Despite the chaos that ensued both in the diner and the kitchen, after Joker had unloaded bullet after bullet into the ceiling, he'd left the restaurant - and left the waitress with the widest smile stretched from ear to ear. This was unusual for the clown prince, though his name spoke otherwise, often leaving premises to the cacophony of cries and screaming as opposed to winning grins all round. What he found funny wasn't often received with good humour by anybody else . What helped in this circumstance, had been Harley Quinn, who having stuffed stacks and stacks of pancakes until satisfied, had demanded he leave a tip for the lady who'd served them, and for the chefs who'd prepared their mountainous feast, the bus boys, the porter…

"Anyone else ?!" he hissed, emptying the loose change and lint from the shallow pockets of his shorts.

Harley stared, crossed her arms, pursed her lips. The same expression he'd seen at the club when harmlessly proposing she'd help them to fix things up. What had he done now? Standing, sighing, and pulling out the inner lining of his pockets, he rinsed himself of his last remaining twenty dollar bills. He saw $80 just sitting there . The only cash he had thought to carry. "Happy now?"

She glowered and whispered to him harshly from her spot at the table. "You shot up their roof!"

"You're killin' me, Harls," he huffed, all eyes on him as Harley signalled not-so-subtly for more. How minted did she think he was?! He hadn't intended on paying! Her silence spoke volumes. "Fine!" Joker pulled from his rain mac a tattered cheque book (more of a prop than anything) he reserved it's use for those SUPER SERIOUS business meetings. Ha! Ha! Ha! And he was using it now to pay for their service. "I got a tip for you, Harley-" he started.

"Just cough it up." She wasn't taking the joke.

Joker snatched the pen from the waitress waiting patiently with her pad, and scribbled the one, followed quickly by three fat zeros. Finally, Harley smiled, and relief set in. Good grief. Now fed, full and having had her ( ridiculous ) demands met, Harley seemed in good enough spirits to latch onto his arm as they left the diner. Joker tensed instinctively at her touch. If anyone had hold of him, it was often followed by several blows and a severe beating, her light link at his forearm was a foreign feeling, a gentle gesture, and Harley tugged him towards the direction of his porsche sitting in the lot. Joker smiled as she led him back to his car, smiled at her sweet expression, the littered freckles on her face bought out in the morning sun, and smiling mostly, his last laugh, knowing full well the cheque he'd left behind would certainly bounce.

"That was good . You should take me out again sometime!" Harley exclaimed excitedly. The fresh air and food had done wonders for her already. The pink was rising in her cheeks, some of the plumpness had returned to her rounded features. She still needed time, but recovery looked fruitful. Harley turned to face him as they reached the passenger door, and she hung on for his answer, head tilted and smiling warmly, still. "What d'ya say?" She stood on one foot, then the other, eyebrow raised expectantly. "I got some good places we could go. Some chef's I wouldn't mind ya' shootin'" she spoke coyly.

Joker's mouth slacked at the suggestion of them sharing company. Not that he was opposed, in fact, quite the contrary. "A couple of pancakes and you're good to go, huh?" he chuckled. "You are too easy ." His laughter faltered as her expression altered. What had been glee was now grumpy andglaring at him.

"What're yer tryin' to say?!"

Joker blinked, blankly. Why was she so difficult?! "To please - easy to please !" It didn't matter. The damage was done. Harley hopped into her seat and slammed the door before he could even begin to rectify his statement. Fuck. Joker wound a hand through his hair and breathed deeply through his building frustration. Breathe in. Breathe out. Miss Quinzel had proved time and time again to be something of a handful. He considered scolding her, watched her as she rummaged through his glove compartment for a lighter, her fingers brushed the purple plastic of his personalised taser - well, maybe he'd confront her another time instead! A tinny text tone bleated from the inner pocket of his mac, distracting Joker momentarily from thoughts of telling off his hot-headed harlequin.

sent at 6:30am

club u comin?

sent at 7:15am

come soon #badnews

sent at 7:30am

?

sent at 7:38am

u know it wouldn't hurt to answer 4 once

Floyd. Joker frowned at the phone screen. They'd dealt with their fair share of bad news the last few weeks, he wasn't really in the mood to stomach anymore of it… He still winced when dressing, it still stung to squint his eyes. Reluctantly, dragging his feet, Joker followed suit and took his seat at the wheel. Harley waited for him to turn the ignition, to wind down the window and start up a smoke. Silence ensued between them, both steaming for reasons neither wished to discuss. The morning had started so swimmingly…

"We gotta quickly swing by the club."

