A/N: Alright, alright, here we go, people. I am both excited and terrified (probably 30-70 if I'm honest) to share this with you. Sequels are frequently awful, though occasionally, they outshine the original. God knows what will happen here.
New readers: You should probably read 'The Harlequin' and 'Holiday' - the current record for binge reading both is 3 days. Tell me if you can do (or have done) better! ;) This is a *little* different from both of those (at least as different as they are from each other).
This probably takes about three chapters to really pick up, so stick with it.
And here we go…
The Pantomime
Part 1 - Noir
1.
I am illness to some and freedom to others
Repetition and chaos are the choices we make
I am the one thing that will make the mind break
What am I?
It was Y2K night at the Iceberg Lounge.
This was not the same Iceberg Lounge Penguin used to run. This was Lucy's place now, and she'd turned the club into the hottest ticket in town.
Where there had once been art-deco diamonds and prohibition-era nostalgia, now there was cheetah print and pink crystals. The brass bands and ragtime tunes had been replaced with synth-pop and disco, and instead of tables full of rich people dressed in cocktail casual, the dance floor was packed with fashionable party monsters moving together beneath flashing pink and purple lights.
Lucy bounced her stiletto heel anxiously on the zebra print carpet, her green eyes sweeping the club from her spot in the VIP area. Instead of a velvet rope, she'd installed a massive, gilded birdcage in front of the old kitchen doors, accessible only to her most important guests. If the people on the dance floor squinted, they might catch a glimpse of those important people through a curtain of pink crystals, but from where she was sitting, Lucy could see everything. She took note of a group of stockbrokers in suits sniffing violet-colored powder off the backs of their phones, giving them courage before they waded into a sea of young bodies.
Lucy reached for her cigarettes and slipped one between her lips, then hunted through her pink feathered bag for a lighter when one clicked to life beside her.
She looked up at the lighter's owner, her bodyguard, Victor Zsasz.
"This is your daily reminder to use your vape pen," he said, shooting Lucy a knowing look that made her roll her eyes.
Victor was not the same Victor Zsasz Lucy partnered up with out of desperation a year earlier. That Victor had been beyond creepy, with a fetish for dissecting blonde women he claimed to liberate. Victor used to hover all the time, calling women 'little creatures' in a low, rattly purr that made Lucy's skin crawl. But then the new boss stepped in and took Victor away for a few weeks, and when he came back, he was a different man. Loyal, a little bit dopy, still intimidating and dangerous, but not in that creepy skin-crawling way.
Lucy wasn't entirely sure what the boss did to him, but all of Victor's hair fell out—including his eyebrows and that gross goatee.
Frankly, Lucy didn't want to know.
"You're nervous," Victor observed blithely, making the closest thing to a sympathetic face he was capable of.
"Why shouldn't I be," Lucy bristled, taking two quick drags off her cigarette and searching the club again. "Bringing them here is a crazy idea. Oh, thank God."
Two men slipped into the birdcage through the curtain of crystals hiding the old kitchen doors. The first man was small and skinny, with hollow cheeks and monkey-ish ears. He wore a pair of blue-tinted oval glasses and had a cigarette pinched between two fingers. The other was bulky but not quite pudgy—at least not yet—with a thick head of dark hair and a twinkle in his eye. People said Mario looked just like his father, Carmine Falcone, while his skinny brother Alberto was more like their mother and their older sister, Sofia.
Lucy sighed in relief as Mario sat beside her on the magenta chaise lounge, taking both her hands and kissing them. Alberto lowered himself into a cheetah-print armchair encrusted with pink rhinestones, crossing his legs and smoking in silence as he was prone to doing.
"You alright, baby?" Mario offered Lucy a supportive smile. "You want a little something to get your spirits up?"
"Yes, please," Lucy nearly groaned as Mario pulled a baggie of violet powder from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, then used his little finger to scoop up a bump, offering it to Lucy first before he took one for himself.
Lucy closed her eyes, soaking up the euphoria that would only last a few seconds, but leave her feeling calm and floaty for a few more hours.
The crystal curtain hiding them from the rest of the club swung aside as one of Lucy's favorite bartenders arrived, his strawberry-blonde hair coiffed into an elaborate rockabilly spiral, his fashion sense impeccable as always.
"Can I get anyone a drink?" Ed beamed at Lucy, his lip gloss glinting under the flashing lights.
"Hey, Ed, tell us a joke!" Mario grinned, rubbing his nose to wipe away a dusting of purple powder.
"What's black and white and red all over?" Ed quipped, his pale eyebrows raising. "A newspaper!" he squealed before anyone could answer, making everyone chuckle.
"Ed, can you make us a round of martinis?" Lucy grinned up at him. Everyone loved Ed.
"And how dirty would you like those, Miss Lucy," Ed waggled his eyebrows, making Lucy giggle.
"Extra dry, please," she smiled, and Ed winked camply before half-skipping out of the birdcage.
The music shifted into a sexier, auto-tuned track, and the crowd cheered, making Lucy beam with pride as she watched them throw their hands up. She nearly asked Mario to dance with her, forgetting the business at hand when Victor cleared his throat awkwardly, one finger pressed to his earpiece.
"They're here," he told Lucy, feigning a wince.
Lucy's pulse leaped, a flicker of fear zig-zagging through her as Mario laced his fingers through hers reassuringly.
Two hands smeared with red and white paint appeared through the crystal curtain covering the old kitchen doors, slowly pushing them aside before the Joker stepped through, one eyebrow raised appraisingly as he looked around the VIP room.
