Chapter Twenty-Four:
Headlines
Joker smiles down at me, and once I catch my breath, he lowers his head to reclaim the kiss.
"Hello, Harley Quinn," he beams, our teeth still touching.
The single kiss was not enough. I smile up at him wildly, ecstatic, and push my fingers through his hair from the nape of his neck, gripping the back of his head and pulling him down towards me. I kiss him hard, not caring that the two of us taste toxic, the chemicals still kissing my cheeks, plastering my hair to my skull. He kisses me back with equal force, the two of us locked together. I am the first to pull away for air, my arms wrapped about his neck.
"I love you," I say, letting the words run from me.
He grins and seals us together with another long kiss. He walks the two of us back the edge of the vat, raising me up onto the ledge so that my knees are level with his head. The fabric of my lingerie has turned gummy, molten, eaten away in places by the toxic bath. Out of the concoction, the chilly air sets my being alight with a new sensation so that I tingle once more from head to toe. Joker is laughing, and I find that I am too, my feet either side of his shoulders, locked about his neck. The sounds scream about the empty cavern, echoed a thousand times so that an entire manic chorus joins in.
Now that our skin is so close and the lemony liquid has run away, I see that my own body is not the perfect alabaster shade of his. I am pale, yes, but that's always been the case anyway. My skin still holds some of that ethereal, powdery glow. Perhaps Joker was right about the amount of time submerged, about the chemicals getting inside his body rather than just external exposure. I am not disorientated, either, no sudden amnesia or confusion. Aside from the prickling in my skin, the only real change I feel is the same sort of rush given by the antidote to the toxin, only more intense. Things changed over time with the antidote, though; I wonder what the future holds after this submersion.
Joker pulls himself from the vat and meets me where I sit. There's hardly anything left of the thin pants he wore in the medical ward, and the threads of fabric cling to his legs like seaweed. He reaches down for me and I allow him to scoop me up like a rag-doll, carrying me bridal-style from the platform and awkwardly down the ladder, one arm about his shoulders. He slips as his feet hit the floor, almost sending the pair of us crashing to the ground, which only makes us laugh even more. I shower his pale white throat with kisses as he carries me through the network of tanks, his grip occasionally slipping from the liquid we're both still coated in. He sets me down beside a new door, which he opens up to reveal another of the rooms with hazmat suits. This room is tiled, however, and has a line of showers across the left wall. The suit he brought in with him hangs over one of the shower heads in its zip-bag.
Joker begins fiddling with the nobs on the wall, trying to find a shower which will work. Eventually one of the heads begins to splutter, and after bashing its neck a few times with the palm of his hand, the flute releases a steady stream. Joker jumps back as the cold water hits his chest, which sets me off laughing again. He laughs in return, reaching out to snag my wrist and pulling me towards him sharply.
"Think that's funny, do you? I'll show you funny, you little..."
He wrestles me beneath the cold stream and I shriek at the cold, kicking out at the wall, both of us in hysterics as we fight to wrangle one another beneath the icy faucet. Eventually, we reach some sense of equilibrium with the water and its temperature does not feel quite so harsh after all.
Joker massages his fingers through my hair, washing out the dense chemicals and returning it to a fluid texture, almost gooey from exposure to such strong chemicals. My hair touches my mid-back now that it is saturated, dead-straight from the water pressure, warm sensations prickling beneath my skin whenever Joker's hands brush against my back as he moves his hands through my hair. Beneath the chill of the water he feels positively burning.
I step away to watch as he rinses the chemicals from his own skin, Reaching his arms up over his head and running them over and over through his faded green hair, letting the water streak down over his closed eyes. He is beautiful, cold and perfect, not hairy and human like other men, but like a roman carving come to life, alabaster given the breath of life. He turns away from me, letting the water fall down his back, his porcelain skin glistening.
