Theme: L.A. Witch - 'Kill My Baby Tonight'
The Pantomime
12.
Jonathan Crane had his limits. From the moment the Joker broke him out of Arkham, he promised himself he would break away as soon as humanly possible, and a month later he was still clinging to the Joker for protection. It was abundantly clear the clown and Harleen had reconciled, and that their interest in Blue Orchid had waned as they found other avenues to Black Mask's identity—avenues that did not require Crane's assistance.
It was up to Crane to find Black Mask himself, ideally before Harleen and the Joker did. And there was only one person who could possibly point him in the right direction. One person he had recently discovered worked at the Iceberg Lounge. A person you could say owed Crane a favor.
Victor Zsasz.
Without a car, Crane was forced to use public transport. He hadn't shaved in a week, and his beard had grown longer than he'd ever kept it before. It was itchy and annoying, but it made for an adequate disguise with the added bonus of making him look more masculine, he noted with a touch of vanity.
When he arrived Uptown, it took an hour to find the Iceberg Lounge from memory, having only been there once years earlier to meet Penguin about a money-laundering deal. There was a line of scantily-clad young people waiting to get in that stretched around the block. Some of them narrowed their eyes at Crane, not because they recognized him, but because he looked hopelessly out of place in his oxfords and too-large sweater vest.
The two bouncers guarding the club's backdoor exchanged an amused look when Crane approached them, a scowl fixed firmly on his face.
"I'm looking for Victor Zsasz," he announced coldly.
"You're looking for Victor?" one of the bouncers laughed.
"No one ever comes looking for Victor," the other one admitted, chuckling. "Sorry buddy, he's not here right now."
"Well..." Crane ground his teeth, recalibrating. "In that case, I need to speak to Lucy."
The bouncers laughed in his face, and Crane started to weigh up the merits of using his fear toxin on them when a black Rolls Royce pulled into the alley. The bouncers' laughter subsided, and they shared another amused look.
"Looks like you're getting lucky, pal," one of them observed as Victor Zsasz climbed out of the Rolls' passenger seat.
Crane squinted at Zsasz across the alley. He was still tall and imposing, but that unnerving glint of madness ever-present in his eyes was gone, replaced with an affable blankness that could have been a canvas for anything.
When Victor spotted Crane his bottom lip popped out, his eyebrows raising in an exaggerated expression of surprise.
"Huh," he nodded like he was impressed and offered Crane a wave. "Hey, Dr Crane."
Crane glanced at the bouncers, who were still watching and not taking it seriously. He scowled at them before stomping over to Zsasz, his shoulders hunched defensively.
"This is a surprise," Victor observed good-naturedly. "But not a bad one."
"Zsasz," Crane hissed. "You owe me."
"I do?" Victor narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure about that?"
"I made sure you didn't go to Blackgate," Crane snapped. It was a weak argument but it was the only one he had.
"Uh-huh," Victor fought back a smirk, seeing right through him. "So, um, what brings you here tonight?"
"You work for Lucy," Crane said, his voice low. "I know Lucy works for Black Mask." Victor's eyebrows rose, impressed again. "I want to meet him," Crane added impatiently.
"You want to meet Black Mask?" Victor lowered his chin and twisted his head to the side like he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
"Yes," Crane sneered.
Victor took a step back and opened the backdoor of the Rolls Royce. He ducked his head in for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words with someone, then pulled back to flash Crane a smirk over his shoulder.
"Okay," he gestured to the car. "Go ahead."
Harley and the Joker were up and ready to go before dawn, dressed in inconspicuous summer wear that would allow them to roam around Gotham undeterred. Harley in cut off shorts and a cropped Hawaiin shirt, the Joker in blue jeans and an over washed gray tee shirt, one of Hill's MGGA hats covering his sandy hair.
They took a little red Nisson down to the University District and parked outside Vicki Vale's apartment. She lived on a street populated with bodegas and cafes, with apartments squashed between or over them.
"Mm... how you wanna play this?" the Joker squinted up at Vicki's building as Harley finished smoothing red greasepaint around her lips.
"I'm a known quantity," she said thoughtfully. "Vicki's scared of me... but she's really scared of you."
The Joker shrugged modestly, then reached behind the driver's seat, retrieving a small ice pick for clearing ice from the windscreen.
"Why don't you... get creative while me and her are chattin', hmm?" He waggled his eyebrows, making Harley laugh as she took the ice pick from him.
The sun was just about up when they brazenly darted across the street in full warpaint. The entrance to Vicki's building was squeezed between a charity shop and a bodega that hadn't opened yet, and after looking around to make sure they didn't have any pesky witnesses, Harley used the ice pick to break the lock, leading them into a musty hallway with a narrow staircase.
Vicki lived on the third floor, though the apartments on the lower levels both looked empty. Harley pressed her ear against the thin wood of Vicki's front door; she could hear her shuffling around inside.
Harley stepped back and braced herself, her heart leaping happily to be working. Then she smashed the lock off with the icepick and kicked the door open, revealing a stunned Vicki Vale, sitting in front of her laptop at her kitchen table in her pajamas.
"Oh, shit!" Vicki gasped, jumping to her feet and staggering backward as they burst in.
"Hey, Vicki," Harley greeted her with a smirk, swinging the ice pick at a framed poster on the wall, smashing the glass. "You didn't return my calls," Harley pouted while the Joker loped up to Vicki.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Vicki chanted as the Joker swooped on top of her. "WAIT, WAIT!"
She shrieked when he grabbed a handful of her pale blonde hair and yanked her away from the sink, swinging her around and slamming her up against the fridge. Vicki made a horrible, strangled sound as the Joker produced a knife and held it up to her face, his paint-smeared fingers digging into her jaw to hold her head in place as he twirled it in front of her eyes.
"I wasn't going to write it!" she gasped. "I swear I wasn't going to write it!"
Harley was heading for a bookshelf packed with vinyl records, intent on destruction when she heard this. She swung around to squint at Vicki across the room, sensing they weren't currently on the same page. Vicki was gasping and trembling as she cowered away from the Joker but notably, did not start to cry.
"Weren't going to write what?" Harley asked, prowling back into the kitchen, her eyes narrowing.
"Daggett," Vicki panted, her voice shaking. "I wasn't going to write about it."
The Joker's head tipped to the side as he squinted down at Vicki while Harley did the same a few feet behind him.
"And what," J drawled, his voice a low purr that made Vicki shudder. "Do you know about John Daggett… hmm?"
