Previously: John Daggett, an associate of Black Mask, has invited Harley to meet a 'group' who might want to make an 'investment' in her. She and the Joker talk about their feelings (ish) and kiss. They continue to pretend they're separated, knowing they're more dangerous together.
Theme: Matthew Dear - 'What You Don't Know'
The Pantomime
10.
Harley burst through the front door into Samantha's apartment, feeling far too turned on to think clearly, but determined to try. She kicked off her shoes and shrugged off the Riddler's—Ed's— blazer, then grabbed a pen and confronted her murder board.
'John Daggett', she wrote, directly on the wall in red ink, circling the name and drawing a line straight to Lucy.
She tried to picture Daggett as the big boss. Caustic and cautious, he was the type of man who didn't need recognition, who just wanted power. Unlike Hill, he would be happy to stay behind the scenes, pulling strings to get what he wanted. But what did he want? He was a billionaire already. Why get in bed with drug dealers and the mob? Why the interest in Harley?
Besides, he has seemed very reluctant to meet with her.
That had been at someone else's urging.
Harley booted up Samantha's laptop and spent the next few hours hunting down information on Daggett. He was excruciatingly boring, in a completely different fashion than Hill. He had a boring wife known for her equestrianism, he had two boring sons, neither of whom appeared in the gossip columns despite going to the same schools as the Bruce Waynes of the world. Daggett donated to charities for children's cancer, he was a Republican, and he was scowling in every picture that existed of him.
What Harley needed was something to clear her head. Some relief from all this tension.
So she stretched out on the couch, shimmied out of her pants, and slipped her hand between her legs, her mind drifting back to the Joker to get herself in the mood. Specifically, his voice, which she had come to find almost as arousing as his hands and his mouth. Purring in her ear about what he wanted to do to her, growling promises while he fucked her, giving her instructions for what he wanted her to do to herself, like he had over the phone every night that week Harley was with Pam in Peru.
"You two are ridiculous," Pam had scoffed, correctly deducing why Harley kept sneaking off to the bathroom with her phone at night.
Thinking about Pam reminded Harley that Black Mask had asked Sly about Poison Ivy too. If it weren't for the fact that Pam was virtually indestructible and hadn't been in Gotham for almost a year, Harley would have been more worried, but there was enough on her plate as it was. Pam could definitely look after herself.
"Erghh," Harley huffed, thoughts of Pam being in imminent danger enough to ruin her mood.
She managed to find sleep on the couch, not realizing how exhausted she was after nearly two full days without a real REM cycle.
Time was passing in a very strange fashion, not helped by the fact that there was a BMW parked outside her safe house at all times, her babysitters keeping tabs on her for Black Mask. It was excessive and obvious, and even more proof of this interest in her. This investment.
It also meant she had to stick to a routine so they wouldn't think she was hiding something if she deviated from it. That meant staying inside all day aside from going jogging, which she was doing with increasing frequency to burn off frustration and keep herself distracted. Anything else she might have otherwise done was off-limits so the babysitters wouldn't see her. And as Harley spent the day alternating between working out, obsessively cleaning, and staring at her murder board, she realized just how trapped she had become.
She was theoretically free, but Black Mask had managed to cage her all the same. And the recent improvement in her personal life, she was suffocating.
Vicki was on edge.
It had been three days since the Joker re-emerged after six months in hiding, and Harley had been spotted twice in that time. Usually, Harley flew under the radar unless she wanted to be seen. She didn't get caught, and she certainly didn't get called out in public, or have her identity exposed by a fellow terrorist with a taste for theatrics.
Needless to say, Vicki was a little high strung, worrying that she was partially to blame for Commissioner Akins kidnapping and probable death. Vicki had seen Harley at the Tobacconist's Club a week earlier and didn't do anything about it; instead of telling the cops, she'd hunted down her own leads.
Bruce helped comfort her, though she would never be able to tell him why Harley got under her skin as much as she did. That day at the hotel still haunted Vicki, when she begged Harley to tell her what the Joker had up his sleeve, treating it like a scoop instead of the horrific string of murders she'd known it would turn out to be. What else would he have had up his sleeve? Why didn't Vicki do more to stop it? Hell, if she'd called the police and told them where they were that day, it might have been enough to stop the Mayor's kidnapping and the events that followed. Or at least some of it.
So, while the Daggett Industries-Hill Consulting story was tempting to pursue, Vicki decided to leave it alone. Especially since Harley had been seen at Hill's fundraiser. She didn't know how Harley was connected to Hill, or why she'd been speaking to his campaign manager, but whatever was going on there, Vicki wanted no part in it.
But when she popped out of the office to grab some lunch that afternoon, she was stopped by a cop on the steps of the Globe's HQ, and things got even more interesting.
"Vicki Vale?" A Latina woman of about forty wearing a cheap suit and aviator sunglasses flashed her badge. She had obviously been waiting.
"Yes," Vicki said warily.
"Detective Renee Montoya, MCU," Montoya introduced herself with a crooked smile, tucking her sunglasses into her breast pocket. "I was wondering if I could buy you a coffee?"
"What's this about?" Vicki asked, nervous and paranoid, and rightly so.
"The Joker," Montoya shrugged, rolling her eyes. "Isn't everything? Anyway, you did a lot of reporting around that whole Harvey Dent debacle, and I wanted to get your take on a few things."
"My take?" Vicki frowned.
"Your opinion," Montoya clarified. "So what do you say, coffee?"
Vicki agreed, and ten minutes later they were in a Midtown cafe, a waitress depositing frothy ten-dollar cappuccinos in front of them.
"If you're investigating Janice Porter's disappearance, I don't know how much help I can be," Vicki admitted. "It's completely different from Harvey Dent."
