Theme: New Order - 'Elegia'
(My favorite mix of this track is a 'Full Version' from a 12" vinyl release, and it's only available on Youtube as it's never been released digitally.)
The Pantomime
21.
Harley was coming up to twenty-four hours without sleep, which wasn't especially bad in her book. Thanks to Lucy, they knew where to ferret Roman out—his father's old factory in Oldtown, or the Falcone Penthouse, both of which were painfully predictable.
God, Harley was looking forward to killing him.
The Joker and Frost were rounding up henchmen from Alexandra Kosov's gang while Pam and Ed caught up on sleep at Lee's, so after stopping at a drive-thru to grab a couple of burgers, Harley headed back to the Burnely Arms safehouse to do the same.
She stepped over the threshold and kicked off the slouchy cream-colored boots, refusing to acknowledge that Ed had the good sense to buy her something comfortable. She left the outrageous pink dress in a puddle on the floor, then ducked down to drag a duffle bag out from under the bed.
It smelled musty, filled with basics from before she and the Joker left Gotham. A multipack of clean panties and shampoo for her, a straight razor and shaving cream for him, a collection of tee shirts and socks for both of them.
Harley changed her underwear and tugged on a tee-shirt, then collapsed onto the bed. It smelled overwhelmingly of cigarettes and sweat, making her nose wrinkle as she fantasized about fresh sheets. That was right at the top of her list once Roman was dealt with.
Tired but not quite exhausted, she closed her eyes and tried to find sleep, but her mind kept circling, her conversation with Pam at the warehouse refusing to leave her.
Harley was a data person. She needed to know all facts and figures, in a spreadsheet if possible, though that was rarely the case. Pam's explanation for what she'd done to Victor just wasn't good enough. It only gave Harley more questions. There were too many variables, too many unknowns, and there was room for error within those unknowns. Errors Harley needed to anticipate so she could stop them.
If Pam existed a thousand years earlier, there was no doubt people would have worshipped her as a God. They would have written religious texts about the awesomeness of her power and carved statues in her name.
But ultimately, it wasn't the grandiosity of Pam's abilities that worried Harley—it was Pam's hunger for power that was cause for concern.
It was always there, lurking beneath the surface. Harley could sense it. Even the way she spoke about those politicians and big oil bosses. It was there.
But what brought that hunger to life in a very real and dangerous way was Pam's ability to connect and stay linked to multiple minds—multiple limbic systems was Harley's working theory—like a spider's web stretched to breaking. Pam promised she understood that now and that she could control it. And Harley trusted her. Mostly.
Harley dozed in and out of sleep over the course of the day, getting in at least a few REM cycles, she hoped. By late afternoon she couldn't bring herself to lay down any longer and migrated into the safehouse's small kitchen, nibbling on leftover take out and forcing her thoughts away from Pam toward Roman.
She was sitting on the kitchen counter, poking at a few cold french fries and working through a strategy for making him suffer when the safehouse door banged open. The Joker strode in, still sharp in the navy pinstripe suit, though he'd misplaced the maroon tie, something Harley could already imagine Ed complaining about. He also had a garment bag from the tailor slung over his shoulder, looking far more chipper than Harley felt.
"How'd it go?" Harley asked mildly, shoving the bag of fries across the counter toward him.
The Joker ignored them, narrowing his eyes at her, immediately reading her mood.
"What now?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Harley insisted, avoiding his eye.
The last thing he would want to hear about was Harley worrying about Pam. That ticked just about every possible box it took to annoy him to the nth degree.
"Uh huh," he shot back flatly, obviously not believing her. So Harley tried a little harder.
"I have a great idea for Roman," she smirked, hoping to knock herself out of her poor mood. Events forthcoming were about to kick off—that was something to be excited about.
The Joker's mouth twitched up on one side, creatively plotting death and destruction far more agreeable to him than her 'moods.' He inclined his head to the bedroom.
"Why dontcha come tell me all about it."
Harley hopped off the counter and trailed after him, lingering in the doorway while he slung the garment bag over a chair and shrugged out of his suit jacket, leaving it on the floor beside her dress. He flopped down on the bed and toed off his shoes, then began rolling up his shirtsleeves while Harley leaned against the door, her arms folded, watching his long fingers work the pale lavender fabric up to his elbows to expose a pair of ropy forearms.
Her mind began to drift away from Roman, who she now felt she could control. She had the upper hand. She was holding all the cards, and he was desperate.
But Pam…
"Spit it out, Harl," the Joker snapped, his eyebrows raising impatiently when Harley looked up at him.
"It's Pam," she admitted, knowing she couldn't hide it from him. "She flipped Victor without inception. She tried explaining how it's not a big deal, but…"
Harley trailed off and wrapped her arms around herself.
"But you got a bad feeling about it," the Joker inferred, planting his hands behind him on the bed. "You think Red's up to her old tricks."
"I told you what it was like last time," Harley sighed. "She was like a drug addict."
"Oh, I remember," he shot back. "And it ain't your problem."
Harley sighed in exasperation, knowing he could never understand. Most of the time, she enjoyed his predication for not giving a shit. She found it soothing. But Pam… Pam was the exception to the rule for Harley, just as Harley was the exception for the Joker.
He seemed to understand what she was thinking and hunched forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, trying a different tact.
"You can't control her," he pointed out drily.
"I don't want to control her," Harley insisted.
"Yes, you do," the Joker smirked. "Just like you wanna control everything else. But you can't. Worrying about Red losing her marbles again won't stop it happening."
Harley nodded sullenly when it occurred to her that he was showing a remarkable amount of patience for her 'moodiness' and her relationship with Pam—not just putting up with it, but engaging her.
A smile slipped onto her lips as she pushed away from the doorframe.
The Joker cocked an eyebrow, his eyes sweeping over her quickly as she swayed up to him.
"The world's a chaotic place, puddin'," he drawled, his head tipping back so he was looking up at her through hooded eyes. "Ya can't control it… tryin' to just makes you crazy."
"I know," Harley agreed softly. She tugged her top off over her head so she was naked aside from a small pair of black briefs, and his hands settled on her waist, pulling her closer. "I'm working on it," she added drily, bracing her knee on the bed beside his thigh so she could climb into his lap.
"Mm," the Joker narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe I can help."
Harley snorted and was about to make a quip when he grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her sideways, knocking her off balance so she ended up sprawled across his lap, her ass in the air. Harley laughed incredulously until he forced one of her arms behind her back, immobilizing her with a move that occasionally resulted in dislocated limbs for especially unlucky people.
Harley reacted instinctively, struggling to wiggle free, but he held her firmly in place, unrelenting, his grip on her arm tightening.
Then he spanked her, hard, the sharp, surprising sting making her gasp.
"Hey!" Harley snapped indignantly, the fact that she was currently over his knee driving her to revolt despite her stomach fluttering excitedly.
"Now, we both know Dr Quinzel can be very uh... naughty when she wants to be," the Joker started, exceptionally smug.
Harley's eyes widened, and she yelped when he spanked her again in the same sensitive place, her body annoyingly responsive to the sensation.
There was a swick! of a knife opening, and Harley's heart started leaping frantically, anticipation racing through her as he sliced through one strap of her underwear and then the other before pulling the scrap of fabric free.
"Always trying to control everything," the Joker continued, his voice husky, his hand skating over her ass and the backs of her thighs. "Does that sound like a certain uptight shrink we both know?"
He spanked her again, and Harley stubbornly bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to spread her legs for him.
"I think that's something we can work through together," he continued, patronizing. He squeezed his hand between the seam of her thighs and forced them apart. "Don't you just wanna give in, doc?"
That was the moment Harley realized what they were doing—a little exercise in control.
She fought with herself for a full five seconds over what she wanted to do, but she could feel her stubbornness melting away. His hand was still between her legs, his thumb a hair's breadth from her core while his fingertips drifted over the soft skin of her inner thigh, making her shiver almost feverishly.
Yes, Harley realized, yes, she wanted nothing more than to give in and let him take over for a little while.
Instead of agreeing verbally, she lifted her free arm and folded it behind her back, offering it to him as she buried her face in the cool sheets.
