The Harlequin
32.
At 7 AM, Harley picked up the former detective Ramirez from her hotel room and drove her to the station to catch her bus. Harley hugged her goodbye and reassured her they would leave her alone, and she should get in touch with Vicki if she needed anything. Harley might have suggested it wouldn't be good for Vicki if Ramierz told people Harley had been involved, but Ramirez shouldn't feel compelled to omit Harley's role in connecting them. Not unless she wanted to...
For Vicki's sake.
Vicki dropped Harley a text to say she was on a GCN panel at 10 AM, so Harley returned to the hotel and joined the Joker in the bathroom where he was shaving with a disposable razor. Harley sat down on the closed toilet seat beside the sink and opened a map of kindergartens around the city on her phone. It turned out the school district included kindergarten in the elementary schools, so Harley drew up a list and tapped out a message to Sergey, who was so thrilled about the opportunity to blow up four elementary schools in under forty-eight hours that he offered to do the job for free.
"I knew I liked that guy," the Joker smirked. That smirk stuck around until Lonnie called, predictably being a fucking pain in the ass about everything. Harley fought back a grin as she watched the Joker pace and rant and throw his hands up in frustration. Lonnie was hacking the school systems to find an appropriate teacher from each school. Young, single teachers of the first and second grades were the ideals.
Then it was 10 AM, time for Vicki's appearance on Gotham This Morning, where she recounted Detective Ramirez's story of being held at gunpoint by Harvey Dent to the show's host, Naomi Meadows.
"Oh, yeah," the Joker growled, watching Vicki suggest that perhaps the Batman had had a good reason to kill Gotham's late DA after all, and that Commissioner Gordon had covered it up to protect Dent. "That's gonna hurt Gordon... big time."
Breakfast in the penthouse had become an awkward affair in recent weeks, but Alfred would gladly take awkward over non-existant. Since Ms Drake had taken up residence with them on the top floor of Wayne Tower, Bruce had developed a taste for hearty plates at the breakfast bar each morning, a welcome shift from his typical ambivalence to the meal. It was a small change, but it was one of many Alfred had noticed since Dinah appeared in their lives. It was clear Bruce wasn't entirely sure how to deal with a seventeen-year-old girl, but it was also clear he felt an obligation to care for her in ways he frequently did not look after himself.
Selfishly, Alfred enjoyed Dinah staying with them, allowing him to have a young charge again.
In general, things were looking up, at least in a personal sense, by Alfred's measure. But when he walked into the breakfast bar that morning, the sight of two empty chairs and a pair of untouched breakfasts made foreboding prickle at the back of Alfred's neck. He sighed, resigning himself to what would inevitably come next as he followed the quiet sounds of the television playing into the living room.
Dinah sat on the white sofa with her feet tucked beneath her as she stared intently at the television. Bruce stood beside her, one arm folded tight across his chest, his fist pressed to his mouth as he frowned at the screen.
They were watching Gotham This Morning, where Vicki Vale was alleging that Harvey Dent had assaulted former-Detective Anna Ramirez the day he died.
Alfred's sense of foreboding only grew as Ms Vale claimed that Harvey Dent might not have been as good as people thought, and even more shocking, her suggestion of a cover-up by the MCU, framing the Batman for Dent's crimes.
Alfred's old eyes settled on Bruce, watching him react to this twist in the plot when Dinah abruptly spoke up.
"Is it true?" She demanded, looking up at Bruce, her expression grim.
Alfred rotated around to give them some privacy, but he could hear Bruce sigh heavily before he left the room.
This was a conversation they were always going to need to have if they were to be partners, but it was unfortunate it was happening because of the Joker.
Alfred could only thank God that Bruce had Dinah to watch his back now.
At noon Harley and the Joker gathered the henchmen who could be trusted with the delicate art of posing as elementary school teachers: Marty, Sly, and someone called Icebox whom Marty vouched for. Harley would be the fourth substitute teacher stand-in.
Even with a handful of henchmen intricate to the plan, none of them knew the real reason they were kidnapping teachers and planting bombs in elementary school. Just as none of the clowns involved in the Mayor plot knew why they were doing it or what would happen to the Mayor once they handed him over.
Harley was the only one who knew as much as the Joker.
It was mid-afternoon by the time the details of the teacher-kidnappings were ironed out, and they moved on to Sergey's brownstone Downtown. This time he was significantly friendlier toward the Joker, something Harley attributed to knowing the Joker would bring even more opportunities for flaming death and destruction his way.
"Harlequin lady," he beamed at Harley before turning to the Joker and giving him a rueful smile. "And Joker man."
Sergey already had his own minions working on securing the materials to make the bombs. He showed them a detonator with a three-foot-long antenna, and he and the Joker discussed technical things about ranges and charges that Harley didn't understand, but it seemed to make the Joker happy. Sergey even showed him a few other projects he was working on. The Joker crossed his arms and nodded, making impressed sounds while Sergey demurred like he was embarrassed about the praise.
Then they moved on to the explosive chopper, the chaotic misdirection that would allow them to grab the Mayor from the gala. It was all ready to go, waiting in a semi-truck in South Channel. There was one fly in the ointment: who was going to fly it?
Janice Porter had never given her predecessor's demise much thought. Harvey Dent: cut down in his prime by the Batman. Only in Gotham, was the most pushback it got, and Janice had met Dent enough times to know he was as squeaky-clean as they came, never giving her reason to doubt the story.
That was until Vicki Vale went on Gotham This Morning claiming Dent had threatened to murder a detective he blamed for his girlfriend's death, raising a hell of a lot of questions about what really happened the night he died. The Mayor was livid, and having just signed the Dent Act into law less than forty-eight hours earlier, it was a public relations nightmare. There was something stinky about all of this, and as a prosecutor, Janice could smell it a mile off.
She was waiting outside the Mayor's office at City Hall, both of her assistants murmuring together over their phones, obviously consuming the social media maelstrom on Vale's reporting. It reminded Janice of how just weeks earlier Jim Gordon had sat across from her in her office, threatening to blackmail her if she didn't do his bidding. Blackmail he had acquired with the help of the Batman, even though he'd allegedly killed Dent.
Oh, it stank to high heaven.
"Janice," the Mayor greeted her shortly as he came storming up the hallway, an army of aids and publicists trailing after him.
"Mayor Garcia," she replied grimly, rising to her feet.
The Mayor shuffled them both into his office, leaving their aids out in the hall so they could speak openly with each other.
"Gordon couldn't have warned us he's got a disgruntled former employee with a vendetta against Dent?" the Mayor complained, circling his desk to sit behind it, then grabbing a bottle of scotch out of a drawer. "I thought Dent wasn't supposed to have any skeletons in his closet."
"Disgruntled?" Janice frowned, lowering herself into one of the chairs facing the desk. "Detective Ramirez was assaulted with a firearm."
"Well, that's how we're going to have to spin it, aren't we," the Mayor snapped, slamming the scotch down on his desk. "Why else would she come forward the day after we sign the Dent Act? The timing is too perfect."
"Mr Mayor, we might be looking at a legitimate cover-up scheme by the MCU," Janice replied cautiously.
"Let's be honest with each other," the Mayor folded his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "You were elected to your office, not appointed, and I can't control what you do. But we both know you hate Gordon because he forced you to do your job."
"That doesn't mean Gordon gets carte-blanche to do whatever he wants," Janice bristled indignantly. "If Dent went on some kind of rampage before he died—"
"Rampage?" the Mayor laughed shortly, and slopped a few fingers of scotch into two glasses, sliding one across the desk to Janice, who ignored it. "Ramirez was a crooked cop, and her story is Dent hit her. Frankly, I would have done a lot worse if it was my wife who got blown up."
"Vicki Vale is suggesting Dent did a hell of a lot more than hit a crooked cop," Janice countered, watching the Mayor knock back his scotch.
"Vicki Vale is a salacious hack," he replied derisively. "I trust Gordon."
"People are going to have more questions," Janice promised him gravely as she rose to her feet. "This thing stinks to high heaven."
School let out at 3 PM, so while the Joker dealt with finding someone to pilot the chopper, Harley took the Crown Vic to her teacher's apartment to have a look around. She would be kidnapping Bonnie Hunter, a mousey-looking twenty-six-year-old second-grade teacher. Bonnie seemed to live a lonely existence from what Harley could see of her apartment, exemplified in the urn sitting beside a photo of a big orange cat over the television.
Everywhere she looked, Harley was reminded of her life when she worked at Arkham, although Bonnie's clothes were a different level of frumpy, and there was obviously a certain kind of loneliness at play, the streaming suggestions on her TV making it clear Bonnie watched a lot of reality shows about finding true love. She wanted a different life, but she wasn't willing to let herself have it, or maybe she just wasn't capable of it.
Deciding it was a safe bet that Bonnie would come straight home after work to watch her reality shows, Harley headed over to Central Gotham Elementary to wait her out. While she waited, she caught up with the news of the day and wasn't the least bit surprised to discover people were obsessed with the story of Harvey Dent attacking and threatening to kill a former cop. Steve Lombard from the Gothamite was calling for a City Hall investigation into Gordon if he did, in fact, "suggest" that a detective keep this information to herself so he and the Mayor could pass the Dent Act.
The Mayor was unavailable for comment, but City Hall pundits were making the rounds, calling Vicki a salacious hack who couldn't be trusted on TV and social media.
Bonnie finally appeared three hours after school let out, climbing into her dusty little Jetta and heading straight back to her apartment Downtown with Harley following two car lengths behind her, just as Bruno had taught her.
Harley parked on the street and peered up at the side of the building, then settled in to wait. Just as it was getting dark, the passenger door opened, and the Joker ducked in, toting a large pizza box and flashing Harley a roguish grin.
"You read my mind," Harley groaned, diving into the box and nearly inhaling a slice as the Joker did the same.
"How's the teacher?" He asked, eyeballing the front of the apartment curiously.
"Boring," Harley sighed. "I want to get this over with quickly, and I still need to get a dress."
The Joker hummed his approval for this plan and shot her a sideways look. "I don't think you're gonna like the pilot."
"Since when do you care what I like?" Harley replied flatly, making the Joker laugh throatily. "So, who is it?"
"Sly and me went down to the VA," he said coyly. "Found a guy who agreed to fly the chopper, but uh, he's not aware of the whole..."
"Blowing up mid-air and crashing into the side of the Ritz thing?" Harley offered, rolling her eyes. "How did you get him to agree to that?"
"Uhh... guy may have some light PTSD," the Joker's eyes rolled over Harley quickly. "Arkham kicked him out for not being mean enough."
Harley made a face. So they were using a vet who wasn't being treated for his mental health problems. She didn't really like it, but she saw the benefits, and it wasn't like they would torture the guy. He would just be blown up, clean and simple. So Harley shrugged and made a reluctant sound in the back of her throat, but otherwise didn't protest.
"Interesting," the Joker hummed, squinting at her with that dark, curious look he frequently turned on her.
"What?" Harley asked, self-conscious.
"I can never guess what's gonna tickle those morals of yours," he drawled, shooting her a lazy smirk. "It never gets old."
Harley's cheeks got warm when he said this because "it never gets old" was high praise coming from the Joker, but she tried to hide it anyway, aiming for nonchalant.
"I like to keep it interesting for you," she quipped as she pushed her door open. "Let's get this teacher and make it fast."
Subduing Bonnie was easy enough, but getting her out of the building and down the fire escape was harder, like something from Weekend at Bernie's but less funny because she was unconscious and not dead, and they wanted to keep her that way. Harley and the Joker hissed and snapped at one another as they maneuvered Bonnie down the fire escape, being out in the open and tight on time making them both antsy.
Once Bonnie was in the trunk, the tension cooled down a few degrees, and Harley turned on the radio to distract herself from the fact that she was nervous about the Joker being annoyed at her. Would that be all it took for this alliance to break down? If she annoyed him enough, would he haul off and shoot her or just up and leave her?
