Theme: Pulp - 'This Is Hardcore'
The Pantomime
11.
Harley stared at Ed as he ducked down to squint at his Uber driver, double-checking to be sure he was dead. Then he swung back around to beam at her cheerfully.
She pulled her gun from its holster and thumbed the safety off but didn't point it at him. Behind her the Joker threw the box of clown masks into the ring of Black Mask's thugs while Frost grunted at them to take one each, distracting them from Harley's confrontation with Ed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Harley demanded, keeping her voice low.
"Um, working?" Ed made a face like he thought she was being unreasonable.
"Working?" Harley scoffed. "You're a bartender, Ed."
"Uh, no, I'm a bartender who freelances for the Odessa gang," he corrected her, then cupped his hands around his mouth like he was telling her a secret. "And I'm also the Riddler," he hissed, making Harley scowl impatiently.
"What… are you doing here," she growled, her blackened eyes flashing dangerously, and she saw Ed shift uncomfortably even though he tried to hide it.
"Alexandra sent a text around saying she had a job," he shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself defensively, putting on a little performance. "I replied and here I am."
"Alexandra?" Harley narrowed her eyes. "Alexandra Kosov?"
"Well, duh," Ed lifted a bemused eyebrow. "She controls all the muscle in town. Who do you think sent you these guys?" Then he squinted at her. "Wait, who did you think sent you these guys?"
"You really expect me to believe you count as muscle?" Harley demanded, looking down at his mom jeans and the 'J'Adore Dior' tee shirt.
"Actually, Harley, I think you will find I am a very good shot and pretty good in a fight," Ed lifted his chin imperiously. "I didn't learn how to carry off a heist on youtube, ya know."
Harley ran her tongue over her bottom lip, thinking fast. She didn't have time to argue with him, or kill him for that matter, but if she kept him close then she could question him later, and possibly take out some of her frustration on him then too.
"Fine, you can come," she agreed, searching his hazel eyes. They were wide and excited. "But if you fuck with me, Ed, I will put a bullet in your brain," she hissed, her hand swiping through the air, making him flinch. "I won't even kill you slow. You'll just be gone, okay?"
"Okay, jeez," he agreed, rolling his eyes.
Harley spun on her heel, her teeth grinding, her good mood completely ruined because the fucking Riddler was coming along on her job.
Black Mask's thugs—who were really Alexandra Kosov's thugs according to Ed, something else to consider—were pulling the clown masks on, some of them looking reluctant, others more at ease with the idea.
"Alright, here's the plan," Harley snapped once Frost and the Joker were flanking her again. "We go in through the front door, we make a mess, we go up to the second floor and grab the judge, we go out the back door. Any questions?"
She glared around at the clown masks, daring them to ask, but they all smartly stayed silent.
"Ground rules," Harley continued hotly. "Kill everyone. I don't care if it's an old lady or a kid, kill anyone who comes in your path. Everyone but the judge. That's it."
And with that, she turned on her heel and jumped back into the van, the Joker and the rest of the clowns following her lead while Frost slid behind the wheel.
Harley braced herself against that back of Frost's seat, trying to focus on the task at hand, which was supposed to be a fun one. She looked around at the clowns' masked faces, all of them uniformly silent and swaying with the motion of the van as it pulled onto the freeway. Even the Joker dialed down his usual vibrating frequency for the sake of not standing out.
Ed, on the other hand…
He squeezed past the other clowns to get to her, his mask sitting on top of his elaborately coiffed hair.
"Don't talk to me," Harley warned him, making Ed tisk quietly, at least aware that he shouldn't cause a scene.
"Look, I just wanna say I thought that was a great speech," he gushed flirtatiously. "And I had some ideas like—"
Harley shot the Joker a sidelong look and he immediately stepped forward. He grabbed Ed by the throat and slammed him up against the side of the van, holding him there easily. Ed was taller and remarkably strong, as Harley knew first hand, but the Joker was stronger.
Ed struggled, coughed, and whined unhappily at the vacant clown mask covering the Joker's face, and Harley waited for him to realize escape was futile before she leaned in close, seeing she had Ed's full attention.
"You are only alive right now because I am allowing it," she informed him quietly, searching his face. "And if you survive this, we need to have a little chat, you and I."
The Joker released Ed, who gasped dramatically while the Joker moved back to stand beside Harley. She watched impassively as Ed pulled himself together, shooting her another kicked-puppy look before he squatted down next to his backpack.
He pulled out a holster, which had about fifteen rounds of ammunition stashed in it and a second pistol. Once he'd secured the holster around his shoulders, he did look like he knew what he was doing, even though Harley knew him to be a shallow, attention-seeking moron.
Or at least he pretended to be a moron.
Perhaps trying to inject some levity, the Joker discreetly groped Harley's ass a few minutes later, making her smile reluctantly. His hand drifted to the short hem of her dress, and he slipped two fingers beneath it to trace the seam of her thighs, up, up, up…
Harley swatted him away and brushed her hair over her shoulder, using the gesture to shoot him a warning look. She couldn't see his face behind the clown mask, but there was no doubt he was smirking as he sighed like he was deeply afflicted.
Miraculously, Ed managed to keep his mouth shut—and the Joker his hands to himself—for the rest of the drive into Midtown.
Frost pulled up out front of City Hall, and J gave Harley's ass a light smack as she checked her phone, waiting for the digital clock to tick over to 4.45 PM. They only had to wait a full five seconds before there was an explosion in the distance. Not a demolition style exposition, but big enough to blow out the inside of the firehouse.
Sirens started wailing outside as police cruisers and fire engines sped Uptown, and Harley forced herself to wait another full five minutes before she finally made the call.
"Let's go," she announced, her toes curling in her boots.
She heard the Joker release a low, satisfied growl that made her pulse leap.
The clowns trooped out of the back van, rushing across the pavement and up the steps of City Hall. Harley jumped out with the Joker and Ed flanking her, two more clowns pulling up the rear behind them. They jogged up the steps and burst into the building's main atrium, automatic gunfire and screaming immediately filling the air.
