Stop me when you've had enough.

Chapter 6.

Cake.

Bullets ricocheted overhead. So much screaming. I strained my ears, trying to pick Momma's voice out in the confusion.

Get up, you big baby. Secret Harleen stamped her foot. It's only a couple-a bullets. Come on!

You're crazy. Psychologist Harleen and I responded in tandem. Good. At least I was in my right mind. Kinda.

Multiple bodies passed me by as the gunmen made their way into the room, their heavy boots missing my fingers by a hair. If the Joker had told them not to hurt me, it wouldn't be for any good reason. More, saving your favourite part of the meal for last. One Harley, nice and hot! My body started to shake. Adrenaline, exhilaration, did it matter?

Something brushed my arm. I opened one eye to see Harvey had commando crawled his way over, my jacket covering his head. Of course he was hiding his face. The famous Harvey Dent. I wanted to yank it off of him.

"What are you doing?" I ducked as something flew overhead and smashed against the wall behind me.

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" He whispered, propping the coat up so his face was just visible. "Come on." He jerked his head in the direction of the door. Could he not see the big clowns guarding the exit, or had he lost a few brain cells since we last talked?

"You see the big dudes with the machine guns, right?"

He blinked at me. "We need to get out of here." He stressed the syllables, like I was retarded.

"Go ahead." I said, flinching as a shrill scream pierced the air. "I'm sure they'll be happy to let you go on your merry way." I did a little walk on the floor with my fingers, almost laughing at his expression.

"Well, we can't stay here."

I saluted him. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Blonde hair fell into his eyes. He frowned, pushing it back. "Do you think you could suspend your dislike of me for one second while we try not to die?"

Someone tripped over us, crashing into the coat booth. Wood splintered and we scrambled back. Harvey took the opportunity to drag me to my feet. His grip stung, and not least because I didn't like him touching me. Adrenaline was supposed to override alcohol and yet everything was fuzzy around the edges. He tugged me deeper into the room, skirting the perimeter, staying low as we headed for the doors leading to the rest of the house. My coat still hung over his head.

Douche. Secret Harleen said.

Narcissist. Psychologist Harleen qualified.

Chaos reigned. Clownfaces paraded in stolen jewels, raining bullets and terrorising fleeing guests. Hard to believe just minutes ago everyone had been swaying on champagne bubbles.

"Move it, lady!" A clownfaced minion shoved one of the guests so she sprawled on the floor like sobbing starfish. White, panicked faces clutched at jewel-adorned necks and wrung ring-encrusted fingers. Hair had fallen from careful updos, sleeves were torn, and there was blood. Blood, running in slow rivulets down chair legs, decorating the cream walls in macabre splashes. I slipped in a puddle of red, falling on my hands, liquid splashing up and staining my dress. Harvey helped me up, covering his own hands in blood in the process.

Manic laughter rang through the mayhem. The Joker strolled the length of the bar, taking potshots at abandoned glasses. He was pale as I remembered, his face moulded and carved by his chemical submersion. If it did that to his skin, who knows what happened to his mind? His green hair was intense in the muted party lights, like the toxins in his brain had seeped out into his hair follicles. He took aim, pale eyes narrowed, cheeks sucked inward as he concentrated. My breath caught as a champagne flute exploded in a glimmer of glass at his bullet.

Secret Harleen sucked in a breath.

He's projecting his mental destruction onto his surroundings. It's disturbed. Psychologist Harleen's eyes were wide, but her clipboard scribbles were inspired. She liked alcohol. It removed her professional misgivings.

In moderation. She clarified.

For once, Secret Harleen ignored her, too busy watching in open-mouthed fascination.

Something buzzed against my hip. Phone. I fumbled with it, seeing a familiar name light the screen. Momma had text, frantic. She and Edward had gotten out the back in the confusion through the server's entrance in the kitchen. Doctor A was with them. I sighed in relief.

"We need to find the kitchen." I informed Harvey, who had paused at a gap in the tables and was evaluating making a run for it.

He snuck a quick incredulous glance over his shoulder. "You're hungry? Now?"

"No, stupid." I glared at the back of his head. "There's a back door."

"Excellent." He whispered. "Where's the kitchen?"

Oh.

A good soldier knows her escape routes. Secret Harleen stood to attention, wearing a combat uniform left over from Halloween in my first year of college.

It is a useful tactic to evaluate new situations and plan possible scenario responses. Psychologist Harleen watched Secret Harleen march, bemused. A good plan overrides detrimental fight-or-flight response... aka, scream and freeze.