"I know... I know Janice Porter and Mike Akins were investigating Daggett Shipping," Vicki admitted, squeezing her eyes shut. "And I know Judge Ciecco was issuing subpoenas to get a closer look at their books."
Harley ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the red greasepaint as she slotted this information in place beside what she already knew.
"And what else do you think you know?" she demanded, watching Vicki breathe hard through her nose, her eyes still closed so she wouldn't have to look at the Joker.
"You made it look like you were repeating yourselves," she gasped. "When you were really taking out people dangerous to Daggett."
"Hmm," the Joker purred unhappily, obviously coming to the same conclusion that Harley had.
That they had played their parts well in Black Mask's little drama to keep up appearances for Daggett.
"Anything else, Vicki?" Harley snapped. "Now's the time to speak up."
Vicki took a few quick, deep breaths, then opened her eyes, meeting Harley's bravely.
"I know Daggett is advised by Hill Consulting, and you have some kind of relationship with Hamilton Hill," she said, a little bitterly. "Which makes me think he's part of this too."
The Joker chuckled throatily, enjoying her gumption.
"You're good, Vicki," Harley smirked affectionately, folding her arms and leaning against the sink. "You're really good."
Vicki glared at her.
"How did you figure all this out?" Harley asked, narrowing her eyes, wondering if Vicki might know even more.
"After I saw you with Hill's campaign manager, I interviewed Hill for the magazine," Vicki said, looking moody instead of scared now. "It kind of snowballed from there."
"Uh-huh," Harley pushed away from the kitchen sink, coming up behind the Joker. She hooked her chin over his shoulder so Vicki had to look at both of them, a two-headed monster. "And what exactly was Janice Porter investigating?"
"Daggett Shipping's books were cooked," Vicki explained, eyeing Harley warily. "They were importing things from Tibet without declaring them."
"Tibet?" Harley laughed incredulously as the Joker craned his head over his shoulder to squint at her. "Daggett's bringing in the blue poppy!" she crowed.
"Blue poppy?" Vicki asked, her brow knitting together, her curiosity outpacing her fear of them.
"Aww, Vicki," the Joker sighed, pivoting back around to crowd her up against the fridge. "It's a real long story," he purred. "One we were hoping you could help us out with, ya know, cause you and Harley used to be pals."
"You want my help?" Vicki croaked, bewildered.
"Hang on," Harley interjected before the Joker could launch into his Bruce Wayne spiel.
The idea of getting Vicki to help of her own accord appealed to Harley vastly more than forcing her into doing something. Vicki was strong-willed, and she had her convictions, but she was highly capable of delivering information.
Better to do this like friends.
Better to make her feel good about helping.
Harley strode over to the sink and turned on the tap, squeezing a handful of dish soap into her palm to wash away what she could of her warpaint. Then she wiped her face on a tea towel, leaving plenty of white, black, and red behind, and smoothed her hair back off her face.
She turned back to Vicki, showing her the Harley she knew.
"Let her go," she told the Joker, who raised an eyebrow but did as she said, releasing Vicki so she could sag back against the fridge.
Harley yanked out a chair from the kitchen table and gestured for Vicki to take it, and after a moment's hesitation, she staggered across the kitchen on rubbery legs and fell into the chair. Harley sat across from her, fixing her with a grim look while the Joker washed his warpaint off, picking up on what they were doing.
"I do need your help," Harley told Vicki, watching her eyes widen with surprise. "And this time I think you'll find out my interests align with yours and the rest of the city."
"What are you talking about?" Vicki frowned, but Harley could see she already knew something was going on that didn't make sense.
"Someone is taking over every level of Gotham," Harley explained. "The mob, politics, big business, everything."
Vicki's eyes widened again. "Who?"
"He's called Black Mask," Harley said frankly while the Joker pulled up a third chair and sat at the table, yanking the MGGA hat back on. "He's trying to get me to work for him, and I'm trying to figure out who he is before... well, before he kills me, basically. Because there's no way in hell I'm working for him."
"Kills you?" Vicki looked between Harley and the Joker, her eyes lingering on the Joker's unpainted face.
"Like whatcha see?" he drawled, raising a lascivious eyebrow that made Vicki pivot back to Harley.
"How am I supposed to help you?"
"I have all these pieces," Harley explained. "And they refuse to come together. Except you just put some massive ones together for me, Vicki."
"Like... the blue poppy?" Vicki asked cautiously. "Will you tell me what that is?"
Harley exchanged a look with the Joker, who shrugged, not seeing the harm in filling her in if it would make her amenable.
"Have you heard of Blue Orchid?" Harley asked her.
"The party drug?" Vicki frowned, her eyes on the Joker as he shifted around to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket.
"Depends on what part of town you're in," he sneered, loosening a cigarette from the pack and popping it between his lips. He caught Vicki staring and casually offered her the pack, which got perhaps the most shocked look out of her yet.
"Blue Orchid is made from a blue poppy only grown in Tibet," Harley explained, stifling a smile as Vicki numbly accepted a cigarette and let the Joker light it for her, blinking hard as she tried to keep up. "It's also the main ingredient in Jonathan Crane's fear toxin."
Vicki exhaled a plume of smoke, her eyes wide. "Are you serious? That's what's in that stuff?"
"Yep," Harley nodded. "When the Batman cut off the drugs, they started making BO here at home with Daggett shipping in the poppies. It isn't illegal, but it keeps the mob running smoothly. It's how Black Mask keeps them under his thumb."
"Wait," Vicki braced her elbow on the table. "So when people say there's no mob, what they mean is the mob went straight?"
"Sure," Harley shot Vicki a dubious look. "If you call putting hits out on civil servants going straight."
"Jesus," Vicki ran a hand over her hair. "This person sounds really... efficient."
"Effective is the word I'd use," Harley sneered.
"Okay," Vicki sighed out a cloud of smoke. "So, Hill, I can understand getting involved in this. He's a power-hungry prick."
The Joker snorted.
"But why would John Daggett get involved?" she looked at Harley. "He's a billionaire already."
Harley rocked back in her seat, her jaw twitching as she tried to decide how to explain Black Mask to Vicki.
"He's like a cult leader," she explained, rolling her shoulders back. "He convinces people that he's the only one who can get them what they want. He convinced John Daggett he can get him whatever it is he wants by working with him on this."
"Convinced him," Vicki said quietly, catching Harley's eye. "Or consulted him."
Harley's pulse bounced hard in her throat as she realized what Vicki was suggesting. She shifted forward, eager to hear what she had to say, sensing she already knew.
