Title : Good Morning Sweetheart
Author: TheMadPuppy
E-mail: themadpuppy85 AT yahoo DOT ca
Permission to archive: Yes, just tell me!
Category: Angst/Romance
Genre: Hetero
Rating: T
Summary: They said she was crazy, but they were wrong: he was a damn good kisser. Joker X Harley, One-Shot
Keywords: Joker, Harley Quinn, Morning
Spoilers: None really. After Mad Love and their many adventures.
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman nor make money out of this. It's only for my pleasure and yours. .
Author Notes: For Sara, who won the JHQ Holiday Fanfiction Contest, and requested a drabble featuring "Joker's morning routine".I'm sorry for the delay, Sara, here it is!
GOOD MORNING SWEETHEART
The rose is red.
The rose is always red, but Harley likes to guess nonetheless. She likes to open her eyes and see the red; a rich, blood crisp beautiful red that speaks of love and heated kisses. This way she can forget about the hospital walls and run back to her Puddin', if only in thought.
It's morning, her favourite part of the day (precision, was called "morning" any time he was about to wake up, be it 23h00 or 2h00; it was a question of following the Joker's chaotic inner-clock schedule, really). In his sleep, he doesn't realize he's holding her, and Harley can savour the feeling for all its worth. Then she gets up, quietly as to not disturb him, and do what she can to ease his routine: preparing coffee, cooking a meal, folding his dressing gown, ironing his suit, highlightening the newspaper's articles where he appears; all the common, little tasks that reassure her dreams of domestic bliss, that is, if their current hide-out contains these great house facilities.
Once in a while he's still snoring at this point, and she slips back in the bed with him, watching him sleep. It never lasts, because the intense staring stirs his instincts up, and soon comes a vengeful kick or a crude groaned remark to shake her disturbed loving gaze off.
"How long since you've been together?"
The illusion fades away, as the red of the rose once again register in her mind, just like the caring smile of the old, clueless nurse.
"Seven years, three months, fourteen days and a couple of hours" softly chirps Harley, who remembers that Puddin' asked the very same question yesterday morning, before pushing her out of the 9th floor.
Good Morning Sweetheart-End.
End Notes
The bittersweet taste of the final sentence still lingers in my mouth. As I'm typing this, I just concluded a drabble that took me weeks to create. I'm afraid it's not what Sara wanted, but I hope it'll make up for it.
I'm a big fan of ellipses and punch-climaxes, and as such from a technical point of view I'm very proud of the structure of this drabble. As the reader forgets about the rose and the hospital walls, lulled peacefully into Harley's fantasies, he's suddenly thrown hard on the harsh ground of reality—just like Harley. Except that in her case, it's not a metaphor…