"Sure," Montoya agreed, stirring sugar into her coffee. "I mean, we don't even know if the clowns are behind Porter's disappearance," she shrugged. "And then we have Akins."
"Their reasons for doing things aren't always clear, but there is always a reason," Vicki pointed out, relaxing as she realized Montoya really did just want her opinion. "You don't have anything tying them to Porter?"
"Not a thing, just a hunch," Montoya sniffed and sipped her coffee. "I just transferred here from Bludhaven so I wasn't around for all of the Joker's shenanigans the first few times. But the way I understand it, it's all about building toward something. It starts with a bank robbery, then the next thing you know, someone high profile is dead, and it snowballs from there until you have to call in the National Guard. It doesn't make sense until it does. So maybe Porter disappearing quiet and Akins being picked up off a street corner doesn't fit their MO, but they could be part of something bigger. And that means we need to figure out why they were both taken."
Vicki nodded, agreeing.
"Were Porter and Akins working on anything that tied them together? Big cases or something like that?"
"Not especially. Akins caught the bad guys. Porter had them prosecuted," Montoya shot Vicki a loaded look. "And I mean like, very low-level stuff compared to what Gotham usually has to offer. The crime rate is… unusually low right now." She laughed a little bitterly. "Which doesn't make much sense when we've gotten four terrorists who wear masks or paint their faces on the loose."
"Yeah," Vicki agreed with a thoughtful frown. "It's more than a little strange."
"Porter was investigating a bunch of big corporations based in Gotham pretty aggressively," Montoya continued. "From what we can tell, she kept Akins in the loop, but there wasn't enough there for an indictment."
"She was?" Vicki asked, thinking about Hill's spiderweb-like consulting firm, with arms in every major corporation in Gotham and a few dictatorships abroad too. But that was a job for the FBI or CIA, not the GCPD.
"Your colleagues in the media seem to think it's some kind of reenactment of what happened two years ago," Montoya said, raising her eyebrows. "The clown targeted three people then—the police Commissioner, the DA, and a judge. Me personally? I'm thinking we end up with a dead or disappeared judge next."
"Recreating his first reign of terror?" Vicki made a face. "No way."
"Why not? It's big and dramatic and scary. It'll remind people of his first attacks," Montoya shrugged and sat back. "It worked the first time, why wouldn't he do it again? It's all about creating chaos, right?"
"Because it's superficial. That's way too simple for them. There's always a message," Vicki explained, her mind still on Hill. That was where the real story was. Freaks in masks were a distraction. She chewed on her bottom lip, a question suddenly burning on her tongue. "Have you found anything connecting Hamilton Hill to Janice Porter or Mike Akins?"
"Hill?" Montoya looked surprised, then frowned thoughtfully. "Akins was a big fan of his. Had the MGGA hat and everything. And Harley Quinn was seen at Hill's fundraiser but otherwise… I don't think so."
"What about John Daggett?" Vicki pressed.
"Daggett Industries was one of the companies Porter and Akins were investigating," Montoya admitted, frowning. "What have Daggett and Hill got to do with any of this?"
"I'm looking into some things at the moment that don't make sense," Vicki admitted. "And who knows, maybe the Joker and Harkey Quinn are behind all of it."
"Or maybe the Riddler and the Scarecrow," Montoya agreed drily. "Or whoever the hell else is going to show up next."
"Yeah," Vicki agreed faintly, her eyebrows knitting together as she considered it—that there was someone else. Who was going to show up next?
Montoya questioned Vicki about the 'Reigns of Terror' for another twenty minutes, notably glossing over the Batman and Black Canary, and the popular opinion that they were responsible for inspiring the Joker's return. Vicki replied carefully, trying not to make her insight seem too… personal.
When they parted, Montoya gave Vicki her card in case she thought of anything helpful.
"Full disclosure, we're desperate for some fresh input on this," she added with a shrug, leaving Vicki standing outside the cafe running her tongue over her teeth, wondering if maybe she could be helpful if she kept digging into this Daggett-Hill storyline.
"Oooooh, Vale!"
Vicki whipped around to see Knox, her obnoxious but loveable inhouse photographer smirking at her a few feet away. He had a box of doughnuts under his arm and his camera around his neck, and Vicki immediately knew he had followed her there
"Corner office is doing a little freelancing, huh," he grinned.
"Did you follow me?" Vicki demanded, feeling paranoid even though she'd done nothing wrong.
"Oh, chill out," Knox rolled his eyes. "I saw the cop stop you, thought maybe you might need an excuse to get away."
Vicki frowned at him.
"So, what did she want?" Knox pressed, smirking again. "You working on something? Come on, Vale, I can see it in your eyes. You've got a story."
"There's no story," Vicki snapped. "And it's really creepy of you to follow me, Alex."
"Following and lingering is kinda the photojournalist game, Vale," Knox pointed out, his chubby face softening. "I'm sorry, I don't wanna be creepy. I just wanted to help."
Vicki sighed and looked at his box of doughnuts.
"Give me one of those and I'll forgive you," she said, earning herself a big toothy grin as Knox offered her the box, and Vicki plucked out a bear claw before they turned back to the office.
"I still think you're working on something," Knox insisted, glancing at her sideways. "I gotta nose for this kind of thing—let me help, huh?"
"There's no story, Alex," Vicki said again, shooting him a pointed look. "Aren't you supposed to be photoshopping those shots of Ivania Dumas to make her look skinnier?"
"Ughhh," Knox groaned. "I hate my job."
Harley had no idea what to expect from 'the group' or what was waiting for her at the Tobacconist's Club, so she took longer than usual to decide what to wear. She lingered in front of Samantha's closet with a glass of wine to help drown out the buzzing in her head after a day trapped indoors, a day of dwelling on uncertainty.
