Theme: Soulwax & Chloe Sevigny - 'Heaven Scent'
The Pantomime
16.
Frost had a little studio apartment downtown, a crummy place with a bed that folded out of the wall and a mini-fridge that never closed all the way and was always leaking. He waited three days for the Joker to get in touch. Frost's job was to come when called, not to seek the boss out.
But after three days, he started thinking maybe the Joker might be in a situation where he needed Frost to make a move first. This was new territory because it meant accepting the boss had a weakness. Frost was worried about Harley too.
He decided to head up to Midtown on the morning of the fourth day, walking all twenty-two blocks to the Crowne Building. He typed in the code on the keypad at the side of the parking garage door and squeezed through the rows of Ferraris and Lamborghinis to get to the honeymoon suite's private elevator. He'd always thought this was a weird but ingenious place to keep Lonnie, like a secret weapon in the most unimaginable location. He also knew Lonnie was under strict orders not to leave the honeymoon suite, and if anyone could offer some clarification on where the Joker was, Lonnie could.
Frost used his key and took the elevator up to the small penthouse, hoping he was doing the right thing by going uninvited. The Joker was impossible to predict, and he was hardly the kind of guy you needed to worry about. Frost wasn't sure if he was overstepping.
The elevator doors parted into the honeymoon suite's small foyer, and Frost immediately knew something was wrong. Not just because of the silence, but also from the distinct lack of the smell of weed hanging in the air. He checked the living room, finding all of Lonnie's monitors were sleeping, not off, and then the bedroom, which was an absolute mess. But there was no Lonnie.
Frost stepped back into the living room, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he considered what Lonnie being gone meant. Frost had been in the room when the Joker told him not to leave the honeymoon suite—not for anything, including loss of limb—and the very creative threats that had come with that directive. As usual, the boss hadn't shared his explicit reasons for why Lonnie wasn't allowed to leave, but Frost knew well enough that it wouldn't have been on a whim. The Joker would have had a good reason for keeping Lonnie there. If Lonnie was gone, that meant the Joker told him to leave.
Or, it meant whoever the Joker was hiding Lonnie from had found him anyway.
Frost headed into the kitchen to make himself a quick drink, just a shot of whiskey to help clear his head, followed by a glass of water to chase it as he worked through what Lonnie, Harley, and the Joker all being missing meant, and who he would need to speak to next if he wanted to find some answers.
Harley slept in the bathtub.
After impulsively murdering two boys in Robinson Park, she sprinted back to Lee's apartment, only pausing to wash the blood from her hands in a fountain.
She was exhausted by the time she threw open the front door, completely drained of energy, her eyes so heavy and limbs so weak she almost didn't make it into the bedroom.
When she barged into the bedroom, the Joker looked on the verge of saying something snarky, but then his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and his nose wrinkled—the closest look he had to 'concerned'—as he watched her stagger into the bathroom and slam the door shut behind her.
A few hours later, who knew how many, he pulled himself out of bed so he could coo at her through the bathroom door, using a gentle, cajoling voice to get her to come out, which she did not do. The cajoling rapidly built up to barking and snarling as he banged on the door, though they both knew he was in no state to break it down. Eventually, he tired himself out and left her alone, and Harley fell back asleep only to be woken up a few hours later to the same song and dance, and then again a few hours after that. Then he seemed to give up on her.
There was no window in the en suite bathroom, but it must have been morning again, if not later, when Harley forced herself to unravel from the fetal position and sit up. She could hear the Joker puttering around between the bedroom and the living room, and she sat there listening, trying to work out what he was doing when she heard him through the wall, using his nicest, most charming voice to speak to Lee and Ed.
Great.
Still exhausted, Harley smoothed her hair off her face and resigned herself to the fact that it was time to face him. She stood and faced herself in the mirror, unsurprised to find teenage boy blood on her neck and her shirt. She took a shower to make herself feel more human, and even brushed her teeth, something she rarely took time to do, and then once dressed in the blood-free leggings and a sports bra, she exited the bathroom to find the Joker sprawled out on the bed, waiting for her.
He'd changed into a pair of gray pants that were too big and too short for him, but also not covered in blood, and he'd removed the IV from his arm. He watched warily as she stepped out of the bathroom, almost sheepishly.
"You gonna tell me what happened?" He demanded irritably as Harley sat at the foot of the bed. "Or have I gotta guess?"
"No, I'll tell you," she said stiffly. "Roman has Lonnie."
The Joker took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"Hmm," he growled quietly, and a long silence stretched between them.
Harley looked up to see his jaw was twitching, and he was staring at the wall, obviously thinking over what Roman having Lonnie meant. But eventually, his eyes darted back to her, his face souring.
"I'm gonna take a wild guess that those two dead kiddos in the park were you, uh…" he rotated his hand in mid-air. "Expressing yourself."
"It was an accident," Harley muttered, knowing that as much as the Joker was a fan of impulsive death and destruction, murdering two kids right around the corner from the safe house when you were trying to lie low was unhelpful in his book.
He didn't prize self-control. But he didn't prize stupidity either.
"Yep," he said resolutely, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt, moving much faster than he had been only the night before.
And that was all he said, though he slammed the door hard enough to make the walls rattle on his way out into the living room.
Harley recognized this for what it was - he wanted space. Space away from her.
There was only one other person Frost knew of who might have an idea what the hell happened to Harley and the Joker at Bruce Wayne's party, and that was Harley's journalist friend Vicki Vale. How to get in touch with Vicki to ask her what went down was less obvious. Frost wasn't exactly an inconspicuous-looking guy, and he figured walking up to her office and asking if she had some time to chat might draw attention, which neither of them needed. This was gonna take some creativity.