"There's a consultant who works for Hill," Vicki continued cautiously. "They say he's the reason John Daggett's a billionaire. He's the one who advised Hill to run for mayor. He works with dictators and terrorists, but everything he does is perfectly legal. And Hamilton Hill thinks of him as a son."
Harley's eyes widened, and suddenly, she felt so incredibly stupid that she hadn't put it together sooner.
"Roman Sionis?" she demanded.
Vicki nodded mutely, and Harley swore under her breath.
Young, handsome, charismatic, wealthy, entitled, tricky, weird—he was everything you'd expect Black Mask to be. Harley thought about that flutter of dark eyelashes, his height and build, and the cadence of his speech. All of it was so Goddamn obvious.
How had she not seen this?
"Are you okay?" Vicki asked warily, watching Harley like one might watch a brewing storm.
But Harley waved her off, rubbing her forehead as she tried to pull together what this all meant.
It meant they finally had something to work with.
"Listen," Vicki leaned toward Harley as if she'd forgotten who she was sitting across from. "This guy advises dictators. Dictators always go after the media, and Daggett has been making incredibly aggressive moves against Wayne Enterprises."
"What do you mean?" Harley squinted at her.
"Wayne owns GCN and the Globe," Vicki explained, her eyes lighting up. "If Sionis is advising Daggett to take on Wayne Enterprises, that could be why."
Harley ran her tongue over her teeth. Being taken to the Wayne Family Crypt felt slightly more… personal than a corporate take over.
"Daggett's trying to take over Wayne Enterprises?" she asked warily, remembering their original purpose for being there, which Vicki had somehow eclipsed.
"And did, uh, Brucey tell ya that?" the Joker asked slyly.
Vicki started looking nervous again, her shoulders tensing as she looked between Harley and the Joker like she was only remembering who they were now that her boyfriend's name was raised.
"Why did you come here?" she asked nervously.
Harley needed Vicki. She knew it then. She needed her to believe in her and work with her.
Harley scooted her chair closer to Vicki's, staring into her eyes, and conveying her desperation as best she possibly could.
"I met Black Mask… Roman last night," she told Vicki, her expression grim. "He took me to the Wayne Family Crypt."
"What?" Vicki recoiled from Harley. "What?"
"Yeah," Harley nodded. "Does that sound like he's only interested in taking over Wayne Enterprises for their media empire?"
Vicki's mouth opened and closed and then opened again, apparently at a loss for words.
"You need to talk to Bruce," Harley told her, forcing Vicki to meet her eye. "You have to find out what he knows about Roman."
"I'm seeing him tomorrow night…" Vicki said slowly.
"No," Harley cut her off, shaking her head. "This morning, then come meet us to tell us what he says."
Vicki looked uncertain, and Harley could see she needed more of a reason to get on board. There was the obvious motivation that Harley would kill her if she didn't, but Harley didn't want to lay that one out on the table yet. She also had no desire to kill Vicki. In fact, Harley would actively keep her alive if it came down to it.
"Look," Harley sighed, trying another angle. "Talk to Bruce, and if he says anything you think I need to know, we'll meet in the park." She watched Vicki wrestle with being given so much control of the situation, including judging for herself whether Harley needed to know something, and willingly communicating with her. "Okay?" Harley asked.
"Okay," Vicki agreed.
Then she stood up and walked over to her TV unit, pulling open a drawer and pushing aside old cables and magazines before she retrieved the burner phone Harley had given her a year earlier.
She still had it.
Harley had to tamp down a triumphant grin, knowing Vicki would come through for her as she always did.
The Lake Restaurant in Robinson Park was fancier than Vicki expected it to be, but she wanted Bruce to meet her somewhere nice so she didn't feel like he was a source she was digging information out of like Jane at the dive bar.
Having Harley and the Joker turn up that morning had been flat out terrifying until Vicki realized what was happening. They were desperate. They were scared. Or at least as desperate and scared as they were capable of being. And the reasons they had for being nervous affected Vicki too.
And the story they told—it was huge. It was the scoop of a goddamn lifetime. It was so absorbing, it made it easier to talk to them once they decided to be civil.
As was always the case with Harley, Vicki struggled to reconcile the woman in front of her with the woman she knew Harley to be: the perpetrator of mass shootings, a terrorist. But once Harley washed off the clown paint and sat down, looking frustrated and nervous, and telling Vicki she needed her help, Vicki found herself wanting to help despite knowing it was wrong. Despite the Joker sitting there next to her like the devil himself, unpainted but still intensely unnerving and radiating pure malice.
That didn't mean Vicki had any intention of calling Harley, meeting Harley, or engaging her any further on the subject of Black Mask or Roman Sionis or whoever he was. Harley even told Vicki not to get in touch unless she found something she thought Harley needed to know. And Vicki couldn't think of anything Bruce could reveal that could get her to voluntarily meet Harley again.
Still, Vicki begged Bruce to meet her for brunch, the urgency in Harley's eyes sticking with her, spurring her to find answers fast.
Vicki forced a smile when Bruce waved at her across the restaurant, a waiter leading him through a twist of tables toward her.
"Hey," she said, kissing him quickly, but before she could pull away, he covered her cheek with his hand and peered into her eyes, a line forming between his brows.
"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. "You look shaken."
"It's work, I haven't slept yet," Vicki lied, shrugging him off and sitting down, giving him no choice but to sit across from her, his frown firmly in place.
"I didn't realize photoshopping Ivania Dumas was the kind of thing to keep you up at night," Bruce attempted to joke, but it fell flat.
"It's not," Vicki agreed. "This is about the Daggett-Hill story."
"Oh," Bruce's eyebrows rose.
"And it's a lot bigger, a lot more complicated than I thought it was," Vicki admitted. "I'm still trying to piece things together, but…" she looked up at him, seeing how concerned he was for her, and plowed ahead. "I need you to answer some questions for me, Bruce."
"You need me to answer some questions?" Bruce's eyes widened.
"I need you to tell me about Roman Sionis," Vicki explained, watching surprise pass over his face. "Is there a reason why he would be interested in your family's company?"
"Uh," Bruce laughed awkwardly, looking bemused. "I haven't seen Roman in years, Vicki."
Vicki didn't say anything. She waited for Bruce to tell her, not wanting to say out loud that she knew he was hiding something.
"Alright," Bruce nodded reluctantly, sitting back in his chair. "Roman's family owned a company that made plastics called Janus Chemical. They went bankrupt during the depression. Wayne Enterprises bought it and liquidated it."
Vicki nodded for him to continue, listening closely.