Eventually, she chose the Little Black Dress she'd last worn to the Tobacconist's Club. It was simple and would appeal to Daggett's practical sensibilities, but who the hell knew who else was in the 'group.'
She pulled on Samantha's flat, thigh-high boots, stashing a switchblade in the leather behind her knee, then considered her reflection in the mirror.
Normally she would wear her warpaint.
But not wearing it would place her farther away from the Joker.
So she applied a slick of red lipstick and left her eyes bare, then drained the rest of her wine before she headed out to meet Frost with the town car.
"How you doin', doc?" Frost asked jovially, but Harley didn't reply.
She stared out the window, bracing herself.
They pulled into the alley behind the Tobacconist's Club, just as they had when they met Roman. But this time, instead of a doorman wearing a coat and tails, Victor Zsasz was waiting there to greet her.
"Hi Harley," he greeted her, his lips twitching as she stepped out of the car.
"Victor," Harley replied warily, already sensing there was something strange at play. "Wait here," she instructed Frost, closing the car door.
She didn't feel nervous but…
Something wasn't right.
Victor led Harley into the back entrance of the club, the hallway darker this time with only a single yellow bulb to illuminate it. It was theatrical. Intentional. Harley ground her teeth as she stepped into the elevator after Victor, disliking the fact she was being fucked with.
"Well, this is all very…" Harley caught Victor's eye and saw his brow raise curiously. She decided not to continue her train of thought—who knew who he would repeat it to. Instead, she turned to face the elevator doors while Victor twisted a key in the unlabelled keyhole she'd noticed the last time she'd been there, and the lift slowly began to lower. It went deeper underground than the basement bar they met Roman in, so deep they must have been near the hotel's original foundations.
Then the elevator came to a sudden, grinding stop, and after a few beats, the doors parted, revealing a small stone room dimly lit by candlelight.
Harley took a deep breath, keeping her face completely blank as her eyes swung left and right, her pulse suddenly leaping in her throat as she stepped out of the elevator with Victor behind her.
Oh... shit.
Five people were standing in a semicircle. Four of them were wearing Venetian masks and long, hooded cloaks, each mask different from the one beside it. Gold, red, silver, green. They were ornately decorated and made of lacquered wood, and their owners were standing perfectly still, their cloaks and hoods hiding them completely.
Then there was the fifth person. Standing before the others. He wore a three-piece suit and black gloves instead of a cloak. Unlike the others, he'd donned a black mask that wrapped around his whole skull, only the whites of his eyes and the sharp line of his jaw visible.
"Harley Quinn," Black Mask greeted her, his voice a low, electronic purr. "Welcome."
Harley forced herself not to react as she examined the group of masked people, and it struck her that for once, she was the only person in the room showing her face.
She also felt like the only sane person in the room.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice steady.
"I am Black Mask," he said, laying a hand over his heart as he gestured to the people behind him. "We are the False Face Society."
"Right," Harley said faintly, uncharacteristically lost for words. "Why did you ask me here?"
"We would like to offer you an opportunity," Black Mask explained patiently.
Harley tried to picture the face beneath the mask, tried to place the eyes. But the mask stripped this person's humanity away completely. It was a skull without expression, without personality, without warmth or life or even blood.
"What kind of opportunity?" she asked, turning her gaze on the members of the False Face Society.
So this was the group.
"An opportunity to join us," Black Mask said, taking a few slow steps forward. "An opportunity to be one of us."
"I'm not really a joiner," Harley said warily.
Black Mask stopped just a couple of feet away from her. Close enough that she could have attacked him if she wanted to.
"Neither am I," he admitted calmly, making Harley's eyes widen. "But I think our interests are aligned."
"And what is it you think interests me?" Harley demanded.
Instead of replying to her question, Black Mask cocked his head to the side, examining her curiously. His pupils were dilated in the dark room, but Harley could see the irises around them were dark brown as he searched her face.
"You're not wearing your warpaint," he observed softly, sending a shiver racing up Harley's spine. "Why?"
Harley licked her lips, unable to find a snappy comeback.
"How are our interests aligned?" she asked instead, watching Black Mask's shoulders rise and fall as he sighed, a raspy sound on the voice modifier like he was disappointed she wouldn't answer his question.
"You're looking for something," he explained, and in another step, he was standing toe to toe with Harley, not as tall as the Joker or the Riddler but still looking down at her. "You're looking for something to fulfill you," he continued in that soft vibrating tone. "Something to entertain you. Something you can control."
His words hit so close to him, Harley felt goosebumps break out on her arms. But she held her ground, maintaining eye contact and refusing to back down despite feeling so… compelled.
"I can give you that, Harley," Black Mask promised her, lifting one gloved hand between them. "I can give you everything you want."
For a few long seconds, his hand just hovered in the air between them as if he was considering reaching out to touch her. Harley forgot to breathe as she waited for him to make a move, unsure how she would respond if he did touch her. But then his hand lowered to his side. Maybe the impulse had passed, or maybe he was restraining himself. Harley had no idea; she couldn't read him in the slightest.
She took a deep breath, recalibrating.
"You want me to work for you?" she asked. "Is that it? That's what this is about?"
"Within our group, we help each other," Black Mask explained, stepping back and gesturing to the masked people behind him. "Everyone works together. Our interests are each others' interests."
Harley ran her tongue over the backs of her teeth, trying to think of something to say.
"I'd like to offer you an opportunity to help us," Black Mask added before she could. "To test the waters."
"Test the waters," Harley repeated flatly.
"Judge Chiecco," Black Mask explained. "You are in a unique position to make him… disappear."
"You want me to kill a judge?" Harley's eyebrow rose, realizing he was offering her a job, but painting it as some kind of group collectivism. "Why?" she demanded, eyeballing the False Face Society again. "What did this judge do to you?"