The Gotham Globe's HQ was only a few blocks from Lonnie's penthouse, and Frost was already feeling like he stood out like a sore thumb among all the black and gray suits rushing past him. He hung around a newspaper vendor's cart beside the subway exit, eyeballing the low skyscraper entrance and pretending to read the paper until he saw Vicki go inside. Maybe he was projecting, but she looked stressed out and tired.
Frost loitered outside the building for a bit longer when he came up with an idea that would work if he was having an especially lucky day. He'd passed a florist's shop on his way down from Lonnie's, so he headed back that way and bought a bouquet of roses, figuring even if they were sent anonymously, they'd make their way into Vicki's hands. When he wrote out the card, he focused very hard on making his handwriting legible.
Vicki,
Meet me at Ann's bench at 7 PM
A friend.
It sounded a little creepy, but Frost couldn't think of a better way to convince Vicki to meet him somewhere discrete, so it would have to do.
He paid for the flowers and gave the florist Vicki's name and the Gotham Globe's HQ address. Then he headed back downtown to kill some time at his old bar, the Grace.
It was a straight-laced establishment, at least compared to the Iceberg Lounge or the Cheetah Bar or any of the bars on the Eastside. It was a real nice place, somewhere people never got in fights, and the manager paid for protection to keep the peace. The mahogany bar was about a century-old itself, the stained glass snugs and brass fittings all old fashioned and leftover from another time, just like the barmen, who wore long white aprons and kept their hair slicked back neatly.
Frost nursed a whiskey with a soda water back for a few hours. There were always a couple of guys who sat at the Grace's bar all day, spending their social security cheques or their disability cheques and killing time. Frost caught up with some of those regulars, even buying a few of them drinks. That was something you forgot about when you worked with the Joker—that money was a thing to worry about. With the Joker, money was taken and used when necessary, not something to covet. Once you started thinking about money that way, so many of the worries that normally came to men just seemed...
Unnecessary.
Around half-past-six, Frost paid his bill and caught the subway south to the University District, getting a little bit nervous as he thought about what it would mean if Vicki Vale didn't show up. He didn't want to push her too hard, but if she didn't show, he would have to come up with another way to get her attention. He didn't want to scare her—as far as he was concerned they were on the same team—but he needed to get the boss back. And Harley too.
It was the height of summer, so the sun was hanging low in the sky at seven PM. There were still plenty of young people lingering in the park at that time, smoking weed or drinking beers, and listening to music on their phones. Frost people-watched as he waited, a full hour ticking by before he started to think she wasn't going to show, and maybe he would have to pull something heavy-handed out of the bag to get her to cooperate. Ah, he really hoped not.
Then around eight-thirty, Vicki Vale finally appeared. Even from where he was sitting, Frost could see she was nervous, looking around furtively and wearing sunglasses to hide behind. She wore a pair of white sneakers and a suit with a camisole beneath, looking a little rumpled and messy, like maybe she'd had a nap in her office. Maybe that was why she was late, cause she'd had a nap after not being able to sleep the night before.
Frost offered her a small smile as she fell on the bench beside him.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice thick with paranoia.
Frost sighed, seeing this wasn't going to go as easy as he'd hoped.
"My name's Jonny Frost, Ms Vale," he told her gently in his rumbly baritone. "I work for the Joker."
"Wonderful," Vicki huffed unhappily. "What do you want?"
"I was hoping you could help me," Frost explained. "Ya see, I can't seem to find my boss or his lady friend."
Vicki released a long, frustrated sigh and pulled her sunglasses off, dropping them on the bench beside her as she ran her hand through her hair. Frost waited patiently for her to pull herself together, partially to be nice to her, but also cause if he pushed her too hard, she'd clam up completely, and then he'd have to go the heavy-handed route.
"What do you mean you can't find them?" she asked at length.
"I dropped them off at your boyfriend's house for the party," Frost said carefully. "And haven't heard from em' since."
Vicki closed her eyes and sighed again, this time like she was accepting some inevitable fate.
"I called Harley," she admitted, meeting Frost's eye for the first time. "Someone else answered. A man."
"A man, huh?" Frost asked warily.
"I think it was Black Mask," Vicki worried, her brow knitting together.
Frost nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
If Black Mask knew they would be at Bruce Wayne's party, there was only one person who could have tipped him off.
The Riddler.
"Crap," Frost sighed, fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket and popping one between his lips.
"Can I bum one?" Vicki asked timidly.
Frost passed her a smoke and lit it for her, watching her face as she took a drag and looked out across the park.
"You say anything on the phone?" he asked her warily, but she shook her head.
"I've been on TV too many times. People know my voice," she sighed, then glanced at Frost. "So... what are you going to do?"
"I got a couple ideas," Frost narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you gonna do?"
"Me?" Vicki's back straightened. "I don't have anything to do with this."
"I'm afraid ya do, Ms Vale," Frost sighed out a cloud of smoke, watching her face closely. "You wanna help Harley, don't ya?"
"No," Vicki hissed out of the corner of her mouth. "No, I don't want to help Harley Quinn."
She took two drags off her cigarette, getting flustered, and Frost let her have a moment to deal with her feelings, not wanting to push her.
"Fuck," she huffed in resignation, then looked squarely at Frost. "Okay, fine. What are we going to do?"
"You talk to the cops yet?" Frost asked, immediately knowing she had when she rolled her shoulders back defensively.
"Not about… any of this," she insisted. "There's a cop from the MCU who's been sniffing around. I told her about how Porter, Akins, and Cietto were all investigating Daggett Shipping." She glanced sideways at Frost. "I thought maybe... if they start looking at Daggett, they could get to Black Mask, you know..."