He stood out like an alien against the club's pink and animal print background, nothing in his face even remotely human. His skin was chalk-white, his blackened eyes skull-like, the gruesome scars stretching from one cheek to the other painted a bloody red. Instead of the crazy purple and green get-up he was known for, he wore a black suit with a skinny tie and a crisp white shirt, making him look longer and leaner than he usually did on TV and in the newspapers. It felt like he was missing something without that insane purple suit, but its absence didn't make him any less terrifying to look at in the flesh.
The Joker's black eyes bounced over each of them in turn as he slunk into the room. He didn't linger on Mario, Alberto, or Victor, despite his ancient history with each of them. Instead, his disconcerting eyes settled on Lucy. He offered her a lazy smirk as he stopped in front of her, his head tipping to the side as he peered down at her curiously.
Lucy felt like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, the Joker's presence so overwhelming and pervasive she almost forgot to breathe. And if the way Mario's hand tightened on hers was any indication, he was feeling it too.
She rolled her shoulders back and raised her chin, trying to find the confidence she'd learned from Penguin.
"Miss Lucy," the Joker purred, his hand dipping into his suit jacket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. "So this is what it feels like to be summoned."
Lucy licked her lips, reminding herself this was her club, and he was there on her wishes even if she was downright terrified. She glanced behind the Joker as he lit a cigarette, half-hoping and half-dreading his partner appearing next. Lucy knew all too well that Harley could be as dangerous as the Joker, but Harley was a known quantity. They worked together for almost six months when Harley was one of Penguin's advisors, whispering in his ear until she got bored and had him sent to Arkham.
Bitch.
The first whispers that Harley and the Joker were back in Gotham started about four weeks earlier, just after the Fourth of July. At first, Lucy didn't believe it; no one had seen them in over six months, and the consensus was that they were dead. Some people thought Holiday killed them, others were convinced the Batman wised up and took care of them for good, or maybe someone else just got lucky. But in the end, it was all wishful thinking. Wherever they'd gone, they were back now, and the boss had tasked Lucy with dealing with them.
The Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip and glanced over his shoulder, following Lucy's gaze.
Everyone seemed to be collectively holding their breath, even the Joker, his head tipping back at an unnatural angle as he exhaled a vertical plume of smoke.
And then finally, Harley Quinn appeared, swatting the pink crystals aside like she found them offensive, her blackened eyes immediately landing on Victor.
Lucy's mouth nearly fell open when she saw Harley. Her face was painted like the Joker's, twisting her classically beautiful features into something ghoulish. But that was to be expected, what startled Lucy was how completely wild she looked, feral like a mangy cat. She wore a pair of fraying high-cut denim shorts and a dirty-looking red Hawaiian-print shirt knotted at her waist, showing off a sliver of tanned skin. Her blonde hair fell half-way down her back, tangled and matted like she hadn't washed or brushed it in months.
Harley lowered herself onto the purple chaise lounge opposite Lucy, her eyes narrowing to slits as she stared at Victor.
Victor and Harley had some not-so-ancient history too.
The Joker stretched his arms over his head in an exaggerated yawn, grunting thoughtfully as he squinted at Mario.
"Well, hey there, Mario," he drawled, taking another drag off his cigarette as his eyes narrowed curiously. "Long time no see. Where ya been, pal?"
"Joker," Mario greeted him with a sharp nod. "Blackgate. Maroni had me put away so I couldn't challenge him."
"Uh huh," the Joker hummed distractedly, apparently finding Mario tedious before he shot Victor a smirk. "Victorrrrrrrr. Buddy. How's life, huh?"
"Life's good, J," Victor replied affably, making the Joker's smirk widened into a delighted grin as his shoulders started to shake with quiet laughter.
Lucy braced herself for the laugh. That laugh. Mario's grip on her hand tightened, almost hurting her as he braced himself too. But instead of laughing, the Joker just took another drag off his cigarette and collapsed back on the purple chaise lounge, not quite next to Harley. She was sitting rigidly on the corner, still glowering at Victor like she wanted to rip his head off, while the Joker made himself comfortable, slumped down, his long legs splayed out in front of him. They didn't acknowledge each other, and Lucy realized that Harley hadn't looked at the Joker once since she arrived.
As a high maintenance girlfriend frequently pissed off with her man, Lucy recognized the petulant set of Harley's jaw all too well, and she realized Harley's death glare could have equally been about resentment for her boyfriend as it was about hating Victor.
Ed returned then with a tray of drinks, smiling cheerfully until he spotted the Joker and Harley. His eyes widened comically before his expression turned utterly blank, and he almost dropped the martinis, catching them at the last moment as he sputtered apologies.
Harley and the Joker turned to look at him in unison, apparently deciding he wasn't worth their energy simultaneously, their eyes swinging back to Lucy and Victor like they'd choreographed moving together in advance.
"Dry gin martinis," Ed announced shakily, uncharacteristically nervous as he offered the tray to Lucy. She gave him a sympathetic smile and plucked up one of the cocktails, feeling guilty for subjecting him to the clowns.
Looking almost cartoonishly anxious, Ed offered the tray around. The Joker ignored him, but Harley took two, knocking them both back before she settled in to glare at Victor again while Ed made a hasty escape.
"So… Lucy," the Joker hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his suit trousers riding up to expose a pair of purple socks. "I hear you've got a job for us."
Lucy did not miss Harley's blackened eyes darting toward the Joker, her mouth puckering sourly before she refocused her glare on Victor.
"That's right," Lucy replied, aiming for friendly even as she got distracted by the Joker prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue, prodding the scars inside his mouth, she realized with a shiver of disgust. "I uh, need some help with our District Attorney, ya see," she added.
"Janice Porter, huh," the Joker hummed, tapping ash from his cigarette on the floor as he continued to stare at Lucy intently. "She causin' problems for you, Lucy?"
