The Madness of Two
Author's note: Here it is, kiddies, finally: the last chapter. Thanks to all of you for hanging in 'til the end! And, once again, some of the dialog is lifted from Batman: Harley Quinn.
Ch. 12: Poison Ivy
After a few weeks my bruises began to fade.
I went back to work.
Mr. J's plan to blow up City Hall may have been foiled, but on the bright side it only increased the city's fear of him. And that made it easier for us to resume our usual activities.
The Gotham P.D. looked even more pathetically helpless than usual. The Batman was lying low. And now even the most hardened gangsters crossed to the other side of the street when they saw us coming.
Good times.
---
"Harley!"
His voice had no trouble penetrating the thin walls of the old bar.
"Coming, Mr. J!"
I set aside the iron I had been using and lovingly hung up Joker's freshly pressed shirt. I considered it part of my job to keep the place, and Mr. J, tidy.
I left the bedroom and found the rest of the gang waiting expectantly for me.
Joker tossed me the car keys. "You're driving."
"Yes, sir," I beamed.
He hadn't let me drive since…well, never mind that. He obviously wasn't mad at me anymore.
With Lewis in the passenger seat, and Mr. J in the back, we drove into downtown Gotham. The other henchmen followed in another car.
It was after midnight, and the early spring moon hung low in the sky. It had rained earlier in the day, washing away what was left of the grubby snow.
We pulled up outside a construction site and quickly exited the car.
"Come with me," Joker said.
Lewis obviously had been here before; he came armed with a heavy-duty flashlight. He popped it on as soon as we were inside the gutted building, and the beams reflected off of scaffolding and piles of lumber and wallboard.
I looked around at the ghostly remnants of what had obviously once been a grand lobby of some sort. Shadowy murals painted on the walls depicted Gotham City's early history, with old Wayne Manor occupying pride of place in the center.
"Oooh, pretty! I hope they keep those," I said idly while we waited for the rest of the henchmen to catch up.
"They won't," Mr. J said, adjusting his gloves. "They never do."
We descended down two flights of stairs into the bowels of the building. I supposed this had once been the sub-basement. But now the hallway had been mysteriously extended, turning into a tunnel that cut sharply to the left.
Buster pushed past me carrying a canister with a fuse.
"You guys have been busy," I marveled.
"Oh, you have no idea the things we get up to, Harley." Mr. J took hold of my upper arm. "Now move back, before you get flattened by the debris."
"You're always so considerate, Mr. J," I smiled.
The light wasn't very good, so I couldn't be sure, but I think Lewis may have rolled his eyes at that.
Everyone except Buster pushed into the opposite end of the hall, near the stairs. A moment later Buster dashed down to join us.
I covered my ears.
It wasn't a huge blast, more of a muffled whomp than a real explosion. But I could tell by the clouds of dust that rolled down towards us that it had done its job.
Lewis went first, carefully picking his way through broken concrete.
"We're through," he called back to us.
"Excellent. Harley, if you will?" Mr. J still had a hold of my arm, and he now pushed me a bit ahead of him.
We followed the beam from Lewis' flashlight, and I could now see that the tunnel had broken through a wall, into the basement of another building. We must have punched through to the other side of the city block.
Curious, I looked around me. Lining either side of the room were solid metal fences, protecting row upon row of tiny drawers. At the opposite end of the room was a round metal door.
I had seen enough movies to know we were on the lower level of a bank.
The henchmen moved quickly into place. One set began drilling into the steel vault door. The other quickly cut through the mental fences, and began emptying out the safety deposit boxes.
I stayed next to Mr. J, far away from the whirring drills and the blowtorches.
"We're through, boss," one of the men finally called. With a spin of the handle, the vault door swung open.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I followed them into the cramped space, standing on tiptoes so I could see over the men's shoulders. Someone flicked a switch, and the overhead light and air vent came on, easing the stuffiness a bit.
The space was largely empty, save for a shelf along the back. Sitting on it were rows of brick-shaped objects that glinted ever so slightly in the light.
I gasped. "Is that what I think it is?"
Buster pushed past me with a canvas sack. "Yep."
