Joker saw the blond hair disappear into the chaos and fought the urge to follow Frost. Harley would keep, Batman would not. He didn't exactly know when he was going to show but he was in no hurry - unlike most people chaos energized him. Maybe because he was a lightening rod for the messy and unpleasant things in life.
He also couldn't explain how he knew the Bat Man had arrived on the scene outside, he just could sense the change. The little waves of electricity that danced over and through his body told him as much. His stomach had clenched when the police had held their breath, not sure whether to let the vigilante take charge or to take matters into their own hands. As if they had a choice. Sensing his jubilant mood, his rescue team hopped from foot to foot. They weren't as attuned as he was but they were more in sync than most people. Crazy got a bad wrap but he got to see behind the curtain. He was the one who got to see reality.
The emergency lights stuttered out, removing the greenish tinge and plunging them into darkness. His lips curled up sharply, the smile etching itself into his cheeks. Every time Joker faced off against Batman, he hoped for two outcomes. The most obvious was victory, chipping away at the vigilante's code, at his faith in the human race. And other times, Joker hoped he would be beaten into a bloody pulp and on to subsequent death. As much as he enjoyed this world, death was an awful big mystery. An adventure possibly worthy of him.
That might be what he saw in Harley, a fascination with the pull of both life and death. He smacked himself in the side of the head abruptly, knocking unwelcome thoughts of the doctor from his mind. She was his toy and not relevant right now.
His heart thrummed in his chest with excitement and the delightful opportunity to face his own mortality. Batman's aversion to killing took away a bit of the thrill but there was always the chance he would hit Joker a little too hard, that he would crack his head open when he was sent into the wall, or that the fancy gadgets would bring the roof down on him. Rule of the beasts and all that shit. Each possibility was a tantalizing new opportunity to explore.
Joker also wouldn't rule out an overzealous cop coming inside and ventilating his chest. He needed more than his hands to count the amount of escapes he'd successfully executed and they were more than a little frustrated with him.
A chuckle built in his chest and bubbled outwards to become a full joyous laugh. He could have followed Frost out the door and left his mad sheep to slow down the pursuit but where was the fun in that? He rubbed at his mouth, mentally smearing imaginary lipstick, like warpaint. He didn't look like himself but he felt more like himself than he has since they put him in this cage. There's a wildness inside, surging and wiping away the already thin coherence he has from day to day. He told himself he can't remember the last time he felt this but he's lying to himself. He found it with his mouth buried in the apex of the good doctors thighs.
He wished she was there again but mostly because he's suddenly hard and can't stop imagining fucking her on the table while the world implodes around them.
Joker tips his head back and howls, and the fray swallows him almost without warning. Gun shots and people wrestling and looming figure in black coming closer and closer. Joker flailed with his fists, hitting ally and enemy alike. He slipped on some knuckle dusters and warm blood sprays his face with every strike. The salty taste is familiar on his tongue.
He synced so easily with the violence around him and can't fathom how people find him crazy because this, this!, is what living is. He's the only one brave enough to admit how happy the brutality makes him but he thinks the lady doth protest too much.
Batman is getting closer, Joker knows it! A path is being carved towards him, and he saw that instead of sloppy fighting, people are being shoved out of the way. Batman was clearing the way, flinging friend and foe alike… just like he was. His tongue darts out in a unconscious tick to taste the blood again.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he growls under his breath, summoning him with every inch of his will power. Joker's fingers flicked back and forth.
He doesn't hear it but he feels it. Like someone punched him hard in the chest. Unbidden his hand goes to the sore spot, his skin hot and confusingly wet under his fingertips. Bemused he realizes it's blood in the half light.
"Huh," he muses with something almost like disappointment.
He'd been shot.
Joker still can't feel the pain properly, his body still was spoiling for a fight even as he staggered. The knowledge he's taken a hit ripples through the crowd and there's confusion as to who actually shot him. It's gone clean through so chances are it was one of his own men. A police bullet would have lodged.
With adrenaline riding his body he didn't know the extent of the damage. Perhaps he's already dying. The blood was sluicing down his chest in a steady flow. One of the eyes of his joker tattoo was a bloody mess. Batman was still rushing towards him, and time's slowed down because he should have reached him already. Joker managed a red-stained finger wave at the looming figure, and changes his plan with an exhale. On a good day, Batman could smear him across the floor but Joker's always banked on his god forsaken honour and restraint to even the fight between them. With an arm more or less useless, it's not even close to a fair fight.
