a pair of yoga pants and Joker's hoodie. Throwing her tangled hair up into a messy bun, she snuck out of the dorm room, closing the door with a quiet click.

The halls were virtually empty. Of course, it was only three am, and most of the students were tucked safely in their beds. Or in someone else's bed, she added with a slight smile. Harley moved like a ghost through the corridors, yawning sleepily. She didn't exactly know where she was going, only that she needed to go somewhere. Needed to clear her head from all of the chaotic thoughts that had taken up residence there.

She wasn't, however, entirely surprised when she found herself outside the dorm of Jonathan Crane. If she had to be honest, their falling out was one of the major things that had been keeping her up. He's been a huge part of her life since they were still just kids, and she didn't understand why she should have to cut him out completely. Sure, they'd had a few misunderstandings, a few really big ones, but it was nothing she couldn't fix.

Sighing, she raised her hand to knock tentatively. When she heard a rustling from within, she almost regretted it. Maybe there was still time to run, still time to twist the cap back on the can of worms she'd surely just opened. But, no, then the door was swinging inwardly, and Jonathan was standing there rubbing at his eyes. "Harls…" he said, a little confusion and a lot of affection in the way he purred her name. He cleared his throat. "Uh, what are you doing here? It's like three in the morning."

Harley lowered her gaze to the floor. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore, with his face all bruised and bandaged, with his broken nose all taped up. She couldn't stand knowing that she was the reason that had happened.

Jonathan knew exactly why she'd adverted her gaze. With a sigh of his own, he rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "Don't blame yourself, Harley," he murmured softly. Cracking a grin, he added, "Tetch suggested I simply wear a potato sack over my face until it's healed."

Harley smiled too, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Some sort of literary reference I'm missing?" She asked.

Crane cocked his head to the side. "No, I think he just legitimately believes I'd look good in a potato sack."

They both shared a laugh, and when its echo had died they were alone in silence again. "Look," Harley said, once the quietness became too much for her to bear. "I'm really sorry about what happened. I didn't know he was going to freak out like that-"

"He's no good for you, Harley," Jonathan murmured, deadly serious. "He…he doesn't belong here with us. I fear for you, sweetheart. And you of all people know I'm not afraid of much."

A slight frown creased her brow as she thought about his words, trying to come up with some way to argue with him, reason with him, make him understand. "I love him," she said at last, because it was all she could think to say. All there was to say, really, because when it came right down to it that was the only thing that mattered to her.

Jonathan felt himself physically retreating back into his room, putting distance between himself and the only girl he'd ever really cared about. "Then I can't be held accountable for you," he muttered. "But if he hurts you, Harls, in any way, I can't be held accountable for what I do to him either."

With that, he closed the door back in her face, and she was left alone in the blackened hallway. Harley could feel the beginning sting of tears forming, but she was doing all she could to stop them from falling. She refused to cry over this. So she had lost a friend, but wasn't the trade off worth it for her to be with the person she loved?

Pulling Joker's hoodie tighter around her body, she turned and started back off towards her dorm room. She was extra careful not to make any noise as she opened the door, hoping her boyfriend would still be sound asleep.

Of course, this night hadn't exactly been going as planned to begin with, and she almost should have expected it when Joker was sitting calmly on the bed, hands folded in his lap. Without the safety of his sweatshirt to hide in he looked so much scrawnier. But no less intimidating, not the way his emerald eyes were so filled with acid. "Where were you?" He asked, his voice eerily soft.

Harley swallowed hard. "I couldn't sleep," she murmured, which wasn't technically false. "I just went to get some air."

In a single flash of motion, Joker was up, across the room, upon her. Harley let out a gasp as her back collided with the wall, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. "How many times do I have to tell you?" He hissed, his own face so close their lips nearly touched. "Don't. Lie. To. Me."

Those tears she'd been fighting, they finally overcame her, falling in cascades down her cheeks. Joker shoved her away roughly, sending her body to the floor in a crumbled pile. There she lay, crying silently as she watched him pacing around the small room. "I don't think I really ask that much of you, Harley girl," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I had one simple thing, really. Can you tell me what that was?"

Harley wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "Don't talk to Jonathan," she whispered in a voice hardly even audible.

Joker spun around, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her back up to her feet. "Very good," he scowled. "So you knew my rule. And yet here we are, in the middle of the night, you sneaking back to bed like a little fucking whore."

"Nothing happened!" Harley pleaded, but he gave no indication of hearing her. He released his grip and sent her collapsing back to the ground, resuming his pacing. The blonde girl didn't think she had ever been so afraid in all her life. And there is nothing worse than being terrified of the person you love. That kind of power was the most deadly of all.

"So," Joker went on. "The way I see it is this. Last time, I gave your little friend a warning. And this time, I'm going to give you one."

The rest of it was all kind of a blur, at least to Harley. Mostly she managed to shut off her mind, go totally vacant as he dealt out his blows. This would not be the last time Harley would allow him to hurt her in such a way. But it was the first time, and with each punch it was her spirit that he broke more than her body.

After, when she was left battered and aching, coated in her own blood, Joker yanked her up to her feet and led her to the bed. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, so he took her by the chin and did it for her. "Have we learned what happens when we disobey, kiddo?" He asked. His tone was this unnatural mix of condescending and genuine concern, and Harley was having a difficult time keeping up.

Still, she was able to breathe out a simple yes, which was the most honest thing she'd said all night. Joker smiled then, an actual smile and not one of his wicked grins, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Good," he murmured. "Now let's get some sleep, Harley girl."

Together they crawled until the covers, and Harley curled against his warm body. She refused to process any of what had happened that night. It was much easier for her to pretend it had all been a terrible dream, even if the bruises proved that wrong.