This Vow Part Twelve

Surrender Becomes Power

It's all over in a flash – the car dives into the water, and he's gone. He put a special ejector seat in years ago, but only on his side… because up until her, he never really cared about whoever was riding shotgun. Everything happens before either of them can react. One minute they are laughing with glee, trying to get Bats off their car, and the next minute, they're plunging into the water, their mad giggling having barely died down, the engine roaring and the water rushing in almost too loud for him to hear what she screams – but he hears it, and in the weeks to come, when the search for his Harley Quinn goes from leisurely – "Shell turn up at Arkham, she always does." – to frantic, her last words will echo in his ears like a torturous mantra, driving him crazier than he already is.

I can't swim!

I can't swim!

I can't swim!

After all the things she's done, all the things he's taught her to do, all the beautiful atrocities they've committed together, how is it she never learned to swim?

*Session Nine: Last Session*

After the electroshock, he is pleased to see she is appropriately tearful. There will be no more shock treatments for him, in any case, but that's not actually Harley's doing. Dr. Leland – good old Joanie, always a sucker for honor, even when it comes to the likes of him! – has seen to that, has threatened to report Arkham to the Board, and for once, she has gotten him to back down.

If Harley weren't so damn beguiling, he might have considered Joanie dear as a likely target for recruitment. Of course, it would take a lot more work to pull off something like that with Joan than with his Harley, who was already a heartbeat away from glorious madness and anarchy before he waltzed in…

Harley.

Harley.

Harley

He brushes aside that strange, trembly feeling she sometimes seems to inspire in him and accepts her humble apologies as his due, relishing having his sweet little psycho in his complete and utter control. He allows her to dry her tears, and even gives her a kiss for her trouble.

"I brought you a kitty," she says, her manner becoming childlike, endearing, and presents him with the plush toy.

"So thoughtful… but we both know that's not the pretty kitty I want," he says, and they share a private laugh.

"Dr. Quinzel… you know I live for these moments with you."

"Harley," she corrects him, just like he wants. "Harley Quinn."

He smiles. "I know. There is something you could do for me."

"Sure, I mean, anything, yeah."

He grins at her eagerness.

"I need a machine gun."

She looks nonplussed. "A machine gun?"

"Or twenty."

"Oh well, sure," she says sarcastically. "I'll just go to the machine gun store and pick up some."

He laughs. Oh, how he loves her fire.

Maybe he should keep her …

"You're a clever girl. I'm sure you can figure something out." But still, for all her talents, he knows she's going to need a bit more help than that, so he gives her the contact information for Johnny Frost, his number one guy, and she scribbles it down on the pad where she still pretends to do doctorly things like writing notes. There's no hesitation in her anymore, no half-hearted moral protestations about the slaughter and destruction she knows will stem from her fulfilling his request, and it is then that he realizes her transformation is complete. The acid bath, which will come later, is just the icing on this very delectable little cake. His Harley is here, right before him, making plans to aid and abet him as calmly and someone would write down their grocery list.

He doesn't know it yet, but he will need her for more than just this, his latest escape.

He doesn't know it yet, but he will want her as more than just this, a toy he fancies he's fashioned for himself to play with and discard when he sees fit.

He doesn't know it yet, only focusing on the pleasure of becoming her everything, too frightened and too crazy to see that she will become his everything as well.

*The Escape*

"Get off me!" Harley snarls. She's strong, but she's been sedated, and Johnny can handle her at last. He is calm and cool and collected and professional – everything the Joker is not. When she first met him, she was amused by the contrast, having expected that the people her puddin' surrounded himself with would be just as colorful as he was. In time, she will learn that this is true, for the most part, but somebody has to tend to the practical matters of running a criminal empire, and that's where Johnny comes in. In time, they will come to appreciate each other, Joker's girl and his right-hand man. They both, in their ways, make sure that Mr. J stays on the (mostly) functional side of crazy. They both tether and steady him and connect him to his humanity, such as it is.

But all that comes later. Right now, Harley wants to spit in his face.

When she is strapped in, Joker's face appears above her, manic, gleeful, and angry. She was a fool to think she had been forgiven when she gave him that stupid toy earlier. She knows this is payback, this is punishment, punishment for watching him suffer. She knows, but she pleads all the same, points out that she helped him, because for the first time in a long time, she is afraid. Because he's beautiful, but he's crazy, and she'd told him once, when they began, that while she believed he meant what he said in the moment, his emotions can shift on a dime. He is a mercurial maniac, brilliant and cruel, charming and dangerous, and she loves him with everything she has, but that does not blind her to the reality of what he is capable of. And she knows that he is quite capable of killing her.

"I can take it," she tells him, letting him know that it's okay, that she understands, that even if he kills her tonight she can't hate him, because he's made her feel happier and more alive than she has in years.

She sees the shine of pride in his eyes and knows she has not disappointed him. "You can take it, huh?"

"I can take it."

He leans in for a kiss before he hits the juice. "That's my girl."

She can't describe what the shocks feel like, because she doesn't remember. The next few minutes – the next few hours, really – are all ... blurry. She knows, in what is left in the rational part of her brain, that her disorientation is normal, that short-term memory loss is among one of the side effects of electroshock therapy, and so is this giddy, almost drunken feeling she soon comes to experience, as her vision clears and her beloved puddin's face comes back into view.

He grins down at her. Having settled the score by shocking her, all traces of his anger are now gone.

"Well hi there," he grins, "And how are we feeling?"

She giggles. "A-OK, Mr. J!" She attempts a salute, but can't quite get her hand in the right place. He did the shocks for much less time than Arkham did. If there was any pain, anything close to what he experienced, she can't recall it.