Harley's arms crossed again, eyes never leaving the view from her window. A plume of smoke left her lips, swallowing back her sadness, her anger, it was hard to tell which. "Oh, goodie ."

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey. Harley smoked and clutched the covered wound at her chest, Joker jittered in the uncomfortable quiet. He wasn't used to voicing his care or concern, so the words he wanted to speak never left his lips. But he knew, with writhing discomfort, he genuinely cared for Harley. He'd tried to ignore it, when the bullet had been wriggling in her torso, when he'd thought she might die, he tried just as much to ignore it now. But Joker kept glancing her way nonetheless, wanting so desperately to crack a joke and distract her. Pull her from whatever depressing and downing thoughts she was dwelling on. Harley was irritating, irrational but she was just as much interesting and individual. He hadn't lost her on the operating table, he didn't want to lose her to disagreements instead. "Sweetness, I -"

"What's goin' on?"

Harley flicked her third and final cigarette out of the window, leaning on the sill and staring wide-eyed as they approached the broken exterior of Grin N' Bare It. The carpark was uncharacteristically full, all of his men must have rallied therein. Happy stood at the backdoor, a shotgun rested on a cocked hip. The club was no longer a misused husk, but acting as a true base of Joker operations. Though it bought a thrill to witness the return of its former glory, of the budding potential, there was a twinge of suspicion as to why he'd been summoned. Harley had seen the club near on empty, unguarded, a goon hang-out, he could hear her breath hitch to see it like this .

"Business calls."

She'd become accustomed to his guys with guns at the warehouse, she'd even witnessed murder, with Eric taking a shot straight to the face on her attempted escape - but she hadn't seen his men armed and ready for turf war, wandering his property in broad daylight. The reality of his work had her nervous. Joker stepped from his vehicle and Harley followed hesitantly behind. She gripped his arm for an altogether different reason now, but Joker would take whatever he could get. "No one here is gonna hurt you, kid." He meant it. Not one of his men would dare lay a finger on her now, not after seeing her locked in his arms, not after seeing her laid out screaming on that table. "They're just looking out for us. They're completely harmless!" Joker's voice was soft, for once. Not if they wanted to keep their heads .

Harley clearly struggled with deciding on what to make of his statement, eyeing their weapons and chewing her lip. "Completely harmless," she repeated. Still, Harley settled on a small and quivering smile at his words. "Oh-kay Mistah' J. I believe ya." She didn't , but it was sweet enough to say, regardless.

Together, they headed inside, Harley bumping at his hip and holding onto his sleeve tightly. They weaved around the men who had gathered, some he knew and recognised, some stranger faces also drifted through their midsts. As expected, his ranks would rise throughout the coming weeks, recruited or invited by other henchmen, they would crawl out from the rotten woodwork of the Gotham's underbelly, to pick and work for a side before the oncoming storm. Gang war in Gotham spelt serious dollar for most, so lackeys were easy to come by, gun fodder or not. Burning Cobblepot's family manor had started the motion towards warfare in the streets of the city and they were standing on the precipice of times a-changing .

Pool tables had been drawn together, glasses, dusty bottles, cards and coins, had been placed to use as strategic symbols upon the scuffed green felt. Wayne Tower represented by a dusty bottle of pink champagne. A bowl of moulding peanuts stood in for Gotham City Police Department. Among other various items. Joker's closer circle of miscreants, save for Happy, lingered , lacking any of their usual light-heartedness or laughter. Yanos, the ladies man, sat near on sobbing in the leather booth, a black letter in hand and shaking. He sniffed as his eyes lifted from the table to Joker and Harley who stood at the doorway.

Floyd, in his clown attire, approached from the bar, phone in hand and huffing. "I was just about to text you again."

"No need," Joker stated, eyeing each and every miserable face moping in the club. "Man walks into a bar-"

"Cobblepot's men cornered Yanos at the Iceberg Lounge, he's got somethin' he wants ya' to have."