"The legal way," Frost filled in for her.
"Yeah," she nodded, her face falling. "But it doesn't feel like anything gets done the legal way in Gotham."
"Ya know my job, it doesn't usually need this much thinking," Frost said, offering her a smile. "So I might not know as much as you about Black Mask. Maybe you could fill me in?"
"Okay," Vicki agreed weakly. "But I'm gonna need another smoke."
Frost sorted her out with another cigarette. Then she spent a good fifteen minutes talking, telling him all about Roman Sionis, Hamilton Hill, and John Daggett, all of it slotting together beside what Frost already knew from Crane, who had no doubt turned on them too.
Black Mark's interest in Harley left an especially bad taste in Frost's mouth. One he was sure the Joker shared, though he suspected Harley would rather fight for herself than have her man do it for her.
"Do you think they could be dead?" Vicki asked quietly once they'd sat in silence for a little while.
"Naw," Frost said immediately. "No way."
"Why?" Vicki asked.
"They ain't easy to kill," Frost explained, catching her eye. "They may be hurt or they may be in trouble somewhere, but they're alive." He nodded with absolute certainty. "You better believe everyone out there, the good guys and the bad guys, they all want em' dead right now. Now they've only got you and me to help them."
Vicki's brow furrowed like she wasn't sure how to feel about that. Frost understood. Harley had convinced her she needed to be worried about what Black Mask would do to her boyfriend and that there was nothing the police could do to stop him. That may have been true, but She was also, despite herself, worried about Harley even though she didn't want to be.
"Look, Ms Vale, I'm gonna have a word with a few folks," Frost said, shifting to the side to pull the new burner he'd bought for her out of his jacket. "Can ya do me a favor and keep your ear to the ground? Anything you hear from your cop-friend or your boyfriend, or anything at all, you let me know?"
He handed her the phone, and after a moment's pause, she nodded it and took it.
"Okay," Vicki agreed.
Here's how that twenty-four hour period went for the Joker.
When Harley staggered into the bedroom, bloodied and nearly catatonic, he knew immediately that she'd done something stupid and had bad news for him. He'd never seen her like that before, and he'd seen her at her wit's end in very dire circumstances. So he let her have some time alone as he put together a plan of action, which included a few ineffectual attempts to coax and then threaten her out of the bathroom.
Realizing she was a lost cause - disappointing - he knew it was time to take control of the situation himself. Harley was of the opinion that 'recuperating' meant staying in bed and letting your body do the hard work while you waited. The Joker was of a different opinion, and he'd done enough waiting.
The sky was just starting to get light outside when he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen, his first foray out of the bedroom in four days. He hunted around in the fridge for food, finishing off the leftovers before reluctantly downing half a carton of the green vegetable water. Remarkably, it perked him up, but he would never admit that out loud.
Next, he turned to the duffle bag of medical supplies and fished out a bag of saline. He plugged it into the IV still embedded in his arm and slung the bag around his neck as a makeshift drip stand, then started pacing between the living room and the bedroom, forcing his body to work.
It wasn't so much the walking as the sitting down and standing up and twisting that was giving him trouble. He still felt weak from the blood loss, though it was at a level he was able to push through now, he wasn't quite up to kicking down the bathroom door and dragging Harley out by her hair, tempting as it was.
Remarkably, the wounds that nearly killed him were hardly bothering him, his forearms on the way to healing beneath bandages. No, it was the stab wound that was fucking him up. A few nips of tequila stashed in the cupboard helped that too, along with the rest of the green water, which he swigged as he shuffled around the apartment, making his body work for him, and thinking.
It had taken much longer to get back on his feet after his previous near-death experience, and his feelings toward the person responsible that time—Harley— were predictably different.
This time, that country club jackass Roman Sionis was to blame. Was the Joker angry Sionis tried to put him in the ground? Ya know, he couldn't quite tell. Between the drama Harley was causing him in the present and his focus on getting in fighting shape, there wasn't a whole lot of space left in his head for being pissed off about nearly being killed by a trust fund brigade brat with a taste for torture.
But that wasn't all Sionis had done. The Joker's thoughts turned toward the many things Roman said to Harley in the crypt. Those memories flashed before his mind's eye, demanding his undivided attention as they'd been doing in waves since consciousness returned to him.
What Sionis had intended to do to her.
How he touched her.
Like he was entitled to her.
And the cherry on top: that asshole was why Harley was in the state she was now. The Joker couldn't tell what pissed him off more—Sionis' original plan for Harley or the mess he'd already made of her, leaving the Joker to put her back together again.
It took a lot to make the Joker angry. Irritated was easy. Frustrated, also not too hard. Angry was a higher plane, but it seemed Black Mask had a talent for getting him there.
The Joker's eye started to twitch as he paced, a black cloud settling on his back, oppressive and suffocating. It made it hard to think straight or focus as he alternated between fantasizing about killing Sionis, to frustration with Harley and the situation at hand, to fixating on the night at the crypt when she begged for his life, back to killing Sionis very creatively again.
He snarled and ground the heel of his hand into his eye socket, then pivoted into the kitchen to grab his cigarettes and light one off the stove.
He turned on the news to distract himself and get an idea of what was going on in the outside world. The top story was about two rich kids who'd been murdered in Robinson Park the night before, resulting in a heavy police presence in the area as they hunted for the killer.
That pulled an irritated growl out of him as he put two and two together.
Harley.
