The hours ticked by as Harley waited by her phone. Every minute seemed like an hour, and every hour seemed like a lifetime.

She turned on the TV just for the comfort and distraction of the noise, but she didn't hear a word of any of the programs. She just sat in the otherwise dark apartment, her eyes riveted on the telephone.

Light began streaming through the windows at last, and Harley's panic, which had been growing steadily as the hours passed, now seized her entirely. She picked up her phone and dialed Jack's number repeatedly, but there was no answer. At last, in a desperate attempt to keep calm, she called the police.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Um…I'd just like to know if…you made any arrests last night," gasped Harley, her voice shaking.

"Arrests? We make tons of arrests every night, lady, and this is an emergency number…"

"It is an emergency!" she cried. "I really, really need to know if you arrested anyone at the Ace Chemicals plant last night!"

There was silence. "How do you know about that?" asked the man on the other end, slowly.

"It doesn't matter – I just…I really need to know who you've arrested in connection with it," gasped Harley.

"I really can't give that information out to civilians…"

"Please, for God's sake!" she screamed, bursting into tears. "I'll go crazy if I don't know he's safe!"

The man sighed heavily. "Let me get the info – hang on," he muttered. Harley tried to stop crying before the man returned, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ok, we made two arrests, one Chuckie Sol, and one Buzz Bronski," he said at last. "Known associates of Salvatore Valestra – they were both in pretty bad shape."

"And…no one else?" stammered Harley, her heart plummeting.

"Well…Salvatore Valestra's body was recovered from the scene," continued the man. "He'd been shot in the back of the head. I guess either Sol or Bronski did it, but they're in no fit state to give a confession…"

"No, there…there had to be someone else there!" shrieked Harley.

"No, ma'am," replied the man. "There wasn't."

Harley sobbed, hanging up the phone suddenly, her mind exploding with a million terrible possibilities. And then there was a knock on the door.

Her heart leapt in hope, and she threw the door open, beaming and expecting to see Jack…

But it was Bruce Wayne who stood there, and her face fell. "Bruce," she stammered. "What…are you doing here?"

"Just came to offer my condolences," said Bruce, handing her a bouquet of lilies.

"Condolences…for what?" asked Harley.

"Why, for the death of Jack Napier, of course," replied Bruce, frowning. "You must have heard."

"I…what…no!" gasped Harley. "No, I hadn't, I…how do you know this?"

"I'm friends with Police Commissioner Gordon," said Bruce, entering the apartment and taking a seat. "There was a raid on the Ace Chemicals plant last night…"

"Yes, I…called the police," stammered Harley. "They said they only arrested two criminals, and found Valestra dead. But Jack wasn't there."

Bruce stared at her. "You mean you knew Jack Napier was a criminal?"

"He's not a criminal," snapped Harley. "He's a good man, the best man…"

"He shot Sal Valestra in the back of the head," interrupted Bruce. "For money. Any man who can murder for money is not a good man."

"He shot Sal Valestra for us," hissed Harley. "Not for money. Not that it's any of your business – what I want to know is how you know Jack is dead!"

"He fell into a vat of acid," retorted Bruce. "Gordon said there were eyewitness accounts from the other criminals."

"No, I was told they weren't conscious yet," said Harley. "He couldn't have heard their accounts…"

"Harley, you should trust me," interrupted Bruce. "I assure you, Jack Napier is dead. He fell into a vat of acid. I couldn't be more certain than if I saw it with my own two eyes."

Harley stared at him. "I…I don't believe you," she stammered.

"Then don't," he retorted. "Waste your life waiting around for him to come back, which he never will. He's dead. Gone for good. Mourn him if you must, but I would suggest moving on as soon as possible."

He stood up, putting an arm around her. "If there's anything I can do to…ease your sorrow…you must let me know," he murmured.

"Yes, there is, Bruce," muttered Harley. She glared up at him. "Get the hell out of my home, and take your stupid flowers with you!"

She shoved the bouquet back into his hands and then shoved him away. "I can't believe you show up here claiming that Jack is dead, and then instantly try to make a move on me! As far as I'm concerned, if he is dead, I'll never love anyone again! And if he isn't, you'd better hope I don't tell him about your little visit, or Sal Valestra won't be the only one with a bullet through his head!"

She slammed the door in his face, and then collapsed sobbing on the sofa. She cried for hours, giving herself up completely to despair until the light once more faded from the sky. And still she didn't get up – she lacked the desire to move. She just wanted to lie where she was and die. If Jack were truly gone, she wanted to be dead with him.

Then she heard a knock on her door. "Go away, Bruce!" she shouted.

The door suddenly opened, and Harley turned to see a man standing there, his face hidden in shadow. "Oh my God, who are you?" she gasped, leaping to her feet.

The man said nothing, entering the apartment and shutting the door behind him. He approached her, and Harley began to panic, looking around for a weapon to defend herself. She grabbed hold of the lamp, but he seized her wrist, squeezing hard and making her drop it in a shriek of pain. His breath was hot on her face as she raised her eyes, trembling, to look into his.