Joker's grin dropped at being cut from his joke, "that's not the punchline…" The mere mention of the name that had gotten him beaten black and blue, had him confronting both Black Mask and Batman, and had put Harley in a drug-induced coma while a bullet intended for him, engraved withhis initial, had buried itself beside her beating heart. " What? " The word came as a cold and quiet whisper, that even Harley stepped aside.

Yanos' dark eyes wavered in their sockets as Joker approached, and he advanced without ever feeling his own footsteps on the hardwood floor. He felt hot under the plastic of his rain mac, and growing hotter still. He eyed the black paper in Yanos' trembling hands. Tears teetered on the thick row of dark lashes, his handsome stubbled jaw was set tight . Yanos was beautiful, but he was also naturally, fucking stupid . Shocker.

"What you got there?" Joker queried.

Yanos offered up the paper, shaking, into Joker's splayed palm. "I never said shit," he blurted. "I wouldn't, I'd never -" he spluttered in his panic. "I go there all the time, I pick up girl's there all the time , I ain't ever had problems, boss, but they got me in the peephole and they fuckin' pressed me man, pressed me to give you this."

The light glinted off an embossed silver Joker, and he flipped to see, what no doubt everyone else in the room already had . In silver pen, an elaborate cursive, read:

Dearest Joker,

I sincerely apologise for, what can only be surmised as, a grave misunderstanding. You have taken something which I considered incredibly dear to me, of that you know. To prevent any further misunderstandings of this expensive and extensive nature, I would like to call a truce. Man to man. I am willing to accept losses, if I can be assured of profit in future endeavours. I am, after all, nothing but a businessman working to better ourbeloved Gotham City. I wish to invite you, personally, to my yearly charity event held in honour of the hard work of those at Arkham Asylum (of that I am sure you have personally benefitted from in the past). I would like to extend to you, my guest of honour, a VIP entry, where we can discuss business matters further, face to face.

Find it in your heart to give generously to this important and integral cause.

Kindest Regards,

Oswald Cobblepot

He scanned in silence, for minutes. A terrible rage bubbled just beneath the surface of his sallow, clammy skin. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glaring down at the eloquent invite. From the politeness of the letter, Joker knew he'd poked a nerve others dared not. That the invitation was anything but a truce .

"That's the third place I've been barred from now, 'cause of you," Yanos' brows were furrowed, sweat beaded at his neat, dark hairline. "Where am I supposed to take the ladies now!? You even got me banned on tinder!" His voice shook with every syllable. "They gave me the invite - told me to get the fuck out, if I ever go back, they'll fuckin' gut me boss."

Joker eyed his resident playboy darkly. "Well, we can't be rude can we? Not after such effort! What would they take me for?" He leaned into Yanos, angered at his stupidity - his complete and utter naivety to have been spotted at the Lounge and recognised. He wanted to gut him himself. "Of course we are going to go!"

"They'll kill me!"

"Tragic!" Joker laughed, a loud short bark that had his men shrinking into the shadows.

"A' invitation?" Harley's high and curious tone piped up and Joker's attention was snapped away from his paling pal squirming in his booth. The intenseness of his gaze had her startled, and she shuffled in the corner. "To what?" Harley scuttled over before he could answer, ignoring how he seethed, her wide and eager eyes perused the letter in his hand. "Can I see?"

Joker scoffed. "Sure thing, doll." He smiled at Yanos widely, and revelled in him recoiling. Haa.

Harley frowned, but didn't chastise him - clearly far too intent on nosing in his business instead. Joker watched her expression as she scanned the page, darting to and fro, there was a hunger in her eyes as she devoured the words. She grinned, clutched the letter to her chest, and squealed so suddenly it had Joker and his entourage jolting. A glass shattered at the bar, followed by a croaky " fuck " from Frog, who grumbled when pouring himself another gin as replacement.

Joker's hand twitched as his heart hammered, pointed a finger at Harley and snarling, "you need to stop-"

"This is so excitin '!" Harley squeaked. "Invited to the one n' only! One of Cobblepot's charity galas? They're the place to be! I've tried to get in before but all the real important people get invited! All the rich an' famous ! The guest list is A list only !" She gleamed in the neon light. Paused and considered. "How tha' hell did you get an invite?"

Joker gaped, finger still pointed aimlessly. "What's that supposed to mean?!" Point taken , he'd never been invited before - he didn't really want to admit that destroying a man's heritage had made him guest of honour, that his invite served as nothing but a trap for he and his henchmen.