"Is that important?" Black Mask wondered. "Or is knowing it's what I want… what we want, good enough?"
It was another test, Harley realized. He framed it as them, but it was him. She still wasn't sure what he was offering in exchange—it was so vague, even if it did cut right to the heart of what motivated her.
Something fulfilling, something entertaining.
Something she could control.
"I need men and guns," she said, impulsively deciding the only thing to do was keep playing the game.
"The Joker doesn't have men and guns?" Black Mask asked slyly.
"If you wanted the Joker," Harley shot back. "You should have asked him to come here. Not me."
"Very well," Black Mask nodded, sounding pleased. He gestured to the elevator. "Victor will work out the particulars with you."
Harley caught Black Mask's eye again and held it for a few long seconds, trying to memorize them so she wouldn't forget the one part of this man she could see.
When he blinked, his eyelashes were long and dark, feminine.
The elevator doors parted behind her.
"I'll see you soon, Harley," Black Mask said softly.
Harley stared at him a moment longer before she stepped into the elevator, Victor stepping in beside her.
"You okay?" Victor asked, looking amused as he walked her back to the alley where Frost was waiting with the town car.
Harley shot him a dirty look and pulled her burner out of her bag.
"Just give me your number," she muttered, shoving her phone into Victor's hands. "I'll text you what I need tonight."
"Tonight?" Victor's brow raised appraisingly, still looking amused as he typed his number into her phone.
"I want to get this done as soon as possible," Harley said shortly, snatching the phone back and jabbing the call button with her thumb.
"Look at us, working together," Victor gave her a crooked grin as he pulled out an iPhone ringing with Harley's missed call.
"Fuck off," Harley snapped, ducking into the town car.
As they pulled out of the alley, Harley teepeed her hands in front of her face, blood still rushing in her ears as she recounted what had just happened. She went over it twice, and then a third time for good measure, trying to remember everything that had passed between her and Black Mask. She could feel Frost looking at her in the rearview mirror as they drove north, but he didn't say anything, leaving her to her thoughts.
The False Face Society.
The masks, the cloaks, the theatricality, the secrecy.
It was like a cult.
Harley had not seen 'cult' coming up the pipeline, that was for damn sure.
She reminded herself that a whole host of people could have been under those masks. The real question plaguing her now, was what Black Mask had done to convince them to follow him.
And then something occurred to Harley. Something she hadn't thought about in a long… long time, because she had gotten so used to it. Something that just seemed natural these days.
She caught Frost's eye in the mirror, and she could see how eager he was to help her, how dedicated he was to the Joker. It was the same way Bruno and Marty had been dedicated to the Joker. The same way Lonnie was dedicated to the Joker, along with countless others who worked for him despite being kept in the dark about ninety percent about what went down —they trusted him implicitly.
Because they were drawn to him and believed in him.
Just like those people in the False Face Society were drawn to and devoted to Black Mask.
"Oh, shit," Harley sighed, covering her face in her hands.
Not only was she in an 'it's complicated' style relationship with a charismatic narcissist, but she now had one trying to recruit her too.
They pulled up to the curb out front of Samantha's apartment, and Harley said goodnight to Frost, who shot her another concerned look as she dragged herself out of the car. She tried to shift her thoughts to how she would take out the judge with Victor's help when in truth, all she could think about was the way Black Mask had spoken to her.
How soft he was.
That dark flutter of his eyelashes.
How personal it had all seemed.
Almost gentle.
And incredibly compelling.
She pushed open the front door, and could have sobbed in relief when she found the Joker waiting for her on the other side. He was sprawled out on Samantha's couch, wearing his rumpled black suit with a gray shirt, tie abandoned, smoking a cigarette in near complete darkness. There was a bottle of bourbon he must have brought with him and a glass on the floor.
"Uh oh," he hummed, catching her eye as she turned on a lamp.
"Uh oh is pretty accurate," Harley sighed, waving at him to move his legs so she could fall on the couch beside him. "I don't even know where to start," she frowned, rubbing the buttery leather tops of her boots.
The Joker took a drag off his cigarette, watching her carefully before he picked up the glass of liquor and offered it to her. Harley took an indulgent sip, relishing the sweet burn on her tongue, then she took another.
"Last time," the Joker drawled, still eyeing her warily. "It was, 'I know who the Riddler is and a billionaire wants to make an investment in me'."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Okay," Harley nodded. "This time it's I met Black Mask, he has a cult called the False Face Society, and he wants me to join it."
The Joker was quiet for a moment, then started chuckling throatily, his eyebrow arching even higher. Harley had to laugh too. She glanced sideways at him, and they shared an amused look.
"If I had a cult, I'd ask you to join it too," the Joker said slyly, topping up the glass and shooting her a knowing look.
Harley chuckled and closed her eyes, preparing herself before she recounted everything that had happened from Victor onward. By the time she'd finished, the Joker had lit a fresh cigarette and was squinting at the wall behind her like he was trying to see through it.
"Then I told Victor to fuck off, and I got in the car," Harley finished, watching the Joker rake a hand over his jaw, his eyes rolling toward her.
"Hmmm," he surmised, widening his eyes conspiringly.
"I know," Harley agreed. "I don't know how to feel about it."
"He's building his dream team," the Joker squinted up at the murder board behind his head, where the names of people in the mob, big business, politics, and other shady characters were taped to the wall. "Who wouldn't want Harley Quinn on the team, huh?"
Harley nodded mildly, agreeing in theory that she was a valuable asset to have in any city-wide take over scenario, though she loathed the idea of being an asset. A thing to be used and controlled, even if Black Mask framed it differently. She could see right through that bullshit, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of being compelled by him.
