AN: Harley's revelation in this chapter is based on a speech of the Joker's in The Killing Joke about the pointlessness of life. It's a great book, you should read it if you haven't. Thanks for the reviews!
Hotwiring wasn't as easy as movies made it look. Messing around with a few wires under the steering wheel wouldn't make it roar to life, it involved opening the hood and fiddling around in there, and the use of a screwdriver. Jonathan, not being the most mechanically gifted person in the world, took somewhere between twenty minutes and half an hour to do it, gashing himself twice by mistake and mixing swears in inventive ways he'd never tried before.
Harley didn't wake up during the process, not even when he got the engine on. He allowed himself to relax at that, at least for a few minutes. Then, mid-way through unlocking the steering wheel, it occurred to him that he had no idea where the Joker had gone. And since the clown had a habit of turning up at the worst possible moment, it was highly likely that he was somewhere nearby, probably planning a way to kill Jonathan for this. A slow, painful way, maybe spread out over weeks.
Fuck.
He went back to panicking, and continued to do so as he sped off. Looking back, it would have been a good idea to come up with a place to go before taking off. At the time it hadn't seemed necessary, but nothing had, apart from 'get Harley out of here' and 'kill Joker.' He glanced down at the fuel gauge, swearing in several different languages upon finding there was only an eighth of a tank. Well, joy. What was he going to do when they ran out, go carjacking? It probably would have been wise to bring a weapon. All he had was the can of Mace still in his pocket, and that would do little against a car. He supposed he could find a mounted police officer and steal the horse, but he doubted he'd find one of those around. It wasn't as if they were common.
To make matters worse, it was nighttime. Not as though he hadn't realized that when he set out, his powers of observation weren't that lacking, but only now did it occur to him that the Bat prowled at night. Lovely. As things were, he figured he'd have to run into one of them before things were through, and he couldn't decide which would be worse.
He heard Harley sitting up from the back seat. Oh, hell. Well, things were going just beautifully, weren't they?
"Jonathan?"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?" she asked, making her way up to the front, holding onto the passenger seats to keep herself from falling over as she did so. He supposed he was driving rather erratically.
"Driving."
She sat beside him, examining her surroundings with confusion. "Where's Mistah J?"
"Don't know, don't care."
Comprehension dawned across her face, quickly followed by anger. "Jonathan, just what do you think you're doing?"
"Getting us out of Gotham," he said, turning sharply. He had no idea where he was headed, but if the Joker was tailing them in some way, he wasn't about to make it easy.
"Turn around. Now."
"No." This was the first time he'd heard her sound angry since the day she'd ranted about Batman in her office. He didn't like it when the anger was directed at him. It was unnerving. "I don't care how much you love him, Harley, being around him is ruining you and we are not heading back."
"Turn around," she repeated. Her hand shot out, closing around his wrist, her grip tightening painfully. He tried to ignore it. After all, it wasn't as if it was hindering his driving, beyond making it harder to turn. "Jonathan, take us back now."
"Absolutely not. Look at yourself, Harley." He tried to keep his voice steady. Getting emotional wouldn't do any good at the moment, just cloud his judgment. "How do I know you won't slit your throat next time?"
She sighed. "Look, you're worrying yourself over nothing, all right? I told you, that wasn't his fault, I chose to do it—"
"So what?" He jerked the wheel hard enough to break free, almost sending her flying into a window. "You wouldn't have done it if he hadn't put you in that situation, so don't try and make excuses for him. I don't care about your love for him, I care about your well-being."
"If you cared about my well-being," she snapped, pulling herself back up, "you would know that separating me from him would make things worse."
"Really?" He was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Because you already sound a lot more alive and in control of yourself than you did last time you were around him."
"You have no idea what you're talking about, you idiot." Her hands were back on him, trying to pull his own off the steering wheel.
"And you're calling me an idiot?" he asked, as the car swerved. "It'll be your fault when we crash, unless that's what you're trying to do. Have you become addicted to pain that quickly?"
"Shut up." Still, she let go, leaning back in her seat. He watched, whenever he glanced away from the road, as she closed her eyes tightly, chewing on her lower lip in frustration. "Look, Jonathan—"
"I am not turning around and nothing you do can get me to change my mind."
She made a noise between a sigh and a groan. "Jonathan, I promise I will not hurt myself again. That was stupid, I recognize that. But listen, what you're doing isn't going to help things. If anything, it'll make my emotional stability even worse than it's been."
"No, it won't. You'll be away from the source of the instability—"
"Whom I happen to have deep feelings for," Harley said, massaging her temples. "You think you can just pull me away from him, and I'll be a-okay with that? I know you're bad at relationships, but even you must know better than that."
