Work needed to be done, not just back at the club, but all over. Even the warehouse was no longer serving as Harley Quinn's empty prison and instead had become a hub of criminal activity overnight. There were men counting money, cleaning guns or clearing way for crates of weapons, explosives, you name it, J bought it! Some were masked, some costumed, and some were simply not. It had been a long time since Joker had seen his men work like this. Just how long exactly had he been set on the Bat? How long had it been since he'd had his men do much of anything save for drive him around or collect his laundry? He couldn't tell. Despite Joker's neglect of them, they all came running. One drop of a text (and a lot of emojis) had them hammering on the tin shutters, ready for whatever Joker had in mind for them, no matter the hour.

heard sum BAD NEWS! :^o

warehouse block17 URGENT! :^( :'^( :^(

J

Joker had immediately set out with positive action upon leaving Grin N Bare It, and though tired, dark rings beneath his eyes, had worked long through the night alongside his recently gathered posse. He needed to start pulling taut on the strings of his operations, if they were to go head to head with Gotham's wealthiest madman. And that was exactly what he was going to do. The Penguin may be stacked with cash, but he was simply no competition for the clown. That, he'd make certain. Joker may have gone a little overboard on the BANGERS! but he was sure to put them to good use. Oswald was gonna get it so hard, his frail, flaking granny Cobblepot sippin' tea all the way back in England was gonna hear him POP!

Crates upon crates of dynamite were being dragged into storage by disgruntled goons dressed like big, fuzzy disney icons. They weren't all too impressed with their exceptionally hot and heavy work (no thanks to Joker, who had crashed the forklift) but they didn't complain too loudly in his presence. It wasn't for him that they hushed their voices though, but for Quinn, who still snored soundly on her mattress, blanket at her ankles and curled up like a kitten.

She'd woken up once yelling, "would'ya keep yer noise down ?!" And Joker had protested that it was 11am (a more than reasonable time to be awake!) to which he got an angry, snapping and snarling response, "so what ?!" Since when did Harley get off telling him what to do? Had she forgotten who the hell he was?! Regardless, they softened their steps and lowered their voices, save she wake up and scream at them some more. He admired her gall, he'd give her that .

A hot afternoon had turned the warehouse into a greenhouse – and the climbing heat had eventually woken Harley naturally. Must be exhausting , after all. Being chauffeured around, offered gifts, taken to new and exciting places… What a terribly hard life his harlequin led. And he watched, a tad jealous, as Floyd brought to her some breakfast and a steaming cup of coffee. He was the prince here, was he not? Where was his royal treatment? Though Joker said nothing, save she fly off the handle. Again.

"I've got something for you to do today," he told her sternly, approaching the little blonde who sat cross-legged at her bed, a bowl balanced precariously in her lap. She looked up from her food, mouth slack, cheerios slipping back into the milk off the end of her spoon.

""Want me to dust ya' shelves, Mister J?!"

Was she still mad about yesterday?! And people said he held onto grudges. Christ! "No - I've got something else we can do. I gotta prepare you, kid, if we're gonna have Penguin and his army knocking at our door."

Harley frowned, unconvinced.

"If you think I'm bad, you're not gonna want Cobblepot getting a hold of you." He jutted a finger down at her, jaw tightened at the briefest thought of that. Oswald loved women, in the way that Joker loved his cars, his sneakers and loved his collectables. Sometimes they got damaged, sometimes they broke, and sometimes they were smashed beyond any saveable state. Cobblepot would undoubtedly have that certain kind of love for Joker's Harley Quinn too. Over his, her and everyone's dead body was that ever, ever going to happen!

"Are you threatenin' me?" she asked thickly through a mouthful of cereal.

Woman! " No! " Hell, maybe he would just hand her over to the Penguin - it'd certainly teach her some manners. He was sure she'd come running back to him crying, apologising. She'd show some respect for The Joker then, wouldn't she? She'd be grateful then, of how he'd cared for her. Of how he had fed and clothed and accompanied her. But his anger could not linger at that level, and the thought of her in the arms of Oswald made him nauseous. His stomach twisted at a single straying thought of it. Was he going soft? Surely not. Then what was wrong with him?

" Alright , don't bite my head off, what do yer want me to do?"

He'd let her wash and get changed (that took two long hours!) brush her teeth and comb her hair. There was no rushing her, as Harley seemed to draw out every task with deliberate pace. Maybe it wasn't deliberate - Joker had never been known for his patience . But he sat waiting, humming, whistling, fidgeting for her at the large garage doors, that opened out to a view of the cityscape beyond the water. His men got ready for the activity also, having set up something of an assault course, dragged pallets, driftwood and rusty old barrels up onto the pavement. They all donned the same matching white coats, codpieces secured, much to their chagrin. They'd regret it if they didn't have 'em - he'd told them only once.