He made a pleased sound and released her to take off his belt while Harley breathed deeply, attempting to display some patience. It was far more challenging to be patient than to trust him to make this good. Of that, she had no doubt he would.
He tied her arms behind her back with his belt, taking away her most basic capacity to control the situation, and then he slid his hand back between her legs, spreading them wider. Harley's heartbeat throbbed in her neck as she waited for him to touch her, and when he finally smoothed two fingers over her, she sighed shakily, a velvety heat pooling at her core.
It was pointless, but Harley still tried to muffle a groan as he found a firm, lazy pattern that made her eyes roll back in her head and her hips twitch against his hand. She knew he could feel how excited she was, tied up, over his knee, and at his disposal, her body getting obscenely wet for him. There was no point hiding it, so she gave in, keening encouragingly when he slid a long finger inside her.
Then he stopped. He gathered her up in his arms, and stood to swing her around, dropping her on the bed carelessly.
Harley landed on her back with an unhappy 'oof,' her arms pinned beneath her, making her shoulders ache. She shot him a dirty look that just made him chuckle incredulously because he was fully clothed and standing, while she was completely naked and tied up, her cheeks flushed pink, her excitement obvious even as she glared at him.
"You are so bad at this," he observed drily, planting his knee on the bed and pitching forward over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head.
"Maybe you're the one who's bad at it," Harley countered, raising her eyebrows stubbornly, making him chuckle again.
"We'll see about that," he shot her a knowing look, then lowered his mouth to her collarbone, squeezing her breast while he made his way down her chest.
Harley closed her eyes when he pulled one of her nipples between his teeth, a sharp pinch that made her sigh as he swirled his tongue around it. One of his hands smoothed down her body and over her hip, his mouth shifting to her other breast as his fingers picked up where he'd left off between her legs.
"Imagine that," he purred, glancing up at her. "Naughty Dr Quinzel likes being tied up and spanked," he taunted her.
Harley's lips parted to retort when he slipped a finger inside her again, his thumb pressing against her clit, and she gave up on talking as he moved the two digits together. Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, and she sighed quietly as she allowed herself to be dragged under by the current of desire.
Then his mouth was beside her ear, his nose bumping against her temple. "What would people think if they knew Dr Quinzel was such a greedy slut."
Harley laughed quietly, her head rolling to the side so she could kiss him. But he grabbed her chin firmly, twisting her head away so hard a joint in her neck popped, startling her.
"Oh no, no, no doc," the Joker growled in her ear. "You only get what I give you."
Harley nodded obediently, and he rubbed his nose into her hair for a few lingering moments before slithering down her body, pushing her legs apart and diving forward to taste her.
His breath was hot, his tongue wet and slow, just the way she liked it. Harley melted into the sheets, forgetting her arms were tied behind her back as he took his time building her up until she was panting weakly, her hips rolling up off the bed.
"Fuck," Harley breathed, her spread knees trembling as an orgasm started to bloom at her core. Her stomach muscles began to contract with pleasure, and her body clamped down on his fingers as she dug her heels into the mattress, arching up off the bed, gasping.
The Joker withdrew from her a split second before she started to come apart, leaving her panting and dazed, hanging over the precipice, just as she'd known he would.
She released a long breath through pursed lips, her heart racing, her body electrified.
But simultaneously, she felt incredibly… calm.
The sound of a zipper lowering prompted her to open her eyes. The Joker was still kneeling between her legs, eyeing her curiously, a faint smirk on his lips like he was watching something both very entertaining and slightly bewildering. Harley's eyes dipped down to his cock, and she felt a needy throb between her legs as she watched his hand move over his length.
He grabbed her ankle, making her take a sharp breath as he dragged her to the edge of the bed, then tugged on one of her bound arms to haul her up so she was sitting.
Harley looked up at him uncertainly, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly, prompting her to lean forward and lick the head of his cock with a teasing flick of her tongue.
He popped her on the cheek, making her rear back in surprise, her eyes wide, feeling bizarrely speechless.
"What did I say, hmm," he ran a fingertip down her cheekbone as she stared up at him in silence. "Only what I give you."
Harley licked her lips, her heart racing as she understood what he wanted. She opened her mouth and let her tongue slip out, offering herself to him.
Something dark and positively delicious flashed in the Joker's eyes, and the power balance between them seemed to flip on a dime. Harley was naked with her arms tied behind her back and her mouth wide open, but she knew as well as he did the moment it happened. She watched a series of emotions play out across his face—bewildered, hungry, fascinated—and Harley toyed with the idea of demanding he get on his knees just to see what he'd do.
The way he was looking at her, she was pretty sure he would do whatever she wanted.
Feeling smug, Harley closed her mouth and smirked up at him, and he shot her a dubious look that said, you are so bad at this, before he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling it so hard her scalp ached. That sliver of pain was enough to remind Harley of the point of this game, and though the desire to dominate him didn't fade, she still obediently opened her mouth for him, submitting.
For the moment.
"Good girl," he purred, sarcastic, holding her head in place as he guided his cock into her mouth and thrust past her parted lips.
Harley's eyes closed as she wrapped her lips around him, but otherwise let him control her movements, using his grip on her hair to guide her up and down his length. But it got boring fast, for both of them, so Harley improvised. She gave up on being passive in favor of sucking his cock enthusiastically, sloppily, not very pretty. And when she looked up at him, the intensity of his eyes made her heart pound as she realized she'd inadvertently put herself in the driver's seat again.
Oops.
He took a deep breath like he was bracing himself and fisted a handful of her hair, stopping her. Harley looked up at him expectantly as he drew her head back, a string of saliva trailing from his cock to her lips. He tipped his head to the side and squinted down at her curiously, and whatever power Harley momentarily felt she'd had flipped again. She found herself waiting silently to see what he would do next, with more patience than she'd ever been capable of in her life.
She yelped when he ducked down and grabbed one of her bound arms, using it to flip her over. Harley landed on her belly, her legs flailing off the side of the bed as she tried to get her bearings. The Joker grabbed her hips and hauled her up so she was on her knees, but supporting her weight on her face with her ass in the air. She shifted her head around, trying to get comfortable when he spanked her, the sharp slap making her cry out breathlessly, morphing into a throaty groan when he started stroking her from behind. He slid two long fingers inside her, then drew them out to circle her clit before repeating the process, slow and deliberate.
Harley swore furiously into the bedding, molten heat flooding her core, making her entire body tense as he continued those restrained, intentional ministrations, never giving her enough. Each time his fingers dipped inside her, he stimulated a deeper pleasure that made her body clench needily when he took it away, over and over until she was trembling and keening loudly. And eventually, like she always did, she gave in.
"Please let me come," Harley begged breathlessly. "Please."
"Oh, we're far from done, cupcake," the Joker growled, grabbing her bound hands and yanking them back so she was hanging, adding to the intensity of the moment as her body twitched helplessly, craving release so desperately she was nearly sobbing.
He released her arms abruptly, and she crashed face-first into the mattress, but before she could get her bearings, he was behind her, his cock sinking into her. Harley cried out in genuine relief once he was buried inside her, her body rippling around him as he grabbed her arms and hauled her up again, her shoulders straining and back arching.
Harley gave up on trying to get comfortable as he fucked her, hard and deep, until she was shrieking nonsense while he growled a string of hideously filthy promises. She gave up on caring about her arms being pulled out of the socket. She gave up on being stubborn or dignified, and she gave up on all forms of control. She gave in to the heady lust racing through her body like life itself as the Joker gave her exactly what she needed, not holding himself back, which was the only way she ever wanted him. It was fantastically freeing, making her downright giddy as the heat at her core transformed into a deep, sticky pleasure that inched up her torso and down her thighs, making her eyes sting as she panted helplessly, overwhelmed.
"C'mon, Harl," the Joker panted gruffly, slamming into her as he tugged in her bound arms. "Cum for daddy like a good girl."
Harley's entire body spasmed as a powerful orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, sweeping her away in a rush of pleasure that throbbed through her veins and made her head spin. It felt like the greatest relief she'd ever known, rolling through every inch of her, leaving her fingers and toes and even her nose tingling, her heart nearly beating out of her chest.
