Harley lay on her bunk, facing the wall. She was admiring her 'Wall of Love', the collage of clippings and snapshots she had amassed of her beloved "Puddin'". She liked to read the long wordy articles about his schemes and escapes, to chuckle over how brilliant he was and how easily he outsmarted the morons who tried to control him. But she also liked the short ones, because they usually came with a space-filling photograph; often his police mug-shot, sometimes a reporter's shot of his being brought in by the Bat, but occasionally pictures from his own 'Media Alerts', as he called them, which were a great source of egotistical fun for the Clown Prince.
She ran her fingertips over his smile, humming "Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing" to herself. Through the powers of a professional fantasist, she could feel flesh under her fingers instead of paper. Then she imagined the hard yet slick texture of his teeth. She ran her tongue over her own teeth behind closed lips. Ever since the Joker, bright shiny toothpaste-commercial teeth looked very strange to her, very dishonest. As a young girl, she had had braces, and even though she brushed thoroughly twice a day during and after the course, they were never quite white again. Something about the glue, perhaps. Maybe, said a thought, moseying into her mind and reclining on a couch, the same stuff in brace-glue was in Mr J's chem-bath…
She rolled onto her back, shut her eyes, drifted into memory. Or a state that was one part memory, three parts imagination and wishful thinking. A demure breath of satisfaction escaped through her nose. Her visions sustained her. They never let her stop hoping.