He could hear Lee and Ed whispering together all morning. That was an intriguing development. The Joker had seen it before, hostages becoming pals. Sometimes the most unexpected people would bond in desperate situations when they thought they were going to die. Generally speaking, the Joker gave very little thought to hostages. They were there to serve a purpose, and very rarely did that purpose require them to do anything other than be alive-ish.
This was not one of those times. He and Harley were down on their luck. She was currently curled up in the fetal position in the bathroom, and he was sucking up bags of saline and learning to walk again. This was one of those times where Harley's capacity to get people to love her was greatly needed. This was one of those times where a Happy Hostage was a Useful Hostage.
But she was out of commission at the moment, so it was up to him.
Two bags of fluids and another jug of the green stuff later, and the Joker was ready to eat again. He sidled up to Lee and Ed in the bathroom, leaning against the door frame and offering them his most charming smirk.
Lee was handcuffed to the radiator, sitting on a throw pillow with another one behind her back, and Ed was sprawled out in the bathtub with a few more pillows and a blanket, his wrist handcuffed to a pipe. He'd changed into sweatpants, but he was still wearing a blood-stained dress shirt. There was a laptop sitting on the closed toilet seat, playing a sitcom with a laugh track.
What cozy looking hostages they had.
"Well, look at you two bosom buddies," the Joker drawled, offering Lee a smile, one he specifically used when he wanted food. "I hear you're the one who's been rustling up all that grub for us."
"Oh," Lee glanced at Ed, who widened his eyes encouragingly. "Yes," she said, looking back up at the Joker.
"Well, listen," J made his best sympathetic face—admittedly, it needed some work, but Harley thought it was funny, which had to count for something. "Harley's a little bit… tuckered out, so I'm thinkin' you could uh, work your magic again, doc."
He held up the key to her handcuffs, twirling it around his index finger with his eyebrows raised, laying on the charm nice and thick.
Harley thought the Joker didn't understand the politics of human nature. That was how she put it, at least. But she was wrong. He wasn't inclined to pander to people, but he was more than capable of taking advantage of those… predictable reactions if necessary. What he had in front of him here was a golden opportunity to foster some gold old fashioned loyalty.
At least with one of them. Maybe both.
"Sure," Lee smiled weakly, and the Joker tossed her the key, not quite up to bending or squatting yet as he leaned against the wall, watching closely as she unlocked herself. She shot Ed a sidelong look, then handed the key back to the Joker and shuffled out of the bathroom when he gestured for her to.
The Joker eyeballed Ed warily and was intrigued to discover the little weirdo was staring at his crotch, transfixed. Maybe fucking with him, or maybe genuinely curious. Who wouldn't be? The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth, a few fun ideas for killing Ed skittering through his brain before he turned back to Lee, who was waiting patiently in the hallway.
"I, um, do you want to change your clothes?" she asked uncertainly, trying to be nice and helpful so they'd keep her alive when this was all over. Smart.
"Ya know, that'd be just great," the Joker purred, giving her another rakish smirk. "You got anything in my size?"
"My ex was a little shorter than you," Lee replied, looking embarrassed as she shuffled past him into a back room full of boxes, a twin bed and a dresser crammed in among them. "And fatter," she added, making the Joker chuckle as he watched her dig through an open box. She pulled out a pair of gray suit trousers and offered them to him awkwardly.
"Thank you, Lee," the Joker purred graciously—or the closest he was capable of. "Ya know, me and Harley," he glanced at the wall, which Harley was on the other side of, being a fucking drama queen. "We really appreciate everything you're doing."
He had to fight back a giggle as he said this.
"It's okay," Lee smiled, the fact that she'd be dead if she hadn't helped only just looming over them.
"And Ed," the Joker sighed performatively, staring down the hallway. "Well, I dunno what he'd do without you."
"I know," Lee nodded, looking more certain about this fact. Ah, because she cared, and because Ed was pretty damn good too, the slippery little weasel.
"Uh huh," the Joker caught her eye, searching her face for those little tics that would reveal what she was thinking. "I don't suppose you could uh, go grab some food for us, could ya?"
Her eyes widened incredulously, a little scared too.
"Go… buy food?"
"Mmhmm," the Joker cocked his head to the side, watching her struggle with the fact that she was being handed the opportunity for freedom, though she was expected to hand it back.
"Okay," Lee agreed with another weak smile. "I'll just get my purse."
"Great," the Joker drawled, making a sweeping gesture for her to get a move on.
As expected, Lee did come back and settled into the kitchen to make food.
It was basic math. She had developed a sympathetic bond with Ed and didn't want to leave him—Ed's own good work, it had to be said—and she felt sorry for Harley, and she didn't have the balls to run off to the cops after harboring terrorists in her home for four days. What was she going to say, they let me go? She wanted to stay alive and out of police custody, and to her mind, that meant helping the dangerous people who actually didn't seem all that bad once you got to know them.
See? The politics of human nature.
Harley pulled herself out of the bathroom around about this time and sullenly informed him that Lonnie had been kidnapped by Roman, and yeah, she'd killed the kids in the park by accident.
Fucking fantastic.
The Joker could think of two responses. One was to knock some sense into her, which he'd never come closer to doing than he was right then. The other was to get the hell away from her because just looking at her was pissing him off.
She understood this and hid in the bedroom all day while the Joker took up residence in the living room, socializing and flirting with Lee to make her feel special, and chain-smoking while he thought over their situation—which was, admittedly, the worst one they'd been in yet.
No men, no weapons, no money, the people that knew their secrets were missing, flipped, or kidnapped, and anyone useful they may have called on could easily be working for Roman. Not to mention, the upstanding half of the city was hunting them in the wake of the City Hall massacre, and the entire underbelly was hunting for them on Roman's behalf. Now their immediate location was tenuous thanks to the dead kids.