"Something like that," Lucy said, lifting her chin to let him know it wasn't any of his business.
"So, uh, you want us to take her out for you, is that it?" the Joker's lips twitched like he found the prospect amusing, making Lucy feel naive even though she had told the boss this was a terrible idea.
Offering the Joker a job? Everyone who'd ever tried that was dead or locked up. Besides, they were terrorists. They didn't care about money, just killing people and keeping themselves entertained. Any mid-level enforcer could have brought Janice Porter in, but the boss insisted the clowns be the ones to do it, and whatever the boss wanted, the boss got.
"Not kill her," Lucy said quickly, feeling Mario's hand squeeze hers supportively. "We just need her brought in for a talk. Think you guys could do that for us?"
"How much we talkin' about?" the Joker drawled, one eyebrow jutting up as he crushed his cigarette out on the couch, burning a hole in the purple fabric.
"Five grand," Lucy replied, dread pooling in her stomach over offering him such a measly sum.
Any half-decent hitman wouldn't get out of bed for so little money, and the Joker was hardly a hitman.
Oh, she'd tried to talk the boss out of this, but he had insisted. And he wouldn't even tell her why —Lucy was just supposed to trust him on this as she did in all things.
"Hmm," the Joker narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and Lucy's heart began to slam fitfully against her breastbone, feeling overwhelmed just by that stare. "Six grand and you gotta deal," he said, popping another cigarette between his lips.
Lucy glanced at Harley quickly, watching her turn to stare at the Joker as he lit a fresh smoke, her incredulous expression magnified by her face paint.
Something was definitely going on there.
The Joker abruptly hopped to his feet, peering down at Lucy as he smoked pensively, and Lucy felt her hands begin to tremble as she forced herself to hold his gaze, knowing she was only doing a halfway decent job of hiding her fear.
"Six grand," she agreed.
"Mmm, you got yourself a deal, Miss Lucy," the Joker growled.
Lucy released a relieved breath she'd been holding before she looked at Harley, feeling she needed to include her.
"Listen, if you two hear from Jonathan Crane, you let me know, okay?" Lucy said, her voice strong despite the lump in her throat. "I know he's a pal of yours, Harley."
"Jonathan Crane is a terrible criminal," Harley shot Lucy a withering look. "The Batman will lock him up again sooner or later."
"He escaped three weeks ago," Alberto pointed out drily. "We can give you another four grand if you find him before the Batman does."
"Sure," Harley agreed sarcastically, rising to her feet. She shot Victor one last deadly glare, then turned and stomped out of the birdcage.
The Joker lingered behind, still squinting at Lucy curiously, making her feel like he was trying to read her mind. Then he sucked in a breath through his nose and offered her a cheesy grin, showing off a row of tobacco-stained teeth in a sickly display. Before Lucy could respond, he'd spun around and loped out of the birdcage after Harley, leaving a vacuum of tension in his wake.
"Holy shit," Lucy gasped, collapsing against Mario, who rubbed her back comfortingly.
"Yikes," Victor observed, wrinkling his nose in an exaggerated cringe as he caught Lucy's eye. "That was tense."
Lucy nodded slowly, looking to Mario for his take.
"You think they'll really do it?" she asked nervously.
"I dunno, baby," Mario shrugged, shaking out a line of purple powder on the back of his hand and offering it up to her. "I don't wanna think about the clowns anymore," he added as Lucy sniffed up the line. "Let's go dance and forget about 'em, okay?"
"Yeah," Lucy rubbed her nose, sniffing away the satisfying burn at the back of her throat. Euphoria swept over her again, and suddenly Mario was enveloped in a warm pink glow, and she could see little fluffy hearts spinning around him. Lucy giggled and tried to catch one of the hearts, her hand swiping through empty air as Mario sniffed up a line and offered her a dreamy smile.
"I love you, baby," he sighed as Lucy tried to catch another fluffy pink heart. She knew she was hallucinating, but she didn't care. She didn't care about the clowns or what the boss wanted, either.
Everything was better when you were high on Blue Orchid.
Harley was not happy.
In fact, she was fucking pissed off.
She sat in the back of an expensive town car with buttery leather seats, something stolen so they wouldn't stick out parked in the alley behind the Iceberg Lounge. The backs of her thighs were sticking to the leather, and her arms were crossed tight over her chest as she stared out the window, stewing in her thoughts and getting angrier and angrier as she had been doing for days now.
The Joker sat on the other side of the backseat, slouched down carelessly as he chain-smoked out a cracked window and loosened his tie, his legs twitching restlessly. They didn't say a word to each other, but that didn't come as much of a surprise. They hadn't spoken in almost a week aside from a text letting Harley know she was getting picked up at midnight, and one sentence the Joker snapped at her just before they went into that stupid birdcage.
"Oh, uh, Victor's in there, so keep it in your pants and don't kill him."
That was it. That was all he had to say.
They'd been back in Gotham four weeks, and in that time, the Joker had grown more and more distant from Harley. She had never been cheated on before, but she suspected this was how it felt. He was hiding something from her, something she became more and more convinced of the more time went on.
It had been bizarre returning to Gotham to find it so changed, its thriving criminal underbelly diminished, the mob by all appearances banished without a kingpin despite their decades-long domination of the city. Possibly, Harley and the Joker had discussed, as a result of Holiday's efforts to take out the underworld's top brass. Harley could not have cared less what happened to the mob or who was running it, even if Gotham's newfound lawfulness was making it difficult to get guns and muscle and safehouses. That was all fine. All Harley was concerned with was finding the Riddler and making an example out of him, and to do that all she needed was her partner and a handful of loyal henchmen.