With a grunt, he seized a weapon from a nearby thug. He points and shoots in an erratic spray. People scatter and duck and Joker ground his silver teeth before turning to run. He's not above running, it's not something the triggers his complicated male pride. But there's an animal itching inside for blood and it's not sated.
His flimsy logic and self preservation come to his rescue. Frost will be at the rendezvous point by now and if he gets there, then Frost can take care of the bullet wound. There wasn't much that Frost couldn't do.
Joker plunged out of the fray, feet slipping on the floor and his head starting to spin. There are supporting hands at his sides and he assumes they're helping given they're not trying to pull him back.
A gunshot steals one of his helpers and he barks out a laugh. So close but not quite the target they wanted. He's manhandled through a gap in the wall that he could have sworn wasn't there before the rescue attempt began but try as he might, he can't remember hearing anyone blow a hole in the side of the building. It makes him giggle again because if he didn't know about the exit strategy then maybe the police hadn't noticed it yet. It was wishful thinking but any kind of thinking is an achievement when he was this high on blood lust and injured to boot.
There was a motorbike waiting and it's clear he wasn't the only one wistfully thinking. They'll have locked down the surrounding streets and Joker doesn't blend into the background.
His supporters don't make any moves to get him near the bike and he recoils when another figure stumbles into the light. Pale, green hair and big red lips. His stomach grips at the sight, sharply reminded of the ruthless mirror self he'd talked to. At first he was convinced that it was his hallucination made real. But he shoved his hair back, leaving a bloody streak across his eyebrow, and properly looked.
Tattoos are different, green hair is dyed to the roots and there was a vacancy in his expression. Not his mirror twin then. Just a fall guy.
Joker shrugged and stumbled back from the bike as the decoy hopped on and revved the engine. He nurses his wound and forgets about the fate of the other man almost instantly.
"This way," a rabbit mask gestures, heading further back into the shadows. Joker hugged the gun up a little and followed, expecting the police to come swarming around any second. He's led to another hole in the side of a building. They hurried down to the basement where a grate has been dragged to the side. Joker rolled his eyes and cursed Frost under his breath. The fucking sewer again. Nearly all of the escape attempts Frost planned involved at least some time dragging their feet through the sewers. Maybe it was Frost's silent way of punishing him.
And perhaps he deserved it, still he snarled when he landed in the ankle deep water. The goons that had come this far with him recoiled, knowing well enough that he was liable to lash out and hurt one of them. He settled for kicking at a rat that had the unfortunate luck of crossing his path. He missed the rat and shouted in pain and frustration.
"Fuck!" he cried, hand going to his wound. He started to laugh loudly. It would be ironic if after all this he was taken out by an infection. The Goons had tensed and maintained a wary distance. He cursed their spinelessness. If Frost were here, he wouldn't have flinched and he would have told him to start moving. The decoy wouldn't fool them for long and if the police circled back around it wouldn't take them too long to realise he'd gone through the other hole in the wall.
Muscles in his jaw clenched and he felt the dried blood pull tight across his skin. "Which way?" Joker ground out with barely the semblance of control.
The others needed no more prompting and took off, leaving him to run behind them with nothing but anger to fuel him. He should have taken the gun and aimed it right at the Batman. He thought that even as he knew he wouldn't. Joker needed him in the world as he needed few other things. He gave him purpose. A counter balance. Batman was the other half of himself. Unbidden Harley's face swam in his mind and Joker saw red.
He slammed his fist into the wall several times, mouth sealed into a thin line, letting the pain spear through his knuckles in sharp, hot spikes. She wasn't his equal or his fucking soul mate. The doctor was a game, his game! His exertion had restarted the blood flow down his chest. He put one foot in front of another, ignoring the smell and the pain by imagining what his life would look like in a few hours. Back in his own clothes, hair dyed deep to the roots, a blow job, and maybe a new tattoo to commemorate the escape. Possibly an electric chair on his ribs? He laughed out loud sharply, the cackle echoing back in around them like there were ten more of him.
The way her body had pulled tight and jerked had transfixed him. He'd seen the pain as her face contorted before her eyes went glassy. He liked every moment up until then. The control, the restraints, the pain - all of that turned him on. He didn't care for the absenteeism in her expression. It was no fun hurting an empty body. Probably why he had never tried tried to cut up, eat or fuck a corpse unlike some other weirdos. No, he wanted Harley present for every excruciating second. If he'd seen even a fraction of the fear and pleading she showed him before now, he might have actually thought about being merciful.