Harley mulled over the temporary-ness of what was going on between them, and how she felt about it throughout the silent forty-minute drive to the Bowery where José was waiting with all the necessary supplies to keep four hostages alive for a few days. But when they got out of the car and circled to the trunk, the Joker stopped Harley from opening it, taking hold of her wrist and yanking her close with more of that grabbiness that had characterized the last few days.
Harley looked up at him, wondering if he would always be as compelling and mysterious to her as he'd ever been. Even if she knew him better, and sometimes she felt close to him in a way that seemed impossible for someone so impenetrable, she was still as fascinated by him now as she was the first day he walked through the door at Arkham.
The Joker cocked his head to the side and squinted down at her curiously, then lifted his index finger and pressed it against her forehead.
"Stop," he ordered, raising a knowing eyebrow at her before he gave her forehead a tap.
Harley's eyes widened, realizing he was reading her mood perfectly, something that should have been impossible for him, and yet here he was, telling her to stop overthinking things without needing to spell it out. Understanding her.
Of all the moments she'd felt implausibly close to him, this moment by far outstripped the rest.
She stared up at him, slightly shellshocked, and she saw anticipation start to bleed into his expression as he looked down at her. Like he couldn't wait to see what she'd do or say next.
And suddenly, Harley understood. All those curious looks and intense stares, frowning at her like a puzzle he couldn't work out, finding her choices so very entertaining. From their first session at Arkham to that very morning when they were rolling around in bed together, the Joker looked at her like she was something unfathomable. But if he understood her as well as he'd just proven he did, that meant this wasn't about curiosity or being entertained anymore—this was fascination.
He was fascinated by her.
Harley realized a lot was going unsaid in the heavy look he was leveling at her, and she could not be willfully stupid by refusing to read into it. She couldn't fathom a world where they had a conversation about any of this. It would always go unsaid, and whatever reassurances Harley needed would have to come from her own capacity to interpret him.
And no one knew the Joker like Harley did.
The Joker's hand shifted to the side of her face to smooth her hair back, making Harley's shoulders tense as she tried to wrap her head around her fascination with him being reciprocated, and what that meant for both of them.
"How about a quickie in the back seat," he suggested, flashing her lazy smirk.
Harley laughed, the tension slipping away as she slid her hands up his chest, fully on board with this plan even if there was a woman in the trunk. But then José appeared behind them, and Bonnie started whining, and the Joker huffed impatiently as Harley stepped away from him.
"Later," she promised slyly.
Harley stood back to watch Jose help the Joker get Bonnie out of the trunk and into the derelict office block that would be her home for the next few days. Sly, Marty, and Icebox had yet to return with their teachers, but they had fewer things to worry about and more time to fill. Actually, Marty's plate was probably a little full since he was dealing with a teacher and the whole Slimeball-Mayor-Security set up, but the Joker waved her off when she suggested this to him.
"He'll adapt," he announced crisply, which felt particularly revealing. It crystallized how the Joker viewed the people around him. Adapt or die was the implication, something Harley excelled at.
Marty was attempting to fill Bruno's old role of administrative assistant and henchman-rallier, allowing the Joker to be the brains behind the operation without having to deal with people or tedious tasks. There had always been a small group of especially devoted minions around the Joker—or maybe disciples was more accurate. He inspired them to do his bidding without question, and it was only with this layer of back up that he was able to create those big, meaningful moments where he brought the city to its knees.
How did Harley fit in? How did the Joker view her in his operation?
She could feel him looking at her when they got back in the car, and when she glanced his way, he caught her eye, raising an eyebrow at her again.
Harley understood; it was as if his thoughts were being beamed straight into her head. Stop overthinking it.
It was that simple.
It was still humid as the summer drew to a close, making the garbage piled up in the street and down back alleys sweat and stink. Bruce lurked down one of these alleys, hidden in the shadow of a pile of black trash bags stacked chest high, a result of Downtown Gotham's constant lack of funding for their sanitation workers. These were the kinds of problems Bruce Wayne could help solve—bigger paychecks for garbage men, better waste disposal systems—but Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, could do very little to stop the Joker on his own.
A car with a busted taillight backed into the alley, its engine still running as the passenger door opened, and Commissioner Gordon climbed out. He edged past the car into the alley, his eyes swinging left and right, taking in the creaky fire escapes overhead before Bruce made himself known.
"How are things at the station," Bruce rumbled before Gordon had a chance to greet him.
"Not good," Gordon admitted. "But that's been the case for a while now."
"Do they believe it?" Bruce frowned.
"It's hard to say," Gordon sighed, shooting Bruce a pointed look. "Some of the boys still resent Dent for investigating them, but they were the ones working for Penguin."
"And the others?" Bruce asked, knowing the politics of corruption at the GCPD was a complicated web.
"Supporting me for now," Gordon said, glancing over his shoulder at the car waiting for him. "But if Vale turns up anything else, we're screwed."
"What else could she turn up?" Bruce narrowed his eyes.
"My wife," Gordon said, sounding uncharacteristically bitter. "She won't take my calls. I honestly don't know what she'll say if Vale reaches out to her."
"We have to get ahead of this," Bruce rumbled. "All people know is that Harvey attacked Ramirez. Everything else is speculation."
"We can't keep lying," Gordon shot back. "We're digging our own graves here."
Bruce hesitated, seeing for the first time that Gordon was on the precipice of going forward with the truth. So far, Vicki Vale had revealed a small but damaging piece of the puzzle, but only Gordon could fill in the blanks to what happened that night.
Or his estranged wife...
"The Joker turned Harvey into Two-Face to demoralize Gotham," Bruce said gruffly. "He'll attack the Gala to double down on the doubt people are feeling, I'm sure of it."
Gordon sighed loudly, sounding tired as he glanced over his shoulder at the car again.
"There are already plans for a heavy police presence tomorrow night, but I'll make sure we've got people inside the Gala too," he said, his face tense. "When the Joker makes his grand entrance, we'll be ready for him."
"Do not underestimate Harley," Bruce recommended, catching Gordon's eye. "We don't know what she's capable of yet."
After securing their teacher-hostages, Harley and the Joker stopped at the Tailor's to pick up her dress. The Joker paced impatiently while Harley tried on a strapless maroon number with a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder sleeves to cover her bullet wound.
She pushed back the curtain dramatically, lifting her chin as she swayed out onto the shop floor to show him the dress, and he cracked a smirk, humming thoughtfully.
"Where am I going to keep my gun, though?" Harley frowned, patting down the nearly skin-tight gown.
"You don't need a gun," the Joker drawled, sidling up to her, his eyes drifting over her bare shoulders.
"What do you mean, I don't need a gun?" Harley lifted a curious eyebrow as he ran the tip of his finger down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"I already told ya," the Joker said slyly, lifting his eyes to hers and cocking one eyebrow. "You look better in a dress than me... Much better. You just need to keep an eye on things."
"I thought that was hyperbole," Harley shrugged. "What about..."
She trailed off when the Joker narrowed his eyes at her, and once again, Harley could see as clear as day what he was thinking. He wanted her to run things on the ground. No one else would do. She was the only one he wanted.
Only Harley.
In a rush, she remembered things Bruno had said in passing, back when all of this first started.
He likes you, and he don't normally like people.
He respects you.
Don't you understand he listens to you?
She had never taken it seriously before; never wanted to.
But it all made some cosmic kind of sense now.
The Joker continued to stroke her arm absentmindedly, one corner of his mouth curling up smugly because he'd figured this all out before her, Harley realized, if only by a matter of hours or maybe days, her stubborn nature making her slow on the uptake.
Asshole, Harley thought affectionately, watching his smirk grow like he was reading her mind.
"Alright," she agreed, fighting a stupid smirk of her own.
It was after midnight now, and the substitute teacher part of the job would start at 6 AM the next morning, followed by a long day of pretending to be a teacher before the gala when their plans—or events forthcoming as the Joker called them—would finally be put in motion, and Harley was keen to get some sleep before then. They made one last stop at Sergey's to pick up her pack of explosives and charges, which were packaged up nicely in a backpack no one would think wiser of, then finally they headed back to Bonnie's place to get some sleep.
But once they'd made their way back up the fire escape and into Bonnie's room, the Joker immediately shoved Harley down on the bed, and even though she was tired, Harley dragged him down on top her, almost tearing his shirt in her hurry to get it off him.
She could feel the nervous energy racing through his body after a day of talking and plotting and very little action. She could feel it in the way he squeezed her waist too hard, and how he nearly ripped her underwear in half getting them off her, and how he hauled her on top of him to get her where he wanted her. Sex with the Joker was always intense, whether it lasted a few minutes in the back of a car, or hours when they had the time, but it felt even more all-consuming that evening, and not just because of the tension of the day. It was like a dam had broken, or a paradigm had shifted. It was this new layer of silent understanding that had settled between them.
When they couldn't go on any longer, Harley fell forward on top of him, trying to catch her breath with his heart thudding up into hers. She stayed there until she found the strength to roll sideways and fall onto the bed beside him, her head swimming and her body tingling.
She let her head flop to the side so she could look at the Joker and laughed when she saw he was frowning at the ceiling, blinking hard.
"Are you okay?" She asked, raising up on her bad arm. It hurt, but she ignored it.
"Mmm," he confirmed with a light hum as his face tipped towards her. "I'm thinkin' about our friend the police commissioner," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"That's who you're thinking about?" Harley laughed.
The Joker rolled his eyes. "I can think about multiple things at once, Harl."
"Uh huh," she grinned crookedly at him, but now he'd put the thought in her head, she wanted to discuss it. "You don't really think there's a chance Gordon will cave over the schools, do you?"
"Eh," the Joker shrugged as if he couldn't have cared less, which was remarkable considering the premise for everything they were doing was getting Gordon to talk.
"We're only giving him a twenty-minute window to speak up," Harley pointed out.
"Good thing we've still got four teachers to play with," the Joker pointed out, his eyes rolling up to meet hers.
Harley could feel herself smiling stupidly at him and cleared her throat. "So, what are we going to do with the teachers?"
The Joker lifted a lazy eyebrow at her, his mouth spreading into a smirk. "Whatever we want," he said slyly.
We, Harley thought, her smile growing again as all the melancholy and uncertainty flew far, far away, forgotten as the unnecessary insecurities of a woman who allowed herself to be tied down by things she had evolved beyond.
She sighed happily, her eyes sweeping over him, knowing there was one way to really test how temporary all of this was.
Harley braced herself on her elbow and caught the Joker's eye, her heart suddenly pounding in her throat.
"How did you get the scars?" She asked softly.
The Joker's eyebrows rose appraisingly, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He looked both pleased and a little surprised, a gut-wrenching combination on him. Then he rolled his eyes out to the side and back to Harley again, and she nearly held her breath as he shifted to lean on an elbow so he was mirroring her.
"Well," he smirked, his dark eyes glittering mischievously. "It's a funny story..."
Then the Joker told Harley everything.
Everything she'd ever wanted to know and more.
They stayed up late talking, and Harley woke up at dawn with only a few hours of sleep under her belt. She grabbed a shower and dressed in an outfit of Bonnie's—skinny jeans and a teeshirt with a grumpy cat printed on the front, plus a pink cardigan with bobbles. A new costume. It was highly unlikely Bonnie would survive all of this anyway. They didn't have a definite plan for her yet, but once the Joker started talking about putting a suicide vest on you, there wasn't usually a way back from that.
He slept while Harley got ready for school, and she heard him grumble unhappily when one of the phones began ringing in the other room. It was the phone Lonnie had rerouted the substitute teacher roll call to, so Harley cleared her throat and smiled prettily before answering.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is that Marge Kuntz?"
Harley's face instantly soured. Fucking Lonnie.
"Yes, this is Marge Kuntz," Harley said, shooting the Joker a look to show her how unimpressed she was with his henchman's work, but he just grinned slyly, prodding his bottom lip with his tongue as he fired off a few texts to get things set in motion for the day.
"It is pretty funny," he smirked when Harley got off the phone after confirming she was available to be a substitute teacher at Gotham Central Elementary.
"Uh huh," she agreed warily, struggling not to laugh because it was pretty funny.