Relentless waves of euphoria were still breaking over her when the Joker released her arms and pulled out of her. He caught her before she could keel over, then flopped onto the edge of the bed and hauled her into his lap so she was sitting astride him, so that he could see her face, Harley realized. She wavered without her arms to balance, feeling drunk as he guided her back onto his cock, watching her closely.
Harley's head fell back with a loud groan once he was inside her again, a fresh wave of pleasure spreading up her body. She searched the Joker's face as she dug her knees into the mattress on either side of his hips and started bouncing up and down to meet his rolling thrusts, his hands on her hips guiding her. He stared back at her intently, his eyes dark and electric, scary, but so present, so all-consuming, Harley felt like she was being sucked inside him. Like she could live within his body and exist as part of him. She knew he was feeling the same thing as he pulled her down on him harder and searched her face in turn, wholly engrossed in her, fascinated.
Then Harley felt the belt start to come loose from her wrists, providing her with an opening that was too perfect to pass up.
She shook the belt free, catching it before it fell to the floor, then caught the Joker's eye. He realized a second too late that something had changed, and Harley whipped the belt out to the side with a CRACK that distracted him for a few crucial moments, allowing her to loop the belt around his neck and pull it tight like a noose.
The Joker's eyes widened in one of those gloriously rare moments of genuine surprise. One of his hands flew up to his throat as he choked while his other squeezed her hip, his thumb digging into the bone painfully.
Harley ripped his hand away from his throat, smirking as she leaned in to press her lips against his ear.
"Always so cocky, Jack," she purred, yanking the belt tighter, making him gag as she started to fuck him, taking over. "That'll get you in trouble one day," she added breathlessly, rubbing her nose into his hair. "I guarantee it."
His hands tightened on her, and Harley pulled back to watch his lips part in what might have been a groan if he'd been able to breathe. For once in his life, he was completely silent. She tugged on the belt again, tightening it, and his fingers bore into her body so sharply it genuinely felt like they might rip right through her.
"Imagine that," Harley panted, pleasure coiling low in her abdomen again, hot and succulent and so good. "Jack likes to take it even more than he likes to dole it out— oh! Oh, fuck," she gasped.
She pulled the belt tighter and grabbed his shoulder to anchor herself, wishing she could tear through his shirt and rake her nails through his skin as she came again with a high-pitched whine, euphoria flooding her brain. The Joker made a strangled sound, and Harley felt him spill inside her, his fingers cutting into her sore flesh. She released the belt, her body still rolling erratically against his because she never wanted to stop.
He sucked in a deep, wheezing breath, swaying and blinking hard through a prolonged orgasm. They both nearly toppled off the side of the bed until he grabbed Harley by her upper arms, using her to steady himself, and looking dazed while she slowed above him.
Harley laughed weakly as he collapsed backward, not with his usual dramatic flourish, but like he was genuinely completely drained. His head bounced against the mattress, and Harley fell on top of him, feeling so content and alive she could have cried.
"Ohhh-ho-ho-ho," he rasped, tossing the belt away and finding her eye. "You minx."
"You did say I could put a collar on you," Harley smirked, waggling her eyebrows as he chuckled and palmed his throat.
"Mm," he agreed mildly, looking sleepy. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head down to his, kissing her deeply.
Harley felt like she was being devoured. She kissed him back eagerly, taking part in some fantastic cycle of consumption, each of them taking turns to feed off the other for all of eternity. She threaded her hands through his hair, pushing it off his face as she indulged in a moment of pure unadulterated joy. The freedom. The chaos. The life they shared together.
Then a phone buried in the Joker's trouser pocket beeped, the vibration rattling against Harley's bare knee, interrupting the moment.
Harley pulled back with a sigh while he shifted around to get the phone—work was too important to ignore right now. He squinted at the screen, releasing an intrigued hum as Harley eased herself off of him, still dizzy and euphoric, her body wonderfully sore as she got to her feet.
"Frost just got word from Alexandra," the Joker announced slyly, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand while he watched Harley roll her shoulders back and stretch her arms over her head, shaking off the soreness from having them bound behind her back.
"What's she want now?" Harley narrowed her eyes as the Joker sat up and shrugged his shirt off, snickering.
"Mmm, a Mr Reeves has made himself available to us through her," he waggled his eyebrows and hauled himself to his feet, his shirt landing on the floor. "Roman sent him with a message."
"Roman sent Reeves to give us a message?" Harley's eyebrows rose, a grin spreading across her face.
Roman throwing Reeves under the bus was to be expected. Roman sending him to Alexandra in hopes of getting a message to them was something else entirely. That stank of desperation.
The Joker shot Harley a knowing look, obviously thinking something similar, and he stood to grab the tailor's garment bag, throwing it down on the bed.
Harley watched him yank down the zipper, revealing a freshly cut suit inside. It was the first time in over six months either of them laid eyes on that particular shade of violet, and a stupid smile split Harley's face seeing it now. It felt like… home.
Still naked as the day she was born, Harley sidled up to the Joker, her fingers snaking up his bare chest to his neck.
"Aww," she cooed, feigning sympathy as she traced a faint bruise forming around his throat, the same shape and thickness as his discarded belt. "Looks like someone got you there."
She grinned up at him, making the Joker snort before he snatched her hand away from his neck, almost alarmingly fast. He squinted at her forearm where a similarly-shaped mark was forming above her wrist.
"Aww," he imitated her voice, catching her eye. "Looks like they got you too."
Harley looped her free arm around his neck and rose up on her tiptoes, pressing the length of her body against his. One of his hands slid into her hair while the other settled on the small of her back, drawing her closer as he kissed her, deeply, slowly.
Harley pulled back a fraction, her lips lingering on the familiar curve of his scar as she took a shuddering breath, feeling overwhelmed.
"Mm," the Joker purred, his eyelids heavy as his hand slid up her spine. "Always so… greedy."
Harley chuckled happily.
After spending a prolonged period of time in the shower together, Harley and the Joker arranged to meet Frost and the others before they ran out of daylight. The Joker got dressed in the new suit and a pair of custom-made brogues while Harley shuffled through the duffle bag of clothes she'd brought from Samantha's, eventually settling on the fluttery red dress from disco night.
Her fingers curled into the flimsy puddle of silk, a flicker of black anger tickling the base of her skull. This dress wasn't just the property of some faceless disappeared woman anymore. Samantha Pierce owned this dress, and she had a face, along with a life and a story, one Roman Sionis featured prominently in. And just thinking about the pretty, smiling, empty shell of a human being… oh, it made Harley want to deliver some fucking justice.
She wasn't a sentimental person, and she didn't expend much intellectual energy on the question of justice. But the idea of ripping Roman's head off while she was wearing Samantha's dress appealed to her greatly.
She added a pair of black spandex bicycle shorts in case things got dicey and a high kick was in order, then shoved her feet into the slouchy cream-colored boots and shrugged on a holster, and they were ready to go.
They took the little red Jetta south to the Meatpacking District, parking around the side of the abandoned Hulu Meats Warehouse, where they could hastily apply their warpaint in the shadows.
Late afternoon sunlight poured in through broken planes of glass in the ceiling, creating the effect of God's hand lighting random patches of the filthy floor. It was eerily silent without Lucy's enraged screaming or the moody gruntings of Alexandra's thugs.
"I thought we were the late ones?" the Joker complained, the fluttering of a pigeon's wings drawing his attention up to the ceiling.
Before Harley could respond, the side door crashed open, scaring a second cluster of pigeons into taking flight, their wings beating noisily.
"Sorry! Sorry! We're here!" Ed announced cheerfully, prompting Harley and the Joker to share a weary look.
Ed had exchanged the relatively subtle black suit they'd last seen him in for a seafoam-green one with a pink shirt and floral tie. He'd painted a fresh rectangle of black around his eyes and procured a new bowler hat to replace the plastic one from the party shop. Behind him was Pam, in jeans and a camisole, the tiny perfume bottle dangling from a slim gold chain around her neck.
"Oh… wow," Ed's eyes widened as he looked Harley over.