He smacked his head hard with his palm when he realised he'd come full circle. He'd started by craving his own life and he'd ended up at mercy. There was a first for everything but he didn't have to like it. He was just as likely to kiss her as kill her in this mindset.
…
Harley wasn't exactly better by the time Frost set her down, but she was thinking more clearly and she could see again too. She rubbed at her face, fingertips coming away wet and black. Tears had left her make up in a ruin. She used the back of her hand to wipe away what she could. He would be back eventually, if the police didn't finally kill him. The thought of him dead tightened something in her gut. Despite what he'd just done, she still didn't want him to be dead.
She was truly fucked up.
Her body ached and she longed to lie down and sleep for years but she knew this wasn't a safe place to do that, so instead she tried to take in her surroundings. She was on a cement floor, the cold and rough ground uncomfortable against her bare legs. It looked like a warehouse, a largely empty warehouse. Nothing but a wooden chair in the middle, dominating the space like a throne. None of her captors dared sit on it, not even Frost. He was largely ignoring her except for subtle glances out of the corner of his eye. Probably making sure she didn't die in front of him. Not out of empathy but because those were his orders.
Her arms shook with effort but she forced herself to sit up. It was still a vulnerable position but it was something. She was surprised there were still so many people milling around aimlessly. If Frost was smart he would have sent them packing but Harley was starting to figure out these weren't simply goons for hire. As chaotic as they all were, there was still an ideological commitment, a purpose they got from Joker. She glanced at the makeshift throne again. They had rescued him and now they were waiting, quietly and patiently, to exalt in his presence.
Harley could admit she was waiting too, in anticipation and apprehension, and most definitely not patiently. After what seemed like an age he finally walked in. She sucked in a breath. He was alive, his chest was bare but his pale skin was sharply contrasted with the blood. There was an ugly bullet wound in his shoulder but he was on two feet despite the sour expression. A cheer went up upon him entering the room, a disconcerting combination of shouts and animalistic noises.
She stayed silent, eyes glued to him and cataloging just how much blood he was covered in. She'd completed a short medical rotation and while she didn't remember much she figured he needed medical attention sooner rather than later. Frost thought so too judging from the way his eyes had gone even colder and the muscle ticked in his jaw. Summoning her energy, Harley pushed up to her knees, and Joker's eyes finally fell on her. They were inscrutable but a chill ran down her spine all the same.
He approached her slowly and deliberate, like she was prey. Harley's chest tightened and she prepared to run. She wouldn't survive another electrocution.
To her surprise he held out his hand to her. His eyes were still blank but after a brief hesitation, she took it and let him gently help her to her feet.
"You're hurt," she mumbled under her breath, before she could really think of something to say that might give her control. She saw something flash across his face briefly, his fingers gripping hers hard for a second. More unusually, he didn't respond, leading her through the room instead. With each step, Harley knew that he wasn't the only one who needed a hospital.
She kept her lips firmly sealed together when he pushed her firmly into the chair. As much as she was grateful to sit, she knew he was playing with her. The only question was whether she was going to like the game.
"You helped get me out."
Wordlessly she nodded.
"Why?" his voice was low and searching, just for them too.
"I-" Harley began before trailing off. The reasons she had helped him were tangled up like yarn inside her head. A lie sat on the tip of her tongue but his gaze on her informed her silently that he would tolerate no lies from her right now.
"I need you to be in this world."
He didn't respond but sunk to a crouch so they were eye to eye. The ice blue of his bore into the ocean blue of hers.
"I needed you to be in my world," she finally rasped, hating herself and hating him for stealing those words from her.
He paused for a second, taking it in, before his head tipped back and he start cackling. It reverberated off the walls, off the floor, and just like that the spell was broken.
"Got ya," he hissed through his metal capped teeth, alight with anger and victory.
Harley realised she was in danger in a way she'd never been with him before. She'd let herself into the vortex of his life and followed him into the mess, but this time it was personal. She was the focus of all his monumental rage and insanity.
She had to get out of that room, but even as she started to move, he grabbed her as if reading her mind. He snaked an arm around her leg, pinning it to the chair and using his shoulder to jam her other leg.
"Get her arms," he snarled.
A scream swelled inside her, catching in her throat, as men seized her arms and shoulders, pushing her upper body back into the chair. Maybe it was her imagination but she swore Frost winced and slanted his head away from the scene.
"Are you going to kill me?" she demanded, pleased her voice didn't shake despite her terror.
His head tilted curiously, like he was remembering her asking that of him already tonight.
She didn't even give him a chance to answer. "Are you going to hurt me?" The first tinge of her own anger painted the question.