Harley would take the Crown Vic to school, her backpack of C4 in tow, and the Joker would head back east to regroup with Marty and lay some further groundwork for that evening. As Harley was on her way out, he stopped her at the door.
"I got bad news," he told her, pretending to fight a shit-eating grin as he held up an envelope and waved it in her face.
"What," Harley narrowed her eyes and took the envelope from him. Inside was her ticket for the Harvey Dent Day Gala, which was also addressed to Marge Kuntz, making Harley laugh despite herself. She was used to men calling her names—a bitch, a cunt, a witch—why not lean into it?
Then it was time for school. Harley had perfectly planned when and where she would plant the bombs, but she hadn't prepared herself for a roomful of seven and eight-year-olds. However, as she had discovered with Barbie Gordon, she was pretty good with children, and by the end of the day, "Miss Kuntz" was being presented with drawings of herself from the kids' art time. The grumpy cat tee-shirt was a hit with them too, and as Harley secured C4 to the walls of the janitor's closet, she wondered how life would have turned out if she'd become an elementary school teacher instead of a psychologist.
With her penchant for feeling trapped by ordinary life, she probably would have ended up blowing up these schools anyway.
There was a massive portrait of Harvey Dent hanging on one wall of the Ritz Gotham's ballroom, Harvey's affable smirk beaming down at the Gala attendees. Gordon ran a hand over his jaw as he examined the portrait, the unease that had been rolling through him for almost two full days pulsing to the surface again.
Vicki Vale's reporting put Gordon in an unenviable position, not least because it came the day before an event honoring Harvey's memory, where Gordon was supposed to give a speech celebrating Gotham's late DA. That speech was on the backburner for now, though Gordon had considered using the opportunity to reveal the truth before it got turned on its head completely. But the truth wasn't what these Gala guests wanted to hear. Gordon had overheard more than one of them criticize Vale for her reporting, let alone the suggestion that Harvey's murder at the hands of the Batman was warranted. These were the people who had voted for Harvey Dent—we believe in Harvey Dent—and they couldn't fathom him being anything less than the White Knight they were promised he was.
Promised by Gordon, no less.
With a year of hindsight, the choices made in the wake of Harvey's death now seemed so incredibly... foolish. But feeling foolish was hardly at the top of Gordon's list of priorities presently. After months and months of silence, the Joker had re-appeared in public only days earlier to rob a bank with Harley Quinn. It was only a matter of time before he made a bigger move, and all past experience pointed to the Dent Day Gala as the most likely place.
Officers were patrolling a three-block radius around the Ritz, and SWAT teams were poised to intervene should anything happen. There were also cops circulating amongst the Gala's guests, drawing raised eyebrows in their cheap suits and coffee-stained shirts. But they were armed like Gordon was, and if the Joker showed up, they would take him down, no questions asked. They would end this once and for all before another Reign of Terror could kick-off.
"Are you alright?"
Gordon looked away from Harvey's portrait, offering Sergeant Sarah Essen a strained smile. Her wavy black hair was tucked behind her ears, her navy suit and flat shoes making her stand out more than her male colleagues beside the elegantly-dressed women present. Essen had become something of a shoulder for Gordon to lean on since Barbara left with the kids, and even if it wasn't entirely appropriate, he was glad to have her with him now.
"I'm fine," he reassured her, his eyes drifting back to Harvey's portrait.
"You look tired, Jim," Essen observed, her brown eyes warm with compassion.
"Yeah," Gordon sighed, still staring at the portrait, remembering Harvey's last moments. Remembering him holding a gun to his son's head. "I just want to get this sonofabitch once and for all."
"If the Joker tries anything here, he's a deadman," Essen pointed out, glancing at a group of armed detectives loitering near the canape table. "Didn't your friend say he'd be nearby too?"
"He did," Gordon confirmed, thinking back to his conversation with the Batman the night before.
Essen put her hand on Gordon's elbow and offered him a small smile. "We're going to get him, Jim," she promised. "Both of them."
"God, I hope so," Gordon muttered, just as the communicator in his ear informed him there was a helicopter flying low a block over.
"A helicopter?" Essen frowned, pressing a finger to her earpiece as she listened to the cops outside, their voices pitching up.
"It's coming in fast!" the voice in their ears insisted.
Before Gordon had a chance to act, there was a sudden, earsplitting explosion right outside the hotel, shaking the entire building. The ballroom's windows lit up, glowing brilliantly for a moment before the glass shattered, sending tiny shards spraying over the guests. A second later, something massive crashed into the side of the building, making it sway and moan as metal and brick ground together noisily.
Gordon threw himself on top of Essen, shielding her from the glass as chaos broke out around them. He lifted his head, half-expecting to see the Joker wade into the fray with his clowns and Harley Quinn at his side. But all Gordon saw was a terrified sea of guests fleeing as pandemonium set in.
Kidnapping the Mayor went off without a hitch. Harley kept an eye on the ballroom floor, dressed in her maroon dress and a ginger wig to disguise herself from the politicians and cops swarming the place. She braced herself for the fiery explosion and subsequent impact of the helicopter smashing into the side of the building, then ripped off her wig, painted her face quickly, and helped the clowns posing as security get the Mayor up to the roof. There they joined the Joker and Sergey in a second helicopter and took off into the night.
The guests were in such a panic, none of them even noticed her. But that had been the whole point.
The chopper landed a few miles south where Gotham General used to be. Now it was a massive dirt pit that had yet to see new construction despite the Mayor's promises.
Two unmarked utility vans were waiting for them, one for Sergey and the security clowns to escape in, one for Harley and the Joker to transport the Mayor. As the clowns and Sergey took off, Harley and the Joker forced the Mayor into the back of their van and into a wheelchair to make carting him around easier. Thus far, the Mayor had been nothing but an ideal hostage, glaring at them over the duct tape covering his mouth, but otherwise not making a fuss as they taped him to the wheelchair and slammed the doors shut on him.
Harley exhaled a long breath once they were on the road. She wasn't nervous, just excited with too much energy coursing through her after an elaborate and thoroughly successful escape, but no fight. She exhaled slowly through pursed lips, and beside her, the Joker chuckled as he merged onto the highway.
"Feelin' a little... tense?" He lifted an eyebrow, making himself look a little deranged the way his warpaint had smeared, then he dipped his hand into his overcoat to retrieve a silver flask.
Harley grinned and accepted the flask, taking a sip before she opened her clutch and passed him some coconut shrimp canapés she'd picked up from the Gala's buffet. The Joker chuckled under his breath, shooting her an amused look before nearly inhaling the canapes whole, toothpicks and all.
Harley turned her attention to the garment bag on the floor by her feet. He'd brought her the dark red Sofia Falcone suit and a gauzy, hot pink camisole that clashed horribly with the suit's burgundy color. She pictured the Joker riffling through her suitcase, his black eyes drawn to the hot pink like a magpie, maybe intentionally setting her up to look ridiculous since every item of clothing he wore had a deceptive purpose. Though recently, manipulating her victims seemed to be the primary motivator behind the clothes Harley wore.
Once she was dressed and booted— she'd swapped her spindly heels for more practical low-heeled ankle boots—Harley tucked the flask away in the inside pocket of her blazer and ducked into the back of the van where the Mayor was struggling against the duct tape keeping him in the wheelchair. She watched him for a moment, judging his state of mind, then cleared her throat to get his attention. She pressed one hand to the roof of the van to steady herself as she let the Mayor look her over, from her warpaint to her suit to her square-toed boots. He was scared and doing his best to cover it with anger. That was good. Harley could work with fear and a bruised ego.
She lowered herself onto a wooden utility box built into the side of the van so she was sitting across from the Mayor, holding his gaze dispassionately as she crossed one leg over the other and laced her hands together in her lap.
"I think we need to talk, " she sighed, offering the Mayor a rueful smile as his nostrils flared and hands clenched to fists. "Clear the air, you know?"
When she reached for the duct tape covering his mouth, he flinched hard, prompting Harley to lift an amused eyebrow as she edged the tape off his mouth, careful not hurt him. She folded the tape in half neatly and sat back on the supply box, meeting the Mayor's gaze.
"What the hell do you want with me?" He demanded after they'd sat in silence for a few long moments, eyeballing each other warily.
Harley pursed her lips, considering the best way to make the Mayor more amenable to her. She reached into her jacket for the flask and spun the cap off, then offered it to the Mayor.
His eyes darted between the flask and her painted face. "It's poisoned," he accused.
"Do you really think we'd go through all this trouble just to poison you?" Harley pointed out, and when he still didn't make a move to drink from the flask, she knocked back some herself. "It's just bourbon," she promised.
The Mayor hesitated, but ultimately lifted his chin and let Harley pour some liquor into his mouth, his shot nerves speaking louder than his objections to accepting a gesture of goodwill from the evil Harley Quinn.
"Now," she said, smiling once she'd tucked the flask away. "You were asking me why we kidnapped you."
"The Joker only does things for one reason," the Mayor snapped, his face darkening. "To sow chaos and kill as many people as he can."
Harley sighed through her nose, weighing up the validity of the Mayor's point. It was too simplistic, but arguing semantics with him wouldn't help her case.
"Maybe," she agreed, cocking her head to the side and lifting her eyebrows appraisingly. "But I'm not the Joker, am I?"
The Mayor stared at her, taken aback by this statement, and unsure what it meant both for him and Gotham.
"You were friends with Harvey Dent," Harley said carefully, watching the Mayor's face. "You golfed together, had cocktails at the club... maybe you even discussed how Dent was planning to propose to Rachel Dawes?"
"This is about Dent?" the Mayor demanded incredulously.
"I'm guessing he was going to use that double-sided coin to propose," Harley continued slyly, watching the Mayor's eyes widen in disbelief. "And I hear the boys at the MCU called him Two-Face. That's pretty ironic considering what happened to him."
"How..." the Mayor sputtered, his forehead sinking into a bewildered frown. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I know lots of things," Harley replied evasively. "What do you think about Vicki Vale's reporting that Dent attacked Ana Ramirez before the Batman killed him?"
The Mayor's mouth hardened as he considered his response, his eyes skirting out to the side almost guiltily.
"Dent was a good man," he said diplomatically, not looking at Harley.
"Was he really a good man?" Harley pushed back, feigning a wince. "Or was he a man so overcome by grief that he snapped? Attacking and killing the crooked cops responsible for Rachel's death. Using his damaged lucky coin to decide who would live and who would die because the system would never give him true justice, the one thing he fought his whole life and career for... Does that sound like the Harvey Dent you knew?"
The Mayor blinked rapidly as he considered what she was saying, probably remembering moments with Dent that lined up with this version she was painting for him.
"So, your theory," the Mayor said hesitantly. "Is that it was Dent and not the Batman who killed those cops? And the Batman killed Dent to stop him?"
Harley planted her elbow on her knee and dropped her chin into her palm, staring hard into the Mayor's eyes. She could see he was already on the cusp of believing Dent didn't live up to his status as Gotham's White Knight in his last days. Ramirez's story got him there, even if he was reluctant to accept it. Now it was time for the full story.
"The Batman saved the Joker when he had a chance to let him die," she said grimly. "Why would the Batman kill Dent and not the Joker?"
The Mayor licked his lips, his eyes darting down to the floor as he tried to come up with an answer to the most obvious question he and the rest of Gotham hadn't bothered to ask themselves.
"I... don't know," he admitted at length, staring at the floor, doubting himself just as all of Gotham would doubt itself once the truth was out.
"Why would Gordon lie about what happened?" Harley continued, doubling down on that doubt, letting it fester and take root inside him. "Maybe from some... misguided belief that only he and the Batman can save Gotham? That they two are the only ones good enough to do the job even if that means lying... Lying for the sake of passing legislation named for a serial killer?"
"Shit," the Mayor hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.
Harley pulled out the flask again, taking a triumphant sip for herself before offering it to him.
"That's why we've kidnapped you," she explained cheerfully. "You're collateral to get Gordon to tell the truth."
"Collateral?" the Mayor sputtered, blinking rapidly. "I don't understand."