"So I guess you got a judge to kidnap, huh?" the Joker pointed out, distracting Harley from her thoughts. "You got something in mind?"
"Something big and messy, hopefully," Harley narrowed her eyes. "If Black Mask wants me, he should get what he paid for."
"Mm," the Joker smirked rakishly at her. "Sounds like you're thinking about City Hall."
"That would get messy," Harley grinned, welcoming the opportunity to plot something abhorrent even if it was at Black Mask's behest. "Create a distraction, go in through the front door, grab the judge, out through the back door," she said decisively.
The Joker raised his eyebrows. "And by back door, you mean…"
"Blow a hole through the wall and escape out the alley?" Harley shrugged, making the Joker giggle, which made her grin widen.
Then she realized something, and her face fell.
"Except we can't use Lonnie to create a distraction," she pointed out, catching the Joker's eye. "I'm supposed to be doing this on my own."
The Joker held her gaze, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip.
"Fuck Lonnie," he rasped at length, making Harley laugh. "Blow somethin' up instead," he suggested coyly.
"The Uptown Firehouse would work," Harley mused, visualizing the main island of Gotham. "That would fuck up the GCPD's response time and take out some of their first responders." She looked at the Joker, who already had his phone out, ready to order up explosive materials like the fantastic pyromaniac he was. "How much C4 would we need to blow out the back wall? Six grams?"
"Jesus Christ," he widened his eyes at her. "You tryin' to blow us all up?"
Harley laughed at him.
"3.5 outta do it," he advised. "About thirty for the firehouse."
"Alright," Harley nodded, pulling her phone out to send Victor her list of requests.
Then she paused, reconsidering the situation, her jaw working as she realized she was giving Black Mask precisely what he wanted. She could tell herself it was because she was playing the long game, but it felt too much like she was… giving in.
"Can Frost take care of the firehouse?" Harley asked tentatively.
"There's a guy at Marty's," the Joker stretched his long arms over his head. "The boys call him Bozo… we give him a backpack of C4 and send him in on time, we'll be golden."
"Perfect," Harley nodded, returning to her list for Victor.
10 men - not you
Lots of guns - fully automatic
Meatpacking District - Hulu Meats Warehouse
4 PM tomorrow.
Victor replied with no less than a smiley face.
Harley sighed and unzipped her boots feeling the Joker watching as she kicked them away and flopped back against the couch cushions.
Then without meaning to, she said, "He scares me."
Harley's eyes darted to the Joker, unsure how he would react to the prospect of her being scared and wishing she hadn't said anything. She couldn't tell if it would make her look weak in his eyes because it sure as shit made Harley feel small and confused.
The Joker squinted at her owlishly, like he was trying to understand something incredibly complex and was only just keeping up. Then he gave a pensive, rattly hum.
"You don't know what this guy's capable of yet," he pointed out, meeting her eye. "But he doesn't know what you're capable of either." He raised his eyebrows appraisingly. "I sure fucking don't."
A warm smile spread across Harley's face, the kind he would call sweet, and she scooted closer to sit beside him. She buried her face in his shoulder, sighing as he toyed with the loose platinum waves at her shoulder. Then after a few seconds, he wound a large section of her hair around his hand, pulling it tight and tugging her head back so he could look her in the eye, his expression serious as he searched her face.
Harley's pulse leaped, seeing he was thinking about the night before in the car. She closed her eyes, anticipation swooping through her as his grip on her hair tightened, and he lowered his mouth to hers.
He kissed her lazily, making Harley sigh as she smoothed her hands up his chest and around his neck, her lips parting so his tongue could slide into her mouth, massaging hers slowly.
Harley threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling it tight as she deepened the kiss, making him hum throatily. She thought about what other things she would like to do to him with her tongue. She thought about sucking his cock, and she felt her pulse throb between her legs as arousal spread through her.
The Joker grabbed her leg behind the knee, turning her body toward him and making her dress ride up her thighs. He planted one knee on the couch between her legs and braced his foot on the floor, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he nudged her onto her back and hovered over her.
Harley locked her knees around his hips as she ran her palms up his back, feeling the wiry muscles shifting beneath his suit jacket as she kissed him eagerly. One of his hands slid up her ribs to squeeze her breast, and Harley arched up into his touch, frustrated that the top half of her dress provided such little access. Needing to feel him, she pulled his shirt out of the back of his pants and thrust her hands beneath it, raking her nails up his back as far as his shirt and jacket would allow, and he growled quietly into her mouth, his fingers digging sharply into her waist.
Then the tempo changed. Both of the Joker's hands were suddenly under her dress, squeezing her ass as he ground his hips against hers, making Harley pant weakly when she felt his cock, hard and rubbing against her core through their clothes.
"Fuck," she whined, her head falling back against the couch cushions while he pressed his nose against her neck and squeezed her harder. One of his hands slid down her thigh, pushing it out to the side so her foot landed on the floor, spreading her legs as his fingers trailed back up the inside of her leg, settling on the crotch of her panties.
"Hmm, frilly things," he murmured in her ear. It was supposed to be a joke, but his voice was too low and breathless. "Very wet frilly things," he added slyly, pulling her underwear to the side as Harley tugged his face back up to hers, pushing her tongue in his mouth and kissing him eagerly.
He ran the tip of his finger over her pussy lightly, making Harley squirm.
"Please," she whispered breathlessly.
He grabbed her hair again, yanking her head to the side as he teased her clit and pressed his mouth against her ear.
"I can't stop thinkin' about fucking you," he growled in her ear, making Harley pant helplessly while she canted her hips up against his hand.
"God, I missed you," she groaned.