I bring my hands over his shoulders, massaging his neck, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. I snake my hands about his waist and kiss his throat as high as I can reach, in the lean expanse between his neck and shoulder. He reaches a hand back and cups my neck, massaging the skin there before pulling me around to his front, turning the both of us beneath the faucet and pressing his lips against mine once more. I lose myself in the sensation, trailing my hands across the map of his skin as his own trail down my throat, snake over my collarbones, linger across my chest and come to a steady rest at my hips. He walks me back through the stream, my spine making contact with the cold tiled wall. As he pulls away he bites gently at my lower lip, bringing a hand around to my lower back.
"I love you," I tell him again, as his mouth finds my throat hungrily. He laughs against my neck, his breath hot as a smouldering fire, and snakes a hand down between my thighs as I bring my arms about his shoulders and press my mouth to his.
~oOo~
Afterwards, I watch him dress in the dim light, as he layers on the refined purple suit which Frost had brought for him. The toxin-like rush does not seem to be fading. I sit with my back to the wall, wearing only the open jacket of his suit and a soft smile. Joker catches me looking as he buttons his shirt and turns aside.
"What are you staring at?" he teases.
"Just the man of my dreams," I say languidly.
He looks over both shoulders comically. "Well, where is he? Let me at'em."
I giggle and pull myself to my feet, stepping before him and buttoning up the last of his shirt. I wind his silk tie about his throat and knot it carefully.
"He's right here," I say, smoothing down his collar.
"Most little girls dream about Prince Charming," he jokes. After a moment he adds, "most of them are scared of clowns."
My reply comes in the form of a kiss, sharp on the lips. He kisses me back just once, smiling.
Once he's finished dressing Joker disappears for a few minutes, telling me that he has a surprise. When he returns he has a duffel bag over his shoulder and pulls me through to the staff bathrooms, where there are mirrors above each sink. I ask where the bag is from, and he tells me that Frost is waiting for us outside.
"First things first," he says, putting the large bag down on the countertop and unzipping it, "we have to make ourselves presentable. Here. A gift, for you."
He pulls a vacuum bag out and tosses it my way. I turn it over in my hands, seeing that it is a store-bought fancy dress costume, a jester's bodysuit with diamond motifs, complete with a cap and cowl.
"You want me to wear this?" I ask.
"Well, I would quite like my jacket back, and we can't really have you running about Gotham naked. Not that I'd be complaining..." he pulls a makeup bag from the duffel and begins powdering his face with a white compact.
"But it's a Halloween outfit!" I say, not quite sure what to make of the costume. The woman in the image printed on the front strikes a shamelessly sexy pose, a clown's marotte gripped between her teeth.
"Harley, you're with me now. Every day is going to be Halloween for the two of us. It's the best Frost could do at such short notice. Besides, it's funny- Harlequin, Harley Quinn? Come on. It's too good of an opportunity to waste."
I pull the outfit from the packet, running the sleek fabric through my fingers. It's well-made, with a satiny finish and white detailing on the cuffs and collar, and pointed slippers built into the suit.
"It's kinda cute," I admit, wiggling my fingers into one silky glove to check the fit.
"Atta girl," Joker says, tossing a set of burgundy lingerie towards me from the duffel bag. The clothes don't fit perfectly but they're a decent enough match; I'm surprised Frost has an eye for such things.
"You ready?" say Joker once I've wriggled into the costume.
"For anything," he calls back. I turn around to face him and strike a pose, beaming.
"Ta-da! Say hello to your new and improved Harley Quinn!"
I catch my reflection in the mirror opposite and smile wider. I'm more than surprised to find that I like what I see. Joker too is grinning.
"Like it?" he asks.
"Love it," I affirm, bouncing over beside him and getting a better look at myself, adjusting the parts of the suit that need adjusting. I can hardly believe that the woman in the mirror is me, and yet I feel instantly at home with her. Joker slides the makeup bag over in my direction and dons the jacket he'd lent to me.
"One last thing," he says, once I've declared that I'm happy with my appearance. He runs a deep red lipstick across his mouth carefully before sliding the cosmetic over my own lips; I smack them together and he turns us both to face the mirror.
"Perfect," he says, his smile immeasurable. We look impossible, the two of us standing there looking the way we do, but I can think of no better match. We look as though we belong together, the magician and his assistant, the king and his queen.