The first time Harley was in a firefight, her ears had rung for days. She'd been terrified, the constant rattle of bullets making her heart pound over the prospect of being shot at any moment. But even then, she'd enjoyed the thrill of it. She just hadn't known what to do with that thrill, though she'd bluffed her way through as best she could. But now she knew how to ride that wonderful wave of adrenaline and danger. How to enjoy it, thrive in it. And these days, a little bit of tinnitus only ever lasted a few hours, and she hardly even noticed it.
They reached the curving staircase, where mayors and DAs and police commissioners occasionally gave speeches. Ed jogged up backward to cover them from behind, being remarkably efficient though there was a flamboyant little flair in every move he made. Harley was pretty sure she heard a "Yee-haw!" over the rattle of bullets.
He just couldn't help himself.
By the time they reached the top of the stairs, the whole building was in active shooter lockdown. Hiding under their desks and leaving the clowns free to stomp toward Judge Chiecco's office at the end of the hall.
Harley and the Joker overtook the other clowns, and after exchanging a quick look to agree on a plan of action, the Joker grabbed Ed by the back of his tee-shirt and dragged him to the front of the pack with them.
Harley kicked open the judge's office door, and the Joker threw Ed inside, making him sputter indignantly while the other clowns bottlenecked out in the hall.
Harley dropped into a squat while the Joker hovered above her, both of them using the office door for cover as they mowed down the remaining clowns—Black Mask's thugs, Alexandra Kosov's hitmen, whoever they were—in the hallway. Some of them fired off a few rounds, some of them tried to make a break for it, all of them ultimately ended up dead.
Harley ejected the empty magazine from her gun and reloaded as the Joker darted back out into the hall, pulling a plastic bag holding a wad of C4 from his suit jacket. Harley shoved Ed aside as she stomped toward the judge's desk, where he and his assistant were hiding.
Ed ripped off his clown mask, looking bewildered as Harley reached under the desk and grabbed the judge by the collar of his shirt. She yanked him to his feet and shot his assistant in the face, ignoring their pleas for mercy.
"Move!" she snapped at the judge, holding her gun to his head.
"Wait, what is—?" Ed started to ask.
"Cover your ears!" Harley ordered, shooting Ed a dirty look suggesting now was not the time to be chatty.
The Joker loped back into the office, slamming the door shut before he rushed up to Harley. He wrapped his arm around her head to pillow both her ears while she held onto the judge, then slapped his hands over his ears, prompting Ed to do the same.
Harley counted down the seconds till the blast. She could feel the Joker's heart pounding against her back through his shirt, and she could smell the gunpowder on his suit jacket where it was pressed against her face. She could smell him beneath that, and even with everything happening around them, she breathed him, feeling a little giddy to be so close to him.
The C4 detonated, blowing the office door off its hinges and making the walls around them shudder. The Joker released Harley and grabbed a bewildered Ed by the back of his shirt, dragging him out of the office and shoving him through the gaping hole they'd just blown through the back wall.
Ed shrieked girlishly, landing with a thud on the roof of the van waiting for them below.
The Joker jumped down next, landing lightly and twisting around in time for Harley to shove the judge out. He screamed bloody murder as he fell, and screamed even louder when he landed. Harley jumped next, rolling to absorb the shock while the Joker dragged the judge off the roof and Ed swung off the side with Harley following him.
Frost revved the engine while the Joker manhandled the judge into the back, kicking the door open wide.
Harley turned to look at Ed, who was standing in the middle of the alley, watching them warily.
"Time for that chat, Ed," Harley snapped, gesturing to the back of the van.
Ed looked between the van and the busy Midtown street behind him, his eyes wide.
"Ed," Harley shot him a warning look.
"Listen," Ed wheedled, offering her a sheepish smile as he started to back up, shrugging out of his holster and dropping it. "This has been swell and all, but when you say chat, I kinda think you mean… beat up or torture or murder soooo…"
Then he turned and bolted down the alley, as remarkably fast on his feet as he was strong.
Harley considered shooting him, but it didn't feel right, so she hopped into the back of the van instead.
Frost took off once the door slammed shut, using some of those evasive maneuvers he was so good at.
The Gotham Globe HQ had been in lockdown for nearly three hours. Reports were coming in that at least twenty-three people had been killed in a mass shooting at City Hall, gunned down by men in clown masks led by Harley Quinn.
Vicki remained in her corner office on the tenth floor, sharing a small bottle of vodka with Knox and replying to texts from Bruce, reassuring him that she was okay and did not need him to get her via helicopter off the roof. She didn't think she could face him at the moment anyway. Knox and vodka were about the most she could cope with considering Harley was out there killing people without remorse. Killing as many people as possible, it seemed.
Then she got a text from Jane, her contact at City Hall.
They took Judge Chiecco, the text read. He issued a warrant for Daggett Shipping. Had more in the pipeline.
"Shit," Vicki murmured.
All three of Harley and the Joker's victims had been investigating Daggett Shipping.
"You got something, Vale?" Knox asked, his sense for a story tingling.
"Um," Vicki floundered, running a hand over her hair as she tried to decide what to do.
She dug out Renee Montoya's card from her wallet and tried calling her desk and her cell, but both were engaged.
After leaving a voicemail asking Montoya to please give her a call back, she set her phone back on her desk.
"Everything okay?" Knox asked, passing her the vodka.
"Yeah," Vicki replied faintly.
They weren't recreating the Joker's first reign of terror. They were shutting down an investigation into Daggett Shipping. And they were covering it up by manipulating the police and the media into thinking it was clown-business as usual.
Vicki tried calling Montoya again, but she still got no answer.
After escaping the cops on the Eastside—Frost showing off some even fancier driving moves than Harley had seen yet—they ditched the electrical van for an old station wagon, which had been strategically left down an alley the night before.
It was dark by the time they'd transferred the unconscious judge to the back of the station wagon, and from there, they headed to Chinatown, parking in an alley while Frost picked up dinner.