"The Sionis family had plenty of money, but Roman's father was…" Bruce hesitated, pressing his lips together. "Resentful is what I was told. Resentful that Wayne destroyed his family's company."
He hesitated again.
"And," Vicki pressed.
"And," Bruce sighed, staring at his water glass. "And Roman's father spent a decade drinking and hating my parents for something that had nothing to do with them, and ultimately he killed himself driving drunk." Bruce looked conflicted as he met Vicki's eye. "We were eleven. Roman's mother committed suicide two years later."
Vicki's eyes widened.
"Does he… blame you?" she asked.
"I have no idea," Bruce shrugged helplessly. "My parents died when I was twelve and Alfred homeschooled me from then on. I've seen Roman maybe six or seven times in the twenty-plus years since then."
Vicki drummed her fingers on the white table cloth, wishing she had a cigarette to help her think.
"Vicki, what's this all about?" Bruce frowned. "Why are you investigating Roman?"
"I'm not," she lied. "I'm just trying to understand him as part of a larger puzzle."
"Well," Bruce picked up her hand off the table. "He'll be at the fundraiser tomorrow night if you want to meet him? Pick his brains?" he offered her a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Or interrogate him?"
"He will?" Vicki asked warily, remembering what Harley said about Roman taking her to the Wayne Family Crypt. It felt dangerous to have him in the manor.
"Yeah, I'll introduce you," Bruce offered her a toothy smile. "You'll see he's a nice enough guy. Intense job, but nice enough."
"Okay," Vicki agreed weakly.
"You've got a little something," Bruce gestured to her jaw, smiling.
Vicki picked up her napkin and rubbed her jaw, then looked down to see a smear of red paint. Leftover from the Joker's fingers.
"Lipstick," she lied, giving Bruce a tight smile.
The Joker fished out a pair of knock off Ray-Ban sunglasses from the Nisson's glove box, popping them on and adjusting the MGGA hat on his greasy hair.
"You look like a republican serial killer," Harley told him affectionately. They were waiting in the car outside Ed's, giving Frost a chance to scout it before they went in themselves.
"Shucks," the Joker drawled, shooting her a smirk just as Frost trundled out of the chrome diner, flashing them a thumbs up on his way past.
"Here we go," Harley murmured.
Considering how successful round one had gone with Vicki, she wasn't overly hopeful that Ed would provide anything especially useful. Not least because he was an irritating little pest always hovering on the peripheral, demanding attention for himself, and he had been right about Harley meaning 'beat up, torture, and kill' when she said 'chat.'
She spotted his strawberry blonde hair on the other side of the diner, which was mostly empty before the lunchtime rush. Harley took the Joker's hand and led him toward Ed, her senses heightened in case this was another instance of Ed calling them out in public.
Ed was as flamboyantly dressed as he usually was, apparently not understanding this meeting was supposed to be a discrete one. He wore a dark green wife beater tucked into mom jeans and a pair of bulky sandals covered in the word PRADA, which Harley would have described as "fashiony" for lack of a better word. She noticed his toenails were manicured and painted a sparkly baby blue.
Ed's eyes widened when they stopped beside him, eyeing him warily.
"Oh my god," he hissed, delighted. "Look at you!"
Harley and the Joker exchanged a look, then slid into the booth and took off their sunglasses. They folded their arms on the chrome tabletop and stared at Ed while he bit his bottom lip and wiggled his shoulders.
"I am loving this undercover look," he gushed, waving a hand at them. "It's so dirty but sexy, you know? Like—"
The Joker grabbed Ed's flailing wrist out of the air, yanking him forward so he could get a grip on the back of his neck. He slammed Ed's face down on the chrome tabletop, pinning him there and making the condiments on the table rattle.
"Hey!" Ed squealed.
Harley flicked open a switchblade and balanced the point on the table in front of Ed's eyeball.
"Listen, Ed," she said softly. "We get that you think we won't kill you in public in the middle of the day like this, but unfortunately… you're wrong about that."
"Hey, I just wanna talk," Ed whined. "Come on, I know you're looking for Black Mask."
Harley and the Joker exchanged another look. The Joker made a pained face like he couldn't bear to deal with Ed, but Harley shook her head, insisting they hear him out, and the Joker released him with an unhappy hum.
"Alright," Harley folded her arms again and watched Ed pout performatively and rub the back of his neck. "What do you know about Black Mask?"
"Well," Ed started with a sigh, folding his pale, well-defined arms on the table like he was settling in for a story. "I guess it all started with Holiday."
"It all started with Holiday?" Harley asked dubiously.
"Yes, Harley, it did," Ed grinned. "So, you could say I was a fan of his work, but then he just stops, right? Nothing on New Year, nothing on Valentine's Day. So I thought, hey! What an opportunity and—"
"We aren't here for your origin story, Ed," Harley snapped. "If you know something, now is the time to tell us."
"Fine, fine, jeez," Ed huffed, rolling his eyes and heaving a put upon sigh. "So, around the same time that I killed those dirty cops, me and Alberto were having a little, mmm, fling, you could say."
"You had a fling with Alberto Falcone?" Harley lifted an eyebrow and Ed nodded eagerly.
"Yeah, and let me tell you," Ed shot Harley a knowing look. "That guy is a freak between the sheets. I mean, you could probably guess that looking at him. Anyway, he figured me out. I guess I wasn't great at covering my tracks or whatever." He fluttered his hand and rolled his eyes. "And I figured out he was Holiday."
"What?" Harley hissed, her eyes widening. "Alberto Falcone is Holiday?"
The Joker hummed low in his throat while Ed nodded eagerly, beaming under their attention.
"Oh, yes," he sang, obviously pleased with himself. "So, anyway, Alberto introduces me to Black Mask," Ed continued gamely. "And he says he wants me to work for him. He wants me to ya know, cause distractions, cause a little chaos, get the papers talking, and get the Batman and Black Canary nervous... and he would pay me for it, give me men and guns and whatever I needed."
Harley felt a profound sense of disappointment sweep over her then, followed swiftly by disgust. The Riddler, the man who was supposed to be a worthy adversary, the villain they had returned to Gotham for, was nothing but a paid mob shill.
"Oh don't look at me like that," Ed begged, his eyes widening like he was about to cry. "I mean, you both worked for the mob and screwed them over." He looked to the Joker, eyes pleading. "That was always my plan, you know? Except I really needed the money."
"It's always about the money," the Joker sneered.
"Look, some of us have to work for a living," Ed snapped, his eyes narrowing as he waved a long finger between them. "And what do you think I'm doing now? If BM knew I was telling you this, he'd flay me. I've seen him do it. He's a big fan of flaying."