"What?" Harley snapped, planting her fists on her hips.
"Just, that dress with those boots," Ed laughed awkwardly, wincing. "It's um… an interesting choice!"
"Fuck you, Ed," Harley scoffed. "Where have you been?"
"We had to make a stop," Pam explained, looking amused.
"Did you go shopping again?" Harley demanded, pivoting back to Ed.
"No, we swung past my place," he tisked, still eyeing her outfit uncertainly, making Harley roll her eyes.
The warehouse's side door slammed open again, and this time Frost stomped over the threshold with a hysterical Arthur Reeves in tow.
Reeves looked terrible, fear making him shrink from handsome polo-player to terrified oversized rodent. His eyes were hollow and red-rimmed, his face haggard and pale, and his left hand had taken on a green tinge beneath dirty bandages where infection set in from his missing finger.
"Uh oh," Ed snickered while the Joker released a shrill giggle that quickly morphed into a full belly laugh, overtaking Reeves's begging and making Harley's ears ring.
"Will you shut the fuck up!" Pam snapped, which only encouraged the Joker. His head fell back as he wheezed out another delighted howl that made the remaining pigeons in the rafters scatter.
Frost threw Reeves to the floor at the Joker's feet, and Reeves immediately scrambled backward, only to find himself looking up at Pam. She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, and Reeves's eyes darted to Ed and then Harley, his lips trembling as he realized no one there would be helping him.
"He says Roman wants a talk with ya," Frost explained, sounding close to annoyed. "Said he wants a Parley."
"Parley," Pam scoffed. "What a pretentious dick."
Harley folded her arms and squinted down at Reeves,
"Hello, Arthur," she greeted him coldly. "Was there anything else to that message?"
"Harley," Reeves panted, his chest rising and falling sharply as he tried to control his breathing. "I—I'm so sorry. He—he—"
"He said Roman wants ya to meet him at the Falcone penthouse," Frost filled in blithely. "Midnight. Says he wants to negotiate."
Harley nearly rolled her eyes—how predictable.
She cocked her head to the side, frowning at Reeves. "Anything else?"
When Reeves just stared back at her helplessly, fighting back tears, Harley sighed sorrowfully, shaking her head.
"I gotta say, Reeves, you feel less like a messenger and more like a sacrificial offering."
"That's right up BM's gloomy-ass street," Ed observed cheerfully.
"Harley, I—I know things! I can tell you things!" Reeves insisted, getting desperate. "About the business, the drugs, Hill..."
"Pretty sure we know all about that," Pam pointed out flatly.
The Joker dropped into a squat in front of Reeves, who immediately froze up, his hollow eyes flying open wide like he'd been thrown in a cage with a live tiger.
"How about Anakry," the Joker purred, twisting his head to the side. "Whaddya reckon the chances are he's spilled all the beans?"
"I—" Reeves faltered, tongue-tied because he still wouldn't turn on Roman when it mattered. The mob, the drugs, Hill, none of that mattered anymore. Daggett was dead, but his company lived on, and Roman still wanted to take down Wayne using Lonnie. Lonnie, who knew more about Harley and the Joker than anyone. That was all Roman had left, and it was the only reason he hadn't fled the city with his tail between his legs.
If Vicki did her job right, Wayne would know an attack was coming and stop it.
But Harley and the Joker still needed to get Lonnie back.
Then they could find out what Roman Sionis' entrails looked like.
"Whaddya know," the Joker drawled, poking Reeves in the chest with a sharp finger. "He's just a Black Mask meat puppet like the others."
"Strange!" Reeves yelped, his voice cracking. "I can tell you about Dr Strange!"
"Dr Strange?" Pam stepped forward. "Hugo Strange?"
Harley swung around to stare at Pam, who had thus far been a passive observer. Now she was obviously interested, her shoulders squared and green eyes blazing as she stared down at Reeves.
"Yes," Reeves gasped, breaking down into relieved sobs. "Roman had—had Daggett hire him. They kept his research on the poppy under wraps."
"And where is he now?" Pam pressed, her eyes bright, almost feverish. "Daggett's dead and can't cover for him anymore. What happens to Strange?"
"I don't know," Reeves sobbed openly.
"Is he in Gotham?" Pam demanded.
"I don't know," Reeves insisted, whining.
Pam swooped down and grabbed Reeves by the chin, forcing his head back so she could look him in the eye.
"Where is Hugo Strange?" she hissed.
Reeves's eyes rolled back in his head as he twitched helplessly in Pam's hands, not a love-sick puppy, but a slack-jawed seizuring puddle of goo.
The air seemed to crackle with static electricity, and Harley felt the hairs on the back of her arms stand on end, her eyes widening at what she was seeing.
"I... don't... know," Reeves croaked, strangled like his soul was being forcibly ripped out of his body with each word.
Apparently convinced, Pam released Reeves and straightened back up to her full height, her lips puckering unhappily.
Ed was staring at Pam with something like cautious curiosity, and Harley knew she was doing a terrible job covering her own feelings. She ground her teeth, needing to get rid of Reeves and Ed so she could find out what Pam knew about Roman's chemist, Hugo Strange. Because it was all too clear she knew something.
Luckily, the Joker seemed to have a similar train of thought.
"Well, well, well," he purred, sidling up to Harley and squinting down at Reeves, who was staring at Pam with huge, horrified eyes, a widening wet patch appearing near the crotch of his trousers. "What're ya gonna do to him, Harl?" the Joker nudged Harley in the ribs.
She blinked hard, trying to shake off the trepidation rolling around her gut so she could concentrate.
Turning her full attention on Reeves, she took a deep breath to clear her head.
"I promised when I killed him I would make sure it was slow," Harley announced. "And painful… and personal."
Reeves swooned like he was going to faint.
Harley looked at the Joker, forcing a smirk. "Think you can handle that for me?"
"Hey, Eddie," the Joker drawled, somehow managing to sound both friendly and exceptionally sinister. "I got a feeling this guy's gonna be… squirmy. Why don't you be a pal and uh, help me out, huh?"
"He does look squirmy," Ed made a face when Reeves started to sob brokenly. "Eww, have some dignity, huh?"
Reeves couldn't bring himself to walk so Frost dragged him instead, shuffling him into a small office at the corner of the warehouse floor while the Joker and Ed trailed behind.
"You might wanna take that nice jacket off, Eddie," the Joker advised, a second before the office door slammed shut.
Pam had her arms folded high over her chest, her mind obviously racing when she looked up at Harley.
"Sorry," she shrugged, distracted. "I didn't mean to like… take over your thing."
In the office, Reeves released a high-pitched wail of agony.
"So?" Harley spread her arms wide, the dread creeping back in no matter how she tried to push it away. "How do you know about Strange?"
Pam closed her eyes like she was trying to center herself, sighing before she finally met Harley's gaze.
"I spent like four months searching for the blue poppy last year," she explained, holding up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "I came this close to finding it."
"You went looking for the poppy?" Harley's eyes widened.
"How could I not?" Pam scoffed. "I'm a fucking botanist and a biochemist, Harley. Researching rare species of flora is what I do."
"Right," Harley agreed weakly. That definitely wasn't all Pam did. "Why didn't you say anything when I told you Daggett was importing it?"
"Because you're in the middle of this epic battle of wills with Roman," Pam folded her arms defensively and looked away. "I didn't want to make it about me trying to get my hands on the poppy, not when you've been dealing with Crane doing the same thing."
"Pam, you are nothing like Crane," Harley sighed, shaking her head. "So… what happened?"
Pam rolled her eyes. "Predictably, the League of Shadows wasn't easy to find."
"How the hell did you find out about the League of Shadows?" Harley was aghast, and Pam shot her a bemused look.
"You told me," she chuckled at Harley's bewildered expression. "I guess it was after about ten margaritas on Sofia's birthday," she admitted slyly.
Harley covered her face with her hands, laughing as she remembered that night, or at least, the beginning of that night and the hangover she'd been blessed with the next day. Pam chuckled too, the tension between them easing.
In the small office, Reeves screamed again.
"Okay," Harley sighed, planting her fists on her hips, trying to focus. "So you got close to finding the League of Shadows?"