"Sure you do," Harley countered breezily. "We'll hold a press conference, and you'll relay everything we just discussed to the citizens of Gotham, and Gordon will have to come forward with the truth about what happened that night... or, we'll kill you."
The van bounced as they pulled off the street and onto a gravel road, its tires crunching noisily as they rolled along for a few minutes. Harley and the Mayor waited in silence as the van came to a stop, and the engine turned off. The driver's door opened and shut ominously, and the Mayor turned to stare at Harley, nervous like he'd forgotten the Joker was the one driving even though she had just threatened to kill him.
The van's back doors swung open, revealing the Joker, one hand braced on each door as he cocked his head to the side, his gaze bouncing over them.
"What're you two chattin' about?" he drawled.
The Mayor was quiet, perhaps deep in thought as they rolled the wheelchair down a plank and parked him outside the Tricorner warehouse. He remained quiet right up until they were inside, and he was confronted with all the fixings for the press conference Harley had promised him. Harley had to stifle a laugh as she absorbed what the Joker had constructed for them while she'd been babysitting schoolchildren and planting bombs in their sweet little bathrooms.
A massive American flag was draped across one wall and beside it a stand with a stuffed bald eagle staring blindly at them. In front of the flag, stood a low podium for the Mayor to give his speech while remaining bound to his wheelchair. Most of the warehouse was submerged in darkness, but stage lights brightly lighted the set, and behind the lights was a camera set up on a tripod.
"What the hell is this?" the Mayor demanded, craning his head around to look at Harley instead of at the Joker, apparently deciding Harley was the lesser of two evils.
"I told you," Harley replied, smiling sweetly at him. "Press conference, remember?"
"So I'm going to be one of your... your movies?" he blustered indignantly as Harley wheeled him over to the podium and parked his chair beside it.
"Pretty much," she chirped. "Someone's got to get Gordon to tell the truth."
"The truth," the Mayor spat, growing agitated. "The truth? You expect me to believe this is about the truth? That you're some benevolent force to show people how things are? I don't buy it. I don't buy it at all! Why are you really doing this!"
Harley folded her arms and peered down at their visibly troubled Mayor. She suspected he was experiencing a personal crisis finding himself agreeing with Harley Quinn and the Joker even though he considered them to be evil, which made him question himself and everything he knew.
She considered explaining that the world was a cruel place, and they were simply showing people the truth of it. That the institutions of society couldn't be relied on, and human beings were ruthless monsters play-acting at civilization with their mystical moral code. All of those things were true, and Harley had even promised Ramirez and Vicki those were her reasons for doing what she did. It was the truth, but it wasn't all there was to it.
The Mayor was right. Harley was not a benevolent truth-teller, and she had had enough intellectual dishonesty for one lifetime.
She planted her hands on the Mayor's duct-taped forearms and bent forward so she was looking him in the eye, leaning into his personal space until he reared back from her, his nostrils flaring.
"You want to know why?" Harley asked him quietly, feeling something confident plant its feet inside her. Something certain. "Because you've fucked yourselves, all on your own," she sneered. "And now we're taking advantage of that to have some fun."
The Mayor's eyes widened in horror as Harley started to reach into her suit jacket, but then the Joker grabbed her arm, yanking her back from the Mayor and forcing her around to face him.
He'd removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, his gloves still on as he lifted a hand to smooth Harley's hair back from her face. There was a faint smile playing around the scarred corners of his mouth, something almost impossible to pick up on with the warpaint, but Harley could tell what she'd said pleased him—delighted him even—and he hummed low in his throat as he threaded his gloved fingers into her hair.
"Mmm, that's more like it," he growled, his face dipping down to hers.
Harley grinned against his lips, a new sense of entitlement washing over her as she accepted that yes, she was doing this because she wanted to stir up some chaos. It wasn't benevolent truth-telling... it was fun, and she didn't have to explain her actions to anyone. This new world had no rules for her, and she would behave exactly how she wanted. This was the freedom she'd always craved. This was something different. This was something more.
The Joker looped an arm around her, kissing her lazily as Harley leaned against him. It was dizzyingly freeing to be able to want each other and finally have each other in such a painfully simple way, though they'd made it complicated for far, far too long.
Harley sighed contentedly and folded her arms around the Joker's neck, trying to get closer, so close, maybe she could merge into him.
What a fantastic idea.
His arms tightened around her, and she sensed he was thinking something similar. They were on the same page with so little effort now, and that, above everything else, was the most intoxicating realization yet.
Wrapped up in each other, they forget about the Mayor until he started to sputter indignantly.
"You're both insane!" He shouted hoarsely, and Harley reluctantly pulled away from the Joker to shoot the Mayor an annoyed glare. He looked horrified. Offended by her. Scared of her. "You pretend to be some... some sane person, but look at you! You're just his sick clown girlfriend!"
Harley narrowed her eyes, disliking this characterization, but before she got a chance to raise her objections, the Joker stepped in.
"Hey, hey, hey," he snapped, wagging a finger in the Mayor's face. "Not that our personal life is any of your business, buddy, but uh, we prefer a gender-neutral identification like partners, don't we Harl?"
Harley threw back her head and laughed, feeling nearly delirious as the Joker added something sarcastic about how they were progressives and just ahead of the curve.
They collapsed into laughter together, leaning against one another to stay upright as they howled while the Mayor kept on shouting about how they were crazy and she was brainwashed, and how could they think any of this was fun. It was only when the Mayor claimed he would never deliver a press conference for them that Harley had to stifle the giggles spilling out of her. She pulled away from the Joker, wiping tears from her eyes.
"I can't believe I almost forgot!" she beamed at the Mayor. "You didn't think we wouldn't give you and Gordon some motivation, did you?"
"What are you talking about!" the Mayor bit out, his eyes on Harley's hand as it slipped into her jacket to retrieve the Halloween paint pallet she'd used to paint her face at the gala.
"After your press conference airs, Gordon will have twenty minutes to come forward with the truth," Harley informed him briskly. "And if he doesn't, well, then we'll blow up a few kindergartens and see if that changes his mind."
The blood drained from the Mayor's face, his eyes widening in horror as he stared up at Harley.
"So, you either get on camera and relay everything I told you to Gordon and the good people of Gotham," she continued cheerfully. "Or we blow those schools up anyway. It's your choice."
The Mayor couldn't seem to find anything to say in response to this, so Harley flicked open the paint pallet and grabbed him by the chin, forcing his head back as she squinted down at him.
"Do you prefer the Joker look or something more... Harley Quinn?" she raised one eyebrow, and when he just continued to stare at her, she smirked. "I'm feeling Harley Quinn."
Dinah ran her hand over the cowl Lucius Fox made to her size and specifications. It included a tracking device and communicator so she and Bruce could speak to each other, and it also looked remarkably like a bird, a possibly-accidental, but probably-not nod to the name the newspapers had given her for appearing like a warning before the Batman showed up.
It wasn't intentional. Dinah just wasn't as good at sticking to the shadows as Bruce was.
But she was learning.
She'd also learned that Harvey Dent had been a murderer when he died, and that the Joker had driven him to it. By taking the blame for Dent, Bruce had been trying to do the right thing, the noble, self-sacrificing thing, which Dinah was also learning was Bruce's preferred modus operandi. But regardless of how well-intentioned everyone had been, the facts were being reported as something grotesque. Dinah wanted to have a few words with Vicki Vale, an idea Bruce shot down immediately, saying they couldn't 'stifle the free press' whatever that was supposed to mean.
But beyond their philosophical dilemmas, things had gotten exponentially worse very quickly that evening. Both Bruce and Dinah knew there was virtually no chance Harley and the Joker didn't have plans for the Dent Day Gala, but they hadn't prepared for a flaming helicopter crashing into the side of the building. By the time Dinah burst out onto the roof, a second helicopter was already well on its way into the night sky, Harley and the Joker escaping with Mayor Garcia in tow.
Demoralized and without any new leads, Bruce and Dinah returned to the box park to meet Lucius, all three of them certain the Mayor's kidnapping was just the first in a string of shocking events they would need to be better prepared for.
Dinah eyed Bruce and Lucius warily as she listened to them debate the merits of a new facial recognition software Lucius was reluctant to use to help them find Harley and the Joker. It was CIA-grade tech that Lucius could supe up with some new Wayne Enterprises software, but it presented a moral dilemma they were both tip-toeing around.
There wasn't time to tip-toe, Dinah thought, growing frustrated as she set her cowl aside and joined the discussion.
"This is a waste of time," she announced, looking between Bruce and Lucius. "If there's any chance this can help us find them, we have to use it."
"I agree with your sense of urgency, Ms Drake," Lucius replied cautiously. "But I must point out that we have gone down this path before, and now we are facing the consequences of overstepping."
"Overstepping?" Dinah's eyes narrowed. "The entire purpose of the Batman is to work outside the law. If we don't use every tool at our disposal, we're responsible for the people they kill!"
"There is a difference between what is legal and what is moral," Lucius countered mildly, his eyes drifting to Bruce, who was frowning thoughtfully.
"The moral thing is keep people alive!" Dinah huffed, looking at Bruce too, hoping he would see things her way.
So far, all this partnership had done was to make Dinah feel like she belonged to something bigger than herself. But now that they were truly faced with the consequences of Harley and the Joker running free, planning God only knew what, it was painfully clear to Dinah that she had not made any progress at all. Sofia Falcone and her oligarch friend had slipped through their fingers, and they hadn't been able to stop the attack on the Gala or the Mayor getting kidnapped. Now, instead of doing something about the missing Mayor or figuring out the Joker's next move, they were standing around debating morality with some old scientist-slash-philosopher.
"She's right," Bruce said solemnly, meeting Dinah's eye. "Whatever it takes. If we can save one life, it's worth it."
Dinah inhaled a sharp, relieved breath, nodding in agreement.
Once Lucius was settled in front of a computer, a pair of reading glasses sliding down his freckled nose, Bruce turned to Dinah, his mouth pinched like he had something to say but didn't know how to say it.
"What?" Dinah demanded, growing impatient the longer the silence dragged on.
"I know you're frustrated," Bruce said slowly. "I feel the same way, but we can't get hot-headed, or we'll make a mistake."
"But we're just standing around wasting time while they're out there," Dinah hissed, her face falling. "We're failing people by not stopping them."
"Dinah," Bruce said, his hand landing on her shoulder, forcing her to meet his eye. "We are doing everything we can. It's going to be hard to catch both of them, but we can still save lives." He pressed his lips together, measuring his words. "You can't lose hope. If you lose hope, that's when they really win."
Dinah nodded slowly, turning this sentiment over in her head. Hope was not something she was well acquainted with, but if joining forces with Bruce and becoming the Canary had taught her anything, hope was powerful. It was the antithesis of the chaos and violence the Joker preached. Even if the Batman and Canary thrived in the shadows, hope was the light that guided them, cutting through the darkness like a beacon in the night. Even with all Bruce's fancy technology and stealthy tricks, hope was the most valuable thing Dinah had learned from him yet.
And he was right. If they could save one life, it was worth it.
After Harley painted the Mayor's face to match hers, she left him with the Joker to film their press conference while she slipped outside to make a few calls. First and foremost to Bullock, who sounded exhausted and sober—for once—while sirens screamed behind him. He nervously informed her there was a manhunt underway, but mostly everyone was terrified and didn't know what to do. Gordon, he said, was panicking.
"Thank you, Bullock," Harley cooed sweetly. "You're such a peach, looking out for me. I don't know what I'd do without you," she sighed girlishly.
After Bullock blustered a few protestations that it was no problem and he was happy to help, Harley made a few more calls to Marty, Lonnie, and Sergey, just to check in and keep them all on their toes. Then she slipped back into the warehouse to find the Joker standing a few feet back from the tripod, watching the Mayor gave a stiff, half-improvised speech about what they discussed in the back of the van. She sidled up to him in the half-darkness, folding her arms over her chest as she watched the Mayor sweat under the hot stage lights. He looked more anxious than when Harley left them, and she suspected there had been a discussion or two to get the Mayor to deliver what they were after.
"Ya know," the Joker said suddenly, keeping his voice low as he spoke to Harley out of the corner of his mouth. "Serge showed me somethin' earlier that I just can't stop thinking about."