So, while the Joker worked on rooting out some of their more useful minions, Harley secured a safe house in the north Gotham neighborhood of Otisburg and started a slush fund so they had cash to burn. But then the Joker started disappearing for longer and longer stretches of time, and by the end of the second week, Harley realized for the first time in almost a year, she didn't know what he was doing.
For most of that year, they were almost constantly in each others' company, so close that they rarely needed to discuss details, and trusting each other implicitly. Sure, they frequently had epic fights borne out of the Joker's great capacity for being infuriating, Harley's mercurial character, and their equally stubborn natures. But the trust between them was absolute, and no fight would ever shake that. He was Harley's other half. A perfect reflection of her. An extension of her. Part of her.
The third week back, she saw him twice, but she didn't want to admit to herself that she was nervous about what was happening between them. She didn't want to admit that something had shifted, that the trust she'd always had in him was eroding into uncertainty and suspicion, the kind she'd stubbornly clung to for so long before she finally gave in and let herself have what she wanted: him. She still wanted him, but she could feel him pulling away.
And she wanted to know why.
The last time she saw him, a week earlier, it had been to give him money. He'd been aloof and closed off that night. Sphinx-like, like he used to be before he accepted what was between them. Harley, upset and bewildered by his attitude, had shoved the bag of cash in his arms and marched off without a word, her heart thumping in her neck.
And that was it.
For the past week, Harley continued to put out feelers, connecting with what old contacts she could track down, or new ones she could make. She tried to keep herself busy so she wouldn't think about the fact that all she was really doing was waiting for the Joker to text her like a pathetic teenage girl. She resented him for turning her into this, and she hated herself for becoming so pathetic. It was the uncertainty that did it to her. Like waiting on tenterhooks to see what he would say or do next. If he would tell her it was over, or tell her what was going on, or just keep... drifting.
Harley believed nothing was certain, that all things were temporary. Everything aside from the Joker being her partner. Now that seemed so incredibly naive and romantic.
Romance was a commodity. Love was for children.
She continued to stew in silence, resentment building even more intensely with him sitting beside her, ignoring her. She realized they were driving east instead of north to the safehouse in Otisberg, and she almost asked to be let out of the car. She would happily take public transport back if it meant getting away from the horrible silence lingering between them. But she also wanted to know where the fuck he'd been the past three weeks, and even though she was pissed, a hopeful part of her thought tonight he might show her what he'd been up to, and she would find out he had a good reason.
Hope. Hope was a bullshit concept. Good luck and will power count for a hell of a lot more.
God, she wished they'd never come back to this shit hole city.
Frost drove them to Gotham Heights, Marty O'Riley's old neighborhood. Marty had been the head of the Irish mob and one of their most loyal disciples until he was murdered by Holiday on Christmas Eve. His house in Gotham Heights sat on a street lined with ancient oak trees and big old houses, a neighborhood that used to be affluent and middle-class before the depression set in in the 70s. Now, most of these big old houses were either derelict or full of squatters and addicts. An ideal area for a safe house.
Harley's throat felt thick as they pulled into Marty's driveway, and she felt an unfamiliar pang of grief stab at her heart, though whether it was for Marty or the Joker or herself, she didn't know for sure. The car had hardly come to a stop when the Joker leaped out, loping up the driveway and into the garage while Harley remained in the car, staring after him, getting angrier, and angrier, and angrier.
"You alright, doc?" Frost asked from the driver's seat, meeting Harley's eye in the rearview mirror.
The Joker had clearly taken a shine to Jonny Frost, and as Harley stared at him in the mirror, she considered the merits of holding a knife to his throat and demanding he tell her what the Joker had been up to. Or she could just kill him to annoy the Joker; that might make her feel better. But the idea that Frost knew things she didn't was too depressing, and she couldn't find the energy to threaten him, let alone kill him.
"I'm just peachy," Harley said coldly, pushing open her door and stepping out into the warm summer night air. She took a deep breath, preparing herself before she followed the same path the Joker took into the house through the garage, Frost following at what he likely judged was a safe distance.
Marty's house had always been old and musty, but as Harley stepped in from the garage she almost covered her mouth with her hand. It stank of gunpowder and cigarettes, which she was used to, but also vomit and piss, a uniquely disgusting combination. It smelled like men had been living there in close quarters. That wasn't enough to deter Harley though; she wanted to know what had been going on in this house without her, and the sounds of men guffawing boorishly in the kitchen told her she had been left out of quite a lot.
Harley had spent a lot of time in Marty's kitchen, planning and plotting and discussing personal matters. Like the rest of the house, it was outfitted in 1970s decor, with orange linoleum cabinets and an avocado green fridge. There was a large oak table, where Harley had spent many nights rolling out blueprints and maps, or simply sitting around drinking. The last time she'd been in this kitchen, she and Marty shared a bottle of gin and he admitted he had a girlfriend named Ginger who wanted to meet them. Harley had gently advised that he not do that.
Now Marty was dead and his kitchen had become Harley's worst possible nightmare.
A group of henchmen and thugs were sitting around the table, smoking and drinking and sniffing up lines of purple powder. She recognized some of them. Lonnie Machin, a hacker. Bambi, a burly thug who looked like Mr Clean. Big Tuna, another big one, good in a fight but very stupid. The others she didn't know, but they were all sitting around bullshitting and drinking and doing lines of that purple powder like they were right at home.
And sitting at the head of the table was the Joker, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked out of the corner of his mouth to one of the henchmen Harley didn't know. Just making small talk, apparently. When he spotted Harley standing in the doorway, her expression probably close to livid, his eyes lingered on her for a few long seconds before he turned his attention to lighting his cigarette.