"What are we gonna do now, Puddin'?"
He answers by taking my hand and leading me back through the building, past the glistening vats and through the dark corridors, up endless steps and out onto the balcony where we entered; the world has turned black since we crossed the threshold of Ace Chemicals, the sky a shimmering darkness painted with the yellowish mist of far-off streetlights. Sirens scream in the distance. The alleyway is smothered in darkness, the only light source coming suddenly as a car's engine revs and its bright white headlights scream into life. I blink hard at the glare, my vision stained by the negatives of the two white orbs.
"Holy moly," I say, seeing the sleek violet sports car which the headlights belong to. Joker wraps an arm across my shoulders as we scurry down the steps.
"Harley, meet your competition," he says, running a hand across the car's side. "The only woman who could ever compare."
"She's gorgeous, but she's not exactly inconspicuous," I say, feeling the paintwork, exploring my reflection in the tinted windows, the tint of which is a deep shade of indigo. "More of a Bat-magnet than anything."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Joker beams, clicking his fingers towards the driver's door. It opens and from it emerges Johnny Frost, with a somewhat confused expression. Joker grabs me by the hand and twirls me around beneath his arm like a doll on a music-box.
"Take a look, Frost, though not too close. What do you think?"
I fling out one arm in a dramatic pose, leaning into the motion with a dazzling smile.
Frost nods, his expression giving nothing away. "She'll be the talk of the town."
Joker pushes me away and claps him on the shoulder. "You've worked hard today, Johnny boy. Your services are no longer needed. You deserve the night off." He slides into the driver's seat. "Harley and I are going for a drive. We've no need of a chaperone. I'm assuming you can find your own way home?"
Frost looks a mildly disgruntled but doesn't pursue it. "Yes, boss."
"Good man. Harley, get in the car."
"Can I still not have a gun?" I whine to Frost. Joker gasps theatrically, cupping an arm over my shoulders.
"You denied my darling dearest a gun of her own? Shame on you, sir!"
Frost watches him, a little unease dancing in amongst the questioning expression on his face. Joker pouts.
"My princess can have whatever she wants. Give her yours."
A lesser man might hesitate, suffer from wounded pride, but Frost is no lesser man. He's ascended past social etiquette and personal shame, making him the perfect tool at Joker's disposal, which in turn makes him the only man working for Joker who isn't disposable. He hands over his own weapon and I handle it awkwardly. He reaches a hand into the inside pocket of his blazer and draws out a packet of bubble gum wrapped in cellophane; he hands it to me without a word, and I reach up to kiss him on the cheek. He stands back, folding his hands atop one another and waiting at the side of the alley for us to depart.
A banging comes from inside the lavish car; Joker is thumping on the dashboard impatiently, shouting for me to get in. I do so quickly, giving Frost one last care-free wave and bouncing inside the vehicle, which is just as flashy on the inside as it is externally, all white leather interior and gold detailing. The felt roof serves as a covering for the convertible, which I plead with Joker to put down.
"Maybe later. At the moment let's just focus on- hey, feet off the dashboard!" he barks, slapping my legs away as I scramble to return to an upright position.
"Sorry, Puddin!" I grimace. He mutters under his breath, shaking his head, then reminds me to belt up. As I pull the strap across myself, Joker starts up the engine and turns on the radio; I start singing along to the song playing which he quickly turns off, turning the radio to a news station. I throw a piece of gum in my mouth and listen along.
"-Situation at Arkham Asylum today, in which one of the Asylum's most dangerous inmates, Pamela Isley, who seems to possess some unnatural abilities over plant life, escaped her holdings. She was eventually subdued by the Batman with the support of the GCPD and external services, who Commissioner James Gordon has praised for their intuition and bravery in handling such an obscure situation. In the meantime, Arkham's patients are being transferred temporarily to Blackgate Penitentiary and Gotham General hospital, which is already experiencing an overflow. On the matter, the director of the hospital, Doctor Thomas Elliot, had this to say-"
"Oh, blah blah blah, who cares?" I whine, switching the station back to some music; Joker quickly slaps my hand away with a few choice words and flicks the station back, telling me that this is important.