The Joker had one, maybe two ideas to get them out of it. Basically, one workable one.
And he was going to need Harley functioning at top speed to do it.
It was getting dark when he hobbled back into the bedroom to find her going through Lee's closet. She was wearing a pajama top that was too big for her but showed off miles of fantastically long, slender legs. She was looking morose, with dark circles under her eyes, her hair a tangled mess, and she glared at him suspiciously as he pushed the door shut.
The Joker crossed his arms over his chest and fixed her with a pointed look.
"So uh," he flapped his hand at her, his lip curling. "This is how it's gonna be from now on, huh?"
"What?" she snapped, her blue eyes flashing.
Because she wanted a fight.
"You bein' all… mopey," he sneered. "You got any idea how disappointing you are? Huh?"
"Disappointing?" Harley dropped the dress she'd been looking at and rotated around to face him squarely, her teeth grinding together.
"I know, I know," he sing-songed, antagonizing her. "You've got all your feelings. Just a needy little girl who can't fuckin' handle herself when it comes down to it."
"Fuck you!" Harley snapped, her head tipping back so she could scowl up at him.
"That's about all you're good for anyway," he sneered back at her. "Looks like my boys were right about you after all."
Harley scowled and shoved him in the chest, making him chuckle cruelly as he swayed back then took a step closer to her.
"Let's face it, honey bunny," he gave her cheek a rough pat that almost qualified as a slap, making her flinch and scowl again. "Without me, you'd still be poor little Dr Quinzel."
"You arrogant asshole," she sneered, swatting his hand away. "Without me, you'd be fucking dead."
"Funny how I only end up almost-dead because of you," he barked back at her.
"Why the hell do I put up with your bullshit!" she spat indignantly. "You're insane!"
"Which one of us killed a couple kids by accident," he demanded, getting in her face. "Sounds like something someone crazy does to me."
"I'm not crazy," she seethed, shoving him in the chest again, harder this time.
"You're outta your league, baby doll," he snapped, pushing her back without much force, but still hard enough to make her stumble into the dresser.
She huffed indignantly, her eyes lighting up with cold fury.
Then she launched herself at him with a frustrated shout, shoving him back on the bed. The Joker landed with a wince that he hid beneath a growl as she jumped on top of him, and before he could decide if throwing her off was a viable option in his current state, she was holding a knife to his throat, her eyes bright as she scowled down at him.
"You think I won't do it!" she yelped, grabbing his jaw and forcing his head back.
"Of course you fuckin' won't," he snarled into the bedding.
Harley was okay with a knife.
The Joker was much better.
With a few quick moves, he disarmed her and turned the knife on her, popping two buttons off her shirt and poking her just above her navel with the point of the blade. She sucked in a startled breath and sat back, but he followed her, pressing the tip of the knife to her stomach, just a fraction shy of actually cutting her.
He felt her feet shift where they were tucked up against his knees—her toes pointing and flexing, then pointing again.
One of her most obvious tells when she was turned on.
The Joker threw the knife on the floor and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head down to his, hardly noticing the pain from his stab wound as their mouths collided. Their teeth knocked together, and she bit down on his lip, prompting him to pull her hair until she gasped and a few platinum strands came loose. He shoved his tongue in her mouth and she dug her nails into his shoulders, scratching him as she started grinding against him. He realized she wasn't wearing underwear, which almost immediately got his dick hard as he felt her rub herself against his thigh. He snuck a hand between them to touch her, growling happily into her mouth when he felt how wet she already was. He couldn't decide if it was from fighting with him or the thirty-odd seconds he'd been kissing her, but God, he hoped it was both.
She sat back abruptly, her lips parted as she fumbled to get his pants unzipped and down far enough to pull his cock out, then batted his hand out of the way as she guided him between her legs without delay.
The Joker's hands slid up her thighs to wrap around her hips, a rough sound escaping his throat when she sank down his length, her body and tight around him. He dug his fingers into her waist, his blunt nails leaving red half-moons on her soft skin as she planted both her hands on his chest and started to fuck him hard and fast, the bed squeaking around them.
"Oh, fuck," she whined, closing her eyes and pushing him down into the bed. Her hips slammed into his harder and harder as she took out all her frustration and misery and every other stupid fucking feeling she had on him.
Which was the whole point of this entire exercise anyway.
To get her a little relief.
It became clear that this was going to be quick, and as the Joker's heart started to pound in his throat, he reached between them to rub her clit, not being especially gentle about it. She made a whiny, breathless sound and sat back to grant him better access, bracing her hands on his thighs behind her as she bounced up and down erratically, her eyelids fluttering.
Then she pitched forward suddenly, one of her hands landing on his ribs, sending a sliver of pain dashing through the Joker's brain. He ignored it and pulled her down on him harder, his breathing shallow as his body tensed in anticipation of release.
"Fuck… I'm gonna cum," he warned her gruffly, which was apparently all she needed to hear.
She released a string of loud, happy sounds, bucking against him as she came on his cock, her body rippling around him, sinfully good. The Joker released a heavy breath as he came inside her, euphoria washing over him in one sharp, bright wave that made his teeth grind together.
She was still pressing him into the bed, one of her hands firmly on his chest, the other, unfortunately, wrapped around his side where he'd been stabbed. The Joker could feel blood trickling on the bed beneath him, not a dangerous amount, but she'd helped him pop some stitches. She was still trying to catch her breath when she realized he was bleeding, her eyes widening in horror.
The Joker growled, frustrated—could he not catch one fucking break?—and grabbed her by the collar of her pajama top, yanking her back down to him to kiss her. She tried to squirm away for about, oh, three seconds before giving up and kissing him back eagerly. Her fingers wound into his hair and her tongue slid against his, and finally, finally, he felt her start to relax—to give in to him.