"Yeah?" Harley twisted to look up at him. "What kind of something?"
"Something mean," he hummed, narrowing his eyes at the Mayor. "Something as small your thumbnail... with a blast radius of four feet."
"Four feet?" Harley's eyebrows jumped, finding it hard to believe something so small could create such a big explosion. But she knew virtually nothing about explosives aside from that it was best to be out of the way when they went off.
"Mmmhm," the Joker growled, still squinting at the Mayor.
Harley glanced between the Joker and the Mayor, taking note that he was eyeing him almost clinically as he prodded his bottom lip with his tongue.
Her eyes widened in the darkness as she realized what he was proposing. "Are you thinking of... putting it inside him?"
"Pretty much," the Joker said gruffly, glancing down at her speculatively to get her take.
Harley narrowed her eyes at the Mayor as she thought through the practicalities of this play. What it would take to get the device inside him, keep it in him without anyone noticing, and have it go off at the opportune moment...
"So we'd have to give him back," Harley mused, and the Joker hummed his agreement. "Or at least... make Gordon think we lost him."
"There's the tricky part," the Joker drawled with a self-satisfied smirk. "We're just too good to lose a hostage."
"Well," Harley said slowly, a smile tugging at her lips as something abhorrent came to her. "Say we get... distracted by the next phase of our master plan."
"Our master plan?" the Joker chuckled drily. "And uh... what might that be?"
"The teachers," Harley said slyly, a shiver of delight rolling through her when the Joker's eyebrows rose appraisingly and he turned to face her fully, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Don't you think it's a little uh..." He licked his bottom lip reflexively like he was excited. "Premature...?"
"We don't need to give up the teachers," Harley explained, stifling a grin. "We just blow up their houses when Gordon's SWAT teams go looking for them."
The Joker's head fell back, and one of those throaty laughs Harley enjoyed so much jumped past his lips before he faced her again, looking more pleased than she'd ever seen him. Proud.
"You wanna blow up the teachers' houses and Gordon's pigs to make em' think we're so distracted that we lost track of the Mayor?" He rocked back on his heels, looking beyond pleased. Like this collaboration was the most fun he'd had ever.
"We tell Gordon who the teachers are," Harley continued, her hand curling around his tie as she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "Then, when his boys go check out their houses..."
She trailed off with a shrug, prompting the Joker to sling an arm around her back and pull her closer.
"Boom?" He suggested, his voice low as he offered her a private smile that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, the black warpaint bleeding into the white like a spider's web.
"Boom," Harley agreed, trying to tamp down the beaming grin threatening to split her face in half. Then she thought a few more steps ahead, and the corners of her mouth turned down melodramatically. "But I have to be the one to lose him," she said, tugging on his tie.
"Uh...why?" the Joker lifted a quizzical eyebrow, and Harley let her bottom lip jut out in an exaggerated pout as she widened her eyes innocently.
"Cause I'm just your dumb blonde girlfriend," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. "I'm nowhere near as dangerous as you."
"Oh-ho-ho," the Joker purred, looking delighted as his arm tightened around her. "They are makin' a big mistake if they think that."
Harley grinned lazily as she stretched up to kiss him.
The mood was incredibly tense on the set of GCN's lunchtime news program. Vicki sat at a table between the Gothamite's Steve Lombard, and GCN's resident millennial blogger, Arturo Rodriguez, numbly watching a make up artist touch up Mike Engel's face.
They were there to discuss the Mayor's kidnapping at the hands of the Joker and Harley Quinn. Vicki felt like there had been a guillotine hanging over her neck ever since news broke the night before, and the blade felt closer and closer each time she thought back to the last thing she'd said to Harley. "Thanks for this, Harley."
Thanks for this, Harley. Thanks for allowing me to boost my career with your propaganda.
Harley always had an angle, and there was no doubt a nefarious reason she had directed Vicki to Anna Ramirez. There was a reason she wanted this story out there, but Vicki had been too blinded by ambition to realize that maybe this time, Harley wasn't just feeding her a story as part of a power game with her equally evil enemies. Perhaps this time, it might affect normal people.
One thing was inevitable, and Vicki knew it as well as everyone else in Gotham. The Mayor's kidnapping was just the beginning. Another shoe was about to drop, and the dread coiling in Vicki's intestines told her it would land just as the guillotine fell on her neck.
The show's producer counted them in—three, two, one—before the camera lights blinked on, dots of red in a sea of black. Vicki listened to Mike Engel welcome their viewers and give a quick rundown of what they knew about the Mayor's kidnapping. Then he turned to Lombard, asking about his op-ed asserting that with the Canary's appearance in Gotham, she had all but guaranteed the return of the Joker, this time accompanied by Harley Quinn.
"The Joker always goes after the Batman," Lombard insisted. "He's obsessed with him. It's what motivates him."
"Do you really think if the Batman disappeared, the Joker would stop?" Engel frowned.
"It happened before," Lombard argued. "Then the Batman returns, supposedly to stop the drug war, and look where we are!"
Engel turned to Vicki, and the camera facing her blinked on, the screens covering the back wall showing multiple shots of her exhausted face.
"I think we need to consider that there's more going on behind the scenes," Vicki said slowly, thinking about Harley in her underwear two days before, having obviously just spent some personal time with the Joker in their hotel room. It was horrifying to realize just how intimately acquainted Vicki was with them. "That there's more to this story than we know," she added weakly.
"You mean like the revelations about Harvey Dent?" Arturo jumped in, more interested in a salacious tale about Gotham's DA than speculation over the Joker's motivations. "That maybe the Batman had a good reason to kill Dent?"
"Context matters," Vicki said, knowing it sounded pathetic.
"Context?" Lombard spat incredulously. "Yesterday you basically accused Harvey Dent of being a cop killer, and Commissioner Gordon of covering it up. And today you're saying Gordon had a good reason?"
Vicki was saved from having to reply when a series of high pitched beeps echoed around the room as all of the cameras blinked off, and the screens fuzzed to static. The producers and camera operators looked around at each other, bewildered, while Mike Engel paled dramatically, already knowing what was coming.
The static on the screens was replaced with a shot of a man standing at a podium in front of an American flag, a stuffed bald-eagle to his right. It was Mayor Garcia, and his face had been painted like Harley Quinn's.
"Oh my God," someone whispered among the hush that fell over the studio.
The dread coiling in Vicki's stomach began to grow as she watched the Mayor prepare to speak, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stick up.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow citizens of Gotham," the Mayor said, looking strained beneath a heavy layer of greasepaint. "I have... sad news for you today. By now, you will have heard the reporting about Harvey Dent. I'm here to tell you that you still haven't been told the whole story. That in his last days, Harvey Dent was not Gotham's hero, but a serial killer... a villain named... Two-Face."
Lombard spun around to stare at Vicki incredulously, her claim that there was more to the story coming to life before their very eyes.
"You all deserve to know the truth," the Mayor continued stiffly. "Commissioner Gordon must come forward and explain why he lied to us. If Commissioner Gordon does not..."
The Mayor stopped abruptly, his blackened eyes closing until a nasal voice hummed impatiently. That hum made the studio collectively gasp, reminding them this was all just a show, reminding Vicki she had voluntarily taken part in this.
Mayor Garcia took a deep breath, facing the camera again.
"If Commissioner Gordon does not come forward in twenty minutes to explain himself, four Gotham elementary schools will be destroyed. I can only hope this will motivate the Commissioner to do the right thing."
"Did he just say blow up schools?" someone gasped as the screen cut to black.
Vicki sank into herself, wishing she could disappear as she listened to the chorus of panicked voices growing hysterical around her. She could feel Lombard glaring at her, blaming her for her role in this, making her feel like the guillotine was edging closer and closer. But it wasn't until twenty minutes later when Commissioner Gordon did not come forward, and four explosions rocked the city that the blade finally dropped.
By the Joker's calculations, it had been an exceptionally productive day.
After Harley shared her vision of misdirection and violence to get the Mayor back into Gordon's hands, they'd started plotting what would need to happen next, then knocked out the Mayor to get a little privacy.
There wasn't time for anything grown up in that private time, not when they were both running on a handful of hours of sleep and had a lot of work to get started on. So, with the Mayor passed out in his wheelchair, the Joker threw his coat down on the floor so he and Harley could get some shut-eye.
He'd braced his arm behind his head while she nestled into his side, insisting they needed three hours so they could each complete two REM cycles. He'd chuckled and agreed, waiting until she started snoring her head off before he shut his eyes and fell asleep. Three hours later, his eyes opened, and Harley was still snoring away, her head on his chest and her arm wrapped around him possessively.
There had been a change in her since she'd said goodbye to Sofia. It wasn't as jarring as a light switch being flipped, but it was never that way with her. She just melted from one incarnation of herself into another, always the same stubborn, mean, fearless person the Joker met at Arkham, but with an ever-evolving mission statement. It was always the mission that got her in trouble because she stuck to the script so decisively. That was the big change this time—she let the concept of a script go completely.
Instead of fighting against the current, or fighting against herself, she was floating blissfully through the storm.
Mmm... finally.
Dressed down in civilian clothes—he in inconspicuous black jeans and a tee-shirt, and Harley in a fetching black sundress and sandals, costumes to distract from who they really were—they grabbed some shwarma from a food truck Uptown then snuck up to the top of the GCN Radio Building where they could take in the show from a good height.
They watched the Mayor's press conference on an encrypted phone as they ate, then watched from twenty stories up as school buses and police cruisers flooded the streets below. Predictably, Gordon stayed quiet, and twenty minutes later, four roaring fireballs bloomed to life above the schools. Harley was leaning against him, her back against his chest, his arm looped around her shoulders, holding her against him. She twisted around to offer him a saccharine smile as flames licked at Gotham's iconic skyline behind her, looking happier than the Joker had ever seen her.
The urge to sneak a hand under that little black sundress while they watched the first wave of chaos crash over the city was tempting, but then her phone was ringing —Bullock with an update—and they had plenty of work to get done, anyway. The Joker settled for squeezing her waist and rubbing his nose against the side of her neck, breathing in the sweet, rotten smell of her while she went limp in his arms and sighed. But there were too many plates spinning for that right now, too much work to do, and there would be plenty of time later.
They continued to lay threads to later be pulled as they prepared for that evening. Bullock continued to text a running commentary to Harley, keeping them abreast of Gordon's movements, which largely consisted of barricading himself in his office with some 'good cops' called Essen and Akins, and Deputy Mayor Krol.
The Joker had to hand it to Harley. She had devoured Bullock. He'd seen her employ a combination of affection, cruelty, and disinterest in how she treated him. Scaring him one minute, protecting him the next, and now he was either brainwashed or in love with her. It was hard to say which, but he was utterly hers; she had eaten his soul.
By sundown, Krol was on the steps of City Hall giving a televised speech about how the GCPD would not negotiate with terrorists.
They watched Krol's speech from Texas Joe's Body Shop, where they could get cheap medical supplies to discretely insert Serge's tiny explosive into the Mayor. He was currently laying facedown on a workbench in the middle of the garage, unconscious and undignified as Harley argued with Texas Joe and a crooked doctor called the Pill Man who would be doing the inserting. Harley insisted it had to be done correctly or someone might notice, and it would all be for naught.
The Joker glanced away from the old TV set playing the tail end of the Deputy Mayor's speech, his eyes searching out Harley across the garage. He was still wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, understated and inconspicuous, while Harley was painted and suited, her blonde hair hanging in messy tangles down her back. Her role that evening was more front and center, while he was on getaway driver duty again. She was negotiating with the Pill Man over his services, her blackened eyes narrowed, and her red mouth pursed unhappily as she allowed him to pitch her a higher figure for inserting a bomb into the Mayor's neck.
"Your girl don't take shit from no on, eh?" Sergey smirked, sidling up to the Joker, where he was leaning against a workbench stacked with medical supplies and knock-off Gucci hats.