He huffed something unintelligible against her jaw, his breath hot against her skin as he started to tug her underwear down when Harley remembered, quite vividly, about her fertility predicament and her trip to Dr Lee Thompkins in the Narrows. It was like a splash of cold water. BABY. PREGNANT. The words flashed in front of her eyes like neon warning signs on a dark highway.
"Wait, waitwaitwaitwaitwait," she chanted, still breathless as she disentangled her arms from his neck, and grabbed his wrists. She did some sluggish mental math. "We can't."
He lifted his head to stare at her, bewildered, and a little dazed, his hair even messier than usual, sticking up at odd angles.
"Huh?" He grunted incredulously, his thumbs still hooked in the waistband of her panties. Harley could feel the tension in his arms as he stopped himself from literally ripping them off.
"I have this... birth control implant in my arm," she explained haltingly, feeling ridiculous. "It releases hormones so I don't get pregnant, but I um... had a new one put in last week, and it's not... fully up and running yet. Not for..." Harley frowned and licked her lips. "Well, she said ten days. That's tomorrow but, I mean, I don't want, oh god, that would be so bad." She knew she was babbling, but it was so... ridiculous... to be explaining this to the Joker.
He was squinting at her, his thumbs tracing the lacy edge of her underwear rhythmically as he absorbed what she was saying. Then he settled on being amused, probably because she was so uncomfortable telling him, and he was an asshole.
"Well, that woulda been great," he drawled as he slid her underwear down to her knees, then guided one of her feet out, planting it firmly on the couch beside him. He shifted to kneel on the floor, and Harley felt a smile grow on her lips as he grabbed her other leg behind the knee and hooked it over his shoulder, her foot dangling free. "But uh, I had something else in mind." He smirked rakishly at her, then folded forward to run the flat of his tongue over her in a lazy stripe.
Harley sucked in a deep breath, her eyes closing as she relaxed into the couch, and gave into the sensation of his tongue stroking her, for his pleasure as much as hers if his satisfied hum was any indication. His hands moved from her waist to her hips, settling there to hold her in place as he narrowed his focus, drawing lazy figure eights over her clit, his mouth hot and wet.
Harley sighed as he slowly began to build her up, knowing what she liked, making her heart beat faster. She gasped weakly when she started getting close, her pelvis twitching against his face, needing more from him. He laid his forearm across her stomach, holding her down as his tongue dipped inside her, electrifying her nerve endings, and making her ache when he returned to her clit, lavishing attention on it until she was huffing and squirming.
Then he dipped just a fingertip inside her to tease her, her body wet and silky for him. Harley made an anguished sound, bucking against him as he did it again, and again, and again. Then he finally gave in and slipped his finger inside her, up to the knuckle, pulling another breathless sound out of her as heat flooded her entire body, making her light-headed.
"Shit," Harley hissed when he found her g spot, stroking it as his tongue worked harder, his arm flat across her stomach to hold her in place as heat began to spiral through her belly. "Oh, shit, shit, shit," she panted, grabbing a handful of his hair to anchor herself as he swiveled his finger inside her.
She cried out weakly when her orgasm broke, sweeping over her and making her vision whiten around the edges. The Joker retreated from her as she lay panting, staring at the ceiling, a wonderful sense of calm settling over her for the first time in weeks. She felt him wipe his fingers on the inside of her thigh before he shifted up on the couch again, bending to kiss her. She sucked on his tongue, tasting herself as her hands moved to his belt, wanting nothing more than to make him growl and sigh and submit to her, but he pushed her away, pulling back to look down at her.
"I gotta go talk to the Scarecrow," he rolled his eyes before flashing her a smirk. "Maybe I'll say I ran into the Batman, and he was lookin' for him."
Harley chuckled sleepily, the idea of Crane being trapped in that shitty warehouse because of his own ego—as if the Batman would waste time on him—too perfect for words.
"Next time," the Joker added slyly, prompting Harley to open her eyes.
"Next time," she agreed, offering him a dreamy smile. "Try to get some sleep before tomorrow," she added as he got to his feet.
The Joker chuckled incredulously like he always did when she gave him practical advice—sleep, eat vegetables, don't play with the machete—and Harley lifted her head to see him smirking at her from the window. She smiled back at him and he lingered a moment longer before forcing himself to look away and climb down the trellis.
Vicki rarely heard from her old sources and she never reached out to them directly anymore. But after her conversation with Detective Montoya, she couldn't stop thinking about Janice Porter's disappearance, probably at the hands of Harley Quinn, and possibly because she was investigating Daggett Industries. Adding Harley's hovering around Hamilton Hill and his associates, and Hill's golden boy Sionis directly advised Daggett, and you almost had a solid story.
So Vicki dropped an old contact at City Hall a text, and after much back and forth, they agreed to meet her for a drink at a dive bar in the University District near Vicki's apartment.
Vicki ordered herself a beer, feeling she needed it after a day spent attempting to concentrate on Ivania Dumas' upcoming cover feature when her mind was fully engrossed in Harley Quinn and what nightmarish things she could be getting up to with the likely future Mayor and a billionaire investor.
"Jane," she smiled when her contact from City Hall arrived, looking stressed and tired, as would be expected when the District Attorney disappears without a trace. "Can I get two more," Vicki asked the bartender, employing the age-old trick of getting your source a little liquored up.
"I know what you're doing," Jane said by way of greeting, hauling herself up on the stool beside Vicki as the bartender set two beers in front of them.
"It's just a beer, Jane," Vicki smirked, holding her drink up in cheers.
"Yeah, yeah," Jane waved her off, taking a sip. "So what are you after? I haven't heard from you in ages. Aren't you like, editing the magazine now?"
"I was wondering about one of your ongoing investigations," Vicki explained, glossing over the business of what her job was these days. "I hear you're investigating Daggett Industries."