Hey, whaddaya call Frosty the Snowman crossed with the Joker? Secret Harleen quipped. Scream and Freeze. Hahahaha.

I giggled, shutting up when Harvey looked at me like I had problems.

"Um, kitchen, no." I answered. "I could probably sniff out the liquor cabinet, though."

"Excellent." He repeated, sarcastic. "When it's scotch and cigar time, I'll let you know. In the meantime—" He darted across the gap, yanking me behind him, almost taking my arm off in the process.

"Ow!" I pulled back, trying to wrest myself from his grip. "I can walk, ya know!"

A bullet whizzed past my cheek, so close I felt heat on my skin. I whipped round. The Joker stood atop the bar across the room, his smoking gun aimed dead centre at my chest. His eyes were wild. My heart thudded at the memory of exploding glasses.

"Leaving so soon?" He jumped down from the bar, landing in a crouch. He was bare chested under his purple greatcoat, the smile emblazoned on his abdomen extending as he straightened to his full height, cracking his neck in the process. Harvey didn't give me a second to think. He ran for the doors, his hold on me forcing me to follow.

The Joker's laugh rang out behind us. "Frost, take care of the guests, would ya?" I heard him drawl. "I got a couple of crashers to attend to."

"He's following us." I informed Harvey. A glance over my shoulder confirmed. The Joker strode through the crowd, untouched by the bedlam, focused on his targets.

Harvey answered by increasing his pace. We burst through the doors and into the hallway, tracking blood along the cream carpet as we ran for the stairs. The ballroom had its own entrance, through which the Joker and co. had made their appearance. The stairs led up to the main house and our exit. My sweating hands slipped on the railing as we raced up the steps. I followed Harvey blindly down endless cream hallways marked by bloody handprints and knocked-over end tables, trying doors, finding bedrooms and bathrooms and even a pool room in which a body was floating. I jerked out of that room, slamming the door.

"What?" Harvey asked.

I shook my head. Evidently the clownfaces had spread into the rest of the house. Not good. I could hear the Joker singing, firing random shots, a melody of puncturing and shattering echoing behind us.

Not a bad voice. Secret Harleen mused.

A door opened ahead, a clownface popping his head out. He looked up and down the hall before his beady eyes landed on us, his plastic expression unmoving. A thin strand of pearls hung around his neck.

I zoned in on the bloody knife he was holding. "Oh, shit."

"This way." Harvey jerked open the pool room door as clownface started toward us, shoving me inside ahead of himself. Goosebumps raised on my blood-spattered skin at the chill. Someone had busted the heating unit, the glass spiderwebbed from the impact of a bullet.

I kicked off my heels, sprinting to the changing room access door on the other side of the pool and tugging on the handle. Locked.

"Dammit!" I slapped the door in frustration. Harvey shoved me aside, levelling a kick at the handle. The door shook uselessly.

Clownface entered, knife still in his grip. He was bigger than I thought, corded muscle extending from the neck of his wifebeater vest. "Where do you think you're going?" He growled, advancing. I backed up, back hitting the wall, frantically tugging at the handle behind me. Harvey was casting around for a weapon. Spotting my discarded stiletto in the pool, he dove, blood washing from his skin and swirling in the water as he power-stroked toward it.

Clownface was only steps away when he paused, head tilted to one side. "You." He muttered, lowering his knife.

Huh? "Me...?"

Harvey appeared behind him, driving a six-inch stiletto heel into his neck before he could answer. Blood spurted and clownface yelled, going down on one knee. Harvey jumped on his back, locking an arm around his neck when clownface bucked to throw him off. "Go, Harleen!" Pearls scattered, bouncing on the tiles.

A familiar figure darkened the doorway.

My stomach did a one-eighty. The Joker leaned against the door frame, arms folded. "Having fun?"

Clownface and Harvey froze, Harvey still hanging from his neck, their heads turning in unison toward the door. It was almost comical. Clownface stood, Harvey sliding down his back. The Joker levelled his gun at Harvey, who raised his arms. Clownface seemed at a loss.

"Harvey Dent." The Joker drew out his name, picking up my non-weaponised stiletto and spinning it on his finger as he strolled over. "About time, don't ya think?" There was a bounce in his step that was missing in Arkham. The Joker in chains had been a taste, a sample. This was the main course. How many therapists had the chance to see him unleashed?

"What do you want?" Harvey's jaw was set, all business. He was used to dealing with criminals.

But he isn't your ordinary criminal, I wanted to tell him.