"Can I go too? Please Mistah' J ?!"

"Out of the question." Did she really think they were going to sip drinks and make idle chatter with Gotham's most boring bunch of pompous pricks?! Is that really what she thought this meeting was about? Harley's glowing smile vanished, her brows bowed in sadness. That's exactly what she thought… "Look, Harls - I'll make it up to you!"

"He don't even wanna go!" She screwed the invite in her fist and tossed it at Yanos' forehead. "But you're gonna take him instead? The only time I'm ever gonna get to see one o' these things - thanks to you - and you're not gonna take me with ya'?!" He could hear the hysterical pitch in her voice, of the oncoming tears and theatrics. "You're real cruel ya' know that, you're a real piece-a' work !"

"Don't throw that at me!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

Yelling, thumping - feet stamping. Harley's voice was chalk on a blackboard, Yanos' tenor was a thunder in the distance. Others joined in the ruckus and gathered at the booth like rabid hounds. Glasses rattled, chairs scraped and screeched as they moved to swarm the situation.

"Don't talk t' Miss Quinzel like that!"

"She's a lady, show some respect would ya'?!"

"Shut the hell up, th' lotta ya' I came here for a quiet night away from my fuckin' wife, I don't need this shit today."

Joker stared at the crumbled paper on the table, could just about make out the silver lines of Oswald Cobblepot . His wrists ached, fists clenched so tight his nails cut little crescents into the flat of his palm. The hit Penguin had put out on him… The debacle with Black Mask, The Bat… The bullet… The sheer insult and audacity of his letter-writing pen-pushing invite to Joker. Attend my yearly shitshow - " a truce" - a fucking trap . He turned to grip the edges of the pool table, save he got hold of the fingers on Yanos' hand. Then he would have real trouble getting the girls, right?

"Can we all just try an' be civil for f ive-fuckin' minutes man?" Floyd's voice was strained over the deafening drum of angry noise . Over the shouts and screeching. Over Harley's wailing, screaming , stamping her heels and marking the freshly varnished woodwork.

Joker flipped. Both his mood, and the pool table, turned in one fluid, flurry of violent fury. Wayne Tower was down, shattered and fizzing. The glasses, coins, cards and trinkets, all cascaded with a mighty H onto the floor. Shocked silence ensued, while Joker panted by the upturned pool table. It had been far heavier than it looked. Christ! "If it means so much, you can fucking go. We'll all go." He'd need them all there, to get through the torturous event avoiding any real torture. As many men as Penguin would warrant entry to.

"I don't wanna -"

" WE'LL. ALL. GO !"

Yanos backed so far into his booth, his head bashed against the brickwork. "Alright, alright! Whatever you want, boss!"

"Really?!" Harley sniffed, eyes glistening. "Ya' mean it?"

Joker shook from his outburst of anger, from the strain of the table. Muscles ached against tired bones, cracking his neck to relieve some of thetension .

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou." Harley hopped over broken glass and spilt liquor, to throw herself into his unexpecting arms. He swayed, almost fell, caught himself - and her - before they tumbled into the shards at their feet. He steadied, and held her, sighing. Harley's face was buried, her excitable squeals muffled by his clothes (thank fuck ). Though he still shook in his rage, it ebbed at her touch. At the feel of her hands gripping the back of his mac, of her tense and quivering body, feet tapping on the spot where they stood. Shebuzzed .

Pulling away, Harley looked up at him, hopeful. A small and encroaching smile enhanced her gentle features. "Do ya' think we could go back to my place?" She chewed on her nail with uncertainty. "I'm gonna be in serious need of supplies if I wanna look good fer this thing. My roots are almostfour inches long , 'n I miss my make-up, my moisturiser, my bath bombs, y'know what I mean Mistah' J?"

Oh, sure he knew what she meant. Moisturizer? Make-up? He knew that it was a bad idea . Like attending the gala was a bad idea . Bath bombs? Not quite the bomb he'd been thinking of. Or the crates stacked full of dynamite stored back at the warehouse. Those could come into real good use at the Iceberg Lounge… Harley's eyes were imploring, it tugged at his chest, dulled the ache of his anger. "Why ever not, pumpkin?" He grinned, despite the want to resist her. There was no humour in his tone as he spoke. Nothing good could come of taking Harley back to her home, as harmless as her suggestion was. But with Penguin's wrath waiting patiently for him on the horizon, why not indeed. "We'll head out tonight."