Harley spun around, feeling sick to her stomach. She could feel Frost watching her warily, but she ignored him, heading for the creaky staircase leading up to the house's upper floors. As she stomped up the steps, her heart pounding in her throat, those little threads of hope dissolved into a bitter rage, and beneath that, grief. Because if he was ignoring her in favor of hanging out in Marty's kitchen, drinking with a bunch of moronic henchmen, that could only mean one thing.
And the Joker wasn't exactly the type to sit her down for a breakup talk.
She kicked open the door to the bedroom they used to share and looked around, intending to ransack it for information. The bed was unmade, half of the sheets on the floor, and there was a duffle bag with black clothes spilling out of it, some of them Harley's. It didn't appear to be lived in—so where the fuck was he sleeping?—and the vomit and piss smell seemed to be relegated to the ground floor. Harley wrenched open the dresser drawers and side table, only finding things that had been there since before they left Gotham. Nothing to tell her what the Joker had been up to since they'd been back.
She huffed in frustration, starting to feel foolish on top of everything else, and stomped into the bathroom to throw water on her face and wash away the tacky warpaint.
There was a crusty towel already covered in red and black paint hanging over the radiator, and Harley dried her face with it as best she could before facing herself in the mirror.
She looked pinched.
The need to make a plan was almost overwhelming, and it hit her with an intensity Harley hadn't felt in so, so long. She started by checking in on another recent development, shimmying out of her shorts as she sat on the closed toilet seat, and searching her underwear for spots of blood.
That was another joy Harley got to contend with. Almost a week earlier, she got her period for the first time in four years.
Four years earlier, when she'd been an upstanding member of society who made yearly trips to the OBGYN, she'd had a birth control implant placed in her upper arm. It stopped her getting pregnant, and stopped her getting her period, which meant those two biological issues had never been an issue while she was distracted by big things like blowing up kindergartens and whipping up riots in Guatemalan prisons. But it seemed the implant had a shelf life of four years, and now that it wasn't working, getting knocked up and getting periods were an issue again.
It was a small mercy that she hadn't had sex with the Joker in three weeks, dodging an epic bullet. That first splotch of blood in her underwear had nearly paralyzed her as she was forced to confront the idea of pregnancy as a potential reality, let alone how the Joker would react to such a predicament.
Badly, she would guess.
Harley pulled up her underwear and shorts before standing in front of the mirror again. She pressed her thumbs to her eyes, reminding herself that she was not pregnant and she would figure out a way to fix this one small biological issue. But first, she needed to make a plan.
"You're not lookin' so good, Harl."
Harley's head shot up, her eyes narrowing when she spotted the Joker lounging in the doorway, his head tipped to the side as he watched her. Then he chuckled, prodding his scarred bottom lip with his tongue.
"What?" Harley snapped.
"You look like you wanna kill me," he informed her drily, and when Harley just stared at him incredulously he took a few lazy steps into the bathroom, closing the distance between them until he was looming over her, looking down at her through hooded eyes.
"What is going on?" Harley demanded before she could stop herself. "What are you up to?"
"What am I up to?" the Joker's lips twitched into a shitty little grin, and it made Harley's blood boil.
"You heard me," she spat, deciding it was time she got some answers. "What the fuck was tonight all about? Why are you taking jobs from Lucy?"
He clasped his hands behind his back and rolled his eyes out to the side, and for a moment Harley thought she might get an answer.
"Makin' any headway on... the Riddler?" he asked instead, his head tipping back so he was looking down at her appraisingly.
Harley glared up at him. 'No' was the answer. No, she wasn't making any kind of headway on the Riddler. By all appearances, he was a ghost.
Her expression prompted the Joker to chuckle throatily, his mouth twitching up on one side like he found her frustration entertaining, or even cute, making Harley bristle. Then he laid one hand on the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the underside of her jaw as his eyes drifted over her face.
"You just need to relax," he suggested, his voice low and raspy as his eyes settled on Harley's lips. "Dontcha think?" he purred, his paint-smeared fingers drifting to the back of her neck, nudging her forward.
Harley's eyes widened in disbelief, unable to believe he wanted sex after ignoring her for weeks. She slapped his hand away and shoved him hard in the chest. Despite his lean, lanky build, the Joker was much stronger than he looked, and if he wanted to he could have blocked her path. Instead, he swayed to the side, allowing her to storm past him, out of the bathroom.
"Where are you goin', huh?" he drawled after her.
Harley turned around to find he was leaning in the doorway again, watching her blankly, impossible to read.
"Tell me what's going on, J," she demanded, her throat feeling thick. "This is the last time I'm going to ask."
The Joker just rolled his eyes as if she was being unreasonable, and Harley swallowed a lump of disappointment, nodding once. The fact that he wouldn't even engage her in a fight spoke volumes.
"Fine," she said, spinning around and stomping over to the bedside table. She wrenched open the drawer and found the keys to the Ford Crown Victoria that had been parked on the street since before they left Gotham.
"Uh, where are you going?" the Joker asked her again, sounding a little annoyed this time.
Harley stopped short, and when she turned around, she searched his face, one last time.
Nothing.
"Pam's in Melbourne," she said shortly. "I might go join her."
The Joker narrowed his eyes, his brow sinking into a deep frown that made the white pain crease. "What?"
"You heard me," Harley snapped, spinning around. She needed to leave.
She flung the bedroom door open, but before she could pass through it he was right behind her, slamming it shut and almost catching her fingers in it. He kept his hand pressed against the door, holding it shut and caging her in with his body as Harley whirled around to glare up at him.
"What the fuck are you talkin' about, huh?" he demanded roughly.
"None of your damn business," Harley shot back, shoving him hard in the chest to make him back off. But he was like a brick wall, completely solid and unmovable, trapping her this time.
