Life and Death

Chapter 2

The funny thing with life is that it's a game. A wild, unpredictable game. We're just laughing and nothing matters.

Harley was stretched out on the cold medical table in the basement, a smile on her lips. Sometimes they ended up fucking down there, among the surgical instruments. Her man did have an… animalistic streak in him, buried beneath his smooth façade. Who could have guessed?

Any other day they would have done just that, in their combined interrogation and torture chamber with only a surgical lamp to keep them company, the cold drip on the floor in time with the sounds they made. She loved to be underneath the sharp light with his tattoo gun, at the center of his attention. The gleam in his eyes as he would work her so good, before they both gave into their desire and ended up fucking on the table.

She was his masterpiece, the only one to walk out of this place alive and return when she pleased.

Today was not their usual routine, it hadn't been for months. She was wearing nothing but a blood stained shirt that used to belong to him. It was ruined when he lost himself in their game with one of their test subjects the other day. Normally he never got a single drop of blood on his clothes – but well, she had distracted him.

The elderly woman they had dragged down with them arranged towels, medication and the antiseptic liquid. She still hadn't looked inside the freezer. Their other help was waiting outside, tied up.

Joker picked up his sharpest knife. Harley knew he was flawless. His grip, his precision, he could cut the finest lines and swirls, thin as thread into her skin. She wanted to beg him to do it to her now; she had missed the delicious, stinging foreplay. But his face was concentraed and she dared not interrupt him.

The nurse soaked Harley's skin with antiseptic, rubbing her skin with a cloth. She mumbled something, asking about morphine. They had an enormous supply at hand, but Harley found it ridiculous. There was no way she was going to be dizzy through this.

She looked at the Joker, their gazes met, and he put the knife to her belly.

She grinned, feeling the familiar surge of excitement run through her. She loved the look in his eyes when he worked his blade on her. It always got both of them so worked up.

The pain came from within, drowning out the heat. "Do it Puddin'," Harley breathed through her teeth. Her back arched off the table. "Come on!"

She breathed harshly as he started. Right above her 'Lucky You' tattoo, a horizontal cut through all the layers of skin. One, two, three, four, five… Her eyes remained wide open the whole time. His knife was like a caress, his dark eyes keeping her grounded.

She gasped, her spine curved so beautifully, and then she fell down again with a thud. Laying there with a blissful smile on her face, she was a masterpiece. The Joker reminded himself again of how many ways he could turn her into art. He liked her best like this, silent but breathing, always breathing.

He pressed his fingers to her throat, feeling her pulse beating steadily beneath his fingertips.

The small nurse-woman had been pressing down onto Harley's stomach the whole time, rubbing and massaging. She made an inquiring sound, reaching out her arms. Joker's focus snapped back and he lifted out the thing that had been inside Harley's womb. Thick, crimson liquid welled out over her stomach and his arms.

He heard her laugh suddenly, and left the thing in the nurse's arms. He focused on Harley again.

No one screamed. How boring.

Maybe it was supposed to, because Harley seemed to listen for it. Maybe she was hearing things inside of her brain again.

But Harley didn't scream, and neither did the bloody thing.

.

.

.

What was the meaning of death without life first? A joke without a punch line. The Joker hated bad jokes.

And this was going be his greatest joke of all, something to bring down upon the world. Death, like chaos and destruction, was unavoidable, and he took great joy in it. Life was a joke that he had allowed to exist.

But this new joke was not moving or breathing, and that was just no fun at all.

"Where is my baby?" Strange sounds spilled from Harley, an endless symphony of sounds leaving her lips.

Their nurse didn't say a word. She lifted away the small thing, a bundle wrapped in white towels. It still didn't move after her repeated rubbing, its eyes were already closed. He turned to watch her place it out of sight from Harley. Neat, like a mail package. He briefly wondered where it'd go. Into their freezer?

And so, the thing was gone. Harley suddenly stopped laughing, as if someone had cut her air supply off. She stared at the ceiling like a porcelain corpse. Like the woman they had kept in the freezer for a while, only Harley was alive and he would not. allow. her. to stop breathing.