"Gold bullion," Joker explained. "It was stored down here during World War II, as backup for the war bonds the government issued. Afterwards the bank held on to it, to back its own investments."
"And now it's going to back ours," Lewis said with a grin.
"Go and help, Harley," Mr. J nudged me.
"Right. Of course."
I helped Lewis and the other men load them up. Each gold brick was wrapped carefully but efficiently before being dropped into sacks. I have to say I was already imagining what they would buy: a new place, fully furnished, and a new lab for Mr. J…
"You really are the cleverest man I know," I told him admiringly.
"I know," he said. Joker pulled out the pocket watch I had given him for Christmas. "Five minutes, boys."
"Yes, boss," they responded.
As quickly as we had arrived the job was done. Henchmen had already started trundling their heavy burdens back down the tunnel.
As we stepped out of the vault, Mr. J brushed imaginary dust off his purple gloves.
"Now that," he said to no one in particular, "was a good night's work. Harley, shut off that light so we can leave."
"Yes, Mr. J," I said obediently.
I stepped back into the vault and reached for the switch.
That was when the heavy door slammed shut behind me.
---
I banged on the vault door until the skin on my hands was raw.
I screamed until my voice was hoarse.
But no matter how loud I yelled, or how hard I pounded, the door remained firmly shut.
I was beginning to think no one could hear me.
The vent fan was still spinning, so I knew I wasn't in any immediately danger of suffocating. I was more afraid of the minutes slipping away. Mr. J always timed his crimes down to the last second. Surely the Gotham P.D. was already on its way…
I glanced around me, desperately looking for another way out.
And there I saw it.
A folded piece of paper, pinned to the wall with a switchblade.
In all the excitement over the heist, had I missed it before?
I cautiously went over to it. Now I was closer, I could see my name scrawled across the front. "Harley" was written in uneven red letters.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
I knew he wouldn't have forgotten me.
I snatched it down and began reading it eagerly.
Dear Harley—
I just wanted to take some time and talk about where our relationship is going. You see, over the past few months, I've felt some changes coming over me since you entered my life. I've been reminded of what it's like to be part of a couple, to care for someone who cares for me. It's the first time in recent memory I've had those feelings.
And I HATE having those feelings! They're upsetting, confusing and worse, distracting me from getting my share of Gotham now that the getting's good. I will always treasure our days together, but sadly, inevitably, the time has come for us to part. Farewell my sweet Harley Quinn.
Love, Joker
Across the bottom he'd scrawled, in larger letters, "Ha ha ha."
---
I sank to the floor.
It couldn't be.
Could it?
Oh, Mr. J, how could you?
---
The door to the vault blew off the hinges.
A moment later the Batman towered over me.
I guess he's used a bat bomb or a bat grenade or whatever the heck he called it.
I looked up at him, Mr. J's letter crumpled in my fist.
I'd been weeping pitifully ever since I had found it, too devastated to even try and escape.
My mascara was running down my face, and I desperately needed a tissue.
But Bats was clearly not in a sensitive mood.
He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me into the air—not a difficult feat when he was so much bigger than me.
"Where is he?" Batman growled. "Where's Joker?"
I took a deep breath.
"I don't know. But when you find him, you tell me—BECAUSE I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!" I screamed.
All of my grief and hurt was suddenly giving way to white-hot rage. I screamed and screamed, kicking at the Batman's shins. For once I wasn't trying to hurt him—I just had to lash out at something, anything.
Batman wisely put me down.
"HOW CAN HE DO THIS TO ME?" I wailed, dropping down to my knees. "HOW? I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!"
I screamed, again and again. The sound echoed and reechoed in the small space, making it sound as if there were a dozen grieving Harleys in the room.
If there had been anything left in the vault I would have torn it to pieces. I settled for tearing the letter into tiny, tiny pieces and throwing them across the room. They were immediately sucked into the ventilation fan and turned into confetti.
Even that didn't make me feel any better.
The Batman stepped aside and let me wear myself out.
I have no idea what he thought I was doing.
I didn't care.
Mr. J had left me.
I was alone.
Again.
My world would be so dark without him.