The Joker laughed, throwing the stiletto in the air and catching it. "I haven't thought that far ahead, Harvs. See, I find inspiration comes in the moment—there I was, perusing Doctor Quinzel's personal files and whose name should I see but yours. Interesting stuff, Harley." He winked. "Dear old District Attorney Dent for a boyfriend. Now there's an act that's hard to follow."

"Don't talk to her." Harvey warned.

"He's not my boyfriend." I blurted.

The Joker raised an eyebrow at me, cocking the gun still pointed in Harvey's direction. "Stay out of this, Dent."

I blushed. "I meant—"

He threw the stiletto at me. "Shut up."

The heel skated past, reminiscent of the earlier bullet. I shut up.

Satisfied I'd obeyed, he continued. "As I was saying," he waved the gun in rhythm with his speech, almost drunk-seeming in his aimless strolling. "Maybe ol' Harvey Dent," he jerked his head in Harvey's direction, "isn't as picture perfect as he likes to make out, hmmm?" He chucked me on the chin. "Did he or did he not leave you on a stolen boat to, shall we say, take the rap?" He put on a newscaster voice, holding an imaginary microphone like he was a reporter and I was dishing the dirt.

Anger surged at the memory. Harvey shut his eyes briefly, irritated at the reminder. God forbid anyone know he wasn't the Apollo they all made him out to be.

Still. It wasn't my favourite memory to relive. "No comment." I muttered.

The Joker's face darkened. "Come on, Harls. Play nice now." He wagged a finger.

"Let's set the stage..." He hooked an arm over my shoulders, sweeping the other in an arc as if he were looking into the distance. "Young Harley, entering her first year at Gotham University, pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, eager to learn all about the crazies that go bump in the night," his voice took on a musical quality, "and golden-boy Harvey, a rising star shooting his way to district attorney, the whole world. At. His. Feet." His words rang in the tiled room. "The audience is dying to know—how did these two crazy kids end up here?" He tutted, shaking his head and pressing a hand to his heart in mock solemnity.

Elbowing me, he grinned. "You're gonna have to fill some blanks in for me, Harls. Government files aren't real informative when it comes to the juicy details." He brushed a loose curl back from my face, voice lowered. "He left you, didn't he? All alone, no one to take to the dance."

Memories flickered. Drinking Daddy's wine on the deck of a 'borrowed' yacht that belonged one of Harvey's family friends—although we hadn't exactly gotten permission first. The files were redacted, Harvey's name scrubbed clean. DA Dent couldn't extend me the same courtesy. Too suspicious. They had to say someone did it. Not like a ghost made off with a yacht for a midnight rendevous. After all, I was only gonna be a psychologist—he was on his way to DA, Harleen, it could kill my career, not like they'd stop you treating psychos because of one lousy misdemeanour.

Feelings bubbled up my trachea. I swallowed them down. The Joker lifted my chin with one finger, his gaze holding mine. "You tell old J all about it." His teeth glinted from between parted lips. "That's no way to treat a lady. Tell me, Doc—ever dream about revenge?"

I frowned, distracted by his gunmetal smile. "Your teeth. What happened to your teeth?"

"Harley," he growled, frustrated I was failing to play along. He gripped my chin, his hold punishing. "Focus."

The proximity was distracting. What was it about the Joker that seemed to turn my brain off? He was like an EMP for intellect. And what the eff happened to his teeth? "What was the question?"

He lowered his face. For one wild moment, I thought he might kiss me. "Revenge." He enunciated. "The desire to exact terrible and brutal pain on those who have wronged you."

"Everyone thinks about it." I answered, my eyes moving over his face, still startled at his closeness. "About hurting people. People who bug you. It's the pleistocene brain—"

His hand covered my mouth. "Stop trying to explain everything." He shuddered, lips tugging down in a frown. "You therapists. So concerned with finding answers to questions that don't exist. Everyone likes to cause pain, Doctor Quinzel, that's all there is to it. And that's why we gotta have a little fun where we can!" Just like that, he shoved me back, sending me sprawling into Harvey who slipped and cracked his head on the tiles. The Joker hooted. I dropped to my knees to shake him, stomach squeezing when his eyes wouldn't open.

As if on cue, a small blonde tumbled into the room, pursued by a clownface. "Harleen!"

My mouth fell open. You've got to be fucking kidding me. "Momma!" She must have come looking for me when I didn't turn up outside. It was both touching and horrifying.

The Joker lit up like all his Christmases had come at once. "Get her." Both clownfaces complied, the one nearest locking me in a chokehold that cut off all but the thinnest streams of air. I gasped for breath. The other launched a hail of bullets, splintering tiles. Everyone ducked.