Harley and the Joker sat in the backseat, slumped down even though they'd wiped their warpaint off, both in good moods despite the whole Ed factor.
"Do you think Alexandra sent him on purpose?" Harley asked. She was sprawled across the backseat, her feet in the Joker's lap.
"Who the fuck knows," he shrugged, flicking a cigarette butt out the window. "Sure does sound like she's workin' for Black Mask, though."
"Black Mask needs men, Alexandra rounds them up and sends them to him," Harley mused, watching the Joker unzip one of her boots slowly. "She's an anarchist. She must not realize she's working with people connected to Hamilton fucking Hill."
"Mm," the Joker agreed, stroking the back of her knee absentmindedly.
Harley fought back a smile and looked out the back window, checking for people. But Chinatown was nearly always empty at night, the sounds of police sirens from their attack on City Hall far away in the distance.
Thinking that perhaps this was a good enough time for the promised next time, Harley sat up and crawled across the backseat, feeling giddy again.
The Joker ran his tongue over his bottom lip, smirking faintly when she climbed into his lap to straddle him and cupped his face in her hands. They exchanged a lingering look, and Harley bent down to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth playfully. His hands smoothed up her sides, squeezing her as she let her fingers trail down his neck, his chest, his stomach, and he made a low purring sound when she traced the top of his belt, making her pulse throb happily. Her hand slid down to cup him through his pants, and when she licked the scar splitting his bottom lip with a wet swipe of her tongue, he sighed throatily, his cock growing hard in her hand.
Then Frost returned, knocking on the window as if he knew by now what would happen if he left them alone in the back of a car for longer than two minutes.
The Joker released a low, frustrated growl when Harley pulled away from him, offering him a pout as she slid back across the seat and tugged her boot on.
Frost handed out Chinese food, and J did his usual routine of inhaling the food to absorb calories instead of tasting it. Harley was nibbling on an egg roll when her burner beeped with a text from Victor, making her groan, because she had almost, almost forgotten that was what they'd been killing time waiting for.
"Fuck," she sighed, setting her food aside as she read the address. No smiley face this time.
It was a number on Route 4, the two-lane, nearly-always-deserted highway that led out of the city to the Palisades, where the millionaires and billionaires lived.
Harley sighed and pulled Pam's phone out of her fanny pack, turning on the GPS—something Lonnie explicitly told her not to do unless absolutely necessary—so she could pull up a map, and she hummed dubiously when she saw where she was going.
"It's the middle of nowhere on Route 4," she announced, glancing at the Joker, who was bent forward as Frost lit his cigarette for him.
He fell back in his seat and raised his eyebrows appraisingly, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"Standard drop off," he shrugged, tapping ash on the floor. "Ya get out, they take him off your hands, you take off, job done."
"He's going to want to talk to me," Harley predicted, remembering that flutter of long eyelashes behind Black Mask's mask. "Maybe with his cult. Maybe alone…"
She could feel the Joker watching her closely.
"Could be an old farmhouse, doc," Frost piped up. "There's plenty of those off Route 4."
"Great," Harley said drolly. "First the creepy basement, now an abandoned farmhouse."
"In fairness," the Joker drawled. "You've made use of abandoned slaughterhouses more than once."
He was trying to make her laugh, but that sense of uncertainty Harley struggled with for weeks was sneaking back in, dragging her down and making her question herself.
Her burner beeped with another message from Victor.
Soon pls.
She grumbled discontentedly under her breath.
"I'm being summoned," she said sourly, catching the Joker's eye.
There was a long, exceptionally tense silence, and then Frost piped up to fill it.
"I saw a car no one'll miss back there, boss," he rumbled. "Want me to nab it?"
"Mm," the Joker seemed to agree, his eyes still lingering on Harley.
She sighed loudly. "Alright," she said, pushing her door open. "Let's get this over with."
They all climbed out of the car, and the Joker caught Harley's eye over the hood again before he loped off after Frost to steal a car. Harley ducked behind the wheel, trying not to let the uncertainty sweep her away as she headed for the freeway.
As she drove north, she tried to tell herself she would come out on top like she always did. She wasn't scared, just anxious over all the unknown, and she reminded herself that she thrived when she didn't give a shit.
But Black Mask made her doubt herself.
Route 4 was deserted, a lone Mazzarati the only car she passed as she followed the map on Pam's phone, slowing when she saw a pair of headlights on the side of the road, exactly where she was supposed to stop.
Harley pulled over behind the car so they were trunk to trunk, and squinted out the window at her surroundings.
To her left was more thick forest.
To her right was…
A cemetery.
"Oh Jesus," Harley muttered, killing the station wagon's engine and climbing out.
She strolled to the back of the station wagon, where Victor was waiting with two burly thugs, their hair clipped short, tattoos hidden beneath nice-ish suits. They may have been muscle for Alexandra Kosov at one point, but they belonged to Black Mask now.
They were standing beside a BMW—no surprise—it's trunk popped, watching Harley expectantly as she unlocked the station wagon.
"He's all yours," she said flatly, waving her arm at the judge.
"Boss wants a word with you, Harley," Victor offered her a crooked smirk.
Harley shrugged wordlessly, which Victor took as enough acquiescence to gesture for her to follow him across the highway into the cemetery.
It was old, some of the headstones dating to the early 1800s from what Harley could see. There were crumbling stone angels and elaborate crosses looming overhead, dynastic mausoleums as well as newer graves from the past few decades, some with dying flowers for the more recently deceased.
Harley spotted names she recognized. Crowne. Dumas. Kane. Elliott.
This was where Gotham's oldest families and wealthiest citizens buried their dead.
Dread started to creep into Harley's gut. She felt like she was putting herself in unnecessary danger, every instinct she possessed warning her this was not a smart move.
Then Victor stopped in front of one of the mausoleums. It was old but well maintained, a combination of old stone and white marble where the stone was deteriorating. There was a low wall in front, cornering off a small garden with fresh flowers. Someone still cared for this crypt.