---
My heart began to beat out a staccato rhythm in my chest.
Make him pay, Harley, it seemed to say. You're the one who helped put him back on top. Make him pay.
Oh, yes.
I sniffled.
Make him pay.
---
The Batman didn't lay a hand on me again. Instead he waited for the Gotham P.D. to arrive.
I think my hysterics made him extremely uncomfortable. Issues with women, much?
But he stuck it out like a trooper.
I don't know what he said to the cops.
They handled me very carefully.
I was too exhausted from crying and screaming to even stand. When the officers came in all I could do was look blankly at them.
With her colleagues' guns trained on me, a female officer finally gave me a quick pat down where I sat. She confiscated the blade that had pinned Joker's note to the wall. Then she helped me to my feet.
I leaned heavily on her. She looked a little alarmed, but didn't pull away.
I limped ignominiously out of the vault and out of the bank.
Outside was complete chaos: numerous police cruisers, crowds of people, and a lot of yelling.
Looked like Mr. J's heist had been successful. Damn him.
The officer sat me down on the rear bumper of an ambulance. She quickly drew a blanket around me. I think it was as much to hide my instantly recognizable outfit as to keep me warm.
I slumped there, too wounded to move.
What was I going to do without him?
What the hell was I going to do?
---
"Dr. Quinzel?"
It had been so long since I had heard that name that it took me a minute to realize someone was speaking to me.
They had taken me back to police headquarters and left me in one of the interrogation rooms. I was cuffed to the chair by one arm, but I wouldn't have tried to escape anyway.
It was much too late for that.
I finally looked up, and saw Commissioner Gordon standing over me.
"Hi," I offered feebly.
"Dr. Quinzel—"
"You can call me Harley." I used the back of my free hand to wipe half-heartedly at my make-up streaked cheeks. "Everybody does."
He handed me a tissue, and I moped my face as best I could.
"Ask her."
The voice came out of the darkness. Then the figure emerged, unwrapping itself from the shadows in the far side of the room.
The Batman. How long had he been in here? Had I been that out of it?
I should have said something cocky, but I didn't. I couldn't even think of anything appropriate.
My heart was broken. I'd never be witty again.
"Dr.—Harley." Gordon pulled over a chair and sat down. "Joker left you behind, didn't he?"
Out of sheer habit, I opened my mouth to defend Mr. J.
But I couldn't.
"Yes," I said after a long moment. "He did."
The Commissioner looked at the collection of bruises and scars on my forearms, clearly visible under the pale fluorescent lights. He winced.
"I'm sorry," he told me.
"No, you're not," I retorted. "I wouldn't feel sorry for me, if I was in your shoes."
"You're angry at Joker," the Batman said. It was a statement, not a question.
I shot him a withering glance. "Ya think?"
Gordon leaned forward.
"We want to know if you'd be willing to testify against him. Give us what you know about the Joker. I think that, if you cooperate with us, the District Attorney would probably be willing to cut you a deal."
I looked seriously at the Commissioner.
"I want a lawyer, Mr. Gordon. A lawyer, and a cheese sandwich. And then I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the Joker."
Gordon, looking pleased, glanced over his shoulder at the Batman.
"Hell hath no fury," the Batman said.
"You got that right, buster," I told him.
---
That evening I spent the night in lockup.
It wasn't so bad. I had a cell all to myself, and even though I was still in my grimy dress and smeared make-up I slept like a baby.
The next morning they brought me back up to the interview room. This time my new court appointed lawyer, a fierce-looking woman with skin the color of a moccachino, was there, as was a rather scrawny young D.A.
I sat quietly in the corner while the two lawyers and Commissioner Gordon discussed me in whispers.
"I need Quinzel to tell us what she knows," Gordon was saying. "She's far more valuable to us as a witness than as a suspect."
"Her arrest made the morning papers," the baby-faced D.A. retorted. "Since you still haven't gotten the Joker back in custody, they're howling for her blood."
"And we're not going to catch him without her help," Gordon shot back.
"Look, she's been sleeping with the Joker," the public defender said curtly. "No jury in the world is going to find her competent to stand trial."
The D.A. was clearly taken aback.