"I narrowed their headquarters down to this village on the border of Tibet and Nepal," Pam explained. "That's as far as I got. It was like hitting a brick wall, and I couldn't find a way in… but I did find the name of another American who got through to them."
"Hugo Strange?" Harley guessed.
"Yes," Pam nodded. "I knew he was a doctor, so I assumed he was building on Crane's work with the poppy. But he was like a ghost, I couldn't find a trace of him, and eventually I gave up and moved on."
"He's a psychiatrist," Harley glanced over her shoulder when Reeves gave another horrible wail of pain that abruptly turned into a wet choking. "A psychiatrist currently out of a job, I guess."
Harley looked back at Pam, who was chewing her top lip thoughtfully.
"It's not important right now," she insisted, making Harley's eyebrows raise. "We should focus on Roman. You aren't really going to negotiate with him, are you?"
"That depends on your definition of negotiating," Harley smirked. "If you mean beat him up until he hands over Anarky, then yes, we'll be negotiating."
"Is 'Anarky' really worth waiting to kill this sadistic dickhead?" Pam asked flatly, using her fingers to make air quotes around Lonnie's pseudonym.
"Yeah, he's worth it," Harley admitted. "I can't stand him, but he's worth it."
"Mm," Pam's lip curled, sympathizing with being forced to put up with annoying men.
The Joker and Ed chose that moment to sneak out of the office, the Joker smirking while Ed was pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, talking fast. It seemed something of a lesson had transpired.
"J was right," Ed beamed. "Reeves was super squirmy."
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves," Harley deadpanned, fighting back a smile.
Stupid Ed.
"You've got less than seven hours before you have to meet Roman," Pam pointed out. "Alexandra may have pulled back her thugs, but Roman will still have plenty of those BMW henchmen waiting to kill you or kidnap you. I can use Inception and…"
"No," Harley cut her off immediately. "We are not using Inception again."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Ed waved his hand eagerly like he was waiting to be called on. "Oh, I have a really good idea."
Harley laughed despite herself and gestured for Ed to continue.
"We need a big distraction to shut down the whole island," he explained, his eyes glowing mischievously. "And I know just the anarchists who can give it to us."
Vicki spent the day in bed chain-smoking, trying to come up with a plan of action. One that would end with her alive, unincarcerated, and not in Harley Quinn or the Batman's bad books. Ideally, with Roman Sionis behind bars, too.
A tall order, to be sure.
She let Bruce know she was ready to talk and agreed to meet him at his penthouse in Midtown.
Vicki didn't know what to expect from this 'talk,' including whether it would just be the two of them or if Dinah would be there too.
She listened to the radio to distract herself as she waited for it to get dark. The news of the day was about the protests that had erupted the night before outside Hill's inauguration party at Wayne Hall and had picked up again the first thing that morning out front of City Hall. From the sounds of it, they'd spread through Midtown over the course of the day with more people joining in, getting rowdier. And as evening approached, there was talk of violence—fireworks being set off at buildings, fights breaking out, shops being looted.
By nightfall, the police were using tear gas and rubber bullets as the protests began to evolve into riots, and citizens were being advised to stay in their homes. Advice Vicki was obviously not going to follow.
She threw on a light jacket and sneakers, tying her pale blond hair back in a greasy ponytail. Her hands were shaking from smoking too much and not eating enough as she found a hammer in the toolbox under her kitchen sink and smashed the Nokia phone she used to communicate with Harley to pieces. Then she scraped those pieces into a plastic bag, pulled a black Gotham Rogues baseball cap down over her eyes, and speed-walked two blocks to the University District's metro.
At the station, Vicki dumped the remains of the phone in a garbage bin, then swiped her MetroCard and climbed the stairs to the North-bound platform. She was thumbing out a text to let Bruce know she was on her way when a pair of heavy boots came stomping up the stairs behind her, accompanied by the sound of a radio squawking.
Goosebumps erupted on Vicki's arms and shoulders when she turned to find a pair of uniformed police officers at the top of the stairs, their expressions grim.
"Excuse us, ma'am!" one of them snapped, pushing past her as the train swept up to the platform, sending an old newspaper fluttering on a gust of wind.
Vicki's eyes widened as the graffiti-strewn metro screeched to a stop, both police officers drawing their weapons as the train doors flew open.
Three men came stumbling out, fists flying, screaming obscenities while the police attempted to intervene. Two of the men were wearing suits, looking sweaty and angry but otherwise uninjured. The third was young and scrawny with purple hair, his combat boots studded with metal spikes. By all appearances, he was the victim, his face swollen up and bleeding, but the cops threw him to the ground anyway, one of them forcing his arms behind his back while the suited men continued spitting threats.
Vicki stepped into the mostly empty carriage, her eyes lingering on the scene taking place on the platform, her sixth sense for a story suddenly tingling.
A few stops later, they passed through Downtown, and the carriage door slammed open so a group of people could march in. Some of them were punks or bikers like the man Vicki watched get arrested. Some wore ski masks and black bloc, and some were wearing clown masks. They swarmed the train carriage, chanting what sounded like a protest of Mayor Hill's election, making the few passengers sit up to attention.
Suspicion tickled the back of Vicki's neck as she watched the chanting people stomp through the carriage into the next one. She'd covered plenty of protests in her time, and there was often an underlying current of frustration or anger. But that current was already bubbling away at the surface; violent, intentional, chaotic.
Vicki climbed off the metro at Wayne Tower, her thoughts now divided between the clown-masked protestors and 'talk' she was about to have with Bruce. The former took the lead when she reached the main thoroughfare of Wayne Station, where a line of police officers had cordoned off three of the four exits, herding commuters like cattle to the remaining exit and announcing the station was closing.
Vicki strode up to a uniformed officer with a bullhorn who was encouraging people to stay calm.
"What's going on?" she demanded, and when the officer didn't reply, she shoved her phone in his face like a microphone. "I'm Vicki Vale from the Gotham Globe," she announced. "Why are you closing the station?"
"Rioters," the cop informed her tartly, his eyes on the swelling crowd. "They're pissed Hill got elected, and they're lined up from the Flatiron Building all the way to City Hall."
"So you're shutting down public transport?" Vicki asked, her eyebrows raising, and the cop shot her a dubious look.
"You ever seen a full-blown riot, Ms Vale?" he countered. "People are capable of doing serious damage when they're desperate and angry. Now you better get home and lock your door."
He raised his bullhorn to demand people remain orderly, and Vicki lingered a moment longer before she slipped back into the crowd of nervous passengers.
It was only when she finally made it out of the station that she realized how thoroughly the protests had already devolved into riots, her eyes widening as a group of masked men squared off with cops in riot gear in the middle of the street. She had to force herself to look away, reminding herself she was there for a reason as she jogged down the block to the residential entrance of Wayne Tower.
Private security guarded the closed double doors, only letting her pass when she explained who she was and showed ID. Then in the lobby, she found a handful of nervous-looking porters and door attendants whispering together, one of them reluctantly peeling off from the group to let her into the private elevator to the Wayne Penthouse.
As the elevator doors closed, Vicki watched the doormen get louder and more anxious, one of them gesturing to the street outside.
"Are you kidding me, Frank?" he demanded angrily. "Hill doesn't give a shit about us—he's only working for the rich assholes who live upstairs."
The elevator doors closed before Vicki could hear anything else. She took a deep breath as the lift shot upwards, trying to focus on the imminent 'talk' instead of the riots.
There was no doubt in her mind Harley and the Joker were capable of inciting riots if they felt so inclined. The real question was why they had decided to light the match of discontent today.
There was only one good answer—they were making their move on Roman, a realization that filled Vicki with a swarm of conflicting emotions. Hope, guilt, excitement, horror. Horror directed both at herself and for what was happening outside.
The elevator reached the penthouse with a cheerful ding!, making Vicki's pulse leap in her throat. Her heart had been beating a nervous staccato all day, but it started pounding hard as the doors parted, revealing a palatial marble reception room decorated with delicate modern furniture.