And there was a name etched over the mausoleum's entrance, which was standing ajar.
Harley narrowed her eyes.
Wayne.
It was the Wayne Family Crypt.
"Boss is waiting for you inside," Victor informed Harley slyly, but she didn't reply.
Then she started to get angry.
They were trying to fuck with her again.
Harley ran her tongue over her teeth before plowing forward. She slipped through the marble wall standing ajar, her instincts again warning her this wasn't a smart move.
Inside, the crypt smelled like old air, possibly because no one had been in there for over twenty years when Thomas and Martha Wayne were interred. There were eight tombs. The final resting places of Bruce Wayne's ancestors. The floors were marble slabs engraved with names for younger corpses buried beneath, including Thomas and Martha.
Harley stopped on top of Martha's grave, her eyes narrowing at the dark figure waiting for her, wearing an expensive suit and a black mask, a gloved hand trailing over one of the tombs.
"Harley," Black Mask greeted her, a low, vibrating purr that sent a shiver rolling up her spine. Especially hearing it say her name while they were alone. "It seems you had a successful afternoon," he observed.
"I'm glad you think so," Harley replied, watching warily as he took a few steps closer.
"You killed all of my men," he pointed out. "Why?"
Harley raised an eyebrow.
"Because they weren't my men," she shrugged. "They weren't loyal to me. I had no use for them once they did what I needed."
He nodded like he understood and looked down at the tomb his hand was resting on.
"You would have made a formidable General in a different world," he observed, looking up at her. "And you created a successful distraction without my help. In less than twenty-four hours. All on your own?"
"Oh, come on," Harley drawled. "I have to have some secrets."
He walked straight up to her, and Harley's pulse started to beat frantically in her throat. But she held her ground, meeting his gaze evenly when he stopped in front of her.
"I wish you would tell me your secrets," Black Mask said softly, searching her face.
The tiny hairs at the back of Harley's neck stood on end. She wasn't sure what he meant, and she was even more uncertain if she even wanted to know or ask.
She licked her lips.
"I gave a mentally ill man a backpack of C4 and some money for lunch," she said calmly, giving Black Mask what he wanted, giving him a win. "He walked into the fire station when I told him to, and detonated the charges."
It occurred to Harley again that she had been giving him win after win, over and over again under the guise of playing him.
Was she the one being played?
There was a long pause, and then Black Mask chuckled, a rattly vibration through the voice modifier.
"Have you thought about my offer?" he asked her gently.
"Your offer to give me what you think I want in exchange for joining your cult?" Harley scoffed. "Pretend this is about some kind of collectivism all you want if that's what works for your… friends." She rolled her eyes. "I know what you really want."
His eyes drifted over her, lingering on her neck. "Do you, Harley?"
Harley saw a flutter of long eyelashes behind the mask.
"You're right," he agreed softly, stepping closer so they were toe-to-toe. "I need you."
He sounded so sincere. Harley's eyes widened.
"Do you want to be needed?" he asked, his head tipping to the side.
Harley could only stare at him, shocked and once again, compelled.
"Take off the mask," she said quietly, her voice lower than she'd meant it to be.
He stared down at her thoughtfully for a long moment.
"Not yet," he replied gently. "We need to trust each other first."
"Trust," Harley said, thinking fast, trying to turn the situation around. "How about you stop fucking around and be honest with me."
"You value honesty," he observed. "Fascinating."
Harley swallowed thickly, uncertain how to reply.
"I need something from you first," he continued. "A person who works for the Joker. They call him Anarky."
Harley raised one eyebrow, bemused. "Who?"
"A hacker of some considerable skill," Black Mask explained mildly. "I have yet to find someone who knows his real name, but they say he has anarchist tattoos and is loyal to the Joker."
Harley froze to stop herself from reacting.
Lonnie.
"Anarky," Harley said slowly. "A hacker."
He was watching her very closely.
"Alright," she said warily. "I'll look into it."
Black Mask chuckled softly, pleased that he'd gotten her to agree to another one of his requests. Another opportunity for her to make him happy. Harley grit her teeth.
"You should know I don't react well when people try to use me," she informed him hotly, her eyes flashing. "Or control me."
"I don't want to control you," Black Mask insisted, shifting forward so he was even closer, making Harley's pulse flutter. "I want us to have a symbiotic relationship."
"What the hell does that mean?" Harley demanded.
"It means... I will give you what you desire," he explained, his eyes darting around her face, intent. "And the only thing I ask for in return…" he caught her eye, and Harley's breath seemed to catch. "Is that you submit to me."
Something about those words made Harley's entire body tense up, words with obvious meaning that should have horrified her.
But she wasn't horrified. Harley searched for it, but she couldn't find it.
Black Mask's hand raised between them just as it had the night before. He wanted to touch her. She knew it.
"Take off the mask," Harley breathed impulsively, her blood pounding in her ears.
"Bring me Anarky," he countered, his voice raspy even through the modifier. "And I will."
Harley held his gaze a moment longer, then she turned on her heel and marched out of the mausoleum, her heart racing. She pushed past Victor and nearly sprinted through the cemetery, back across the street to the station wagon, and threw herself behind the wheel.
She released a shaky breath as she turned the key in the ignition, but before she could put the car in drive, she felt her stomach churn, and she only just got the door open in time to vomit into the street.
Harley sat back behind the wheel, breathing hard through her nose, the back of her throat burning.
Then she put the car in drive and headed back to Gotham.
As soon Harley pulled onto the freeway, a BMW pulled up behind her, not bothering to be discrete, not even bothering to follow the accepted two car lengths rule. It followed her all the way back to Otisberg and parked right out front Samantha's apartment, making Harley's teeth grind together as she glared at them in the rearview mirror.
She hurried upstairs, still feeling shaken, sick and frustrated, and also not sure what the hell her next move was supposed to be now that she'd agreed to look into delivering Lonnie to Black Mask.
Fucking Lonnie.