"So this is you screwing over Black Mask," Harley raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "By snitching to us?"
"God, you're so judgy," Ed rolled his eyes then settled forward, his hazel eyes focusing on her. "This isn't snitching, Harley, it's switching sides."
Harley and the Joker exchanged a look, neither of them sure if they would be better or worse off with the Riddler on their 'side'.
"Why are you switching sides, Ed?" Harley asked him point blank. "We aren't going to pay you."
"Because I want to team up with you! I am so bored with BM and his moody vibe," Ed huffed unhappily, his bottom lip sticking out. "Taking over the city all quietly like this? So boring. You guys are like technicolor, you know? You're vibrant and real and exciting. And BM's just black and gray, and sometimes like a really dark navy blue, but never even with a pinstripe." He sighed miserably, throwing his hands up. "I mean, how can someone so rich and powerful and dangerous be this boring? I don't get it."
"Ed," Harley narrowed her eyes. "Do you find avoiding boredom is the primary motivator in your decision making?"
"Yes, yes," he gasped, falling forward like he was dying. "Psychoanalyse me, Harley, I'm begging you. I think I'm a high functioning sociopath, but I also think like, maybe some OCD and probably some ADHD too... they gave me pills when I was a kid but—"
"Those are just labels," Harley interrupted him, seeing another tangent was imminent. "All that matters is the next move you make."
"I told you, I want to team up to take down Black Mask," Ed whined, looking pained. Then his eyes lit up like he'd thought of something. "Oh my god, are you still friends with Poison Ivy? Are you? Can you imagine if we all teamed up? Oh my god, talk about squad goals!" His mouth fell open in a melodramatic gasp. "Harley, we'd be the Squad. I can be Taylor and you can be Karlie!"
Harley had no idea what he was talking about, and when she glanced at the Joker he was squinting at Ed like he was trying to decide if Ed was insane. She decided to let that one go.
"What do you know about... Poison Ivy," she asked haltingly, feeling stupid calling Pam by the moniker she'd been gifted by the Lucky Hand.
"That she's like, this wrathful, amazing, powerful goddess who sucks men's brains out and turns them into slaves," Ed grinned, wiggling his shoulders. "That's what some of the thugs left over from the Chinese gangs said anyway."
"Red sure is somethin'," the Joker muttered, and Harley shot him a glare for even mentioning Pam.
"Redheads, amiright," Ed smirked at the Joker, suddenly playing a swaggery toxic male instead of the enthusiastic camp performance he'd been giving so far.
It made Harley wonder if it was all a performance.
"Okay, Ed," Harley settled forward, trying to get him back on track. "Do you know who Black Mask really is?"
"Well, no, but no one does," he rolled his eyes until he caught Harley looking at him. "Wait… do you guys know who he is?"
"It's something we're looking into," Harley replied evasively. "So, if you don't know who he is, how are you going to help us take him down?"
"He talks to me, Harley," Ed explained with a sanguine smile. "I understand him."
"You understand him?" Harley lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah, for example," Ed leaned forward, smirking. "I know he's really interested in you."
"In me?" Harley felt an annoying spell of uneasiness roll through her. "What did he say?"
"It's not so much what he said," Ed replied coyly. "As how he said it. Like he couldn't not ask me about you once he knew I knew you."
Harley frowned, unsure what to make of this.
"He liiiiiiiikes you," Ed sang, biting his bottom lip and waggling his eyebrows at her.
"He wants me to work for him," Harley countered, though she felt like she was pushing back unnecessarily.
"Who wouldn't," Ed agreed. "I'm just saying, BM is usually chill about everything, but he was very unchill when he asked about you."
Harley thought about the exchange from the night before. The way he said he wanted to know her secrets and asked her if she wanted to be needed. And the way his hand had hovered like he wanted to touch her.
She felt the Joker's hand slip onto her leg under the table, his fingers digging into her inner thigh, a comforting reminder that she was his.
"Alright, Ed," the Joker jumped in suddenly, bracing an elbow on the table and leaning forward. "Here's the thing. You haven't told us… anything useful. Not a fuckin' thing, pal. So I wanna know… what you're gonna do to help us take down your buddy Black Mask. Huh?"
Ed's eyes darted between them nervously, the Joker apparently doing more to reign him in than Harley was capable of. It was profoundly satisfying to see him get twitchy.
"Because I gotta say, all this… bullshit," the Joker waved his hand dismissively, indicating he thought everything about Ed was bullshit. "My girl and I aren't fuckin' interested, kiddo."
"Well, I'm a really good shot," Ed said defensively. "You may have noticed I've carried out three heists in three weeks. I mean, you must be impressed right?"
When they just stared at him, very much unimpressed, he sputtered indignantly.
"I can be your man on the inside," he tried again, raising his chin. "BM randomly texts me with jobs or if he wants to meet up. Maybe we... swap numbers and I let you know when I see him... or if I think of anything else."
Harley and the Joker exchanged a look. It could go either way, they agreed. In the end, the Joker pulled out a burner and fixed Ed with an expectant look, his thumb hovering over the keys as he squeezed Harley's leg beneath the table.
Ed recited his number and the Joker gave him a missed call so they were square. Then without a word of farewell, the Joker stood and stepped out of the booth, Harley sliding out after him while Ed watched, his eyes narrowing.
"So, you call her your girl, huh?" he smirked, almost flirtatiously, but a little bit mean too. "That's so cute and... unexpected. But I guess that's the point right? It's so not you that it's you." He looked at Harley. "What do you call him? Honey-bunny? Baby? Puddin'?"
Harley shot Ed a withering look as the Joker threw an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side and guiding her out of the diner, well aware that Ed was staring at them. Harley figured it was to emphasize to Ed that he was up against both of them.
"C'mon, Puddin'," the Joker muttered into her hair, making Harley snort quietly.
When they were back in the car, Harley's phone beeped with a message from Vicki. She had information, and wanted to meet.
Vicki lowered herself onto the park bench where she first met Harley Quinn a year earlier, sighing through her teeth. The rest of brunch with Bruce had been tense, and she'd blamed it on not getting enough sleep, though it was actually due to worrying for him. Worrying that he could have a psychopath with a dynastic personal vendetta against him in his home the very next evening. Because if someone was going to wear a mask and take over the city and try to employ Harley Quinn, that person had to be a psychopath, right?
If Roman—Black Mask—had already proven himself capable of doing what Harley described, who was to say he wasn't capable of destroying Wayne Enterprises, and even hurting Bruce?