He offered a one shouldered shrug. "In a way."
"What does that mean?"
Joker smiled broadly by way of answer.
"Tell me you crazy, small-dicked asshole," she snapped, straining at the hands restraining her.
His grin got even wider and inhuman, but she could see her use of the word crazy had unsettled him.
"Calm down Princess, I'm going to let you go back to your own life."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"How does that hurt me?" she glared at him, trying to take any power she could in this situation.
"You're life, as it was… before me. I'm going to vanish from it."
Harley snorted at him, her stomach lurching simultaneously. "You've got a high opinion of yourself don't you."
"I just… needed you in my world," he parroted in a high voice, mocking her. To punctuate the humiliation, he licked the inside of her thigh. A contraction of heat shot through her body. Down to her cells, she craved him. He was turning off the supply like she was a drug addict.
"Go fuck yourself," she said, neatly and precisely.
Joker fake pouted, not at all disguising how much he was enjoying this. "Such language. Don't worry, I'm going to leave you a memento."
Harley suggested exactly what he could do with his memento, which caused another peel of sharp laughter.
"Oh Doctor, what I would have done to you if you hadn't turned me into the police."
She could just imagine. Oh she had imagined it alright. She stared daggers at him instead of confessing she'd had the same thought before. Joker gave her time to speak but when she remained stubbornly quiet he sighed almost like she had disappointed him and snapped his fingers. A tray was wheeled out to him with a small machine. Harley frantically watched its progress trying to figure out what he planned to do. It wouldn't be beyond him to maim her, and it was a very real possibility she might leave with one less finger or toe.
She jerked back instinctively when she realised it was a tattoo gun. Joker giggled, sensing her fear.
"Don't worry, Princess, just something small to remember me by."
Harley recoiled from him but she was held too tightly to the chair. To her horror, Joker used his free hand to push her red dress up higher so it sat above her hips. With her legs akimbo, Harley was exposed and vulnerable. But Joker didn't have sex on his mind, at least not conventional sex.
Keeping a hold on her, he played with the equipment with a familiar deftness that suggested perhaps some of his ink had been self inflicted. Harley sucked in a breath and he press the tip of the needle to her skin at the top of her inner thigh, along the line of her underwear.
Abruptly Joker leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the skin next to the gun. The gesture was almost tender.
"Don't move too much Princess, it might ruin it."
"Suck my dick, Puddin'," she replied, breathlessly. He laughed once more before the little engine started up and hot pain spread across her flesh.
…
She was unceremoniously pushed out of the van, when it came to a screeching halt in front of Gotham PD Headquarters. Despite dawn on the horizon, a number of uniformed officers milled around, coming down off the adrenaline of last night, a car chase and ultimately losing the Joker once again.
Harley's red dress had been ripped off but she'd barely noticed in her single minded hatred. She did shiver, standing there in her underwear. The weak sunlight hadn't turned the full extent of her bruises visible but the police's eyes widened and they ran to assist her, while another spoke into his radio. Another officer ran out of the front door holding a blanket up to envelop her.
It happened as if in a haze and she caught snippets of conversation. Gordon, ambulance, shock.
She was led to the stairs to sit down and Gordon appeared as if summoned by name alone. He fought to keep his reaction neutral, sinking to the ground beside her.
"The ambulance is on it's way," he reassured her. "You're safe."
"Do you want to take my statement now?"
Gordon's eyebrows drew together before he shook his head. "Later. We can talk later."
There were sirens in the distance but getting closer. Gorden helped her to her feet, which were dirty and cold. In the process of standing the blanket slipped some and he caught sight of a small trickle of blood on her thigh.
"Did he…?"
Harley knew exactly what the Commissioner was asking. "No."
Gordon didn't looked relieved. "May I?" he asked gesturing at the blanket.
Harley shrugged and Gordon looked pained. "I'd like your verbal consent."
"Go for it," Harley murmured, words catching in her mouth.
Gordon slid on some gloves, suddenly seeing her as a crime scene and not just a victim. He gently pulled the blanket to the side and hissed in shock and anger.
In big, messy print was one word. Mine.
"He did this to you?" Gordon asked, barely concealing his outrage. Harley couldn't find it in her to answer. Her head was fuzzy and she was so exhausted she could barely stand.
The ambulance rolled to a stop in front of the steps and Gordon guided her to the paramedics. She was being helped into the back of the ambulance when she paused and glanced at Gordon.
"I'm going to kill him."
He stared at her.
"Just so you know," she finished and climbed inside.