And she recognized those eyes. They were wild and crazy, but so very familiar. "Puddin'…" she gasped.

And then he was kissing her, and she let out a moan of relief, melting into his arms. She shut her eyes tightly, enjoying the safety and warmth of his kiss, and the realization that he was here, not dead, here in her arms and safe.

"Oh God, he said you were dead!" she gasped when he drew away at last, falling on his knees and burying his face in her chest. "He said you were dead and I thought my life was over, I thought…"

She looked down at him, and trailed off when she realized she was stroking green hair. "Puddin'?" she asked, puzzled. "Did you…dye your hair?"

He let out a groan. "Don't…look at me, Harley," he gasped. "Please don't…look at me!"

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "You're beautiful, puddin' – you've always been beautiful to me. I mean, it's kinda weird that you wanna dye your hair green all of a sudden, but it doesn't make you any less attractive…"

He groaned again, sobbing into her chest. Sobbing or…maybe it was laughter. It was hard to tell, a kind of strange, hysterical noise. "You…you remember that book you used to love?" he murmured. "Joker the Clown Joins the Circus?"

"I remember you told me about it," she replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He giggled again, and then looked up at her. "I'm Joker the Clown," he whispered.

Harley started back in shock – Jack's face was bone white, making his wild green eyes seem brighter against his green hair. He smiled up at her with grinning, red lips, laughter choking from his throat.

"It's…it's a good gag, ain't it?" he laughed. "Just need to get a purple suit, and I'll be all set to join the circus! Ain't gonna be as dumb as that goddamn clown though, no, siree. I ain't gonna try to be an acrobat or a lion tamer or a ringmaster! I'm gonna be a clown! I'm Joker the Clown!"

He started laughing hysterically, falling to the ground in fits of giggles. Harley stared at him, stunned, and then kneeled down to hug him. "Puddin', what happened? How did you end up like this?"

"I…I fell…trying to be an acrobat, Harley," he whispered. "Trying to be a Bat tamer…I fell into some…some chemicals…and then I became Joker the Clown! Here for your entertainment, sweetheart, as usual," he said, taking her hand. "Here for you over and over and over again. Where's Harley Quinn? We need Harley Quinn before we can start reading – she wants to look at the pretty pictures too!"

He got to his feet abruptly, heading to their bedroom and grabbing the doll. Harley followed him, and he gestured to the bed. "Now let's tuck you in, kiddo, with Harley Quinn and then you can hear all about Joker the Clown!"

Harley slowly obeyed, climbing into bed and gazing at him in concern. He climbed in after her, propping himself up on the pillows and holding her in his embrace. "Once upon a time there was a clown named the Joker," he whispered. "He may have had some other name before, but he doesn't remember it so good now. He doesn't really remember much of anything except a little girl…a little girl called…Harley Quinn, and that's you, sweets!" he said, kissing her. "That's you! Anyway, Joker the Clown…met a Bat one night, and…that's where the story gets hazy," he said, frowning. "But Joker the Clown is much happier now than he used to be – before there were things bothering him, silly, stupid things, jokes really, only Joker the Clown didn't see that they were jokes before. But they are. Because everything is, Harley. Everything is one great, big joke. You get that, being a clown too, doncha, sweets? You get that, doncha, Harley Quinn?"

"Jack…what's wrong with you?" she whispered, gazing at him with tears in her eyes.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong with me, sweets, not anymore," he said, kissing her. "Look at me! I'm the happiest guy in the world! I've finally found what I'm supposed to be, don't you get it? Joker the Clown! Who just wants to make the world smile and laugh, and make everyone as happy as he is now! And you'll help me, won't you, Harley? You'll help me, because you'll always love me, whatever happens, you promised that. Didn't you, Harley? Whatever happens?"

He was gazing at her and smiling, but there was a desperate pleading in his eyes that melted Harley's heart. "Of course I love you, puddin'," she whispered, kissing him tenderly. "And I always will."

He giggled. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were joking, Harley Quinn. But you're not joking, are you?"

"Nah uh," she agreed. "Now puddin', why don't we stop with the bedtime story and just go to bed?"

"You're the boss!" he chuckled, lying down with Harley in his arms. "Or…wait. Maybe you're not the boss – that guy whose head I exploded was." He burst out laughing hysterically. "You should have seen how much blood went everywhere, Harley! It was like a pie in the face gag! Kersplat!"

"Just try not to think about that, puddin'," said Harley, soothingly. "Try to sleep. I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

"Oh, I'm sure I won't!" he chuckled. "Can't just sleep off madness! Being crazy is kinda a permanent state of mind! Well, you know that, being a shrink in training. No cure for insanity, is there, Harley?"

"Maybe not yet, puddin'," she murmured, kissing him. "But I'm sure we can find one together. Go to sleep now."

He was clearly exhausted, and fell asleep in moments. Harley remained awake, staring at the still beautiful clown face. She didn't know if she could help fix whatever was wrong with Jack. But she knew even if she couldn't, she would never stop loving him.