Bruce and Dinah were waiting for her there. Bruce standing back, his arms folded, his face composed in a heavy frown while Dinah stood front and center with her hands planted on her hips. They were both wearing full-body suits made of a rubbery black material that looked like armor, confirming what Vicki already knew.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into an alley and scared you," Dinah greeted Vicki, looking only slightly sheepish.
"Um," Vicki glanced at Bruce as she stepped out of the elevator, distractedly taking note that he was not wearing his cape indoors. "That's okay?"
"It's not okay," Dinah sighed, deflating. "I know Harley has a way of getting under people's skin… making them think they owe her something, or need her. I know how hard it is to let go of her." She met Vicki's eye. "It's like she's eaten a part of your soul… and you have to fight to get it back and be yourself again."
Vicki's eyes widened, feeling like Dinah had just reached into her chest and untangled all the feelings she'd been wrestling with for a year, laying them out for her to see clearly.
"Yeah," she agreed quietly. "That's exactly what it's like."
"I used to work for her," Dinah admitted bitterly. "She did the same thing to me."
"Oh," Vicki blinked hard, taken aback by that revelation.
"Do you have any idea how to find them?" Bruce asked, not looking especially hopeful.
"No. We used to meet on a bench in the University District," Vicki explained, relieved she'd destroyed the phone. "One time she sent the Riddler to talk to me when she couldn't come herself."
"The Riddler?" Dinah exchanged a look with Bruce. "They're really working with the Riddler?"
"Yeah," Vicki nodded. "They kind of… teamed up to take on Roman together."
"Roman Sionis?" Bruce narrowed his eyes.
"Most people call him Black Mask," Vicki caught Bruce's eye. "He isn't just a businessman. He runs the mob, and he has fingers in just about every corner of Gotham society. And he's ambitious for more."
"Roman advises John Daggett," Bruce said to Dinah, who closed her eyes and sighed like she finally understood something.
"So this is all because Harley took it upon herself to decide who's in charge again," Dinah rolled her eyes, making Vicki bristle.
"Roman was stalking Harley," she insisted. "He was trying to force her to work for him."
"Vicki," Dinah said patiently. "She told you that to manipulate you, she—"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Vicki cut Dinah off irritably, knowing Dinah wasn't wrong but that she wasn't fully right either. "She was scared. Genuinely scared, and I wanted to help her." She looked at Bruce again. "And I wanted to help you too. Roman is working with Daggett to take over Wayne Enterprises."
"John Daggett was found with a bullet in his head this morning," Dinah said coldly. "And his face cut like the Joker's."
Vicki pressed her lips together, searching for the flicker of horror she should have felt over a man losing his life.
But it wasn't there. Her empathy hit a wall for people who associated with Roman Sionis.
"Let's start with something easy," Dinah sighed. "Do you know the Riddler's name?"
"No," Vicki lied. Something told her Harley would appreciate her sharing as few personal details as possible with the Batman and Black Canary. "Let me start from the beginning."
And Vicki did start at the beginning.
A highly editorialized version of it, at least.
Harley liked competent people. She liked useful people. And she liked diabolical people with a good sense of fun. She wasn't sure when Ed started checking those boxes, but it was impossible to deny once he shared his vision for co-opting Alexandra Kosov's anarchist entourage to ratchet up the protests of Mayor Hill's election, thereby sending Gotham into a very distracting spiral of anger and violence.
Pam pointed out that chaos and discontent among a group of rowdy anarchists was a good start, but with only seven hours until they met with Roman, they were going to need something extra to kick the malcontented citizens into action. Something to pull the rug out from under the police's feet. Something to make Roman's life—and his escape—difficult. Something to nudge Gotham toward outright rioting and destruction.
Something like a city-wide blackout.
Without Lonnie to help with technical matters—a major inconvenience—it was agreed Pam would plant a bomb at the power plant north of the city, initiating a blackout on the main island of Gotham.
While Harley helped Pam track down the materials needed to build a homemade bomb, the Joker took Frost and Ed on a 'fishing trip' to find the most vicious and philosophically-aligned of Alexandra's thugs, and send them into Midtown to engage in some good old fashioned sedition.
It seemed Frost had been doing some recon of his own and knew exactly who they needed to speak to.
Seven hours later, Harley was sitting in the back of a thirty-year-old Jeep Cherokee parked beneath the east side of the Midtown bridge, staring at Gotham's glittering skyline across the river. She was half-listening to the radio rattle on about the riots raging out of control in the city center and half eavesdropping as the Joker and Ed gossiped about Alexandra's thugs.
Then across the river, the lights flickered at the top of Wayne Tower and the Flatiron Building, the city's tallest skyscrapers. The lights continued blinking for a moment, and then a wave of blackness washed over the city in one fell swoop.
"Spooky," Ed observed cheerfully, checking his warpaint in the rearview mirror before he started the Jeep's rattly engine.
Once they crossed the bridge into Midtown, it was immediately obvious how thoroughly Alexandra's thugs had whipped the city up into a flurry of chaos. Flaming police cruisers and clouds of tear gas, cops in riot gear facing off with rioting masked people, mounted police on horseback attempting to corral the angry mobs.
Chaos.
The roads had been closed off, but Ed simply honked and plowed through the barricades into the crush of people. The crowd only grew thicker as they drew closer to the Flatiron, where a full mob had gathered, some of them chanting for Hill's head despite the cops pushing them back.
Ed laid his foot down on the gas, the Jeep wobbling as it nudged people aside, then rocking to a stop once they were close enough.
"Ooh, sorry!" Ed chirped out the window.
"Yer gonna need a good lawyer, Eddie," the Joker chuckled, accepting the shotgun Harley passed him before he kicked open his door.
"Fools and stubborn men make lawyers rich," Ed countered flirtatiously, hopping out of the Jeep. "That's what my Grannie says!" he added, having to shout as he shot his way through the crowd. "Outta the way! Outta the way! Come on, move it, ya filthy animals!"
Harley chuckled as she fired her shotgun indiscriminately into the mass of people. They screamed and scattered while the mounted officers' horses reared up on their back legs, whinnying anxiously.
Their painted faces made people jump out of the way as much as their guns, loaded with real bullets, not rubber ones. And as expected, once they'd forced their way to the skyscraper's gold-plated owner's entrance, four well-dressed Black Mask henchmen were waiting to escort them up to Falcone penthouse.
Ed and the Joker quickly took out Roman's thugs while Harley kept the mob back. It was impossible to tell who was intentionally inciting anarchy and who was just angry enough to buy a clown mask of their own accord. But all around them, chaos was thrumming as the citizens of Gotham gave into their anger, into their resentment, into their desire for vengeance against the city's corrupt establishment that didn't do a thing to help them.
It was beautiful.
An explosion rocked the street, sending glass spraying into the mob. Harley ducked and threw her hands over her ears, and when she lifted her head, it was just in time to see a flaming police cruiser crash into the side of the building opposite, distracting her long enough to allow a cop wielding a canister of mace in her path. Harley fired her last shell into his belly before he could set off the gas, then she rushed after Ed and the Joker over the bodies of Roman's thugs into the building.
The Joker was using a crowbar to pry the elevator doors apart while Ed stood back.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" he blurted, wrinkling his nose.
"You're the one who said the elevator would have enough power for one trip," Harley pointed out irritably. "If Roman still wants to talk, he'll be up there. And this elevator only goes to one floor."
The elevator doors creaked open with a reluctant groan, and the Joker stepped back, tossing the crowbar aside, and raking a hand through his green-stained hair before he gestured to Ed and Harley.
"Ladies first," he drawled.
Ed hesitated a moment before slipping between the narrow opening, and Harley followed with the Joker squeezing in behind her. There was a keypad beside the still-open doors, but before Harley could question how they were going to get past it, the gears in the ceiling creaked to life, and the elevator began to rise.
"And here... we... go," the Joker muttered to himself.
Harley couldn't tell if she was nervous or unnaturally calm, but her mind was bizarrely blank as they inched toward the penthouse. Her shoulders were tense, and her toes were curling, but try as she might to make a plan of action, to get excited, all she could do was stare numbly at her blurred reflection in the gold-plated doors. She was willingly walking into a trap, and she wasn't quite convinced she would come out of it alive. The dying part didn't bother her so much as the idea of Roman getting the upper hand again. But she wasn't scared, she didn't doubt herself—she was just annoyed and pissed off, and she refused to let Roman slither away after all he'd done.