"You gotta be kidding me," he sneered down at her.
"Move," Harley growled back at him, her heartbeat pounding in her throat. "Before I make you move."
"Ya really wanna try that?" he scoffed, making Harley bristle that he would hold his physical advantage over her. "C'mon," he taunted her. "Try it."
Harley ground her teeth together. She wanted to call him an asshole and tell him to go fuck himself, but she knew that would only encourage him. He thrived on negative attention, and she wasn't in the mood for a fight anymore. It would be too painful, not cathartic or satisfying, and she just wanted to leave. So she turned her head to the side, refusing to look at him as she tried to breathe evenly to slow her racing pulse.
She could feel the Joker staring at her, and she could imagine him prodding the scars inside his cheek with his tongue as he tried to work out what to do with her. But when Harley closed her eyes and released a heavy breath, something seemed to click into place for him and he took a step back, his hand falling away from the door. When she looked up, he was staring at her blankly, serious as death.
Harley shot him one last disappointed look before she turned to leave.
After three years of construction, Wayne Manor was almost fully restored to its original grandeur. Bruce didn't need a manor, but it was one of the last connections he had to his mother and father, and it had felt almost disrespectful not to rebuild in their memory. Besides, it wasn't just Bruce and Alfred anymore. Dinah was part of their small family unit now too, and Dinah had been especially keen for them to 'redecorate' the cave under the west wing...
At first, it had been strange and unfamiliar to work with another person, but Dinah quickly came to feel like the younger sister Bruce never had. She wanted justice and redemption, and she was thoughtful in everything she did, always choosing her words and actions carefully. She was a fierce warrior who had, on more than one occasion, kicked Bruce's ass.
They'd all moved back into the manor around Christmas, right about when the Joker and Harley Quinn abruptly disappeared and a serial killer the papers called Holiday was on the loose. Holiday disappeared too, but not before conveniently taking out the heads of the Costa Nosa mob, the Russian mob, and the Irish mob too.
A new kingpin never emerged from the rubble, allowing the new police commissioner, Mike Akins to clean house at the GCPD while Mayor Krol did the same at City Hall. The result was an all-time low for systemic corruption in Gotham. Gordon was still in play, now working as a private detective while his girlfriend Lieutenant Sarah Essen kept them in the loop on the goings-on at the MCU.
That left the Riddler as the most immediate and pressing threat to the city, and thus far he hadn't proved himself as lethal as the Joker. But just because they hadn't had to call in the National Guard yet, didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Almost thirty people had been killed by his hand in less than four months, and if he wasn't contained soon, he could very well become a Joker-level threat.
There was also Jonathan Crane's recent escape from Arkham on the table, but compared to the Joker and the Riddler, Crane was a little fish who could be handled by the GCPD. He relied on others to make himself a threat, and without R'as al Ghul to send him the Tibetan blue poppies, Crane would be back in Arkham where he belonged soon enough.
With so much falling into place, Bruce had unexpectedly made time for something new: a girlfriend.
He first met Vicki Vale when she profiled him for the Gotham Globe Magazine, a supplement to the paper Wayne Enterprises now owned after buying up the publishing arm of the disgraced Kane Company. Bruce had been prepared to lay on the smug billionaire-playboy schtick for Vicki, who he was well aware had colluded with Harley Quinn, or at least been manipulated into publishing her propaganda. Bruce was also hyper-aware that she'd built her career off the back of trashing the Batman in the tabloids, which never did him any favors.
But in the quick conversation they had before the interview, he'd asked Vicki why she wasn't an investigative reporter anymore. She'd given him a sad smile and explained she'd trusted the wrong people and was better suited to her new role as the Globe Magazine's features editor.
That had softened Bruce's opinion of her, and by the end of the interview, he found himself asking her out to dinner.
It wasn't quite 'serious' with Vicki yet, and 'girlfriend' may have been an overstatement when she was so busy with the magazine, and Bruce was busy fighting crime as the Batman. But they saw each other every week, and she would stay over at the manor as she had the night before. Actually, she'd been staying over more and more often lately...
"I'm too old to do a walk of shame," Vicki grinned, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss Bruce goodbye.
Her pale blonde hair was still damp from the shower they'd shared, secured over her shoulder with an elastic band, and her eyes were bright. She was beautiful, with a button nose and a knowing smirk that showed a hint of prominent canine teeth. She was smart, she was funny, she was worldly, and she was patient. Bruce was smitten.
He laughed softly. "I don't think it counts as a walk of shame if you're getting a ride in an Aston Martin."
"Oh, sure," she punched him on the arm playfully, still grinning. "That makes all the difference."
They shared another kiss, one that made Bruce feel a little giddy in a way he hadn't felt before. He'd loved Rachel, but they never had a chance to be together. It had always been strained and sad with her, and they'd never experienced the simple joys of laughter and pleasure he'd discovered with Vicki. There was no pressure either. She had her secrets and he had his, and neither of them needed to know.
"The magazine wants me to go to this new member's club Downtown on Friday," Vicki rolled her eyes. "The Tobacconist's Club. Sure to be full of trust fund brigade and stockbroker types. Want to come and keep me company?"
"I actually already have an invite," Bruce admitted, feigning a wince.
"Of course you do," Vicki grinned, patting his cheek affectionately. "Prince of Gotham."
"Ugh," Bruce winced for real this time, making Vicki laugh.
"Do you get invited to every rich-people event?" she teased him.
"I wasn't really planning on going," Bruce admitted, laughing softly.
"The drinks will be strong and I'll be there," Vicki shrugged, offering him a smirk.