Vicki had not intended to call Harley, but after two hours sitting at her desk contemplating the alternative—calling Detective Montoya—she realized she didn't have a choice. Montoya would be able to look into the business at City Hall, and maybe even look into the business with the blue poppy, but ultimately, nothing would come of it. The idea of sicking Montoya on Roman Sionis was laughable—she wouldn't be able to get anything done, not with her badge and the rules she had to follow.
Harley, on the other hand.
Harley could actually do something.
Vicki wasn't sure what she wanted Harley to do; she just knew Harley would be able to do it.
So now Vicki was sitting on a park bench waiting, still not sure exactly what she was doin, even when Harley appeared without the Joker. She slid onto the park bench beside Vicki, her eyes covered by a pair of dark sunglasses, her shoulders tense.
"So?" Harley asked, sounding strained. "What did he say?"
Vicki took a deep breath to prepare herself, then repeated everything Bruce told her about Roman Sionis's family, and by the time she'd finished Harley was nodding knowingly.
"Boy grows up with a drunk, resentful father who blames all their problems on the Wayne family," she said in a sing-song voice. "Boy's parents kill themselves because of those problems, boy ostensibly blames the Waynes for their deaths."
Harley turned to Vicki, her expression gloomy.
"Boy suffering with PTSD is raised in a boarding school without any kind of emotional support, where he and his wealthy, entitled peers are taught they're the chosen ones." She shook her head. "It's like the perfect cocktail for the most sadistic kind of psychopath."
"Shit," Vicki sighed. "Do you think he wants to hurt Bruce?"
"My guess?" Harley shot Vicki a wary look. "Now that he has the power to do it, he wants to destroy him."
Vicki ran her tongue over her teeth a few times, struggling with what she ultimately told Harley next.
"There's a Wayne Foundation fundraiser tomorrow night," she said, glancing sideways at Harley. "Bruce says Roman will be there. He's going to introduce me to him."
"Can you get me in?" Harley demanded, immediately interested.
"Why, what will you do?" Vicki asked warily.
"Kidnap him," Harley said simply, and when Vicki's eyes widened, she added. "Quietly. Ish."
"And then what?" Vicki made a face. "Kill him?"
"No, there's still a lot we need to learn from him," Harley mused, and when she saw Vicki's pained face, she added, "Including what he's planning to do to Bruce."
Vicki knew Harley was manipulating her, but that didn't make her any less right.
However, Vicki wasn't quite ready to be part of a kidnapping plot yet.
She stared at the yellow grass beneath her feet, trying to find a solution.
"Roman is a ghost. He's impossible to find," Harley continued. "This is a golden opportunity for us to expose him. The court of public opinion is more vicious than the court of law. You know we can do it, Vicki."
Vicki sighed and closed her eyes, struggling with how close she was to saying yes.
"Vicki, look at me," Harley insisted.
After a beat, Vicki met Harley's eye, seeing the desperation there.
"He's had people following me for weeks," Harley said, looking strained. "Everywhere I go, there's a BMW with two men inside. They don't even try to hide the fact that they're following me. It's like they feel entitled to it, and…." Harley swallowed thickly, blinking hard. "And he wants something from me. Something more than just work."
"What do you mean?" Vicki frowned, watching Harley roll her shoulders back like she felt uncomfortable. "What else does he want?"
"He said he wants me to…" Harley closed her eyes, looking genuinely upset. "Submit."
"Submit?" Vicki's eyes widened, the word sending something horrified skittering through her.
"I have to stop him," Harley continued, her jaw clenching before she met Vicki's eye again. "I'll protect Bruce for you, I promise."
When Vicki still didn't say anything, Harley tried again.
"Listen, I've met Bruce before," she coaxed. "When I was still working at Arkham. I know he's a good guy and just pretends to be an asshole, I'm guessing he has to do the whole high society thing because of his last name, but he hates it. He doesn't deserve this."
Vicki sighed heavily, the idea that she was relying on Harley Quinn to protect her billionaire boyfriend too ridiculous to consider in any rational sense.
But she also believed Harley.
And Vicki knew that if anyone could expose Roman, it was Harley Quinn and the Joker.
Timely as always, the Joker strolled up to them then, looking exceedingly ordinary if not a little gritty in sunglasses and jeans, a red MGGA hat covering his wild hair. He flicked the butt of his cigarette away and offered Harley his hand when he stopped beside their bench, and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet as she caught Vicki's eye again.
"Okay, I'll get you in," Vicki agreed, and Harley nodded solemnly.
Vicki watched them walk away, surprised to see the Joker throw an arm over Harley's shoulders and tug her into his side. She fell against him, her arms twining around his waist as they speed-walked across the park, both of them obviously eager to get out of there.
Harley felt drained after all they'd learned that day. She usually enjoyed gathering information and planning jobs, but she couldn't shake the uneasy, queasy feeling that had been twisting her in knots for days—knots that had grown excruciatingly tight since her trip to the Wayne Family Crypt.
It seemed Vicki headed straight for the Palisades after their conversation because only an hour later, she was texting Harley details of the fundraiser's prospective security set up. Twenty armed guards milling around the house itself. Another twenty on the property, keeping an eye on things further afield.
They were going to need a distraction.
Harley had one good idea for a last-minute distraction. It was risky, and it was a thread she wasn't quite sure she wanted to pull yet. Hell, it was a thread she wasn't sure she didn't want to murder and throw in the East River.
She shared her idea with the Joker as he parked the little red Nisson outside the public housing building in Burnley Arms, and he sighed in loud, dramatic exasperation as he pulled the key out of the ignition.
"Ed's unbearable, but he's a good play," Harley insisted, reassuring herself more than him. "He knows Black Mask, and he can keep up with us."
"He outta create a nice little distraction for the pigs when we're finished," the Joker pointed out slyly.
"Two birds, one stone," Harley agreed, slipping out of the car into the summer evening sun.
The Joker trailed behind her as they wound their way through the twisting brick walls to their safe house on the ground floor. Harley pulled the loose brick out of the wall beside the front door to retrieve the key and let them into the apartment, which was unbearably humid, making her skin feel tacky beneath her clothes.
She folded her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, still feeling unsettled while the Joker pushed the front door shut. He caught her eye, reading the apprehension on her face as he strolled up to her, one eyebrow raised.
"So we're workin' with the Riddler," he widened his eyes conspiringly. "Aka… Ed."
"Aka Ed," Harley agreed moodily, making the Joker chuckle.
"Aw," he purred, his tongue snaking over his bottom lip. He cocked his head to the side and squinted down at her. "You worried you're gonna have to babysit?"