When they reached the top floor, there was a sad whirring sound in the ceiling as the emergency light shut off, indicating the last of the elevator's power had been used.
Harley hung back while the Joker and Ed squeezed through the narrow gap between the elevator doors. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, giving up the irritating need for a plan, and reminding herself that she just needed to follow her instincts—to do what felt right—and she would win.
She slid out of the elevator into a small reception room, which was pitch black without a light source, so dark she could barely make out Ed's tall frame in front of her.
"C'mon, kiddos," the Joker muttered, followed by the loud creak of the penthouse's heavy double doors opening.
Harley could immediately tell the penthouse was different, even in the darkness. The foyer floors had been marble before, but now they were wood, and instead of the lingering scent of Sofia's Chanel No 5, it stank of bleach and a cloyingly sweet vanilla-scented air freshener.
Someone had been murdered there not too long ago.
Harley could smell it.
The foyer led into the kitchen, illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Roman stood at the island in the middle of the kitchen, nursing a stemless glass of red wine, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows like he was winding down from a long day. There was no sign of Crane or any of the burly BMW bodyguards. From all appearances, Roman was alone.
"You're on time," he observed mildly, setting his glass on the counter.
Harley scoffed, but the Joker continued forward, running one gloved finger along the marble island until he was toe to toe with Roman, who stared back at him impassively.
"Hmm," the Joker purred, licking his scarred bottom lip with a serpentine flick of his tongue. "Looks like Black Mask has run out of friends."
"I still have friends," Roman countered blithely, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "You just killed some of my more helpful ones."
"Oh, we didn't kill all of them," the Joker chuckled. "But they were more than happy to turn on you when it counted," he added, leaning in close. "How's it feel, huh? Gettin' so close only to realize... ya never had it at all."
Roman laughed softly, dismissively.
"We'd like Anarky back," Harley cut in. "If you don't make a fuss about handing him over, I may be inclined to kill you a little bit faster."
Roman sighed and reached for his wine, then took two steps back so he was no longer in the Joker's shadow.
"I still need him," he admitted. "But I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."
"An arrangement?" Harley laughed and pulled the gun holstered at her waist. "You're alone and unarmed. You have no men to protect you and no allies to give you power." She lifted an eyebrow. "You're not in a position to be making arrangements, Roman."
"Mm," he agreed mildly, sighing again. He wandered over to a breakfast table surrounded by prettily-upholstered chairs and set his wine down. "I have to say… I'm impressed." He looked up at them. "By all of you."
"Um, I'm pretty sure this is the part where you beg for your life," Ed wrinkled his nose. "Give it up, sweetie. Desperate isn't a good look."
Roman turned to stare out the window as a police helicopter shot past, its floodlights flashing and propellers beating noisily.
"Let me guess, Ed. The blackout was your idea." Roman looked at Harley and then the Joker, waving a finger between them. "And one of you had the idea to whip up these riots."
"Wrong," Harley sneered. "For someone with his own cult, you're not very good at reading people."
"My own cult?" Roman laughed incredulously and laid a hand over his heart. "Harley, all I ever did was give my close friends what they most desired. I was hoping to give you what you wanted too."
"He's stalling," the Joker snarled, prompting Harley and Ed to exchange a look.
"What can I say," Roman shrugged helplessly. "It's become abundantly clear that all three of you are a liability."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Harley scowled.
"It means I've been going about this the wrong way," Roman explained patiently. "I admit, I was naive to think it would be as simple as having Alberto kill you. Then I was sure it would be a case of getting you to turn on one another." He sighed and caught Harley's eye across the dark room. "It only occurred to me recently that I need… a specialist to help me."
"A specialist," Harley sneered.
"Yes," Roman offered her a smile. "I think a stint at Arkham Asylum might make you more inclined to our… inevitable partnership, Harley." He glanced at the Joker. "And I believe the good people of Gotham are still eager to see you shipped off to Guantanamo Bay."
"What did you do," Harley narrowed her eyes.
"What any responsible homeowner does when an intruder breaks in," Roman shrugged. "I called the police just before you arrived. And we all know who pays close attention to the police scanners here in Gotham."
The Joker released an annoyed growl and Ed huffed indignantly, but Harley couldn't stop herself from laughing.
"You called the Batman on us?" she scoffed, pointing her gun at Roman's head. "You're pathetic," she spat.
The fact that they needed to get Lonnie back fled Harley's mind entirely, right along with the promise of the slow and painful death Roman deserved. She wanted to wipe the smug smirk off his face, preferably by blowing his head off with it.
Something hard and sticky hit the floor-to-ceiling window beside them, and Harley only had a second to register what she was seeing before the object released a vibration that shattered the plate glass. A loud gust of wind spiraled through the room like a vacuum, making Harley's hair whip around her face distractingly, and before she could pivot away from Roman to face this new threat, the Batman swooped in, his cape flapping around him as he rose to his full height.
Black Canary swung in on a cable behind him, heading straight for Harley. Her feet connected with Harley's chest, sending her flying across the kitchen and skidding across the floor. The back of her skull cracked against the wood, making her teeth rattle and her vision blur as she lay gasping on her back, trying to get her bearings. She heard the Joker snarl and the Batman grunt, and a crash of broken glass in the living room as they attacked each other. Then the meaty smack of a fist hitting flesh in tandem with Ed yelping.
Harley kicked herself to feet and rushed forward as Black Canary punched Ed in the ribs, then spun around to throw her elbow into his gut. Ed gasped but reacted fast, hooking an arm around the Canary's neck and hauling her back against him. His elbow tightened around her throat, holding her in place as Harley swept in to deliver an exceptionally satisfying right hook that made Black Canary's head snap to the side.
But before Harley could attack again, the Canary threw Ed over her shoulder, making him shriek in surprise before his back hit the floor. Harley ignored Ed's groaning, her attention firmly fixed on her opponent, who'd planted her feet, her arms raised in an attack pose Harley had seen her take many times before.
"You know, I almost missed you," Harley quipped, dodging one blow and then another. She landed a pointless body shot that glanced off the Canary armor, making her knuckles sting.
"You shouldn't have come back," the Canary hissed, going for a roundhouse kick that Harley dodged, only to catch an uppercut, pain exploding across her jaw.
"That's funny," Harley panted, slipping right and left before she spun on her heel and kicked the Canary in the chest. "I remembered you being better at this!"
There was a crash in the living room, and Harley looked up to see Ed pulling a flat-screen television off the wall, followed by a pained roar when it landed on the Batman.
She almost laughed, but then the Canary pulled a foot-long baton from her tool belt, a taser issuing fissures of blue electricity.
"Shit," Harley hissed, bracing herself.
She was immediately on defense, her jaw set as she ducked and slipped, trying to avoid getting tased. She spotted her gun on the kitchen floor, but the taser caught her in the ribs before she could dive for it, making Harley cry out in surprise as a jolt of electricity raced through her body. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed on her belly, her face slack as she pawed at the floor, trying to push herself up before Black Canary could land another blow…
PHWONGGG!
The sound rang like a gong, making Harley's ears buzz. She rolled her head to the side to see Black Canary on the floor next to her, struggling to push herself to her hands and knees.
Ed stood over them, wielding a cast-iron skillet.
"That's Le Creuset, bitch!" he whooped, going in for a second attack.
The Canary recovered before he could hit her, hopping to her feet and swinging her taser at Ed's head. He shrieked and caught the blow with the skillet, which absorbed the current. She hesitated a moment, looking between Ed and the skillet, then lashed out at him again, and again, and again—but Ed caught each blow with the skillet like he was fencing while Harley watched from the floor, bewildered.
"Maybe find Roman!" Ed suggested, prompting Harley to shake her head and jump to her feet.
Weaponless, she rushed back into the darkened foyer where the light in the elevator was on again. Harley sprinted toward it, huffing in frustration when she found it empty. She started to turn back when a thin cord wrapped around her neck from behind, pulling tight before she could get her fingers beneath it.