The Joker snarled. "Not like that, idiot!" He strode over to clownface the second, yanking the gun from his hands. "That's strike two, Larry." I almost laughed. Oh dear, Larry."Know what they'll say about you? His whole life, he never made it to third base." The Joker was a quick shot—Larry's face was blown to oblivion before he could utter a plea, spattering the room with bits of hippocampus and cerebellum. Momma's face looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.

"Welcome, Mommy Harley." The Joker pulled a serrated steel knife from Larry's belt. Hauling Momma to her feet, he ran the sharp tip along her cheekbone. I felt a surge of... something. "You should've stayed outside. But then, your daughter doesn't know what's good for her, either." He shook his head, like they were at a parent-teacher conference and I'd forgotten to hand in my homework.

Please, Professor J, don't kill me. The dog ate it.

The knife made a small cut on her cheek. I tensed. "Don't."

He paused, running his tongue across his teeth. "Don't what?"

"Touch her." The chlorine smell made my eyes water. "Please."

"I like that." He purred, rolling his neck. "Say it again." His eyes were on Momma, the knife travelling slow circles on her cheeks. Again, the strange sensation surged in my stomach.

Begging. I don't think we like begging. Secret Harley pouted.

He's not playing, asshole. Psychologist Harleen never cursed. On your knees.

I opened my mouth to sink my dignity when a flash of silver whipped through the air, knocking the knife from the Joker's grip and embedding in the wall behind. The shape was impossible not to recognise.

The Joker growled. "Forever spoiling the fun." He spun on his heel, knocking Momma to the floor. I ran to her side as he stalked across the tiles to meet his nemesis, firing rounds from his gun like the munitions were bees and Batman was honey. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

"Not what I'd call fun." Batman ducked and weaved as hot bullets sliced and diced the oxygen in the room. The guy was fast. The single bullet embedding in his chest armour was testament to the Joker's marksman skills. The Joker was laughing, his face devoid of the concentration it had shown when he was obliterating glassware. This wasn't serious. Realisation dawned.

Why kill the Batman, when the Batman makes such a great adversary? Psychologist Harleen said. You don't bump off your favourite hobby.

Launching himself toward the gun, they met in a clash of psychosis and darkness, Batman landing punches as the Joker slashed. The Joker moved like an avenging demon, swift and lithe, not weighed down by body armour or averse to pain. My sweating palms slipped on the tiles as I dragged Momma with me, forcing her to move nearer to the edge of the room. The Joker laughed as Batman caught him on the chin, sending him spinning backward.

"Boring." The Joker jumped to his feet. "You've already done my teeth. Let's try something else." Dipping a hand into his pocket, out came a small, round object. The Joker put it to his lips before hurling it at Batman.

I had a split second to cover myself before the room exploded.

Two explosions in one week. Secret Harleen's voice was fuzzy through the ringing in my ears. We going for a record?

"Momma." I croaked, hauling myself up. Everything ached. Momma was flat out, her eyes wide, breathing in small pants.

She's in shock. Psychologist Harleen.

Should we slap her? Secret Harleen.

"It's okay, Momma." I murmured, brushing hair back from her face. She didn't move. I glanced around. Clownface the first had taken a bad hit, his mask charred, body not much better. He groaned, clutching an arm to his chest as he rolled around like a giant toy. Harvey was still out, but he looked relatively unharmed, save for a few gashes on his exposed skin from shattered tiles. It was then I realised I was wet, my hair plastered to my forehead. The pool water must have erupted at the pressure. I pressed my lips together, holding back nausea at the sight of a large shard of metal embedded in my lower calf, watery red weeping from the edges.

The Joker. My head snapped up.

Aside from Batman, he'd been closest to the blast. Only, unlike Batman, he wasn't wearing several pounds of body armour. Bruises marked his pale skin, his grin wide as Batman restrained him. Talk about masochism.

"Careful with the merchandise." He huffed as Batman pulled tight on his arms. Batman levelled a square punch at his stomach in response. He wheezed. "Be seeing you real soon, Doc." He called to me, laughing hoarsely, the sound echoing in the clinical desolation of the pool room as Batman pulled him out the door.

AN: Have to take a breath after all that! Not really sure about this Chapter; I'll probably end up doing sneaky edits, but I've held it back long enough and needed to move the story on. If anyone's wondering, the Chapter is named for Melanie Martinez's song 'Cake'. Hope everyone had a great weekend, and as always, thank you so much for taking the time to review. It means the world. Secret Harleen thinks you guys are awesome.