She left the lights off and paced from the front door to the living room and back again three times, stopping in front of her murder board and staring at the names, her jaw twitching.
Then her burner beeped, and to her great relief, it was the Joker.
BA
He was at their safehouse in Burnley Arms.
She shucked her holster and left the lavender dress on Samantha's bedroom floor, changing into cut-off denim shorts and a Hawaiin-print shirt that had been the Joker's until she chopped it up to fit her. She tied the cropped ends in a knot at her waist, going braless as she typically did when she wasn't pretending.
Then she climbed out the living room window and down the trellis leading into the communal garden below, just as the Joker had done the night before, so her babysitters wouldn't spot her.
Once she was on the street again, she looked around for a car no one would miss, and eventually found a dusty Toyota that looked lonely. She smashed the window with a rock, let herself in and hotwired it, then drove east to Burnley Arms, obsessively replaying her conversation with Black Mask in her head. Especially the request for Lonnie—Anarky, he'd called him.
She parked in front of an old public housing block and wound through its twisting brick corridors until she arrived at their safe house. She started to pull the brick out of the wall where the key was kept when the front door opened, and the Joker appeared, shirtless and barefoot, his lanky arms braced against the door frame.
He took a drag off his cigarette, his eyes rolling over her. Then he flicked the butt away and pushed the door open wider so Harley could step inside.
The door closed, and they stood in the dark hallway looking at one another for a long moment, and Harley realized she wasn't in a talking mood after all.
She closed the small space between them, her hands wrapping around the base of his skull as she pulled his mouth down to hers. He grabbed a handful of her hair and slung his arm around her waist, his tongue sneaking past her lips as she shoved him up against the wall.
Harley kissed him frantically, pouring all of her frustration and confusion into it as she ran her hands over his chest and his shoulders and down his arms, desperate to touch as much of him as she could.
She pulled back, her breathing shaky as she unbuttoned and unzipped his pants while he yanked apart the knot tying her top closed. She shrugged the flimsy garment off, and his hands closed around her waist, lifting her off her feet as he staggered across the narrow hallway.
Harley's back hit the wall hard, knocking the wind out of her as she wrapped her legs around him. His mouth moved from her lips to her neck while his hands spread over her, groping and palming and squeezing her until she was panting weakly and rocking against him, arousal pooling wet between her thighs.
The Joker dropped her abruptly, making her breath catch as he spun her around to face the wall. Harley braced herself against the plaster, her heart pounding while he made short work of the button and zip on her denim shorts, then squeezed his hand inside. He hummed throatily in her ear, his fingers skating over her, and he pressed his hips forward against her ass so she could feel his cock getting hard. Harley groaned weakly as warm tendrils of pleasure bloomed low in her belly, his hand between her legs working her into a frenzy.
When her knees started to feel weak, Harley pushed away from the wall and forced the Joker back across the hallway until he hit the wall opposite. She whipped around to face him, dropping to her knees before he could pull her close, and yanking his unzipped pants down far enough to free him.
She wrapped her hand around his cock and looked up at him, watching his face as she drew him between her lips hungrily and without delay. His hand slid into her hair, pulling it to the side so he could see her better as she swirled her tongue around the smooth tip, tasting the saltiness gathering there, and relishing the deeply arousing sensation of having him hard between her lips.
She listened to his breathing grow shallow as she bobbed up and down his length, only releasing him when he pulled on her hair, urging her to her feet. His mouth collided with hers again, and Harley kissed him back eagerly, her heart thundering in her chest as he swung her around and backed her into the bedroom.
She sucked in a startled breath when he shoved her down on the bed, still covered in a dusty sheet left over from the last time they'd been there six months earlier. He was on top of her a second later, kissing her urgently as he wrestled her shorts and underwear down her legs.
Harley kicked her shorts away while he rid himself of his pants, then knelt between her legs when she spread them for him. He pitched forward to take one of her breasts into his mouth, his tongue teasing a pink nipple while his hands spread over her. Harley closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed as his mouth moved down her ribs to her stomach and then her hip as he shuffled down the bed. His fingers dug into the soft skin behind her knee as he dragged one of her legs over his shoulder, and when he finally tasted her, a low growl escaped his throat that made Harley's body throb with unabashed lust.
He didn't bother to go slow or tease her, his tongue zig-zagging over her clit eagerly, making her moan quietly at the sudden onslaught of sensation. He slipped his middle finger inside her without warning, his breath fanning out over her when he found the most sensitive spot there and stroked it with the pad of his finger.
"Right there," Harley whispered breathlessly, even though it was obvious, and he already knew exactly how to touch her, her body squeezing his finger tight as she arched off the bed.
Too soon, Harley could feel herself on the verge of climax, her body trembling, and she forced herself to push him away, not ready for it to be over yet. The Joker sat up, and Harley immediately rolled on top of him, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, her heart pounding against her ribs.
The ache between her legs was almost dizzyingly intense, and there were a few agonizing seconds filled by heavy breathing as he guided himself inside her. His hands moved to her waist as Harley took over, sinking down on his cock slowly, her thighs straining as she spread them wider to take more of him. She gasped happily in his ear when he bottomed out inside her, filling her completely. And after a moment of languishing in that feeling of being thoroughly connected to him, Harley started to fuck him slowly, his hands on her waist guiding her up and down, letting her set the pace.
Harley wrapped her arms around the Joker's neck, pressing her chest against his so she could feel his heart thudding against hers, his breath heavy in her hair. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of gunpowder and sweat, then lifted her head to slide her lips up the column of his throat, her tongue slipping out to lick his leaping pulse.
One of his hands sank into her hair at the back of her head, tightening to a fist until it felt like he would pull it out by the root. She began moving faster under the guidance of his hand on her lower back, and she dug her teeth into his shoulder, muffling a whine as threads of pleasure unfurled through her body, making her nipples tighten as they rubbed against his hard, warm chest.
It had been a month since they'd last been together, an awful, miserable month. But all of it washed away now that they were together. It was just them, alone, connected. No one and nothing else existed.