"Oh, you do, huh," Jane hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. "Okay, why not. Yeah, we were. Janice was really gunning for it. I mean more than she usually does."
"Yeah?" Vicki's pale eyebrows rose. "Why's that?"
"She was desperate for money," Jane said drily. "It was no secret she was ready to move onto something with a bigger paycheck, and she needed a big fucking case to get it."
"Wow, she sounds delightful," Vicki observed flatly.
"She was poking around all over the place looking for the big one, and I guess Daggett fit the bill." Jane shrugged. "He took her for lunch and everything, and when she got back that day she was like, this guy is dirty."
"Really?" Vicki's eyes widened. "She thought John Daggett was dirty after having lunch with him?"
"I don't know if you are aware, but Janice used to be very friendly with the mob," Jane raised a knowing eyebrow. "My job was basically covering for Sofia Falcone for a solid six months, and Oswald Cobblepot before that. Janice didn't even bother to hide the fact that she was scared shitless Harley Quinn was gonna storm in any minute and put a bulletin in her brain. It was all out in the open, it was ridiculous."
"Jesus," Vicki nearly laughed. "I mean, I knew we had corruption in City Hall, but that's crazy." Then she remembered what Montoya said about things being too clean. "So, what happened? Janice turns over a new leaf, Mayor Krol and Commissioner Akins say they're gonna clean up corruption and suddenly everyone just falls in line?"
"It was bizarre," Jane paused to sip her beer, making a face. "It took less than six months. One minute we're covering for everyone, the next minute there's no one to cover for. And not because we were putting them away—they were just disappearing. All the influential crime lords either kicked the bucket, retired, or covered all their shit up and went straight."
"So there's no mob anymore?" Vicki frowned.
"No mob, no drugs, no money laundering, the murder rate drops," Jane shrugged. "I mean we have the Batman and Black Canary to thank too, you know? But there's still shit they had nothing to do with—they weren't killing or disappearing criminals."
"Yeah," Vicki agreed, shaking her head, recalibrating. "Go back to Daggett. Was there anything other than Janice's feeling after that lunch that he was dirty?"
"Yep, but it was really thin," Jane nodded. "Never would have held up in court."
"What was it?" Vicki squinted at her.
"It was Daggett Shipping, specifically," Jane explained. "Sometimes when you look at a company's books, you can tell they're too clean. Daggett Shipping's books were spotless, and if you do this long enough you know when you're looking at cooked books."
"So what were they hiding?" Vicki asked.
"Hard to say," Jane shrugged. "But it all seemed to revolve around cargo originally picked up in Tibet, which would make its way onto Daggett's freighters."
"Tibet?" Vicki made a face. "What gets imported from Tibet?"
"Fucking nothing," Jane shot Vicki a knowing look. "But like I said, it would never stand up in court. And now Janice is probably dead, and if it's true that the Joker's recreating his first Reign of Terror, then shit, I guess Harley Quinn got Janice in the end anyway."
"Shit," Vicki blinked hard, knowing there was no way they were recreating anything. There had to be a good reason, and it seemed to revolve around Daggett Industries. "I guess maybe she did," she sighed.
Harley slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, and when she woke up late the next morning she managed to cling to some of that peace, focusing on the fun waiting for her at City Hall instead of the dark, stone pit beneath the Tobacconist's Club.
To be fair, shaking down her henchmen, following her, testing her with jobs, all of it was less unnerving when it came down to simply being recruited. It was a far cry better than the invasive, personal stalking she'd originally felt this interest—this investment—indicated. Asking about her personal life was more like an inappropriate HR question in this context, and it was reassuring to know all they wanted from her was work.
But knowing this intellectually and what she'd felt when actually confronted with Black Mask were two very different things.
Offering her something fulfilling. Something entertaining. Something to control.
That flutter of his eyelashes.
That was what was unnerving her now, not the men waiting outside her front door.
Victor confirmed he would have an address for her to take the judge too once her 'mission' (his words) was completed. Harley sensed she would be taken to the False Face Society again, and either given another task to complete before she was invited to join their cult or…
Or... she didn't know what else. She couldn't predict Black Mask's next move. Would he hand her a mask and a cloak and give her a schedule of meeting times? Fill her in on what they were doing? Remove the mask and show her the face beneath?
Doubtful.
She watched the news while she worked out to get a sense of what was happening in the outside world. The media were convinced she and the Joker killed Janice Porter even though they had nothing concrete to tie them to it. They thought they were recreating the Joker's first reign of terror, the journalists and pundits speculating wildly over their motivations as they always did.
They were going to go crazy after they stole the judge.
These jobs were tests to see if Black Mask could get her to do his bidding, of that Harley was sure. But whether there was a practical purpose as well was still elusive to her.
Porter 'causing problems' for Lucy. Akins 'possible investigations' into Hill. There hadn't even been a reason for the judge, just that Black Mask wanted it to be done, and he seemed to think that should have been enough reason.
Harley tried to picture herself doing something just because she knew it was what he wanted—because it would please him. She pictured him asking in that low electronic purr, and she imagined him touching her face like he'd clearly wanted to the night before. Maybe if there had been something resembling a man beneath the mask, she would feel repelled. But Black Mask did not feel like a man.
And that was the whole point. That was what masks and paint did to people.
Remarkably, all this speculating and analyzing didn't dampen her mood, which was buoyed significantly after fooling around with J on Samantha's couch. She felt complete again, and that lifted her up above all of the shit facing them.
Plus she could still hear his voice growling in her ear.
I can't stop thinking about fucking you
It made Harley downright giddy.
She got dressed with events forthcoming in mind, choosing Circe's lavender dress. It was too short for if things turned hectic, so she found a pair of black bicycle shorts in Samantha's drawer of workout-gear to wear beneath, the Lycra peaking out an inch or two below the dress's short hem.