That made Harley crack a smile. She pushed away from the counter and reached up to tug the red MGGA hat off his head, flashing him a grin as she tossed it over her shoulder. He smirked back at her, reaching up to smooth her hair off her face before he threaded his fingers into it while she slipped her hands beneath the soft jersey of his t-shirt.
His skin was hot, sticky like hers, and Harley felt more than heard him growl quietly as she raked her nails down his chest. He kissed her, making Harley sigh, her eyes falling shut as he backed her up against the kitchen counter, and pinned her there, distracting her, she realized.
It worked. Harley deepened the kiss eagerly, her arms looping around his neck as she pressed her body up against the length of his, trying to get closer. So close maybe she could just push inside him and fuse with him.
The Joker pulled back to look down at her, his eyes narrowing curiously for a moment before he ducked down and hoisted her up by her waist, throwing her over his shoulder.
Harley laughed reluctantly when she landed with an 'oof'. He tugged his tee-shirt off over his head while Harley rid herself of her top, tossing it aside as she scooted to the edge of the bed. He started unfastening his jeans, but Harley pushed his hands away and took over, looking up at him as she tugged his zipper down, then gave his pants an impatient yank to free him.
He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth when she wrapped her hand around him, stroking him as she leaned forward to roll her tongue around the head of his cock lazily, and when he sighed roughly Harley felt her pulse leap between her legs.
He pushed her away before she could draw him between her lips, making her sway back as he dropped to his knees in front of her. Harley leaned back on her hands, lifting her hips so he could unbutton her shorts and tug them off her, leaving her naked and arched halfway off the bed. She caught his eye as his palm trailed down her stomach, the heel of his hand pressing on her abdomen before drifting lower to part her thighs. Her head fell back when he ran his thumb over her, a shaky sigh slipping past her lips as he increased the pressure of his thumb a wonderful fraction.
She saw his jaw tense because nothing turned the Joker on like feeling how much she wanted him, and Harley always wanted him. He met her eye again, and she smirked faintly, pulling his hand away and tugging him onto the bed beside her.
She helped him kick off his pants and waited for him to brace himself on his elbows, settling in to watch before she started teasing him, opening her mouth to run the flat of her tongue up the side of his cock, then sucking him between her lips before she released him with a wet pop. She looked up to see he was staring at her intently like he was watching something fascinating.
Harley knew exactly how he liked to watch her suck his cock. He liked it slow, and wet, and remarkably, he liked it pretty too. So she took her time, pulling quiet, throaty sounds out of him, each one making a new thread of desire unspool inside her.
He exhaled gruffly when he started getting close, his fingers sinking into her hair to guide her, her hand and mouth working faster in tandem as she listened to his breathing grow shallow.
His grip on her hair tightened, pulling hard enough to make her scalp sting, and Harley felt his body tense beneath her. She took as much of him into her mouth as she could, sheathing him before he came, a hot spurt in the back of her throat that she swallowed with a quiet hum. Then she slowly released him, lifting her head to look at him, and licking her lips.
He smirked at her, looking a little sleepy, and very happy as he sat up and flipped her onto her back in one fluid motion. He knelt between her legs, his hand sliding down her body to touch her where she wanted him most.
"Oh, you really do love sucking my cock, dontcha," he purred, stroking her, feeling how wet she was.
"Yes," Harley groaned weakly, her eyes closing when his finger drifted over her clit.
"And what do you want, hmm?" he asked, his voice low and rattly. "Harley?"
"Fuck me," she breathed immediately, but he hummed dubiously and lowered his mouth to her breasts, his tongue circling one taut nipple before he looked up at her again.
"We got lots of time to kill, Harl," he reminded her. He slid a long finger inside her, making her squirm in pleasure as his mouth moved down her ribs and over a knotted scar where she'd been stabbed a couple of years earlier, licking it with a serpentine flick of his tongue. "Try again," he suggested drily.
Harley panted weakly, too turned on to think straight or be creative as he slowly moved his finger in and out of her body, making her tremble.
"Oh," she whispered.
So of course, he pulled his hand away.
He pressed his finger against her lips instead, and Harley sucked it into her mouth eagerly, tasting herself as he latched onto her breasts again, pulling on them more aggressively until they were sore and sensitive, each brush of his tongue sending a flash of pleasure zipping through her.
Then his hands curled around her waist again, pushing her up the bed so he could shift lower, spreading her legs wider. Harley's fingers tangled into his hair, her heart pounding against her ribs as he stroked her lightly with his tongue, pulling a throaty moan out of her as heat flooded her body.
It was no secret they both had certain sadistic impulses, and predictably those impulses frequently made their way into the bedroom. He would take his time getting her to the precipice, and once he got her there, he would hold back her release until she broke down and begged him to push her over the edge. And if he were in an especially playful mood, even that wouldn't be enough for him to give in and let her cum.
Harley had her own ideas about pleasure and submission, and where being forced to beg for an orgasm fell on that spectrum. It was an exercise in patience, not punishment or humiliation. She was well aware of how much the Joker liked to see her squirm, and she shared the sentiment, though he appeared to have infinite patience when it came to being denied relief.
Still, Harley had managed to get him there a few times, and she could happily say there was nothing, nothing as good as making the Joker beg.
Harley lost track of time, languishing in the swells of pleasure swimming through her as he edged her toward climax then took it away at the last moment. Again and again, he built her up to a blinding fever pitch until she was swollen and over-stimulated, and she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Make me come," she breathed, her hands twined into his hair, finally giving him what he'd been waiting for, and what she'd been stubbornly resisting. "Please."
He blew on her pussy, drawing a shuddering breath out of her.
"I know you can beg better than that," the Joker growled.
"Please," Harley whined, her hands tightening to shaking fists in his hair. "Oh, fuck, J, please…"
That seemed to be enough for him this time. He plunged two fingers inside her, stroking her as he lapped at her clit, making her writhe beneath him. Lusty threads of pleasure raced around her abdomen, making her dizzy as his fingers dug into her hip to hold her in down.
Harley came with a loud, breathless cry, pulling his hair hard as her feet flexed against the mattress. He kept touching her, winding down until the final aftershocks of pleasure faded from her body, and only then did he roll sideways to lay beside her, listening to her breathing raggedly.
With her brain all blissful and relaxed, Harley remembered a conversation they'd had once about how he'd like to see her go out—sharks, he'd said—and she found herself giggling stupidly, her eyes closing as a grin spread across her face.
"That good, huh?" He hummed, sounding amused.