Everything else, the entire world, all of it could burn.
The Joker yanked Harley's head back, making her heart stutter when she met his eye. He was watching her grimly, his eyes traveling over her face and neck like he was drinking her in. Harley's lips parted wordlessly as she raked her nails down his back and fucked him harder, her chest heaving and her pleasure growing to a blinding fever pitch. Then he thrust up harder to meet her rolling hips, hitting her deeper and making her moan weakly when she found the friction she needed to cum.
"Fuck me," she begged, and she saw his jaw tense as he pulled her down onto him roughly, making her gasp as her core started to flutter deliciously. "I'm going to come," she panted, her heart slamming against her breastbone as he doubled his efforts, his sharp fingers digging into her skin both satisfying and painful.
Harley did not bother to be quiet when she came, expressing the lust and pleasure tumbling through her body loudly and without restraint, which was the only way she knew how to live anymore. Her body pulsed around him, squeezing his cock and making him growl as he pitched forward to press his face against her neck, finishing inside her.
Harley rode her orgasm out, not wanting it to stop, never wanting to be separated from him again, feeling content. But eventually, the waves of pleasure started to subside, leaving her fuzzy and exhausted, and she slumped forward against him, panting.
The Joker fell back on the bed, pulling her with him, and Harley rolled bonelessly to the side, landing on her back beside him. She let herself have a minute to recuperate, breathing hard through her nose as his hand landed on her thigh possessively.
"We have a problem," Harley said breathlessly, staring at the ceiling.
"No shit," he muttered, squeezing her leg. "What happened?"
"Well, it wasn't a farmhouse," she started, licking her lips. "It was a cemetery." She glanced at the Joker to see he was already looking at her. "Victor took me into the Wayne Family crypt to talk to Black Mask."
"The Wayne Family crypt" His eyes widened, and he lifted himself on his elbow to look down at her. "Like, pretty boy prince of Gotham Bruce Wayne?"
"Yeah," Harley nodded. "There's a reason he took me there. I just don't know what yet. But that's… that's not the problem." She closed her eyes. "He wants me to give him Lonnie… as a test."
There was a stretch of silence, and Harley looked up to see the Joker frowning deeply, his tongue prodding the scar splitting his bottom lip more aggressively than usual.
"Black Mask asked Sly about Lonnie too," she reminded him. "But he still doesn't know his name. He called Lonnie Anarky."
"Fuckin' Lonnie," the Joker muttered, and then more gruffly, "Why the fuck does he want Lonnie?"
Harley shrugged helplessly, entirely at a loss. "He must want to use him for something. Maybe he needs him to do a job... Or maybe… he just doesn't want you to have Lonnie."
The Joker hummed low in his throat, his jaw twitching, and Harley could see he was considering just killing Lonnie to take that piece off the chessboard. The problem with that was Lonnie was really, really useful. It wouldn't be a stretch to call him a secret weapon, or at least a crucial element to their ability to evade capture and instigate chaos in Gotham, especially considering the Batman's more advanced technology. Harley couldn't stand Lonnie, but even she could see he was uniquely talented.
She sighed and raked a hand through her hair, thinking about what else Black Mask had said to her.
"He's a charismatic narcissist—that's the textbook personality type of a cult leader," she said. "The false face society and anyone else who's working for him, he's convinced them he's the only one who can run the city and give them each what they want. He's trying to do the same thing to me, and it's… annoyingly effective."
She could feel the Joker staring at her, and she forced herself to look at him.
"Effective?" he asked her quietly, lifting an eyebrow.
"Yeah, like," Harley licked her lips. "Like he can vocalize what he thinks I want in a way that makes me want it, makes me believe he can give it to me if I… submit to him."
She glanced at the Joker, who was still staring at her in the darkness. She knew jealousy wasn't something he was burdened with, but possessiveness was, just as it was for her. Harley could almost see it throbbing through him now, the very idea of her submitting to anyone making him twitchy. The idea of someone controlling her making him angry, which wasn't an easy feat.
"J," Harley said grimly, catching his eye. "This guy is full of shit, and I'm not falling for it. He's trying to fuck with me so he can use me to take over the city, that's it."
It didn't feel like the whole truth, and the Joker seemed to realize that.
He raked a greasy flop of hair off his face, his shoulders rolling as he visibly shook off whatever he was feeling—frustration, anger, and more than likely a very violent desire to make a point. Harley could read him well enough by now to see it all.
"Submit," the Joker scoffed. "He's got a nasty surprise waitin' for him if he doesn't realize how that's gonna go."
Harley sighed, relieved that he wasn't disappointed, that he didn't see her as weak. He just believed in her, which she desperately needed in that moment. She realized this exchange was another example of them talking about feelings, an idea she would usually scorn. But this was different. She didn't know how else or who else she was supposed to tell this to. And if she kept it inside, it would swallow her whole. She needed to tell him.
And somehow, it made her feel even closer to him. Something she'd thought was impossible.
She dropped her hand on the Joker's forearm where it was lying on the bed between them, her hand closing around it possessively. Her thumb swiped over the shiny rectangle of scar tissue there, the product of a skin grafter and his penchant for pissing off the mob before he was even really the Joker. Harley was the only one who knew where all of his scars came from, and just thinking about it made a heady sense of ownership roll over her. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling overwhelmed.
"That all sounds like dickhead billionaire behavior to me," the Joker muttered moodily. "You've met Prince Bruce. Is he Black Mask?"
Harley frowned, thinking back to the hour or so she had spent with Bruce Wayne almost two years earlier at the Crowne Gala.
"He's known for being a spoiled asshole," she said slowly. "But… he's actually…" she glanced at the Joker. "Kind of a nice guy if you can get past that."
"A nice guy?" His mouth twitched on one side, amused.
"I mean, he pretends to be an asshole, or at least I remember thinking that at the time," she sighed. "I need to get in a room with him again. Look him in the eye…" Then a smirk slid onto her lips as she looked up at the Joker. "He's dating Vicki Vale."