He glanced in the rearview mirror, and seeing nothing there, decided to continue on down this street. "I don't care about your relationship. Yes, you'll be upset about it, but I still think it's better to be away from someone and be upset about it then have that person force you to carve up a pregnant woman and—"
"He only did that once!"
"What, and that makes it okay? Do you hear yourself, Harley? You sound like one of those 'common defenses for abusers' pamphlets they hand out in women's centers. He's psychotic, do you really think that's the only horrible thing he'll make you do if you stay with him?"
"Jonathan, you don't understand. He loves me. I know you don't believe that, but I also know without a doubt that he does. Just because he doesn't go about expressing it in the regular way—"
"What, because slapping you across the face counts as expressing love?"
"Don't interrupt. I shouldn't have worried him. Look, you're wrong about him, all right? Now turn around."
"No," he said, accelerating.
"Jonathan, take us back. Now."
"I'd rather go to Arkham than back there."
She gritted her teeth, eyebrow twitching. "Jonathan, as your psychiatrist and therefore an authority figure, I order you to turn this van around at once."
" I hate to break it to you, Harley, but I'm pretty sure they've revoked your license by now."
"Jonathan, I will make you turn around if I have to." Her hand was on his wrist again, squeezing.
"I'm not turning around, Harley. What are you going to do, hit me?"
"No." Just like that her hand was off him, her expression appalled. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"
He fought back the urge to smirk. Now to use her logic against her like she used to do with him. "Why not? It would get me to do what you wanted, wouldn't it?"
"Or make us crash. Besides, you're my friend. Just because I don't like your behavior right now doesn't make it okay to hurt you."
"But it would get you what you want," he repeated, shooting a glance to the mirror. There was a truck in the distance, but it didn't look like anything to worry about.
"God, you really have trust issues if you think I'd do that." She sighed. "Hurting people is not okay, Jonathan."
"Right. So it's not okay for the Joker to hit you. So we're not going back. QED." He didn't need to turn his head to know she was glaring at him.
"That is not the same at all—"
"Is so. Just because he doesn't like your behavior doesn't make it okay to hurt you, right? That is what you just said, isn't it?"
She shook her head. "You're taking my words out of context."
"Or, I'm keeping them perfectly in context, and you're just—"
BAM.
The sound, loud and sudden, like a fire cracker, made them both jump. A split second later there was a deafening bang, sounding as if something had collided with the fender of the van. Harley screamed.
"What the hell?" He glanced at the rearview mirror to find that the truck had advanced, now right behind them and weaving erratically. Unsurprising, because its driver, the Joker, was steering one handed while leaning out the window and firing at them. "Shit."
"Stop the car!" Harley shrieked, ducking down in her seat as the clown fired again, missing this time.
"Are you fucking serious?" he asked, flooring the gas pedal, taking a turn that raised the wheels off of the ground on one side. "He'll kill us if I stop!"
"He'll kill us if we keep going!"
"At least this way—"
BAM. Another shot, this one shattering the mirror on Jonathan's side. "Shit shit shit shit shit," he hissed, turning again. "At least this way, we've got a chance to get away!"
"Like hell we do! Jonathan, you're just going to make him angrier! Stop the damn van!"
"No!"
"Goddamnit, Jonathan!"
The next shot made the rear windshield explode in a shower of shards. Jonathan found himself offering short prayers to every deity in the history of religion, each consisting of about ninety percent obscenities. Beside him, Harley had buried her head between her legs, shaking.
Amidst his terror and rage, he felt guilt as well. In a way, this entire mess was his fault, for playing along with the Joker's plan to begin with. If only he'd scared Harley off, she wouldn't be here, about to be killed because of another idiotic move on his part. Sure, the Joker would likely have killed him, but it would have been worth it. "God, I'm sorry, Harley," he managed, swerving the van as the Joker fired again, missing this time.
She raised her head slowly, and he came to the confounding realization: Harley wasn't crying. She was laughing.
"Harley?" Well, shit. That couldn't be a good sign.
"You…you're ridiculous," she managed, before going into another giggling fit.
Fuck. As if he hadn't been frightened enough already, here was a new wave of terror. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen people's minds break before, but he'd always been the cause of the break, through chemicals, and it had always happened to people he couldn't care less about. Watching his friend stare death in the face and go mad as a result, that was terrible. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Don't you see, Jonathan? I finally get it now." She'd stopped laughing, but was sitting straight up, the smile on her face to near Joker proportions.
"Get what?" he asked, ducking as a bullet shattered what remained of the windshield.
"The joke." She hadn't moved at all. Christ. "I mean, look at you. You've been tryin' this whole time to get me to "see the light," realize what an awful position I'm in, and run away. And now you're gonna get killed for it. And the best part is, I still haven't seen any lights. We're gonna die, and I'll still be in love with the Joker. Get it? You risked your life for me for no reason at all."