She pulled on her beloved flat thigh high boots—they were hers now— and shrugged on a shoulder holster—the Joker would have a gun for her—then buckled her fanny pack of essential items around her waist.
When she got the Joker's text that he and Frost were outside, she practically skipped down the stairs and across the street to the electrical van waiting for her.
"You're lookin' chipper," the Joker observed, giving her thigh a quick squeeze as she slid onto the long front seat beside him.
"I got a great night's sleep," Harley smirked, leaning around him. "How are you, Frost?"
"I'm good, thanks, doc," Frost rumbled, taking a drag off his cigarette. "May have had a bit too much caffeine this morning."
"You gotta look after yourself, Frost," Harley told him, pretending to be stern.
"You look after me good enough, doc," he shot her a smile, making Harley laugh and fall back in her seat.
The Joker widened his eyes at Harley, holding up his little finger to suggest she had Frost wrapped around her finger, and she shrugged helplessly.
"How's Bozo doing?" she asked as they pulled onto the highway.
"He's uh, grabbing lunch Uptown as we speak," the Joker drawled, flashing Harley a smirk. "Fancy little Italian place right across from the fire station."
Harley beamed at him, unable to stop herself.
"It ain't easy getting C4 these days," Frost jumped in, remarkably chatty. "But Bozo's got enough to take care of things."
"Is that why you're so caffeinated?" Harley grinned. "You were up all night hunting down C4."
"I was real quiet about it, doc," Frost reassured her as the Joker's hand landed on her thigh again, his thumb slipping inside her boot to stroke her skin.
Harley sighed happily, her head falling back against the seat as she looked up at him, and he gave her a faint, affectionate smirk.
When they pulled off the freeway into the Meatpacking District, Harley hopped in the back of the van, a brown paper bag holding three pots of greasepaint in her fist. She braced herself against the wall and applied a full face of warpaint without a mirror.
As they pulled into the Hulu Meats Warehouse, the Joker slipped into the back with her, grabbing a clown mask out of a cardboard box of them, and tucking it in his back pocket.
"I gotcha something," he said slyly, edging closer.
"Oh yeah?" Harley grinned when he produced a modified automatic from the holster under his suit jacket, offering it to her and pretending to be shy, which was downright hilarious.
"Since you can't shoot for shit," he smirked as Harley took the gun from him.
It was her preferred firearm, something he'd have cobbled together himself.
"This isn't new," she noted, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Crane broke it in for you," he explained drily. "If you can believe it, he's a worse fuckin' shot than you are."
Harley chuckeld as she tucked the gun in her holster, feeling another swell of giddiness when the Joker grabbed her elbow and yanked her closer. She hooked her arms around his neck and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and he threaded a hand in her hair, kissing her back lazily. His free hand slid down her back, lower and lower until he reached her ass, giving it a squeeze as the van slowed to a stop.
Harley pulled away reluctantly, keeping her arms around his neck and sighing happily when she saw his mouth was smeared red with her warpaint—a reflection of her.
"Let's make a mess," the Joker growled, giving her ass another squeeze before he released her to pull on the clown mask, hiding him from Black Mask's thugs.
The Joker grabbed the box of clown masks while Harley kicked the van's back door open, a wonderful wave of nervous energy rolling through her.
Waiting for them in the middle of the warehouse were nine men, all of whom had armed themselves with automatics from a wooden crate still half full of guns on the floor. Some of them were smoking, and all of them were eyeing Harley warily as she strolled up to them. She examined each of them in turn, deciding Black Mask had provided her with legitimate hitmen, not just thugs, though it was hard to decide if they were the kind loyal to money or to him.
"Hey fellas," Harley greeted them coldly, folding her arms over her chest. "So here's how things are going to go—"
But Harley was cut off when another car rolled into the warehouse, a small silver Prius. It sped straight up to them, coming to a sudden screeching stop.
Harley narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Ed jumped out of the backseat, wearing blue mom jeans tucked into combat boots, and a tee-shirt with 'J'ADORE DIOR' printed boldly across the front, a black backpack slung over his shoulder.
Harley's eyes widened incredulously, and she reached for her gun.
"Sorry, sorry! I know I'm late," Ed apologized profusely, digging into his backpack and pulling out a pistol.
He thrust it through the Prius's open window and shot the driver in the head, killing him instantly.
Ed smirked and planted a hand on his hip, striking a pose.
"It was murder trying to get an Uber!" he grinned.
A/N: Oh, ED.
I LOVE ED AND THERE'S SO MUCH ED TO COME.
We also had a decidedly intense Harley x Black Mask moment in the basement of the Tobacconist's Club. We'll see BM (f you, BM, lol) again next week... I am very keen to find out what folks think of Harley's reaction to him...
And we got some smut!
Finally, I loved the response to the "I don't lie to you Harl" last week, so much, but I'm sure there are people who didn't love that. It felt like a risk. I put the Joker in this super restrictive psychopath box for theH, and I'm making the lines of that box a little blurrier this time. Running everything past the DSM-V does not necessarily make for compelling, colorful characters, and it's pretty creatively stifling, too. Ditto for Harley and Ed. I think they and we can all agree, labels don't matter.
ANYWAY, we are on chapter ten and things are finally kicking off after a HUGE ramp up.
Next: Harley and J attack City Hall (with Ed's help), and Black Mask makes Harley question herself (and the smut kicks up a notch).
It's date night next week, people.
Join us on Tumblr to fan-girl (or boy), I'm knit-wear-it, and my asks are (almost) always open.
We got out first piece of fan art of the Joker this week from the wonderful Drea. 3
Please comment & review! I'm an addict!