"My girl, huh?" the Joker hummed, accepting the bottle of vodka Sergey passed him and taking a quick swig, but passing on the subsequent line of coke offered. Serge had been on the stuff all day to keep him going, but the Joker preferred coffee and exhaustion, though he liked the optics of a coke-sniffing pyromaniac trying to keep up with him and Harley. It made him laugh under his breath as he passed the vodka back to the Russian.
"She's not your girl?" Sergey had a sly look on his face, and the Joker's eyes drifted back across the room to Harley.
She'd flipped from sneering to sweet, endearing herself to the Pill Man, probably reassuring him that she knew he was talented enough to do what she wanted. It was obviously working.
"My girl," the Joker tried out the label again, tasting its meaning.
People were so obsessed with labels. They needed them to understand the world. The Mayor called Harley his girlfriend, a blatant dig to trivialize the whole... experience of being with her. 'Being with her,' meaning being in her presence, working with her, sleeping next to her, laughing with her, eating with her, fucking her, plotting chaos with her. These objective facts fulfilled Marty's suggestion of 'togetherness,' which, as romantic and institutional as it sounded, was the reality of what was happening. Label number one.
The Joker had countered the accusation of 'girlfriend' with 'partner' because it was more accurate. Partners in all of the above. It suggested... symmetry.
Label number two.
Then there was this phrase the boys used for her—his girl. It was typical wiseguy jargon, used for enforcer girlfriends or mob boss mistresses. Women relegated to supporting roles. It was old school, implying ownership. Harley would never be owned or controlled, and yet the contrarian in the Joker found something tantalizing in such a label, precisely because it was so ill-suited to her.
Label number three.
Civilians with their prized moral mysticism labeled Harley and the Joker terrorists and psychopaths. Villains. They needed labels for their sanity; it was why they got so confused, so chaotic when the truth of the world was exposed to them. That was the beauty of their work. The beauty of Harvey Dent and Jim Gordon and the Batman and Harley Quinn. Blurred lines of truth and lies, good and evil, monsters and heroes, and the violence each of them used in their own ways to control their little worlds.
Except for Harley. Her world wasn't small; the world was wide open to her.
The world was hers if she wanted it.
The Deputy Mayor's press conference ended, and the Joker drifted across the body shop to Harley's side, where she was watching the Pill Man work on the Mayor while Texas Joe assisted. It had been almost two days since they'd last had a chance to roll around naked together, and these thoughts of labels and Harley were making the Joker's hands twitch to push her up against something to make her squirm.
He settled on a different impulse, grabbing her arm and tugging her close, then lifting a hand to her throat, letting his fingers curl around her slender neck like she'd done to him a few nights earlier at the safe house. It was possessive, a little kinky, and when she looked up at him, her eyes hooded beneath the black greasepaint, her pulse leaping against his thumb, he knew they were on the same page again. This possessive posturing could easily be reversed, with his heartbeat throbbing against her thumb as she claimed him for hers.
Symmetry.
Terrorist. Girlfriend. Psychopath. Partner. Villain. My girl.
Those were the labels people needed to understand them. Harley and the Joker had no use for labels, but as she gazed up him at him, a smirk blossoming on her red lips, the Joker could see what she was thinking, as clear as day.
Lean into it.
That's funny. He was thinking the same thing.
They released the teachers' names to the media just before midnight. Bonnie Hunter, Justin Sprake, Aditya Ramesh, and Catherine Ellis. Four teachers, one from each of the schools that had been destroyed earlier that day. All young, single, and missing from work for two days. Kidnapped by the Joker and Harley Quinn's goons, and no doubt central to the next phase of their plan. Were they still alive? Could they be used as bargaining chips to get Gordon to talk? Could they already be dead, as punishment or a warning or a sign of what came next?
Gordon burst out onto the roof if the MCU, looking around frantically.
"We've got SWAT teams on the way," he announced to the darkness, waiting for one of them to step forward.
Then he spotted the Canary, lingering half in the shadow, and once he saw her, it was easy to see the Batman looming beside her.
"We'll take Ellis and Ramesh, you take Hunter and Sprake," the Batman grunted, glancing at his partner, who checked her forearm when something drew her attention to it.
"What is it?" Gordon demanded, knowing he sounded desperate.
"Harley's in Midtown," the Canary announced, her voice a low hiss. "Near Wayne Tower."
Gordon watched them exchange a look before the Canary melted back into the shadows while the Batman turned to Gordon.
"Get your men to Hunter and Sprake's buildings," he said gruffly. "See what you can find. We can end this tonight."
It was nearing midnight when Harley climbed out of the cherry red Lamborghini they'd stolen from the parking garage beneath Wayne Tower. The walkie talkie in her hand squawked to let her know everyone was in position as she peered up at a CCTV camera. She shook her hair out and turned her painted face up to the camera, making it easy for the Batman's facial recognition tech to pick her up. It was dark out, the streetlights providing minimal illumination, but the Joker and Lonnie estimated the chances were slim to none that the Batman wasn't employing some morally-dubious technology to hunt them down.
Behind Harley, there was a gentle pounding from the Lamborghini's trunk, a drugged but conscious Mayor Garcia weakly fighting for freedom. Harley rolled her shoulders back, ignoring the Mayor as she waited for the walkie to let her know it was time to start the show. The idea of drawing out the Batman still made her uneasy, but her opinion on killing him was evolving. The Joker saw him as a foil, a contrasting reflection of himself. Harley saw the Batman as a useful tool to outmaneuver. A challenge.
The walkie squawked again as one of their henchmen informed her the Tumbler had been spotted four blocks north, just on the cusp of Uptown and heading her way.
Harley spun away from the camera, her pulse picking up as she slid behind the wheel of the Lamborghini and tossed the walkie into the passenger seat. She thumbed on the ignition button, letting the engine roar to life as her eyes darted to the rearview mirror. When the Tumbler rolled into view a block behind her, she sucked in a breath and released the clutch, shifting into first gear as she stomped down on the gas, and the sportscar took off down the street with a squeal.
Her gaze flickered between the Lamborghini's speedometer and the rearview mirror, watching the Tumbler edge closer as she sped south through Midtown, shooting past Wayne Tower and the Crowne Building. She upshifted to second, then third, the engine revving as the speedometer twitched past one-hundred-ten, edging towards one-twenty. The Tumbler was gaining on her, which was why they'd stolen something fast enough to outpace it. Something it could chase.
The walkie squawked again, Sly's voice informing her he was ready when she was. Then behind her, there was a blast as the Tumbler's driver ignited its thruster, propelling the tank forward until it clipped the Lamborghini's back bumper. Harley upshifted again, her foot pressing the accelerator firmly to the floor as the speedometer reached one-forty, one-forty-five, one-fifty...
There was an explosion that made Harley's heart leap, even as she braced herself for it. Sly was in one of the buildings to her right, armed with a rocket launcher. He hit the Tumbler, sending it careening away and rolling onto its side. Harley wrapped her hands around the wheel, steeling herself as she slammed her foot down on the brake, throwing the Lamborghini into a tailspin. The car spun around and around and around, the centrifugal force pressing Harley back into her seat until it finally came skidding to a stop, rocking on its wheels.
She exhaled a shaky breath and thumbed the button to open the trunk, giving the Mayor a chance to make his presence known to their pursuers. Then she grabbed her gun off the seat and kicked open the door, ready to race across the street to the alley where the Joker was waiting for her with their getaway car, an unflashy Toyota.
If Harley was honest with herself—and she was trying to be more and more these days—she didn't really think it would be that easy. In fact, she had hoped it wouldn't be, but she still growled in frustration when that fucking whirring started up, and the Batpod came speeding up the street with the Canary tucked neatly behind its overly-large front wheel.
Harley slowed to a stop in the middle of the street, pursing her lips as she raised her gun and let off a few lazy rounds that ricocheted off the asphalt. Her eyes narrowed as the Canary drew closer, and she held down the trigger, letting round after round ping! off the front of the Batpod until a shot finally landed. There was a BANG as the Batpod's front tire exploded, throwing the whole vehicle back and tossing the Canary to the pavement.
Harley's lips curled into a satisfied smirk as she turned to sprint for the alley again, her desire to get back to the safehouse and watch the next phase play out overpowering her desire to kill the Batman's irritating sidekick. There would be a more opportune moment to take the Canary off the chessboard, and really make it count.
But just as Harley reached the mouth of the alley, the Batman swooped down in front of her, blocking her path. Harley reared back as he swung at her, making her scowl as she tried to get her gun between them. He kicked her hand, sending the gun flying, but before Harley could dive for it, he grabbed a fistful of her jacket and swung her around, slamming her up against the wall of the alley.
"Where are the teachers!" the Batman roared, using his grip on Harley's jacket to haul her up off her feet. "Why did you release their names!"
"Guess you'll have to wait and see," Harley sneered, pulling her fist back to jab him where his armor shifted at his neck, a little trick Dinah taught her.
But before she could hit him, the Batman caught her arm and wrenched it out to the side, slamming her wrist against the corner of the building.
Something in Harley's wrist snapped, making her eyes cross as pain engulfed her. She released a strangled, high-pitched, intentionally-womanly cry that startled the Batman enough to make him release her and take a full step back. An engine roared to life in the alley behind him as a pair of headlights snapped on, and the Batman looked around just in time to see the Toyota shooting toward him.
Harley pressed herself back against the alley wall, clutching her wrist to her chest as the Toyota crashed into the Batman, sending him flying up on the hood. The car squealed to a stop a few short feet from the Lamborghini—which the Mayor was currently attempting to climb out of—and the Batman was hurled to the concrete.
"Fuck," Harley hissed, staggering out of the alley as the Toyota reversed to a screeching stop beside her, and the passenger door flew open.
"That doesn't look good," the Joker drawled, sounding amused as Harley fell into the passenger seat with a scowl.
"He broke my fucking wrist," she complained, which only made the Joker chuckle unsympathetically as he threw the car into drive and took off down the street.
Harley turned to look out the back window, watching the Lamborghini get smaller behind them as she palmed her rapidly swelling wrist. It still felt too easy, and she turned to the Joker to tell him so when something landed on the roof above them with a dull thump, drawing their attention up before they exchanged a look.
"Uh oh..." the Joker hummed, his eyes glittering as he shot Harley a smirk. "There's a little bird in our midst."
He spun the wheel hard to the left and then to the right, making the car swerve wildly while Harley struggled to open the glove-box one-handed. She kept her bad wrist tight to her chest as she retrieved a revolver and pulled back the hammer, then turned to watch the Canary's booted legs swing back and forth across the back windscreen. Harley fired six shots into the ceiling in rapid succession, emptying the chamber but failing to dislodge the mini-vigilante.
"Mmm, she wants to play," the Joker muttered to himself, his eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror before he slung them around a corner, making the Toyota fishtail as they started speeding east toward the Downtown Bridge.
Harley huffed impatiently and rolled down her window, deciding something face to face was required. She tossed the empty revolver aside before she clambered out the window, looping the seatbelt around her left arm a few times to anchor her as she pulled herself out into the rushing wind.
The Canary was clinging to the roof of the car with the help of two flat, seemingly magnetized metal circles attached to her gloves. Her small mouth was pursed in concentration, but the rest of her face was obscured by a black cowl. Her whole suit appeared to have been upgraded since Harley saw her the night Pam left. Instead of leggings and a bulletproof vest, she now had fullfledged Batman-grade body armor. How nice that the Batman found himself a pet project.
Harley's hair whipped around her face as she shoved her arm back in the car and held out her hand expectantly. The Joker deposited a loaded Glock in her palm, and the Canary's head lifted just as Harley took aim at her. But before she could pull the trigger, there was a zip of blue electricity beneath one of the metallic plates keeping the Canary on the roof. It disconnected from the car just as they swerved onto the Downtown Bridge, and Harley failed to move fast enough when the Canary swiped at her, knocking the gun out of her hand and throwing her off balance.
Harley fell backward, the seatbelt wrapped around her arm pulling tight as she swung dangerously far back, nearly toppling out of the car completely until the Joker grabbed her ankle and yanked her back.