"Excuse me if I don't see the humor in that," he said, ducking again as they turned. The van nearly flipped. Harley didn't react.
"Of course you don't. You're too serious. Look, here's the punch line, you've given everything, includin' your life, tryin' to save me, and it's all pointless! You've accomplished nothing, past bringin' about your death. And your life before that was useless too. You were finally startin' to overcome your miserable childhood and life of crime, and then the person who was supposed to be makin' you better broke you out and undid all she taught you.
"Now look at me. I worked my whole life to become a psychiatrist, and kept pushin' and pushin' until I got to high security, and tried as hard as I could to help you and Mistah J to prove it could be done, and for what? To go completely Looney Toons and lose everything I've ever worked for, not to mention made you worse. Don't you get it? Mistah J's been right the whole time, there's no point in tryin' to do good in the world, because nothin' anyone loves or cares about will ever amount to anything!" She leaned back in her seat, stretched her arms behind her head, the grin on her face huge and terrifyingly calm. "I finally get the joke. Too bad Mistah J'll never know that I did."
He stared, not bothering to watch the Joker behind him or the road ahead. What was the point? They were going to die anyway, she was right about that, and as an added slap to the face, he got to watch his best friend completely lose touch with reality before he died. "I am so sorry," he whispered, feeling tears start in his eyes.
WHAM. The van slammed into a solid surface, most likely a building, but it wasn't as if Jonathan could make out much, what with flying forward and slamming his head against the dash and all. He heard the front window shatter, felt glass fall over top of him, digging into his body when he landed on the carpet. His head collided against the floor, sending a new wave of stars into his vision and cancelling out all sound but the ringing in his ears. He could feel blood, coming from seemingly everywhere on his body, and his vision wavered in and out of focus.
Through it all, he remained conscious. It figured that fate would hate him that much.
He didn't know how long he lay there. It felt like hours, days even, but couldn't have been longer than about a minute. Regardless, the pain he felt lying was nothing compared to the agony when the Joker grabbed hold of him, lifting him by the shirt off the floor and out of the car.
"And where the hell were ya headed, scaredy cat?"
He didn't even bother to try answering. He doubted he was capable of speech at the moment, anyway. He was vaguely aware that the Joker was shaking him, demanding answers, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Puddin'!" A shrill voice broke through the ringing in his ears and into his brain, making him wince. He felt himself being lowered, suddenly, watched as the Joker turned towards Harley, doubtless asking her the same questions. Her response, however, was not to ignore him, but to run forward and jump into his arms. Jonathan noted that there was a large gash in her forehead, as well as bloodstains all over her pajamas, indicating that the cuts had reopened on impact.
"Harley-girl, what the hell were ya thinking?"
"Don't be angry with us, Mistah J, please. It's just…well, I wanted to go for a ride."
"Ya wanted to go for a ride," he repeated, flatly. Jonathan guessed that were she not already injured, he'd be hitting her again.
"I'm sorry, puddin', it's just that I felt so horrible, I just had to get out of that place. Don't be mad at Jonathan, he said we shouldn't go, but I made him."
"If that's the case," Joker said, turning to glance down at him. "Why the hell didn't he stop when I started firing?"
"Because you scared him, silly. He was too worried we'd get killed to stop."
"Ah. Makes sense."
"How'd you find us so fast anyway, puddin'?"
"I saw ya leaving." Most of the anger was gone from his voice now. Thank God. "I was on the roof, stargazing. After ya left, I got down and stole the truck."
Harley leaned forward, pressing her lips against his. "I'm sorry we scared you, Mistah J. It won't happen again, I promise."
"It had better not." He turned his attention to the shattered wreck that had once been a van. "I suppose we're taking the truck then. Get up, scaredy cat."
He prodded Jonathan with the toe of his shoe, the blade thankfully retracted. Jonathan moaned, wishing he was dead.
"I think," Harley said, sliding out of the clown's arms, "that we're gonna have to carry him, puddin'. He got hit a lot harder than me."
"Fine." With a sigh, the Joker knelt down and lifted him, Jonathan trying not to moan in spite of the agony he felt whenever his body shifted. He found himself laid out on cold metal, staring at the sky above. He didn't know how the Joker had been stargazing, the city lights blocked out anything from space, but he was too tired and injured to care.
Underneath him, the engine began to hum, the buildings around becoming a blur as the car sped along. It struck him that he was now hurt and still stuck with a homicidal maniac, with his semi-sane friend having gone absolutely mad, just to rub salt into the wounds. This was probably something he should be concerned about, but at that moment all he could bring himself to do was close his eyes and sleep.