It was still pleasantly warm in the time Harleen came to join the party, held just outside the warehouse, and her sudden reappearance had a grin split the Joker's features in two. She squinted through the sunlight at his blazen, white face, and too, smiled briefly back at him. She had been under the impression that they were headed back to the club, and was surprised to see the crude assault course built-up before her. Unlike a lot of the Joker's ideas, this one, surprisingly, didn't fill her with dread, and she laughed at the lackey's who lingered by their makeshift creation. "For me?" she said, a delicate hand against a little chest, "oh, you shouldn't have!" No - really, you shouldn't . But before she could turn around and back into the shade, the Joker was upon her beaming broadly.

"How about a little game, Harls?"

He hoisted, without prior warning, a fat, heavy pistol to her forehead, his face all teeth and gnashing. Harleen froze up where she stood, her skin prickled, she no longer felt the warmth of the sun. Was today the day - the day he had promised her ? Perhaps Harleen had pushed her luck too far this time - she had grown stupid and reckless. She'd always been reckless! Was it much of a surprise anymore that she stood at barrel end of a gun? Before her brain could even process the thought of the end , the final curtain - The Joker flipped the pistol, and turned it on it's head, the barrel nestled in his palm and offering her the grip of the weapon.

"Go on, take it." He didn't look as sinister, now that the pistol was aimed in the opposite direction, and timidly Harleen wound her hand about the gun. Their fingers touched for all but a moment, and both recoiled quickly from the contact as though it burned.

The Joker cleared his throat and turned away from her, gesturing broadly at his men dotted across the course. "You know what to do boys!" And Harleen watched as they came to life - began running up and down, left and right, amongst the assorted scrap they'd assembled. They were a living-breathing giant version of a carnival stall, of targets darting to and fro. And it dawned on her then, why she was holding the gun. Where she'd normally point her plastic pistol and squirt water at their chests, this wasn't water she'd be firing their way. Yeesh!

"I don't wanna -"

"Just pull the trigger!" The Joker cut her off quickly, clearly having anticipated this reaction from her. It wasn't predictability, just plain common sense .

And Harleen couldn't do it. She raised the gun with shaking hands, stared down the barrel of the gun at the goons below, all rushing away from the point of the pistol. She couldn't do it. Her eyes wavered, wet with tears. They didn't even seem frightened at the prospect of her pulling the trigger. The Joker's hand was at her waist and holding her place. "I can't - " she squeaked. "Don't make me do this -"

"Trust me!" His palm didn't linger at her hip though, and trailed up to the gun, where he steadied her trembling arms, chin hooked at her shoulder. The fluttering touch of his hands left a trail of cold, and his finger flattened against hers. Before she could protest, before she could pull herself from his arms - before she could even react to what she knew was coming. He held his breath and squeezed .

!

Her breath left her lungs so rapidly, stars scattered her vision and her ears rang with white noise. Harleen hadn't even the air to sob or make a sound - but as her sight returned to focus, she looked out with horror at the scene ahead. And there stood the random lackey she'd aimed at, waving with a grin on his face. "Wait - what !?"

"It's paint."

And so it was . Red paint smattered the white chest of the man's overalls. And the Joker prompted her again to steady - aim - fire! Green paint, blue paint - miss! - Yellow, pink and orange. Without the Joker's direction, she was useless , and watching her moving targets stumble and slip in all the scattered paint had her giggling girlishly. The Joker watched with an unusually serious expression, which made Harleen laugh only harder. "I'm doin' it, watch !" she bleated, having shot - accidentally - a goon in the eye, who without goggles howled and flailed. Her laugh was a high and cracking SCREECH at this, and tears wound their way down her face in hysterics.

The men were growing tired, their pace slowing to near enough a stop. They were getting pelted by paint no matter how terrible Harleen's aim - and she huffed at their lack of enthusiasm. She had been - could she believe it - having fun ! She whined at them weakly, "keep runnin' I'm just about to get good ." But they hadn't the energy left to give.

"You heard the lady!" hollered the Joker, and she smiled (despite herself) at his backing. "Look alive or it'll be the last time you do!" And Joker pulled another pistol from his jacket and fired himself a shot. Now that wasn't paint ! The lackey screamed this time, face smeared with paint, knee blown wide open, a red and cavernous hole where bone should've been. And as terrible, horrific, dreadful as it was - Harleen laughed. Oh God!

At the Joker's command, threat, severe warning , the living target's found a new lease of life, adrenaline giving them that extra speed and energy to really add to the challenge. "After you," the Joker said, and Harleen was delighted to see the improvement. Over the wailing cries of his goon, fired again and again into the brightly coloured mess.


A/N: I update on other fanfiction sites more frequently than here as I find ff quite complicated (I'm hopeless!) Those of you that use tumblr, come and say hi - find me at .com :^)