Harley choked, her hands flying up to claw at the cord around her neck. Her attacker yanked her backward, making her stumble a few steps as the cord tightened, cutting off her access to air.
"I really didn't want it to be like this," Roman hissed in her ear, making Harley's skin crawl. "I thought we could have something special."
Unadulterated rage swept through Harley like a cyclone, overpowering her disgust and frustration. She threw her head back, slamming the sore, swollen spot at the back of her skull into Roman's chin. He grunted but didn't relent so she threw her head back again and again until she heard the satisfying CRUNCH of his nose breaking against the back of her skull.
Roman made a surprised, pained sound, and Harley dug her feet into the floor, forcing him backward until he hit the wall. The cord was still tight around her throat as she bucked against him harder, fighting relentlessly for freedom, and when the back of her head connected with his broken nose again, he cried out indignantly and released her.
Harley spun around, catching Roman by the collar of his shirt before he could slither away. She scowled and punched him in the eye with all the strength she possessed, the urge to crush him consuming her. Her knuckles split open as she hit him again, and again, until she was wildly pounding on his face with her fist, wishing she had something heavier, something that would cave his skull in.
Roman spat a mouthful of blood in Harley's face, stunning her for a prolonged moment. She snarled and blinked it off, pulling back her fist to hit him again.
A gloved hand closed around her wrist, yanking her back, making her lose her grip on Roman.
Harley swung around to find herself face-to-face with Black Canary again. There was a long crack crossing her cowl, and her bottom lip was split and bleeding, her jaw tense as she panted hard through her nose.
She looked pissed.
Showing anything close to emotion was out of character for her. It made Harley hesitate, giving Black Canary an opening to headbutt her, not one of her usual skillful moves.
"Get out of here!" she snapped at Roman, who limped away silently.
"You don't know who he is!" Harley raged, pressing her hand to her aching forehead. "He's—"
But she was cut off when Black Canary backhanded her harshly, apparently ditching her refined skill set to take out some feelings on Harley.
Harley's head snapped to the side, and blood filled her mouth, but by now, it wasn't enough to faze her. She let out a scream of fury and lurched forward without a plan of attack, her hands closing around Black Canary's throat. The suit released a fissure of electricity that Harley ignored, rushing her back into the kitchen and pinning her down on the marble island.
The Canary grabbed a pretty vase of flowers behind her and smashed them over Harley's head, water and flowers and broken glass spilling over both of them. Then she kneed Harley in the crotch, a dirty move that made Harley wheeze in surprise, and before she could recover, she was being forced backward. Her spine hit the stove at a painful angle, but she fought past it and snatched up an enamel kettle, slamming it against the side of Black Canary's head with a CLANG!
The Canary staggered back, disorientated, and Harley went for her throat again, shoving her back until they hit the wall beside the refrigerator and struggled there. She grabbed a handful of Harley's hair, yanking her head back and making Harley hiss in frustration and surprise.
Hair pulling was not usually this tiny vigilante's style.
Before Harley knew what was happening, Black Canary threw the fridge open, using her grip on Harley's hair to slam her face-first into the cold metal door.
Harley's eyes rolled back in her head, her entire face fuzzing in agony, blood gushing from her nose over her lips and down her chin. She had to lean against the wall to find the strength to push past it, aware that the Canary was barreling toward her again. She forced her eyes open and pushed away from the wall, meeting her head-on.
They struggled against one another futility, each of them indulging in more primal violence born from resentment. This fight was different from every other time they'd faced each other. Harley wasn't sure what had changed, but it felt like there was something personal at play.
Then Harley saw an opening. She used a move Dinah taught her for immobilizing faster opponents, grabbing the Canary by both wrists and swinging her around, then getting a grip on the back of her neck before she slammed her face down on the marble counter.
The Canary gasped and wavered for a moment, too dazed to retaliate. Then she snatched up a bronzed fruit basket and spun around to crack Harley across the face with the bowl, splitting her forehead open.
Harley rocked back on her heels, feeling like her brain was sloshing around her skull as she tried to push through. Her forehead was split open, blood dripping into her eye, obscuring her vision. She was getting tired, multiple head wounds making her slow and sluggish. But she knew if she didn't pull it together, she would be admitted to Arkham by morning. If that happened, Roman would get away, and he might even be able to take her with him. And that thought alone was enough to make Harley stumble forward to meet Black Canary again.
They grappled with each other's arms as they staggered around the kitchen, slamming each other into walls and counters. Harley wasn't capable of much more than that, a last-ditch effort at self-preservation. Then they edged too close to the smashed floor-to-ceiling window, the wind whistling dangerously as sixty-six floors of empty space threatened to swallow them whole.
Harley found another burst of strength and pushed forward, throwing the Canary onto the kitchen table. She pulled Harley with her, and the wood split under their combined weight, the table collapsing so they were thrown to the floor in a heap.
The Canary managed to get the upper hand as they rolled out of the debris, getting Harley on her back and pinning her briefly before Harley locked her knees around the Canary's hips and flipped her over, sitting on her stomach.
Then she spotted Ed, slumped against the wall a few feet away, unconscious, his hands bound behind his back. The skillet was lying on the floor between them, and Harley quickly scooped it up and swung it at Black Canary's head.
Her face snapped to the side, the crack in her Canary cowl growing longer, her eyes fluttering behind her mask.
The same righteous rage that took hold of Harley when she had Roman up against the wall pulsed through her now, making her vision blur and her heart pound. She lashed out with the skillet again, a frustrated scream ripping out of her throat as the cast iron connected with Black Canary's head.
Her cowl cracked in two, rubbery black fragments crumbling to the floor, revealing a young blonde girl beneath.
Harley froze completely, forgetting to breathe.
It was Dinah.
It was her Dinah.
Dinah Drake was the Black Canary.
Harley still had the skillet raised, poised to strike again. But she couldn't move. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. All the anger and frustration and physical pain drained away, leaving nothing but a cold numbness behind as a string of memories and moments flashed before her mind's eye. Meeting Dinah in the Narrows when she was a street rat with no family. Dinah teaching her karate. Dinah helping them plan bank robberies. Laughing with Dinah and Pam and Roxy. Dinah's droll wit, her excellent instincts, her iron will, her bravery, her loyalty.
Harley released a shuddering breath, feeling a swell of emotion she couldn't put a name to. Her eyes began to sting as she stared down at Dinah's bloodied face, trying to reconcile those memories with the masked vigilante she'd been playing cat-and-mouse with for almost a year.
Then behind her, there was an inhuman snarl—the Joker.
Feeling like she was moving through quicksand, Harley turned to look over her shoulder, realizing the constant smashing and grunting of the Joker and the Batman's fight had ceased. She blinked sluggishly, watching the Batman drag the Joker over to the open window. He was on his hands and knees, concussed and limp, one of his ears bleeding, conscious but struggling.
Then the Batman pulled a grappling hook from his toolbelt, preparing to leave.
Preparing to take the Joker with him.
Harley looked back down at Dinah, a girl she'd considered her friend. Hers to protect. Her sister.
The Joker grunted again, and Harley jumped to her feet, knowing what she needed to do to distract the Batman. She dropped the frying pan and ran toward the open window, each footfall lingering for seconds instead of moments as she picked up speed.
She caught the Joker's eye as she ran past him, and even though he was on hands and knees, struggling to stay awake, she still saw his eyes widen in one of those rare moments of surprise when he realized what she was about to do.
Harley turned back to the window, her pulse throbbing in her neck as her foot connected with the edge.
She jumped, and life immediately sped up, her dress and her hair whipping around her as she began to fall impossibly fast toward the street below.
A/N: ….
So, clearly, Harley has some feelings about Dinah!
Also, "That's Le Creuset, bitch" might be the greatest thing I've ever written.
I mean, what a chapter, from the kinky sex to Dinah reveal to Harley jumping to possibly her death… (obviously not)
You guys, we only have 4 weeks left!
Next: Riots, car chases, Pam's POV, Ed vs. Montoya, Joker 2019 Easter eggs, and more.
Please comment & review - like really, please, lol.
xo