The Joker snorted. "And how is dear Vicki these days?"
"Fucking a billionaire, so she can't be doing too bad," Harley shrugged. "She'll be able to tell us what his deal is, and maybe get me in a room with him." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "If there's a story, Vicki can't help herself. She has to know the truth. If her boyfriend is secretly running the city and wearing a mask, she'll either already know or be desperate to find out the truth once we plant the idea in her head."
"Relentless blonde who doesn't stop when she gets an idea in her head, huh?" the Joker hummed, making Harley chuckle.
He rolled up to sit, grabbing his pants and pulling his cigarettes out of the back pocket. He popped one between his lips, then slipped something else out of the pack.
"Found this taped to Marty's front door while you were dealing with that asshole," he explained drily, handing her a playing card. The King of Spades. And written on it in black magic marker...
Noon tomorrow.
I want you to come inside me 3
"Ed," Harley sighed, making a face as she examined the card. "This is so Ed."
"I hate this guy already," the Joker muttered, lighting his cigarette and flopping back on the mattress.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke in a vertical line as Harley examined the playing card. She twisted toward him so she was leaning on her hip, crossing one leg over the other and planting her foot on the Joker's thigh above his knee. His hand curled around her ankle, and he ran his palm up and down her calf absentmindedly.
"He wants to meet us at noon tomorrow," Harley mused. "Is there a street called Spade Street or something?"
"Mm," the Joker hummed dubiously, taking a long drag off his cigarette, his hand still drifting up and down the back of her leg. "The card's his whole… copycat thing," he grumbled, waving his hand dismissively. "But tellin' us to come inside him..."
"Oh, shit," Harley jumped up onto her elbow as the answer came to her. "Ed's. That diner Downtown."
The Joker prodded the scars inside his cheek with his tongue, considering this as he took another drag of his cigarette, then looped a lanky arm around Harley's shoulders, yanking her closer so she was pressed against his side. She draped her arm over his chest, and their legs tangled together.
"Out in the open, middle of the day," he mused, exhaling a plume of smoke out of the corner of his mouth while Harley traced his collarbones with her fingertips. "Could go either way."
"First, we talk to Vicki," Harley decided. "Find out if she can give us any leads on Wayne. Then… maybe we send Frost to do some recon at the diner."
"Mm hm" the Joker agreed around his cigarette. "And uh, by talk to Vicki, I assume you mean…"
"Kick her door down?" Harley suggested. She rolled on top of him, folding her arms on his chest. "She doesn't like me anymore," Harley pretended to pout. "I don't need to play nice."
"Since when do you play nice?" J smirked at her.
"I'm nice to you," Harley pointed out coyly, threading her fingers into his hair and pushing it off his face.
"Just me," he agreed smugly, reaching behind his head to crush his cigarette out against the wall and flick the end away. "Though you're very good at being naughty too," he added, grabbing her ass and giving it a playful smack. "You greedy slut," he growled.
Harley giggled at their bad shared joke. It was the product of phone sex gone wrong, their first attempt ending abruptly when Harley started laughing over that particular epithet. But by the second night in Peru, she'd been too horny to care what he said, she just wanted to hear his voice growling in her ear while she touched herself and pretended it was him. But 'greedy slut' had officially been off the table ever since.
Suddenly, Harley felt like the last month had evaporated, and now they were right back where they had been before, picking up where they left off, bad jokes and all.
"Stop trying to make greedy slut a thing," Harley fought back a smile as he smirked up at her knowingly, his hand trailing up her spine. "It doesn't turn me on."
"No?" He raised an amused eyebrow. "What if I tell you I'm gonna fuck you til you're beggin' me to let you come again, hmm?"
"Much better," Harley grinned, stretching up to kiss him. She slipped her tongue in his mouth to stroke his, and she let her hand slide down his stomach to wrap around his cock. "I'm only nice to you so you'll fuck me whenever I tell you to," she murmured against his lips, stroking him firmly as his fingers wound into her hair, pulling it tight the way she liked.
"Fair enough," he purred, his eyes heavy-lidded. "Mm… and how do you want me to fuck you, Harley."
Her name on his lips made Harley shiver, making her feel all tingly and good.
She sucked in a shaky breath as she pulled away from him, her blue eyes darting around his face quickly. Then she rolled off him onto her side so she was facing away from him. She tucked one knee up to her chest and braced herself on her elbow, then looked at him over her shoulder, smiling when she saw he was stroking himself and watching her with that dark, hungry look she liked so much.
"Like this," she told him simply.
Her heart started to pound when he shifted forward so he was behind her, his cock hard and nestled against the curve of her ass. Harley rocked her hips back when he slipped his hand between her legs from behind, touching her where she was still wet and creamy with their first round. He sighed happily as he lifted her leg higher, and she looked over her shoulder to watch as he guided his cock inside her again, squeezing her ass hard when he pulled her down on him.
"Oh," Harley sighed indulgently, heat flooding her pelvis when he sank into her fully, the angle deep and satisfying. He fucked her slowly, his rough, steady strokes and roaming hands quickly turning Harley into a writhing mess of sensation.
Then he shifted closer so his chest was pressed against her back, lowering his mouth to her ear.
"Tell me what you really want," he demanded, his voice a low growl.
"Everything," Harley moaned breathlessly, her head rolling back so she could look up at him. "Give me everything."
Lucy was the last to leave the Sionis crypt. Her fellow members of the False Face Society filed out one by one, each of them taking the silver elevator back to the surface where they could remove their masks in relative privacy. Lucy waited her turn, not feeling especially motivated to run back to Gotham to take her place in the Iceberg Lounge's birdcage.
Somehow, someway, Roman had convinced their group that working with Harley Quinn was the best course of action if they were to expand beyond Gotham. Lucy wasn't sure when the goalposts had been moved from Gotham to anywhere else, and she wasn't sure how she fit into that equation either.