Her heart pounding frantically, Harley pulled herself up again and thrust her arm back into the car. This time, instead of a gun, the Joker laid something pole-shaped in her hand, and when Harley pulled her arm back to see what it was, she nearly squealed with delight; the cattle prod Lonnie had given them.
Harley's face split into a grin as she activated the cattle prod and thrust it forward like a spear, stabbing the Canary in the ribs. Her body started to convulse under the current of electricity, and the magnetized plates on her gloves came free from the roof one by one. Then she rolled to the side and slipped off the roof, her limp body disappearing down the side of the car.
Harley craned her head back to see the Canary laying motionless in the middle of the bridge, and she released a relieved sigh before slipping back into the car.
"Ya get her?" the Joker asked mildly as they pulled off the bridge into Gotham's Eastside.
"Yeah," Harley panted, flopping back against the seat as she unwrapped her arm from the seatbelt and examined her wrist again.
The Joker hummed happily and dropped a hand on Harley's leg just above her knee, giving her a squeeze.
Harley's heart was thundering in her chest as adrenaline pumped through her blood. She closed her eyes and released a long breath, trying to get her pulse to slow down by focusing on the Joker's fingers drumming against the inside of her thigh. She could feel the nervous energy rolling off him like it was passing from his body into hers, and though it should have made her antsier, she found it strangely soothing. He was like a constant hum, vibrating with his unique brand of life right beside her.
Dinah pushed herself up onto her elbow, breathing hard through her nose as she examined her arm, which was visibly dislocated from her shoulder despite her suit. She held her arm close to her chest as she pulled herself to her feet and looked around the dark bridge, police sirens wailing in the distance.
Harley was gone.
Dinah exhaled a frustrated breath through her teeth and started limping back to the main island of Gotham, reaching the end of the bridge just as Bruce rolled up in the Tumbler.
"Where's the Mayor?" Dinah demanded, staggering up to him.
"There's an ambulance on the way," Bruce said, looking her over quickly.
"Something isn't right," Dinah huffed, grabbing her elbow and gritting her teeth as she tried to shove her arm back into the socket. "That was way too easy. Something's wrong..."
"You're hurt," Bruce observed, watching her wince and hiss as she managed to get her arm back in place.
"Will you shut up and listen to me?" Dinah insisted, rolling her shoulder back, pushing past the pain. "They were trying to distract us, can't you see that?"
Bruce looked away from her, collecting himself over some inner struggle, and when he turned back to her, the set of his jaw was resolute.
"You're right," he agreed gruffly. "We have to get to those teachers' houses. Something isn't right."
He tossed Dinah the keys to the Tumbler and headed for a motorcycle parked on the side of the road.
"You take Ellis," Dinah snapped, catching the keys as Bruce kicked his leg over the motorcycle, the bike roaring to life beneath him. "I'll take Ramesh," she added, ducking into the Tumbler.
Harley and the Joker ditched the Toyota a few blocks from their safe house in Chinatown and walked the rest of the way. Harley kept her painted face down while the Joker looped a lanky arm over her shoulders, making them look like a drunk couple out too late in the wrong part of town. They slowed to a stop outside a Chinese restaurant with newspapers and menus covering its windows, and the Joker produced a small brass key to unlock the gated front door, letting them into the narrow, mildewy hallway.
As she chased the Joker up the rickety staircase to the small studio apartment, Harley thought back to the night he'd first taken her there, not quite a year earlier. She remembered being terrified as they fled the Batman, the idea that he could be coming for her impossible to wrap her head around at the time. Then the Joker had pulled her out of that wrecked van instead of leaving her there to be arrested, and he'd taken her to his safe house under the guise of her 'knowing too much' to be let go. The truth, it turned out, had been more like he hadn't been ready to give her up yet. Not to Gordon and the Batman that night, and not in general over the days and weeks that followed.
The Joker kicked open the safe house's front door with all the enthusiasm of a giddy psychopath desperate to watch his evil plan unfold. They'd stocked the place with necessities earlier that day in preparation—Harley's organized influence on the job—so while the Joker fell on the couch, kicked off his shoes, and booted up a laptop, Harley hunted down Texas Joe's medical kit.
She popped a couple of extra-strength Tylenol instead of one of the heavy-duty pain killers, then shrugged out of her jacket to examine her left wrist, which had swollen up over twice its natural size. She muttered unhappily about self-righteous vigilantes as she pulled a spool of bandages from the medical kit, hoping it would be good enough.
"This is Arturo Rodriguez, live on the street tonight in Gotham! The Joker and Harley Quinn have released the names of four hostages, and we're here with GCPD SWAT teams as they investigate."
Harley looked up to see the Joker hunched over the laptop, his dark eyes glued to a live stream of Arturo Rodriguez with a camera crew following the GCPD as they surrounded Bonnie Hunter's apartment building.
The Joker looked at Harley, one eyebrow raised.
"These people," he observed drolly, gesturing for Harley to sit on the couch with him.
"We're outside Gotham Elementary teacher Bonnie Hunter's home," Arturo continued on the live stream, explaining the situation as Harley handed the Joker the roll of bandages and offered her arm up. He wrapped her wrist tight as they listened to Arturo speak to some cops to get a read on the situation. Gordon's men were going in to hunt for clues, but so far, no one had any leads on the terrorists' whereabouts, although reports were coming in that the Batman and Canary had saved Mayor Garcia from almost certain death.
Harley tried to flex her fingers as she watched the scene unfold on the laptop, where it sat on the floor. Arturo's cameraman was zooming in on the backs of the SWAT team as they entered Bonnie's building.
Any minute now...
Harley turned her attention to the Joker, her pulse suddenly leaping in her throat just like it had been when they'd been at the top of the Gotham Radio Tower earlier that day, waiting for the schools to blow up. The Joker cocked his head to the side and squinted at her out of one eye, his foot bouncing restlessly against the floor, and Harley found herself holding her breath as they waited for the timed charges to detonate...
The laptop speakers fuzzed and screeched as the bombs in Bonnie's building exploded. It wasn't just on the laptop, Harley could hear them in real-time out the window. Two townhouses and two apartment blocks were being reduced to rubble with no advanced warning on just the other side of the river. There would be families in those buildings— children and mothers and old people. Gordon's SWAT teams were in those buildings, trying to save the city.
Harley threw her arms around the Joker's neck and kissed him as screaming and gunfire echoed from the laptop's tinny speakers. He kissed her back eagerly, his hand slipping into her hair as they fell back against the stiff couch cushions.
"I'm now getting word that three other buildings have been destroyed across Downtown Gotham!" Arturo shouted into his mic over the screaming. "All belonging to the teachers allegedly kidnapped by the Joker and Harley Quinn! Early estimates of the death toll are vague..."
The Joker planted a knee between Harley's legs and pulled away from her to wrestle off his jacket while Harley attempted to get his belt undone with one hand, huffing impatiently. He giggled and folded forward over her, his mouth connecting with her throat as he undid the button and zip on his jeans then tugged her ugly hot pink camisole out of her pants so he could slide his hands beneath it. His mouth moved from her neck down her chest, his teeth scraping over her nipple through the gauzy fabric, making Harley's body lurch up against his.
On the laptop, there was a crash as the building beside Bonnie's collapsed, and Arturo fought to be heard over the chaos.
At Harley's urging, the Joker shifted to the side to help her kick off her suit trousers. She used her feet to nudge his jeans down far enough to free him as he pitched forward to kiss her again, one of his hands roaming over her torso as the other slid between her legs to touch her, and she felt him hum smugly against her lips when he felt how excited she was.
"Shut up," Harley laughed, until he pushed a finger inside her, making her whine, "Oh God, hurry up."
He pulled his hand away and wiped his fingers on Harley's stomach, sending a swell of arousal racing through her. Then he sat back on his heels and grabbed her hips, hauling her up to him so their bodies were aligned before he sank into her. Harley coughed out a groan as her head fell back against the arm of the sofa. There was rarely anything gentle about their couplings, even when they went slow and took their time, but this felt especially urgent after going two days without and excitement of the day.
The Joker fell forward over Harley, catching himself on the arm of the sofa, and burying his face in her neck as their hips snapped together. Harley grabbed handfuls of his hair and held him close, pain shooting through her wrist as she raked her nails over his scalp. But she didn't care, the pleasure curling through her pelvis blocked it out, making her head swim and her heart pound as she panted the letter that stood for his name. The letter that stood for his real name too, but even though she knew it now, he would always be the Joker to Harley.
Their heavy breathing mixed together with the sounds of chaos still fuzzing from the laptop, turning to white noise as Harley felt her body begin to climax. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and a weak whine slipped past of her lips as an orgasm pulsed through her, rolling like a tidal wave that wouldn't stop crashing. She felt the Joker's mouth on her jaw as he released a more muted but breathless sound and dug his fingers into her waist.
"This leaves the question of where these four teachers are now, and what the Joker and Harley Quinn plan to do with them!" Arturo was babbling as they caught their breath together.
"Shit," Harley huffed quietly, wiping her hand over her forehead, leaving a smear of white paint on her knuckles. "I needed that."
"Mmm," the Joker chuckled, lifting his head to raise an amused eyebrow at her. He had white paint smudged on his cheek and his nose from where his natural face had been pressed against Harley's painted one, his lips smeared red. "My girl," he mused, narrowing his eyes at her.
He didn't have to say anything else. Harley knew this was his way of marveling at how well-suited they were for each other, and how easy it was.
She closed her eyes and giggled deliriously.
Bruce wasn't great at letting people in. Not as a child after his parents died, not as a young man filled with vengeance, and not as the dark knight and all the sacrifices that entailed.
Thus far, inviting Dinah in had been an incredibly uncomfortable experience, but it seemed to be working, both of them focused on the task at hand: stopping the Joker and Harley Quinn. How to have a working relationship with a teenage girl who was also living with him and Alfred was still something Bruce was trying to wrap his head around, much to Alfred's amusement. Dinah was a serious, closed-off young woman who was far too cynical for someone so young. She made Bruce feel like an optimist by comparison.
There would be time later to figure out the personal dynamics of this partnership, and whether Bruce would be playing mentor or big brother or simply watchful advisor. Right now, they needed to stop a pair of psychotic clowns from blowing the city half-way to hell.
They weren't doing a great job so far. Dinah had been right about how dangerous the Joker would be with Harley at his side.
After losing them on the bridge, Bruce got word to Gordon in time for him to evacuate Sprake's townhouse, while Bruce and Dinah each did their best to clear out the apartment buildings Ellis and Ramesh lived in.
Thirty people. They saved thirty people from being blown up in their own homes without warning.
But people were still dead. Gordon lost ten men when Bonnie Hunter's building was destroyed, along with all of the building's inhabitants.
Thirty people, Bruce continued to remind himself. Thirty people were still alive.
He and Dinah now stood in a private room at Gotham City Hospital, waiting for Mayor Garcia beneath the florescent lights. With dawn approaching and no new leads to speak of, they needed to have a quiet word with the Mayor to find out what happened to him.
"Gordon's going to tell people about Dent, isn't he," Dinah said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence. "Even though it won't stop them."
Bruce sighed through his nose as he tried to think of a reasonable response. He knew Gordon, his co-conspirator, had a very different take on the situation they found themselves in. Harvey had kidnapped his family and held a gun to his son's head. Gordon felt like he was covering for a serial killer, while Bruce believed they were protecting the good parts of Harvey's legacy. Not just for Harvey's sake, but for Gotham's too. Maybe, subconsciously, he was holding out for Rachel's memory, but would Rachel have wanted them to cover up Harvey's crimes?
He had been Two-Face when he died, and Bruce shuddered to think what Two-Face would have been capable of had he survived.
"Gordon knows it won't stop them," Bruce said gruffly. "He thinks we made a mistake."
"I don't," Dinah replied quickly, looking up at him, catching his eye. "But it doesn't matter," she insisted. "It's not your job to care what people think. All you can do is your best and hope it's enough."
Bruce held her gaze solemnly, wondering what it was about this moment that Dinah chose it to open up to him, even just a fraction, when the hospital room door flew open. Gordon marched in with Sergeant Essen and Lieutenant Akins on his heels, all of them outfitted in GCPD windbreakers.