She hummed quietly against his lips, then pulled back to look at him with a sleepy smile.
"Better?" he asked her smugly, and she nodded slowly, her smile growing.
"I'm impressed," she croaked reluctantly, and the Joker raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "You were almost dead four days ago," she pointed out. "And yet…"
She glanced down to where they were still joined, and he shrugged modestly, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.
The Joker flat out loved it when Harley stroked his ego, something she was generally reluctant to do.
She peeled back the bandage below his ribs to get a look at his injury, using the tail of her shirt to wipe away the fresh blood.
"You're fine," she announced.
The Joker stretched his arms over his head and rolled his head in a circle, feeling pretty fucking fantastic despite the discomfort of having a hole in his side and his arms cut to shit.
"I know that," he told her slyly. "See? I know what I need to get better more than Nurse Harley does."
"Uh huh," Harley smirked and rolled off him, landing on her side. "Nurse Harley is only interested in making sure you don't die," she informed him haughtily.
"Nurse Harley's a bitch," he countered, making her giggle sweetly, and they shared a nice long look before she sighed, looking concerned again.
"What are we gonna do, J?" she asked quietly.
"I got an idea," he told her, chuckling when her face lit up. Aw, she had such faith in him. "You're not gonna like it," he warned her.
"How much am I not gonna like it?" she narrowed her eyes.
"Mmm," he wrinkled his nose. "You're gonna hate everything about it."
"Great," she sighed and rolled onto her back, folding her hands over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. "Alright, let's hear it."
After saying farewell to Vicki, Frost picked up the old station wagon and headed to the Cauldron neighborhood on the Eastside to grab himself a beer at Grin and Bare It. These days it was run by Molly Sullivan, one of Alexandra Kosov's top lieutenants and the new head of the Irish mafia.
Frost had done a few jobs for Molly back when she used to run an underground poker racket, and he was hopeful he could get some answers out of her. Obviously, saying he worked for the Joker was a non-starter, so he twisted the truth just a little, saying he had some questions for Alexandra about the protection prices being charged downtown. Which he honestly did.
"That's Gotham proper, Jonny," Molly pointed out in her east coast drawl. "That's Ms Lucy's territory these days. Alexandra runs the Eastside."
"C'mon, Molly," Frost cajoled. "These boys are straight. They tried talkin' to Ms Lucy but she don't give a shit about her people, not like Alexandra does."
"Mm hm," Molly hummed dubiously. "Alright, I'll tell ya what. She's holdin' court at the Old Bowery Station tonight. You get there soon you might catch her before she closes up shop."
It was about midnight when Frost pulled up out front the Old Bowery Station, which was very changed since he'd last been there, looking for Holiday on Christmas Day. Before, there'd been a collection of kids armed with mismatched firearms out front. Now there were real thugs standing guard - Russians, Ukrainians, Puerto Ricans, Irish, Chinese, Italians, and everyone in between - they all worked for Alexandra these days.
Frost gave the thugs guarding the front door the same lie he'd given Molly, and they checked him for weapons before allowing him inside the station.
There were dogs barking and music playing loudly, and a huge congregation of people. Men and women were waiting their turn to speak to Alexandra Kosov where she sat on a platform at the far side of the room, looking more like a queen than any mob boss Frost had met before.
Alexandra was an imposing woman, both in stature and personality, though she couldn't have been older than twenty-five. She was at least six feet tall, her blonde hair tied back in two stubby french braids, and she wore lime green tracksuit bottoms with steel-toed boots, a wife-beater, showing off a pair of ropey, well-muscled arms.
Sitting around her on dilapidated sofas and armchairs were a group of her closest advisors. To her right sat a svelte black girl with a shaved head, and to her left sat a scraggly-looking middle-aged Russian who smoked one filterless cigarette after the next while spitting chewing tobacco.
Frost waited his turn as people lined up to get paid, get given jobs, or just generally complain, though it was always done respectfully. He couldn't help thinking that despite her reputation as a socialist-anarchist who looked after her people, Alexandra was running a pretty queenly operation. Not that Frost was especially well versed in political science.
When it was Frost's turn, he stepped up to the dais, eyeballing the group above him warily until Alexandra gestured for him to speak.
"Ms Kosov," he nodded to her, feeling like maybe he should bow.
"Good evening, comrade," she drawled in lightly-accented English, her eyes narrowing. "I don't know you."
"My name's Jonny Frost, ma'am," Frost met her steely gray eyes as he prepared himself. "I work for the Joker."
Alexandra stood abruptly, her advisors muttering amongst each other while the people in line behind Frost shot one another wary looks.
"You work for Joker?" Alexandra sneered. "Have you come here to die, Frost?"
"No, ma'am," Frost braced himself. "I came to talk to ya about your boss… Black Mask."
It was Ed's fourth day in the bathroom, and it had been the best one yet.
Sure, he was still stuck in a bathtub, his wrist chained to a pipe, giving him just enough range of movement to use the toilet. Unlike Lee, he had not been allowed to clean himself up post-blood-bath or get up and walk around, although Lee had provided him with a pair of her ex-fiancé's sweatpants.
But none of that compared to the horrible, stinging boredom. It was like having needles forced under your fingernails, in your eyes, in your brain, relentless and never-ending.
But then Harley let them have a laptop, and for the briefest of moments, they thought she'd made an error in judgment by giving them access to the outside world. But nope, Harley was smart enough to have turned off the WiFi router before giving them technology.
Luckily, Lee had all seven seasons of Golden Girls on her laptop.