"Then I'll be there too," Bruce agreed, fighting back a dopy grin as he pulled her close to kiss her again.
The driver out front honked impatiently and Vicki pulled away with a forlorn sigh.
"Sext me if you get bored," she suggested, grinning.
Bruce laughed and shook his head. "Sure," he agreed.
"Such a shy billionaire," Vicki teased him as she turned to leave. She looked back at him over her shoulder at the last moment, shooting him another smirk. "See you Friday, Bruce."
"See you Friday," he nodded, smiling.
When she was gone, Bruce allowed himself to sigh happily, his head falling back as he tried to tamp down the stupid grin splitting his face in half.
"See you Friday, Bruce," a high-pitched voice behind him taunted, and Bruce turned to see Dinah leaning against the banister, snickering at him.
Dinah had been skinny and scrappy when Bruce first met her, but after a year of consistently hearty meals and training, she was more athletically built now. She had warm brown eyes and ashy blonde hair cropped to her chin, the sides shaved in a trendy undercut.
"So that's why you ditched me last night," she observed drily, raising an eyebrow at him.
"You know, you're almost as funny as Alfred these days," Bruce shot back, following her into the palatial reception room adjoining the entry hall. "How's the studying going?"
"Pointless," Dinah sighed, falling onto an antique love seat where a MacBook sat open beside a pile of books. "It's not like I'm actually going to college."
"Come on," Bruce raised his eyebrows appraisingly. "You don't want to spend the rest of your life in Gotham, do you?"
"You mean where I can protect people from terrorists and make sure the mob doesn't come back?" Dinah cocked her head to the side, looking deeply unimpressed. "Yeah, Bruce, I'm pretty sure that's more up my street than beer pong and sociology majors."
Bruce rolled his eyes and lowered himself onto the piano bench.
In the year since Dinah had been living with him and Alfred, she'd gotten her GED. She was whip-smart and Bruce didn't want her to spend her life as an unappreciated vigilante putting her life in danger, even if that made him a hypocrite. With a little nudging from Alfred, Dinah had agreed to take some college-level classes online, and they were hoping with a little more nudging she'd agree to let Bruce have a few words with Princeton, his alma mater, to see about getting her enrolled.
The argument was she could go off and get some real-world experience, then come back if she felt compelled to, though Bruce would have preferred she go live in the real world instead of the shadows like he did.
He was a hypocrite, and he knew it, and Dinah regularly reminded him about it in her serious, droll way.
"Have you asked Vicki about Harley yet?" she asked cautiously, trying to sound like she didn't care. She obviously cared. Harley Quinn was Dinah's white whale and her primary motivation for becoming Black Canary.
"It's not really something that comes up in conversation," Bruce replied warily.
"Just ask her what she thinks about Harley disappearing," Dinah shrugged.
"Harley hasn't been seen in over six months," Bruce pointed out. "She could be dead."
"She's not dead," Dinah countered darkly. "We would know if she was dead. And Vicki might know if she's alive."
Bruce looked down at his hands. He could appreciate the obsession. He felt similarly about the Joker. The difference was it was uniquely personal for Dinah. She'd thought Harley was her friend and had protected her, and she still felt disgusted with herself for being manipulated by a psychopath.
But as far as anyone knew—and that included numerous known clown associates—the Joker and Harley Quinn were dead, or at least not Gotham's problem anymore.
"Well," Bruce said slowly, reluctantly. "I'll see what Vicki thinks about them disappearing"
"I know you really like her, I like her too," Dinah said, her face softening as she looked down at her laptop. "But Harley has a way of making people do what she wants." She lifted her eyes to Bruce's, her expression deadly serious. "She eats their souls, Bruce."
Bruce took a deep breath and sighed it out, knowing she was right.
"Alright," he agreed, rotating on the piano bench to pluck out three major chords. "But let's not get distracted from the Riddler," he added as the bookcase swung open, revealing a secret passage that led to the underground cave they used for training and storing crime-fighting-related items.
"Hey, I wasn't the one getting laid when I could have been out hunting him down," Dinah teased, jumping to her feet and following Bruce into the passage.
"Oh, you're so funny," Bruce grinned, shaking his head as the bookcase closed behind them.
The sun had been up for a few hours, but the henchmen were still going, fresh bottles of whiskey and new bags of Blue Orchid—or BO as the kids called it—appearing on the kitchen table beside overflowing ashtrays. That was one of the many things this shit did to you, it kept you going for hours. It made you feel all floaty, made you see shit, made you concentrate, made you horny, made you forget. The Joker tried it once for the sake of being thoroughly informed and could confirm it did all those things. Once was enough; he wasn't really one to overindulge.
Besides, it reminded him of something much more interesting.
Something you didn't wanna be taking too much of.
He hummed unhappily as he squinted into an empty pack of cigarettes, willing one to appear there. Bambi offered him one of his, and the Joker snatched it off him, collapsing back in his chair to fight with a disposable lighter until it finally sparked to life. He sighed out a cloud of smoke, letting his head fall back as he blinked up at the water-logged ceiling, half-listening to the idiots around him, which was the whole purpose of this fucking exercise anyway. Getting information out of this pack of morons.
He was a little bit drunk. The Joker had a strong constitution, which meant it took a lot to keep him hurt or sick, but it also took a lot to get him tipsy. Half a bottle of bourbon would do the job though, and after that little tiff with Harley, he had needed it.
She had terrible timing.
Threatening to run off with Red to Australia or wherever. He hadn't seen her look so clenched in a long, long time, and it pissed him off that she was letting this get under her skin that way.
Things in Gotham were tense at the moment, requiring a gentle touch. He'd learned—but not quite mastered—that skill from her, his capacity to fly under the radar when necessary picking up the slack. Oh, it was painful, but it was necessary at the moment, and unfortunately, the Joker could not include Harley in his current venture.