"You gotta lot of nerve coming in here," Akins snapped, storming forward with his eyes narrowed. He was your typical overweight cop, with a big belly from too many doughnuts and a blonde crew-cut suggesting an affinity for military-style order. Akins was not a fan of the Batman's, not before the Joker, not after the Joker, and not since the truth about Harvey started coming out.
"They saved the Mayor, didn't they?" Essen pointed out, planting her fists on her hips. "Stop pretending we don't need them, Mike."
"Need them?" Atkins sneered, his watery eyes darting between Dinah and Bruce. "These two are the reason we have the Joker and Harley Quinn in the first place! They're the reason the GCPD's credibility is shot straight to hell!"
"That's enough!" Gordon spat, looking exhausted. "None of that matters now. If we want to stop this rampage, we need their help."
The hospital room's door swung open again, and the room fell quiet as the Mayor was wheeled in by a nurse, while an assistant carrying a pair of shoes and a trenchcoat squeezed in behind them. The Mayor was sporting a bruise on his forehead and deep bags under his eyes, but otherwise looked in good health even wearing pale blue hospital scrubs.
"I suppose this is your Seal team, Gordon," the Mayor observed bitterly, waving off the nurse as he stood unsteadily and snatched the shoes away from his assistant.
"Mr Mayor," Gordon started uneasily. "They're manipulating public opinion. This isn't—"
"I'm pretty sure public opinion is against a pair of terrorists blowing up eight buildings in less than twelve hours," the Mayor snapped, lowering himself into an armchair in the corner and pulling on a pair of socks. "You're the ones who gave the clowns ammunition," he continued, shoving his feet into the shoes and standing again, more steadily this time.
"They'll use anything as ammunition to turn us against one another," Dinah hissed, drawing the Mayor's attention. "We can't fight each other. We have to be united against them."
"Remind me who she is?" the Mayor shot the Batman a skeptical look. "Your intern?"
"My partner," Bruce growled back.
"She better be as useful a partner to you as Harley Quinn is to the Joker," the Mayor spat, his face spasming like he was reliving some awful memory.
"Mayor Garcia," Essen stepped in. "It's essential you tell us anything you heard or saw while you were with them. Anything that stood out— sounds, smells, things they said..."
"You want to know what stood out?" the Mayor bristled, grabbing his trench coat off the bed and shrugging it on over the hospital scrubs. "She's just as crazy as he is!" He yanked on the jacket's lapels to straighten them. "She's, she's..." he kept tugging on his lapels, looking rattled as he searched for the right words. "I don't know what she is, but those two were made for each other."
"What does that mean?" Bruce frowned.
"I mean they were all over each other," the Mayor bit out, his nostrils flaring. "They couldn't keep their hands off each other! It was like... like..."
"Like no one else exists but them," Dinah filled in grimly. "Everyone else is disposable," she continued, looking around the group.
"Gordon, you need to clean this mess up," the Mayor snapped, ignoring Dinah in favor of glaring at the police commissioner. "I'm giving a press conference in two hours on the steps of City Hall. You need to give a statement explaining all of this."
"Sir, in your condition..." the nurse, who had been watching from the doorway, finally jumped in. "You need to rest."
"No, we need to show strength," the Mayor shook his head. "We can't let them prove we'll crumble under pressure. The public needs to be reassured that we're honest people, that this was an isolated event, not the whole police force or City Hall. I'm sorry, Gordon, you've brought this upon yourself."
Gordon nodded slowly, then looked at Essen, who grabbed his hand in solidarity.
Bruce and Dinah exchanged a look, both of them noticing this overtly-personal gesture of support.
"And as for you two," the Mayor looked between Bruce and Dinah, his face souring again. "Find them if you can, and try not to make this any worse than it already is." He diverted his attention to Gordon. "Have a statement ready within the hour," he bit out before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room with his assistant and the nurse following close behind.
"Mayor Garcia, hold up!" Akins called out, taking off after them, leaving the hospital room submerged in awkward silence.
"It's time," Gordon said at length, sounding exhausted and demoralized, but resolute. "It's time for people to know the truth about Harvey," he added, meeting Bruce's eye across the room.
Once Gordon and Essen left, and they were alone again, Dinah placed her hand on Bruce's arm. It was a show of support, Bruce realized, and maybe a personal olive branch too, and he shot her a grateful look.
"Come on," she said softly, her voice girlish once more. "The sun's coming up."
Bruce nodded in silent agreement.
The street outside City Hall was flooded with people, a lot of them young and pissed off, some of them middle-aged and pissed off. These were brave people who took to the streets despite the danger currently looming over Gotham; they were furious and confused, and they wanted answers, as they repeatedly told the reporters skirting amongst them. The Mayor was supposed to give a speech soon, one that would hopefully explain why all of this was happening... again.
Harley and the Joker wore costumes to help them blend in among this sea of angry, bewildered, frightened people. Harley in a sundress and strappy sandals, the Joker in black jeans and a tee shirt, the dark sunglasses covering their eyes granting them more anonymity than one would think possible. They were just a young couple curious about what the Mayor had to say about the current crisis. No one would even think to look twice.
The Joker looped a lanky arm over Harley's shoulders as they waited for the Mayor to show up on the steps of City Hall. Harley leaned against him, the back of her head resting on his shoulder as she watched Gordon and the Deputy Mayor argue. She narrowed her eyes at Deputy Mayor Krol—soon to be Mayor Krol—wondering what the story was there. He, like the rest of Gotham, was obviously out of his depth trying to understand the Harvey Dent drama that had been unfolding. And fear had a way of making animals desperate for known things.
The Joker sighed loudly, and Harley twisted around to look up at him. He offered her a sly smirk that she returned as anticipation started to sweep through her.
One of the Mayor's aids set up a microphone on the steps of City Hall, and the media moved in to get their shots set up while the ordinary citizens complained to one another. They needed answers, damnit. They needed to know something was being done, and they needed to know they weren't being lied to.
They booed when the Mayor appeared, looking sickly but determined in a fresh suit. The Joker's arm tightened around Harley as he dropped his chin on the top of her head, and a smile spread across her lips as she watched the Mayor puff up his chest and launch into a speech about not giving into fear. He insisted the terrorists only wanted to divide them, but Gotham was a city full of brave people who wouldn't be cowed by a pair of freaks dressed like clowns.
But that wasn't what the crowd wanted to hear, and as the Mayor continued to push his narrative of positivity and togetherness, those good people of Gotham who had been waiting all morning for answers started to get a little... frisky.
"WE WANT THE TRUTH!" One young woman yelled.
"Yeah! Stop lying!"
"STOP LYING! STOP LYING! STOP LYING!" They chanted.
Harley and the Joker exchanged a look, both of them fighting back obscene grins that would have drawn attention in the sea of strained faces and angry scowls.
"I understand you're all angry and confused," the Mayor attempted to placate when the chant died down. "But that's exactly they want. They kidnapped me and forced me to deliver that message, and I had to do it to protect our city's children. I—"
"What about Ramierez!" A reporter shouted. "Is she telling the truth?"
"I assure you, we are working to find the truth, including speaking to former detective Ana Ramirez," the Mayor promised, looking rattled. "Her alleged assault by Harvey Dent is—"
"We wanna hear from Gordon!" Someone in the crowd shouted, and a chorus of agreement rolled across the sea of angry citizens.
On the steps of City Hall, the Mayor visibly deflated, seeing his strategy wasn't working. He pursed his lips, thinking fast, trying to give his people what they needed.
But the Mayor didn't understand his people the way Harley and the Joker did.
The Joker released Harley and slid his hand in the front pocket of his jeans to retrieve a smartphone. Harley felt anticipation dance through her again as he pulled up the app Lonnie made that would allow them to detonate the device in the Mayor's neck from a safe distance. The graphics weren't very good—just a big red circle that would set off the explosion when tapped—but it was more than adequate for what they had planned.
"You wanna do it?" the Joker drawled, shooting Harley a rakish smirk as he offered her the phone.
"Oh, no, no," Harley protested, beaming up at him. "This one is all yours."
They shared a long look, and though he didn't say it out loud, Harley could see the Joker mulling over that what was his was now forever entangled in what was hers.
"Commissioner Gordon will speak shortly, but we will not give in to the whims of terrorists," the Mayor was pleading with the crowd. "Until we have concrete evidence that Harvey Dent attacked and killed police officers, there will be no definitive statement about this evolving situation."
"Go on," the Joker coaxed Harley, his eyes glowing as he waved the phone at her. "I wanna watch you do it."
Harley's face split into a ridiculous grin. "Oh fine," she agreed, keeping her eyes on the Joker's face as she tapped the red button on the phone screen.
"Gordon could come out here and tell you what the Joker and Harley Quinn want you to hear," the Mayor continued gravely. "But with public trust currently in a —"
BANG
It was a small, quick explosion like a firecracker, but boy, was it messy. The Mayor's head exploded in a syrupy shower of blood and brains, leaving his headless body swaying behind the microphone as the street exploded into chaos. The body collapsed, and the screaming ratcheted up a notch as people began to flee in terror, panic swelling all around them.
Harley watched Gordon react to the carnage, the abject horror on his face making her feel all kinds of satisfied, and she fantasized about where the Batman and the Canary might be in that moment, watching from some secret lair... feeling all helpless.
The Joker grabbed Harley's hand and gave her a yank to get her moving through the swirling crowd that was rapidly transforming into a stampeding mob.
"I'm hungry," the Joker announced when they reached the end of the block and could hear each other over the screaming.
"Want to grab some brunch?" Harley asked, shooting one last look over her shoulder at City Hall before smiling up at the Joker.
"Uh, brunch?" he raised a dubious eyebrow that made Harley laugh.
"You don't know what brunch is?" she teased slyly. They were moving further away from the pandemonia, which was rapidly being contained by the GCPD. The idiots were forcing the mob to stay in one place instead of allowing them to disperse.
"I'm gonna take a wild guess," the Joker drawled. "And say some kinda... blend of breakfast and lunch."
"Oh, brunch is so much more than that," Harley gushed dramatically, rolling her eyes. "Brunch is an institution."
"Hmm," the Joker wrinkled his nose like he smelled something offensive at the suggestion of an institution. "Alright... tell me more," he agreed reluctantly.
"At brunch, not only can you eat breakfast all day," Harley smirked and spread her hands wide. "But you can drink at breakfast time."
The Joker snorted incredulously. "So uh, according to society, it's only within the confines of brunch that you're allowed to get drunk early and eat breakfast all day?"
"Yep," Harley confirmed, raising her eyebrows appraisingly. "Those are the rules."
"Oh, the rules," the Joker smirked and threw a wiry arm over her shoulders again, pulling her into his side. "Sounds like someone needs to remind these brunch people they can drink and eat whatever the fuck they want."
"Someone has to free the brunch slaves," Harley agreed happily.
The Joker chuckled and squeezed her closer, and Harley was again reminded of her desire to merge into him. One body. One superhuman. One force of nature. She had spent so long chasing the things she was supposed to want, building the life she was supposed to have in the civilian world and the criminal world alike. But it never made her happy. She'd given up on all of that now, and with the Joker by her side, she could be whatever she wanted to be. She could do anything she wanted.
She was free.
End Part 3
Fin.
A/N: There it is people. I tried to make it shorter, I really did.
Now stop, take a deep breath, read my author's note, and give yourself a moment before you move onto the epilogue because that was QUITE a lengthy chapter.
I cannot believe how many of you have been reading this every week, even if you haven't been commenting or reviewing. Oh, I see all of you, and if you wanna drop me a review now, it's quite time appropriate. It's amazing to have people reading this thing religiously, and I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.
I know things got a bit meh with Pam's arrival/Harley's mob career - I felt it too - so if you stuck with me despite that, bravo.
Let's all stop and take a moment to remember Bruno, who I know we all miss dearly. We'll never forget you, Bruno.
Now onward to the epilogue... or "Post Credit Scenes" if I want to be a dickhead about it, with a more extensive authors note to let you know about what comes next...
Review, my friends xo