Harleen was thrilled , humming and singing along to the quiet thrum of the radio, headed to her apartment in East Gotham, she hadn't seen or stepped foot in for weeks since her capture. All that drama felt dated now, compared to what she anticipated, and was just too excited for. It was difficult to think of much of anything else. That's right. You heard it here first, folks! Harleen Quinzel was going to be attending one of the finest, most talked about, most glamorous events of the year! Cobblepot's charity galas were a must-attend extravaganza, for all the most loved and desired Gotham City had to offer. Even their most wanted! And Li'l old Harleen was going to be among them. She'd dreamed of such occasions. She'd always thought, once she'd made it big , the doors to all the real parties and celebrations, award shows and ceremonies, would have opened to her. That fame would have granted her access. Where she'd always wanted, and willed, to be. Instead, it so happened to be The Joker's infamy, that had her invited to such a swank event. Funny, right, how things turn out?

The Joker didn't talk much on the journey to her apartment, save for the occasional query about their direction, fingers drumming on the hard leather of the wheel, he would swallow hard and suck his teeth. She could sense his tenseness , see the tightness in his jaw as he drove, how he concentrated far too seriously on the road ahead. Something had him bothered, but he'd agreed to take her back to her apartment regardless. And he'd driven her in silence all the way from Grin n' Bare It to the shoddy block upon block of cheap housing she lived at - had lived at. The recognisable, littered streets, the graffiti highlighted like modern at, an urban gallery, by the neon glow of the local motels signage. Harleen smiled. As shitty as it was, it had been hers . As embarrassed as she had been about the place before, she sure did miss it. Those small, home comforts only your own bed, your own home, can possibly provide. How long had it been? She didn't even know.

It was surreal, heading the flights of stairs to her own front door, followed by a skulking, sulking killer, Gotham's most wanted criminal, crime lord , the clown prince of crime. He seemed taller, his sharp silhouette only exaggerated, his angular face amplified, by the glowing light and the dark, deep shadows of the old and dated building. He was a devil at the banister, creeping up from behind. The sound of children through the crumbling plastered walls, of TVs blaring, of people arguing, the shapes of couples kissing through cheap, thin curtains - Harleen was conscious of The Joker's breathing at her neck.

If they were noticed…

Police presence had never been uncommon in her block, and Harleen urged onward at a quicker pace at the mere thought of it. Even if the cops weren't patrolling, there were so many people stacked up like sardines, all it would take was one or two witnesses. And she couldn't be seen with him. Walking willingly by his side as she did? It was all kinds of wrong and she knew it. When had she stopped resisting the Joker? Had the days, the weeks, maybe months , already addled her moral compass? Harleen glanced back at the clown and he stared right back at her. Had he been staring the whole way up?

"Isn't there an elevator?!" The Joker huffed, eyes narrow as their gazes met. She offered him a small, fleeting simper - something about his sour attitude, how he clung to his anger like a scorned child, was nothing short of endearing.

"No need, my door's there-" she pointed a chipped nail (she'd need to collect her polish too) to the third door on their left. It was stripped of all but slithers of pastel pink paint. The rusted brass One and Five, hung limply into the old and splitting wood. The flowers at her sill had died - that wasn't down to her absence, they'd been dead long before the Joker has stolen her away. The Joker stood upon her scuffed home's where the heart is welcome mat, and watched her unblinking as she sifted through the stones in one of her flower pots, retrieving her hidden set of house keys. "Tadaa! " She jingled them proudly before heading inside.

It was exactly as she'd left it, save for police tape that strew the walls, the corridor, the doorways. So they'd been back to check her apartment for clues. How exciting! Whoever had rifled through her things hadn't stripped or torn at any of her belongings. Her collection of books still sat at the coffee table collecting dust, Italian Bachelor, Redeeming the Rogue Knight and At The Ruthless Billionaire's Command to name a few of the titles she'd fawned, swooned and squealed over, the many nights spent alone on the sofa. She squeaked and slapped at the Joker's hand, as he rummaged through the romance novels, sneering.

"Get yer stinkin' hands off those, ya' perv!"

His thin fingers brushed at his chest, all too gentlemanly. Mocking. "They're yours , not mine. Ha ha haa ."