He took another long drag off his cigarette, his mind turning to where the next one would come from. He'd been smoking almost non-stop since this shit started, and he was honest enough with himself to admit it wasn't just because things were tense, which he typically enjoyed and thrived off of, but also because excluding Harley felt... wrong.
But his girl was ruthless. His girl was hard as nails. She wasn't needy. She didn't need to be reassured.
And yet here she was, pissed off at him and threatening to run off with Red.
He didn't really believe she would do it, and it pissed him off that she would even threaten that...
But just imagining her leaving made his goddamn bowels clench.
She was infuriatingly stubborn when she wanted to be, and apparently, she'd decided that instead of trusting him, she would hate him. That went against the whole nature of their partnership, and the Joker was bewildered to discover she would react this way. Their last encounter had been brief and impersonal. A cash drop-off in a back alley. She'd stormed off without saying anything, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, a sense of foreboding about how things were about to go down.
Then in the car on the way to the Iceberg Lounge she'd been silent and sullen, glaring at him like she was waiting for him to say something. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? What was she expecting? Shockingly, the Joker didn't have the patience to play guessing games with his partner, nor was he the type to do what was expected of him.
It was all so… disappointing.
Harley had a great capacity for moodiness, and it was frequently directed at him, mostly when he put himself in some kind of mortal peril she had to get him out of. That whole machete incident in Venezuela, for example, and then the whole Guatemalan jail situation. They never used to fight until they got to Mexico when they'd had a disagreement about how long was too long to stay in bed recuperating from a gunshot wound.
Though the make up sex that followed all that fighting and recuperation had been great.
Intellectually, the Joker knew he should have tried to, like... reason with her or something, but he was too annoyed, and it was so disappointing that she needed it in the first place.
And now she was threatening to leave him.
Well, that was just too fucking bad.
The Joker had a job to do, one he wanted to see through, and not even Harley Quinn could stop him.
Lucy turned the Venetian mask over in her hands, her brow furrowing as she examined it. The mask was painted gold with intricate enamel swirls, reminding her of an old-fashioned carousel. She hadn't chosen this mask for herself, the boss did, just like he controlled everything else. It ruined her peripheral vision, which she suspected was intentional, and it left bright red lines on her nose when she took it off, a less intentional consequence, she thought. Maybe. The boss had a preternatural sense for details.
The sun had risen a few hours earlier, and Lucy and Mario had been getting ready for bed when Lucy was summoned to the crypt. Their group normally met in the middle of the night, but once you were this far underground, where the darkness was complete and the rocky walls were damp, it didn't matter if it was night or day up above.
Lucy continued to examine her mask, wishing she hadn't gone overboard with the Blue Orchid like she was doing more and more often lately. There wasn't much of a comedown like other drugs, but once it wore off, reality settled back in, with all its problems to worry about and things to be scared of staring you in the face. And Lucy had much more to be scared of than the people dancing at her club.
She laid the gold mask over her face, tying the silk ribbons behind her head before she pulled the hood of her cloak up to cover her hair. A feeling of safety settled over her, the knowledge that she was hidden comforting. Hidden from everyone but the boss. She could understand the Batman and the Joker and the Riddler obscuring their faces the way they did; it gave you power.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the creaky old door leading into the crypt, where three people wearing cloaks and masks like hers were already waiting.
They didn't always meet in the crypt. Sometimes they met in other spaces around the city, but always in darkness cloaking their small group. Their False Face Society.
Lucy took a deep breath as she took her place, trying to breathe through the lingering fog of drugs so she could concentrate.
The door creaked open again, and a man of medium build entered the room. Unlike their cloaked compatriots, he wore a suit and tie, and his mask was as black as obsidian, wrapping around his entire skull, only the sharp line of his jaw and the whites of his eyes visible.
He stood before them, spreading his gloved hands.
"My friends," Black Mask greeted them, his voice a low, electronic purr. "I have excellent news."
A/N: *peeks between fingers*
What do you think? Has this thing got some legs? :D
I just wanted to drop a thank you in here to everyone who engaged with me via reviews /comments/messages. I started getting really burnt out and almost gave up on this a few times, but then I'd get a notification from one of you fine folks, and I'm sooooo happy I got there in the end. Still experiencing a massive amount of self-doubt but whatever.
Updates on Sundays as per usual, usually just after midnight PST. I meant to make this shorter but it's turned out to be about 24 chapters (+/-1, TBC) + an epilogue. I used to worry about length a lot, but I feel like so long as there isn't loads of padding (hopefully) and things are moving it's fine because this isn't a book—it's more like a serialized TV show or something.
With 'The Harlequin' my goal was for Harley & J to get together in an organic 'normal' way, and for her to develop into a badass villain on her own. The mission statement for this one was to give them an adversary that could genuinely take them down, and explore what Harley & J being vulnerable looks like. There are a lot more fun supporting characters from various Batman media (welcome Arthur Reeves from BTAS next week) for them to interact with, which may have contributed to this getting longer than I intended… but not as long as the original (probably)!
If you don't have an AO3 or FFN account and want to subscribe for updates, follow me on tumblr and I can tag ya (Knit-wear-it). There you also find mood boards/casting and soundtracking for this story so if you find that annoying… never mind!
Next: Harley struggles to find her feet in Gotham, reconnecting with some old and new friends as she begins to learn more about what happened while she was away.
Please don't be shy, I live for feedback, so engage with me on whichever platform you want. We all know the reviews/comments are what make us click on stories, and it genuinely helps me edit future chapters! Looking forward to hearing what you guys think of this first look :)
Xo