"'-will do whatever we can to support the terrible situation at Arkham, and offer our continued co-operation with the Gotham Police Department.' In the chaos of the outbreak several patients have gone unaccounted for, including former Warden and owner of the institution Jeremiah Arkham, who was admitted to the institute late last year-"
"Jerry!" I screech in excited disbelief, squeezing Joker's arm, "Jerry's got out! Ha! Oh, can we go and find him, Puddin'? Can we, can we, can we?!"
"Shut up!" Joker demands, turning the dial and raising the volume.
"-perhaps of most concern was the notable disappearance of the Joker, along with two of his key workers, therapist Harleen Quinzel and staff member Lyle Bolton. The Joker's lack of accountability was the height of conversation at the emergency conference on the steps of the police building. Commissioner Gordon assured listeners that everything which can be done to find the self-styled 'Prince of Crime' is being done, and that they at the GCPD will stop at nothing to ensure that he and his associates are quickly captured and secured. Anyone with information is encouraged to call the local police department-"
"'Associates,'" Joker repeats. "That's you. You'll be on the cover of all the papers tomorrow Harley, mark my words. Just you wait until they piece it all together- nothing screams 'tabloids' like a therapist going rogue with her patient."
I lay my hand atop his on the gear-stick and give him my widest smile.
"Let's give them something to write about, then."
He beams, and suddenly I can't help myself; I pull him to me, run my hands beneath his lapels and press my lips against his. He seems surprised, but not unpleasantly. I hear a laugh at the base of his throat as he kisses me back. I revel in the sensation of my fingers running through his hair, the taste of him on my tongue, mingling with the sweetness of the bubblegum. He pulls away suddenly, his hand securely on the gear stick.
"Plenty of time for that later," he says, adjusting the mask on my face before wiping away the smudge to his lipstick in the rear-view mirror and gripping both hands on the white leather steering wheel. "Come on, sweetness- let's go make some headlines."
Joker switches the stereo back to a music station and cranks the volume all the way up; he rolls down the all the windows with the press of a button and drives as though the road is completely open, laughing wildly. By the way he swerves I wouldn't bet on him ever having earned a license, but I couldn't care less, one arm extended out of the window, the wind racing through my fingers. I watch his pale hands work the steering wheel, listen as he talks. Every few seconds he takes the time to glance at me, grinning, as though he cannot believe that I am finally at his side. I cannot believe it either, that I'm actually here, where I belong. When he looks at me like that, somehow all of this doesn't feel like a stupid, reckless mistake. My only regret is that it's taken me so long to get here.
It's irresistible, this feeling of letting go. I look again to the man at my side. Murderer, maniac. So much bad in him; I spent all that time looking for the good beneath it all, when the good was right here, staring me in the face the whole time, just begging to be seen. I know what he has been, what he could be, and there is so much he has shown me of what I myself could become. I'm so thankful that I could scream, or cry. I could definitely, definitely laugh.
Maybe this is all wrong, and weird, and twisted. Right now, I don't care. I love this feeling. I feel like myself, finally. Why worry about things that might never happen, or could never happen, or didn't happen or did happen, when none of that can be changed? I don't allow myself to feel guilty about the decisions I've made or the path I've chosen. I let Joker take the wheel, throw my head back and laugh, happily along for the ride.
So maybe the cops will catch us, or the Batman will make an appearance. Maybe we won't get very far, and they'll throw the pair of us back in Arkham. Why worry about it? We can share a cell. I curl my fingers beneath his wrist and ask,
"So where are we going now, Puddin'?"
Joker throws his hands off the wheel for a moment and laughs. "Who knows! Who cares?! You and me together, Harley, it's gonna be a riot wherever we go!"
He laughs again. I laugh with him, louder and louder until there are tears in both of our eyes and he swerves through lack of vision; because heck, ain't that the truth of it? None of us ever really know where we're going, do we?
All I know is, it's gonna be one hell of a ride.