Ed knew they would be good friends.
Thank God for Lee. She was his savior. At first he hadn't thought much of her aside from the fact that the gray streak in her hair was very chic. Then she listened to him talk about Harley, and it felt so good to get it off his chest, to have someone to talk to aside from his Grannie, who was almost ninety and sometimes forgot who he was. But Lee could respond and ask him questions about himself, and Ed quickly worked out what words and topics and gestures and faces made her like him more.
He complained about bartending and how it had been downright impossible to stay out of trouble with the mob, eventually leading to him doing jobs for Boris Kosov and the Odessa gang so he didn't get flat out murdered. But it turned out he made a pretty good criminal even though he always believed he was destined for more, and how lately he'd felt like he was so close to finally figuring it out. Lee found it all fascinating, and Ed agreed it was pretty glamorous.
Eventually, he asked her about herself, and she told him a charming story about being engaged to a cop who couldn't stay out of trouble, so she'd left him at the altar. He even got her to admit that the sex had been pretty lackluster, which made them both giggle. And then she told him she'd pretty much been alone ever since.
She was lonely, she needed him, and she loved having him around to keep her company. And Ed loved nothing more than being needed and loved.
Well, worshiped was better, but Lee was so nice, needed and loved were a better fit.
Then that morning, they heard the Joker puttering around the apartment, muttering to himself and sounding malcontent. Ed and Lee whispered together, using the Golden Girls laugh track for cover as they tried to figure out what would happen now that he was up and moving around. Then a few hours later they were treated to a visit from the Joker himself.
He'd leaned against the door frame and offered them a roguish smirk, a downright naughty twinkle in his eye.
He still looked like shit, pale and tired, and all bandaged up. But despite all of that, he was managing to look very tasty as far as Ed was concerned. He was wearing bloodied tuxedo trousers still, and the top button had gone missing during the frantic scramble to save his life. Ed couldn't not stare at the wiry hairs disappearing beneath the zipper of his pants and he really, reeeeeeallly wanted to know what else was down there.
He wanted to know so bad.
The Joker was there in Harley's place to cajole Lee into making them food, which obviously took minimal effort. What was she going to do? Say no? Still, he laid it on really thick, which was both hilarious and very sexy. Purring at Lee, all shirtless and dangerous and sneaky.
Oh, my, Ed thought.
On his way out, the Joker shot Ed a withering look and rubbed a hand over his ribs where there was a bandage curving around his side. Ed's attention was immediately drawn to all the lean, wiry abdominal muscles before his gaze shifted lower, curiosity distracting him from the death threat being silently communicated to him as he wondered how big the Joker's dick was. Probably huge. Ed was pretty good about guessing these things.
Stuck in the bathroom, Ed listened intently as Lee found the Joker a pair of her cop ex-boyfriend's pants to change into before they moved into the kitchen. Not many minutes later, Lee reappeared, the Joker hovering behind her in the hall.
"Um, I'm going to the store," she told Ed, looking bemused. "Do you want anything?"
Ed's eyes widened.
They were letting her leave?
"Malibu," he said morosely, his bottom lip sticking out as all the good feelings were swept away because now Lee was leaving, and he was going to be alone. He had gotten used to her, and now she was being taken away from him.
Ed sat back in the bathtub and pouted as a new worry surfaced. When Lee went to the cops, she would bring them back here, and even though the Joker was looking creaky, he was walking, which meant he and Harley could escape while Ed would be served up to the cops on a silver platter.
He didn't want to believe Lee would do that to him, but how could she not? Ed nearly started crying to express his frustration—no actual tears were coming, but he sure could be as loud as he wanted—as he started imagining what being locked up in Arkham would be like. Arkham would be the best-case scenario. Worst case scenario would be Blackgate.
Ed was too delicate for somewhere like Blackgate.
Oh, God.
But then, not a half an hour later, the front door opened and Lee returned.
She came back.
Was she crazy?
How had the Joker known she'd come back?
Had she come back for Ed?
Ed waited with bated breath until she appeared in the doorway to the bathroom again, holding up a bottle of Malibu triumphantly.
"Ready for a cocktail?" she grinned, and Ed nearly did sob at that.
So the remainder of the day was spent in remarkable luxury or as much luxury as you could have handcuffed to a bathtub. Ed drank coconut rum and watched Golden Girls while Lee made boeuf bourguignon, coming through with the spoon asking Ed to taste it and everything.
Ed could hear the Joker making conversation with her too, Harley apparently so 'tuckered out' that she wasn't leaving the bedroom. There was definitely something going on there. A twist in the plot. Something that had forced the Joker to recover faster.
When he handcuffed Lee to the radiator again, the Joker smirked caddishly and wagged a finger at them both.
"You two kids have fun," he said slyly. "Don't do anything I wouldn't."
When he was gone, Lee and Ed looked at each other, bewildered.
The rest of the evening passed in much the same way, up until another fight broke out in the bedroom, prompting Ed to pause the laptop so they could listen.
Ostensibly, Lee and Ed were supposed to be listening for clues about what was going to happen to them. In reality, they were listening because it was fascinating to hear Harley and the Joker fight, which they'd been doing regularly for the past four days. Sometimes it was more like bickering, other times a brief screaming match, but this was a real fight. It sounded much more heated, their voices pitching higher, making Lee wince when Harley's voice came hoarse and ragged through the walls.
"You know, when he woke up that first day," Lee whispered, widening her eyes. "They were arguing about sheets."
"Sheets?" Ed hissed, fascinated.
"Yeah," Lee shrugged, bewildered. "She wanted to change the sheets and he was grumpy about it. Almost as if it's something she does all the time, you know?"