Joker moved closer to her, growling, the back of his bloody hand colliding with her cheek. She was growing colder, as if she was bleeding out. If she dared to do anything now – if she left him, even for this moment – he'd set hell loose upon her. She had dragged them both here, and he'd be damned if she took the quick exit out of this.

All thoughts of the thing was gone from his mind, because she was not responsive at all. Joker leaned over, not knowing what do except acting on an instinct buried deep within him. His lips found hers and he breathed into her, forcing her to open her eyes. He didn't know what she saw in his facial expression, but one of her hands weakly touched his face.

Almost comforting.

He realized she was still open, and his hands quickly moved down, starting pull out the rest that he needed to get rid of. She had read a book for him on how to do it, the good little doctor, repeating all the steps until he was sick of it, all the while giggling excitedly.

She would be as good as new, he mused with his hands still buried in her. His hands touched another form. Without even looking he lifted it out of her. It rested in his bloody hands, another small body. He gave it to the nurse-woman with an annoyed turn of his neck and cut the umbilical cord with a swift stroke of his knife.

Harley stared at nothing. "Baby, baby, baby baby," she chanted, her giggles never far away, "Where are you?" she slurred, eyes rolling back into her head. Joker grit his teeth, his hand slapping her awake. She was grasping for something, grasping for him.

He snapped his fingers at the nurse, knife in hand, where does one find good help these days? The gagged surgeon was pushed through the door by one of his henchmen who quickly retreated. Joker watched as the man started sewing his Harley back together. Careful stitches, better than Joker could do.

The nurse walked over to her with the bundle in her arms, the thing that still had moved. Harley's body suddenly jerked up as if she had received an electric shock – another favorite pastime of theirs. She didn't even seem to notice the needle that was jabbed through her skin by the surgeon.

Her eyes sparkled in the sharp light, her dry lips stretching into her widest smile. Joker snarled, wanting her to look at him only, and that she did, in the next moment. She beamed with sweet, childish joy and he wanted to taste her broken lips.

The small thing was wrapped in a blood-stained towel. It gasped for breath, gurgling for a moment. Then it cried and he couldn't decide if it was annoying or funny.

More funny that frustrating.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe

Catch a baby by the toe

If it breathes, don't let it go

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Harley snatched the bundle from the nurse's arms, her eyes filling with tears. The surgeon had just finished, and Joker pushed him to the floor.

Harley sat up and the color returned to her cheeks. She looked up at him again, cradling the small thing in her arms, and he had never seen her so glowing. A hint of his real Harley. Fierce and covered in blood, a triumphant smile on her face.

And then he had to look, too, at that thing she was so attached to, the thing he sometimes had itched to get rid of.

"Look, Puddin'," she gasped, presenting it to him. He only saw a reddish face and tiny hands. It was a mess, covered in red and white stains. Dark eyes stared up at them and it took him a moment to realize.

There, in their own personalized torture chamber of choice, it took its first breaths and it wasn't even scared. Surrounded by blood and death. It was comical, and he suddenly felt himself grin. Maybe there was a punch line to this joke, after all.

Harley smiled from ear to ear. The nurse carefully walked closer, holding more clean towels and reaching out for the thing. All the medical supplies they needed were prepared on the counter.

"P-pardon me…"

Her end was swift; he didn't have time to play today. Joker withdrew his knife from her throat and wiped it off on the sheets.

"Wouldn't want anyone to spill this little secret, would we?"

Harley giggled, but Joker noticed how pale her face was, deep shadows underneath her eyes. He was reminded of the surgeon on the floor and reached for his gun, but she shook her head. Instead he picked up the knife again and made it quick.

He wanted Harley to keep glowing like this. He wanted to continue their violent games, without her ever slipping away into a place inside of herself again and him having to wait for days for her to come back. It was boring, and the Joker hated boring.

But from now on, things would be fun again.

Harley hummed a tune as she rocked the bloody baby. "Welcome to the world, Princess," she sing-sang. "Mommy and Daddy love you so much."