She stepped into the elevator when it returned, sighing as she tugged at the ribbons holding her mask in place when the doors dinged! shut behind her.
Anyone would think it strange to install a private elevator in your family crypt, but somehow it suited Roman. It occurred to Lucy that it only seemed to suit him because she was far down the rabbit hole—so submerged in the way Roman saw the world that she couldn't see it for herself anymore.
She shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over her arm as the elevator doors parted onto the crypt's main floor, a small circular room ringed with tombs housing the bones of Roman's family. Victor was sitting on one of those tombs, swinging his legs impatiently.
"Finally," he greeted Lucy with a smirk. "Boss wants a word with you, Luce."
Lucy would never have predicted that she'd prefer the old Victor—the creepy freak who used to make her skin crawl—to this version of him. But this version was loyal to Roman, posing as her bodyguard while reporting back to him… and Lucy couldn't stand him.
"Fine," she muttered, shuffling out of the mausoleum with Victor on her heels.
She glanced over her shoulder as they trudged through the cemetery, her eyes lingering on Roman's family crypt. It was newer than the other stately mausoleums dotted around the cemetery, maybe fifty years old instead of the one-hundred-plus years of the Waynes and Kanes. Lucy may have grown up poor, but she still knew the difference between 'new' and 'old' money.
Early on, when she first met Roman and got to know him, he'd told her about his family's tragic history. At one time, Lucy had empathy for him. Now she wondered if his family history and their 'new money' was the key to destroying him.
She passed beneath the cemetery's gates, slowing when she saw a black Rolls Royce waiting with its engine running. She glanced at Victor, who shot her another smirk and gestured to the car.
"After you," he grinned, making Lucy scowl before she shoved her cloak and mask at him.
She ducked into the back of the Rolls to find Roman sitting on the other side of the backseat, his gloved hands folded in his lap, his mask still firmly in place.
Victor hopped into the passenger seat, and the driver pulled onto the highway, heading back to Gotham.
Lucy glanced sideways at Roman, her nerves fraying as she waited for him to do something.
"Lucy," He said softly, the voice modifier warping his voice. "You were very quiet tonight."
Lucy licked her lips, struggling to find a response that would make Roman happy.
"I'm—" she faltered. "I'm just kinda tired, boss."
"You've been tired a lot lately," Black Mask observed mildly. "Perhaps you need an extended rest?"
"No, boss," Lucy forced a smile despite the wave of anxiety sweeping over her. Over and over and over. "I just gotta lay off the cocktails," she joked, hoping she didn't sound as strained as she felt.
Roman chuckled softly, then reached behind his head to unfasten his mask. He set it aside and ran a hand through his curly black hair, watching Lucy fidget uneasily.
"You're surprised the others agreed," he noted. "You're very good at reading people, Lucy. You just haven't mastered the art of persuading them yet."
"Uh, thanks, boss," Lucy stammered.
"What do you think about Bruce Wayne?" Roman asked.
"Bruce Wayne?" Lucy's eyes widened. "The billionaire who burned his house down?"
"The one and only," Roman replied, a little bitterly.
"I dunno, I've never met him," Lucy admitted, racking her brain for something helpful to contribute. "Mr Hill really wants his endorsement, right?" she tried.
"Mm," Roman shrugged mildly, his interest in the election already a thing of the past. "Bruce owns a controlling interest in Wayne Enterprises. He's handicapping their board of directors, holding them back from true greatness."
"Right," Lucy agreed faintly, feeling out of her depth like she always did whenever Roman spoke about his 'real' job, which was so very different from the world she occupied.
And yet the only reason Lucy even knew Roman was because he'd been hell-bent on dominating her world just as he intended to rule his own. Her world, he had explained once, with its murderers and thieves, its terrorists and gangsters, gave him power those in his world could never understand, let alone hope to harness.
She hadn't understood why he'd offered to finance the club at the time, but she could see the strategy clear as day now. The Iceberg Lounge was Roman's way into Gotham's underbelly, Blue Orchid his convincing sales pitch for taking over, the Falcone brothers' last names giving him legitimacy.
"Wayne Enterprises is one of the most influential companies in the world," Roman added. "But Bruce is not up to the challenge." He glanced sideways at Lucy. "Wayne Enterprises needs to be run by someone worthwhile."
"Someone like you, boss?" Lucy tried to joke, cracking an awkward smile. Roman laughed softly.
"I think you know me better than that, Lucy," he smiled, tugging on the fingers of his gloves to pull them off. "John's wanted this for a long time."
"Yeah," Lucy agreed warily. "So… you think Harley can help you with Wayne?"
"Harley will serve multiple purposes," Roman explained, his smile softening to something almost wistful. "She'll help me with this, as she'll help me in all things."
"Okay, boss," Lucy agreed, once again feeling this was a terrible idea. She had only recently learned why the DA, the police commissioner, and now a judge needed to be taken care of, but she was convinced there was more to it than shutting up a few nosy public servants looking into Daggett Industries. Roman was grooming Harley, testing her before he made his move.
"Soon, she and I will be able to have honest conversations," Roman continued, flashing Lucy a rare grin. "Won't that be something? The fearless Harley Quinn advising me."
"I'm guessing you're gonna have a lot of persuading to do first, boss," Lucy predicted uneasily. That was putting it lightly in her book.
"I know," Roman sighed, smiling almost dreamily. "And I am so looking forward to it."
A/N: I'm going to take a wild guess and say the scene break between smut and this scene with Roman & Lucy is a little bit jarring for some of you- LOL!
I love this chapter. I love Ed, I love Black Mask and Harley, I love the smut, I love Harley & J's post-coital work-chat in bed.
Next week has one of my favourite scenes in the whole fic.
Also, I'm pretty sure I'm taking some artistic license with the 'Wayne Family Crypt', and that TDK depicts them as being buried in normal graves, not a mausoleum. Hopefully you can live with that!
Next: Harley & the Joker have a friendly chat with Vicki Vale before they meet up with the Riddler...
Please comment & review! They're what keep me writing.