Clothes littered the floor, outfits tried on and discarded in a rush before night's out on the town. An old pizza box - empty - sat on the table, an open - empty - tub of ice cream beside it. It was untidy, lived in , as though she'd only just stepped in and out for all of a second. Yet, it had been so much longer than that. So much longer than she wanted to dwell on. How she'd led her sad and lonely life, had been left in this dusty stillness. Harleen sniffed, it was the dust that was irritating her eyes, had them wet with tears… She hurried on through to her bedroom before the Joker could notice her spill.

Harleen grabbed for her suitcase, opened it wide on her bed stripped of bed sheets, throwing whatever was closest, whatever she wanted , into the bag. Her bedroom was the smallest in the apartment, the darkest, and quietest. It fit a wardrobe, a dressing table, and enough for a single bed, stocked full of trinkets, memoirs, mess . Plushies watched from the headboard, rested upon her thin, discoloured pillows, as she tore through her belongings, tossing makeup, bleach kits and brushes into her 'to take' pile. Cheap jewellery hung from every corner, every curve. She collected as much as she could .

Fingers foraging through her drawers for her nice panties (reserved only for those special occasions ) she brushed upon a discarded photo of Mom and Dad, smiling back at her through a smoky polaroid. Harleen sighed, sat back on her haunches and stared at their faces, feeling strangely foreign to the people she most loved - and missed . But she'd been distancing herself for a long time . Long before the Joker had stepped into her life, she'd been responsible for her loneliness. Too intent on chasing a dream, Harleen had left a lot of what she loved behind. Friends, family. Because they just didn't get her . No one did. Not her friends with their husbands, settled partners, mortgages and children. Not her curly-haired, busybody mother, not her balding matter-of-fact dad. She hadn't wanted to hear how she " needed to get a real job ," how she was " too old to be taking these kinds of career risks ," how she just needed to " find yourself a nice man and settle down before it's too late to give me my grandkids, Harleen. " She loved them, she did. But she'd just wanted to wait - just wait that little longer , until she'd made it to show them, show Mom and Dad just how proud they could be of her. Harleen had been ready to make the call - to tell them how well her show had gone, how she'd send them tickets, to bring all their friends - their daughter was a star! But the moment had been and gone, and Harleen was instead a missing person, missing people she'd long left to ambition.

Mom would be worried sick, Harleen knew that much. But would so love the scandal, something to discuss with the nosy neighbours, through tears and tissues at the dining room table. Dad would be smoking too many cigars and tending to their tiny garden. She placed the picture back in her drawer where it belonged. "See ya' soon," she muttered into the calm. Maybe there was still a way to get back in the game. The Joker was famous, wasn't he?

"Get a load of this, Harls -" Joker stumbled through the little doorway, book in hand and grinning like a Cheshire cat, eyes watery from dry and breathless laughter. " She stared longingly into his cerulean orbs, how she so desperately wanted his thick lips on hers. His chest pressed down on her bountiful, bouncing breasts. Ha, ha , ha . He drove his gargantuan- "

"PUT IT DOWN !" Harleen knocked the book from his open palm, horrified , blushing, mortified. The Joker's high, scratchy curdling voice was not intended to narrate that kind of content! Her cheeks burned, wanting to slap the stupid grin from his stupid face. He'd cheered up, at least. At least there was that.

"Those aren't for you ," she scolded, gathering up the novel and shoving it into her chest of drawers hastily.

"I don't know -" he eyed her room, " gargantuan ?" The Joker carried on smiling as he paced the sleight walk-space of her bedroom. He stepped through the litter, eyeing her shelves, her bedside table, clearly on the look-out for something . She cringed at the state of her home, but he didn't seem to notice. Perhaps he just didn't care .

"What do ya' want?"

"Speaking of gargantuan…" The Joker lifted his Joker plush from her dressing table, the one she'd won at the carnival, and kept ever since, "you're right, the head is far too big."

The Joker holding soft-stitched Joker, standing awkwardly in her bedroom, surveying his own merchandise with a curiousness, an expression of pride - smugness , was as weird as it was strangely wonderful. Despite herself, Harleen smiled, shaking her head. "Told ya'. But now I got ya' together, I kinda see the likeness..."

He pressed the plush up to his cheek for comparison, eyes closed and grinning in Harleen's direction.

"Kinda cute, but mostly creepy Mistah' J."