"Johnny, you can unstrap her now."

Johnny looks wary but still complies. As soon as she's free, she attempts to sit up, to move off the table, but topples over and nearly hits the floor, only Joker catches her. She giggles again as he scoops her up, shouting "Woopsie!" and then squealing in delight as he holds her close.

"You're kinda loopy, aren't ya?" He asks her, sounded somewhere between amused and concerned, and when she giggles again and attempts to nod her head in agreement, he adds, "I like it!"

"Boss…" Johnny says softly. The Joker frowns at the interruption, but seems to take his meaning.

"Okay boys, we better pack up!" He swings Harley around, causing another squeal of glee. "But first, me and the little lady have some … loose ends to tie up."

They have Arkham in one of the patient rooms, crumpled in a corner. He's small and sweating and scared. Looking back, Harley supposes she could blame what happens next on any number of things – coming down off the shocks, Joker's goading, her own confused mental state – but in the end, it's her choice, and her dark pleasure, and she doesn't regret it for a minute.

"I'm sorry, baby," the Joker purrs, still holding her in his arms. "I thought we'd have time to play with him for a bit, but we're behind schedule as it is, so we're going to have to do this fast rather than slow, but still …"

She's still pretty unsteady, so he has to help her with the gun. He positions her hand, her fingers, places them carefully on the trigger. Harley's giggling while he does this, but looking into Arkham's cowardly, bloodshot eyes, she stills, becomes serious. She's aware of the gravity of what she's about to do.

"Just a little squeeze …" The Joker whispers.

For a moment, in Arkham, she seems them all. The stepfather who pawed at her, the boys at school that cat-called her, every male professor that told her she was too pretty to be a doctor, every colleague that ever looked down his nose at her and stared straight at her tits, and for a moment, her anger overwhelms her crazy, and she is rational, sober, and completely in control.

"I hate the way you see me," she hisses, and fires the gun.

It's a much more merciful death than he deserves.

Afterwards, he coos at her, kisses her, caresses her. "Good girl."

Much as she enjoys his touch and his praise, she needs him to understand something: "I didn't do it for you."

When he looks at her then, it's his fist hint that while he is her beloved, he is not her creator. While her allegiance to him will always be unquestionable, she is not someone he can ever completely control.

Possibly, this frightens him, which is why he gives her no reply and simply carries her out of the room.

Many –most –o f the Arkham staff are dead, shot down in a hail of bullets, which is rather more merciful a death than one by way of his specially-made toxins. They will be other times when she gets to see him unleash chemical warfare, so to speak, but as he will explain later, he was "feeling a hankering for old-fashioned mayhem" that day and decided to go with the guns. It's unclear which option would have done more damage in the end, or if both would have been equally deadly. Suffice it to say, the guns did damage enough.

The point being, few of Arkham's employees were spared the Joker's wrath, but there was one notable distinction.

They come across her on her way out. Even if her altered state, Harley is relieved to see that she appears relatively unscathed, more disheveled and frightened than bloody.

"Harleen," she gasps, "What did he do to you?"

"It's Harley," the Joker corrects her, "And I set her free! Didn't I, baby?"

"You sure did, puddin'!" Harley giggles again, but her laughter stops abruptly when Joker points the gun at Joan.

"Don't!"

"Oh?" He turns his icy blue eyes on her. "And why not?"

Harley swallows. It's the first time she's directly challenged him since officially joining his gang, but it won't be the last. "She … she … she was good to you," She stammers. "She was the one who stopped Arkham from doing more shocks. I mean, okay, no one can love you like I do, and I don't think Joan even likes you, but she's …. She's always treated you right. She's always been fair. She's the only one in this place that's got an ounce of integrity, including me. She doesn't deserve to die."

The Joker's grin fades, and he looks serious for once – serious, and satisfied with her answer. "You're right," he says, lowering his gun, and Harley wonders if this was test, and if it was, if she passed or not. "Good old Joanie, always doing the right thing … see how far it gets you?" He laughs. "Not nearly as enticing as doing the wrong thing with me, but then, there's only one girl for that, isn't there?"

"Me!" Harley shouts, and giggles in delight as he kisses her.

Joan looks at her, appropriately enough, like she's gone out of her mind.

"Say bye to Joan now, Harley."

"Bye-Bye, Joanie!" Harley manages a wave as she's carried past the other woman. Many emotions flash across Joan Leland's face as they make their escape – fear, confusion, relief – and Harley can't help but wonder if jealously, if longing for their life of mad love and freedom, is among them.

Some time later, as Arkham Asylum recovers from the Joker's latest and most devastating escape, new workers will be hired, guards and doctors alike, and a much larger proportion of the staff will be female. Old, outdated methods of treatment will be replaced with newer, better, evidence-based protocols. But best of all (at least in Harley's opinion) Joan will be named Interim Chief of Staff at Arkham, and will eventually be permanently given the position.

Whether Harley and Joan sometimes wish for each other's lives will remain up for debate as they continue to encounter each other, no longer as colleges, but still as friends. As Harley delves further into the worlds of madness and chaos with the love of her life, Joan will be drawn deeper in the world of sanitary and order, and both will have things they love in their worlds, and things they could do without it.

But Harley's dive into the acid bath and her rise from it is not the ends of her love story with Mr. J.

It is only the beginning, and their love leads them down and dark an unexpected path, one filled with sorrow and joy and loss, one that leads to blood as red as a robin's wing.

*Author's Note: This is NOT the last chapter, though we are getting close to the end. For the last few installments, we will get into some of the events seen and referenced in both Batman vs Superman and (of course) Suicide Squad, but the focus will remain on Harley and Joker.*