Ed's eyes widened. "That is so weird."
"I know," Lee agreed, and they paused again to listen as the shouting got louder and then abruptly cut off.
"What do you think happened?" Ed whispered loudly. "Did she kill him?"
"No," Lee made a face. "What would she—"
Then they both heard it: the bed squeaking and muted, breathless, sex sounds.
Ed's mouth fell open in a happy gasp and Lee shot him a reproachful look, moving to turn the laptop back on.
"We shouldn't listen," she tisked, looking amused.
"How is he doing that?" Ed whispered, amazed. "He was almost dead four days ago!"
"He seems to be very," Lee pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling. "Healthy," she said, making Ed burst into giggles. "It's actually remarkable, from a medical standpoint," she added, trying to be serious.
But then the sounds coming from the bedroom got louder.
"Oh, my God," Ed nearly squealed, throwing a hand over his mouth as Lee struggled not to laugh.
"We shouldn't listen," she admonished again, snickering herself.
Before Ed could say that of course they should listen, they were hostages and had every right… Harley started making some very loud, happy sounds. Lee and Ed could only gape at one another until it was over, and they both collapsed into giggles, trying to be quiet because who the hell knew what they would do if they knew they'd been listening.
Lee turned the laptop back on, shaking her head as Ed's giggles subsided, and he gulped down another mouthful of coconut rum, stretching his hand out to Lee.
"I wish we could cuddle," he sighed, making puppy dog eyes at her.
By now he'd figured out which faces and voices and words Lee found cute or endearing, and as expected, she offered him a warm, genuine smile. She scooted away from the radiator as far as she could so she could hold Ed's hand, and they sat there in companionable silence, holding hands as they watched Golden Girls.
That was how Harley found them when she emerged from the bedroom about an hour later, looking more alive than Ed had seen her in days. Her blue eyes were bright, her platinum hair mussed and fluffy, and she was dressed bizarrely in a blood-stained pajama top and bright blue leggings.
"Lee, I think J may have popped some stitches," Harley said, her face the picture of innocence. "He's decided not to stay in bed anymore."
"Oh," Lee said, her face a picture of innocence too. "He shouldn't do anything too strenuous."
Ed nearly died trying not to laugh.
"He doesn't really listen to me," Harley said drily. "Can you come take a look?"
"Sure," Lee agreed with another warm smile, less nervous than she usually was around Harley.
Harley unlocked the handcuffs and stepped back, gesturing for Lee to squeeze past her out of the bathroom, leaving Ed and Harley alone.
Ed sat up a little straighter, sensing something was about to happen as Harley closed the laptop and set it on the sink. She met his eye, the faintest of smiles dancing on her lips as she took a seat on the closed toilet and crossed her legs.
"We should talk," she suggested, lacing her hands together and resting them on her knees.
"Okay," Ed agreed, unsure where this was going but nervous and excited about it.
"I think we should re-examine our relationship," Harley said diplomatically. "You fucked us over, and then you helped us. In my book, that makes us square."
"Really?" Ed asked warily, immediately suspicious.
"Sure," Harley shrugged without looking away from him. "You didn't just screw us over, Ed. You screwed Roman over too. You beat him over the head with a stool and helped us escape. You let us slip right through his fingers."
She feigned a wince, and though Ed was aware she was manipulating him and ramping up to something, there was no getting around the fact that she was right.
"He's going to want you dead, Ed. And he controls the whole city," she sighed, her eyes darting off to the side like she was sad. "The good guys, the bad guys, and everyone in between. They all work for Roman."
Ed swallowed thickly, finding it nearly impossible to look away from her as she spoke.
Like she could feel his stare, she rolled her eyes back to him.
"Everyone but the three of us," she said slyly. "And I don't know about you… but J and I want Roman dead."
"I might want that too," Ed said cautiously, trying to maintain some dignity even though his heart was pounding with excitement. "What do you have in mind?"
"I have a friend who might be able to help us," Harley said lightly. "Vicki Vale."
"The reporter?" Ed's eyes widened. "She's your friend?"
"Friend is a… flexible word," Harley scrunched up her nose cheekily. "She'll help us, though. If you convince her to."
Ed inhaled sharply, realizing what was happening.
"So you're saying…" he said slowly, not looking away from her. "You want to team up?"
"How about a truce," Harley suggested.
"A temporary team-up," Ed countered, and to his great delight, Harley cracked a small, genuine smile.
"We work together on this, and we don't fuck each other over until Roman's dead," she agreed, raising her eyebrows appraisingly. "Then it's open season again." Her smile turned a little coy as she held Ed's gaze. "Those are the squad rules."
She was pandering to him. Manipulating him. Ed knew it, but he didn't care. He had goosebumps for God's sake. So he did the only thing he could. He gave her his biggest, sassiest smile.
"Squad rules," he agreed, holding up his handcuffed wrist and jangling it at her. "Well come on, mommy. Let's get started."
A/N: Crackfic where Ed embroiders "A Happy Hostage is a Useful Hostage" on a cushion for J for Xmas. Harley would never in a million years do it, not even in a crackfic.
Oooh! It is all uphill from here! Kinda... with the obvious kicking-off-the-third-act-step-backward, of course.
I love love love J's point of view in this. It's so revealing about how he feels about Harley. There will be much more of that to come.
Next: Ed talks to Vicki while Harley and the Joker get some… alone time.
Next week is about 50% smut, and it is the smuttiest smut I have ever written. Harley told you the makeup sex was always great. Now you get to see it. I'm a little nervous, if I'm honest, lol.
Please comment & review! It's the best way to thank me for this monstrosity, lol.
xo