"You don't know that she was sleeping with him."
My lawyer rolled her eyes.
"Oh, grow up," she told him.
It was to laugh.
I'll admit, it was a bit annoying listening to them discuss me as if I wasn't even in the room. But I preoccupied with other thoughts. Now that some of the shock had worn off and I'd had a good night sleep, I was facing a genuine 24-karat gold moral dilemma.
Do I roll on Mr. J?
I knew it would be only too easy to feed the Gotham P.D. a bunch of lies. Mr. J would then remain safe.
I can't roll on him! I love him.
He's the love of my life.
Yeah, the love of my life that had just dumped me for the second time. And landed me in the clink to boot.
I hate him. I hate him so much it makes the bile rise in the back of my throat.
Besides, Mr. J wasn't stupid. Even now he'd be pulling his operations from their usual haunts, scattering them across the city so, whatever I did, I wouldn't be able to damage his precious criminal operations.
I gave him everything I had. My heart, my body. My soul.
And he threw me away like a broken doll.
No amount of time I ended up with would be worse than what Mr. J had already done to me.
He may be done playing, but I sure as hell am not.
Make him pay.
Yes, I could do this.
I took a deep, steadying breath and cleared my throat.
Three sets of eyes turned my way.
"If you great minds are done talking," I told the assembly, "I'm ready to start."
I leaned back in my chair.
I was Harley Quinn.
And I was going to be just fine.
---
---
---
"And I was," I told Ivy. "The end."
"Huh. That's the way you might end the story, sure," Ivy scoffed. "Never mind that you still ended up doing five-to-ten in Arkham."
"But not in prison," I said, waggling my finger. "Big difference."
We were hiding out in Robinson Park. Due to years of budget cuts, the park was badly overgrown. It was positively jungle-like in some places.
I didn't know if our escape had been discovered yet.
I couldn't hear any choppers or anything. I suspected emergency services, if they'd even reached Arkham yet, still had their hand full dealing with the mass poisoning.
It would be darn near impossible to find us in the park, at least not without a machete and some Agent Orange.
Ivy stood up and brushed off her clothes. "Enough of this waiting around. Let's get moving."
"Moving? Where?"
"I've got a flight waiting to take us to South America. Zombie root, remember? With any luck we'll be at thirty thousand feet before the Gotham P.D. knows we're gone."
"Uh, what do you mean 'we,' Red?" I asked cautiously.
"We. You and I. I need a partner, Harley. You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you're handy to have around."
I was genuinely touched.
"Gee, Red. I appreciate you breaking me out of Arkham and everything. But I don't want to run off to the jungle just now. I've got too much to do."
Ivy's mouth twisted angrily. "Yeah? Like what? Crawling back to that pathetic clown?"
"No," I retorted. "But I've never struck out on my own before. I think it's time I did. Besides, I don't know anything about plants, except that I always forget to water them. You don't want me cramping your style."
Ivy looked at me for a long moment, her red hair whipping about in the wind.
"Fine, Harley. Fine. I thought you understood something about loyalty and how we women should stick together. But obviously you don't. So go off on your on, if it makes you happy." She pointed over the tree line. "Downtown Gotham is that way."
I felt awful. Truly, truly awful. Ivy was my friend—the only friend I had.
How could I let her down?
I couldn't.
So instead I jumped up and gave her a hug.
She stiffened a bit in my arms, but she didn't pull away.
I laughed.
"OK, Red. I'll bite. If you want to go to South America, than to South America we go."
"Look, I don't want to force you or anything," she mumbled.
I was growing more enthusiastic by the second.
"C'mon, Ivy. It'll be a blast. Hot sun, tropical drinks, men with moustaches—think of the possibilities!"
"We're going for work, Harley, not for fun," she chastised.
"Yeah, but surely we can squeeze in a little fun, right?" I asked as we started walking.
"No. This is serious business."
"A little fun. An eenie, beanie, little bit of fun." I held my thumb and forefinger a few millimeters apart. "That much fun."
Ivy was silent for a long moment.
"Maybe," she finally offered.
I smiled.
"You know, Red, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
And it was.
The End
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