"I was just thinking," she sighed dreamily. "You'd love to die with your face between my legs."
He snorted, and Harley felt his body shake beside her as he chuckled throatily, and even though she couldn't see his face, she knew his eyes would be crinkling up at the corners.
But as the euphoria started to wear off, her mind drifted to darker places. What would it take to get her to kill the Joker? And that made her wonder what Roman actually thought it would take, and what he was capable of making her do.
That was the moment when Harley realized she would sooner die than let the Joker go. Because she didn't want to live without him anymore. He was an extension of her, a reflection of her, he helped define her, and leaning into those strong, confident, intoxicating feelings... that was freedom.
The Joker's hand snaked up her leg, his fingers trailing over the tendon at her inner thigh, making a smile slip onto Harley's lips. She rolled her head to the side to see he was already hard again, his cock thick and bobbing against his stomach.
She started to reach for him when he sat up and slid to the edge of the bed, grabbing her by the ankle to drag her off too.
"C'mere," he said, tugging her roughly toward him, making her laugh.
Harley stood and lowered herself into his lap so her back was pressed against his chest, her tiptoes braced against the floor. Her stomach fluttered wildly as he positioned himself beneath her, his hand settling on her waist to guide her as she sank down onto him. She gasped weakly once he was buried inside her—it was deeper than she'd expected, making her back arch and her eyes roll, her body rippling deliciously around his length.
Harley murmured something nonsensical as her head fell back against the Joker's shoulder, and she started rocking against him slowly, her core buzzing and electrified, her pussy wet and tingling.
"Oh, you like that, don't you," he growled against her neck, rubbing his nose into her skin, his grip on her waist almost painful as he pulled her down on him firmly.
"Yes," Harley gasped, rolling her hips a little faster. "Talk to me," she begged.
She felt the Joker's nose slide up the side of her neck so his mouth was against her ear, and Harley was close enough to hear him swallow as he tried to pull himself together to do as she asked.
"You," he started, his voice low and raspy, a little unhinged. "Always feel so… good," he purred, thrusting up to hit her deeper, making her whine. "Mmm… and your perfect... little pussy is always so wet for me." He pressed his mouth against her ear, his breath hot on her skin, making her shiver. "You're gonna forget your name before I'm finished fucking you tonight…Harley Quinn."
Harley groaned weakly, feeling dizzy with desire as her body reacted powerfully to his voice.
"I bet… you want me to make you beg again, don't you," he huffed against her cheek, and when she didn't answer he pinched one of her sensitive nipples impatiently, sending a flash of pleasure straight to her core. "Don't you, Harl."
"Yes," she panted, pleasure racing through her entire body. "Harder," she demanded breathlessly. "Harder."
He stood up suddenly, lifting her off him and pushing her down on the bed. Harley braced her knees on the edge of the mattress, her heart slamming against her breastbone and her toes curling as he stood behind her. His hands wrapped around her hips before he plunged into her again, making her bury her face in the bedding as a wave of pleasure crashed over her.
He fucked her deep and slow, but never gently. His fingers dug into her hipbones, using them for leverage to slam into her, growling more lusty promises that nearly did make Harley forget her name. And he did make her beg, as promised, never going fast enough to give her what she needed to come apart, but building a deeper pleasure that left her body throbbing as she pleaded with him, loudly, joyfully, desperately.
He wrapped her hair around his hand and yanked her head back, forcing her back to arch as he drove into her, relentless. Harley swooned weakly, her fingers twisting into the sheet as she became overwhelmed by sensation, every nerve in her body sparking and crackling. Then a deep, rolling pleasure spread from her core throughout her whole body, building and building until she was trembling and gasping when it finally broke in an intense orgasm that swept her away from reality in an electrical storm of lust and pleasure.
Harley wasn't quite back to her body yet when the Joker pulled out of her and promptly flopped on the bed beside her, breathing raggedly. Harley collapsed on her side, feeling equally drained and sleepy.
"Ah... fuck," J sighed roughly, pulling himself up to shuffle through his jeans for cigarettes and a lighter. Harley didn't say anything as he lit a smoke, letting her eyelids droop.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke and raked his hair off his face, then clapped a hand down on her ass, which Harley was sure had picked up some bruises. And she didn't bruise easily.
"Hmm," he growled thoughtfully then slapped her ass without much effort, and Harley turned a weak glare at him. "What?" he asked, playing innocent. "Everyone already thinks you let me tie you up and spank you."
"Are you trying to be subtle and hint at something?" Harley mumbled, fighting back a sleepy smirk.
"Subtle," he scoffed, exhaling out a cloud of smoke. "You know me. I like anything." He giggled wickedly.
Harley smiled into the sheet as she started to drift off, knowing that was his way of saying he liked anything, so long as it was with her.
And that was her last conscious thought before she fell asleep, wonderfully fuzzy, and genuinely happy.
A/N: Well, well, WELL. So much has happened.
Ed fills in quite a few gaps in this outrageously bloated plot, Harley & Vicki are pals again, the smut steps up a notch (was an entire paragraph detailing an orgasm really necessary? Maybe not, but I'll stand by it), and Crane is a total dickbag & flips. There was also a second Crane scene that wasn't especially illuminating so I edited it out, but I'll post that on Tumblr in a hot moment. FFN doesn't let me hyper-link anything which is a pain, but If you haven't heard, I'm knit-wear-it on Tumblr.
That scene with Ed is one of my favourites. I keep saying how much I love Ed and Harley's dynamic, and it's definitely more intense and complicated than the manicures & shopping friendship I'm sure some of you are hoping for :D
Re: Ed's squad comment—I realized upon editing that Suicide Squad is the most obvious squad. I'm actually referencing the like, Taylor Swift #blessed #squad goals basic-bitch Instagram-style squad. But whatever works for you, dear readers.
I'd like to give a shout out to Bruno, who died in chapter 21 of the Harlequin almost one year ago today. 29 September is International Bruno Remembernce Day. You can find a shrine/ memorial to him on my Tumblr. Please feel free to submit your own homages.
Next Week: Things come to a head at the Wayne Foundation fundraiser in the last chapter of Part 1.
This fic is split into two-parts, FYI.
And uh, next week is pretty tense but there are some outrageously cheesy/fluffy tropes that will hopefully offset that somewhat. Just, ya know, keep in mind what happened at the ends of Part 1 & 2 in the Harlequin. There's usually something big and upsetting and plot-altering in these chapters so... be prepared for that.
On that dread-inspiring note, please comment and/or review! I love to hear from you all, it's what keeps me going. My Asks are always open on Tumblr.