"You keep on talking,

and it makes no sense at all.

You try to fake it,

but you're breaking every rule."

- Nero, Guilt

Harleen Quinzel couldn't catch a damn break.

Twenty-four hours ago, she was doing literal backflips for Joker in exchange for his childhood, and now — now they were inside the same nightclub, where he sat unrestrained, probably plotting her death over strippers and whiskey.

Would there be henchmen in circus makeup waiting for her to come home? Would they throw her off the Empire State Building, too?

Sobering quickly, Harleen wrapped her hand around Caroline's wrist and pulled her off the dance floor.

"We can't stay here," she breathed, clumsily tugging her friend through the crowd of sweaty, dancing bodies. "This is bad. This is really bad."

Disoriented and still very drunk, Caroline tripped a little and lost one of her heels. "What's goin' on? I don't wanna go yet," she whined childishly, black hair mussed and falling in front of her eyes.

"He's here," Harleen told her urgently, stopping and looking around for the door, "Caroline, he's here, we need to go."

"What?" Caroline squinted at her, leaning on a nearby chair to steady herself. "Who's here? I can't hear you."

"Joker!" Harleen shrieked at her over the music, hysterical, "I just saw him, he's up there!" Her eyes darted back up to the beaded curtains as she rambled. "I heard him laughing — oh god, he's going to kill me! We can't be here!"

Before Harleen could dash away again, Caroline giggled and stopped her. "Oh my god, sweetie. Arkham is really getting into that pretty little head of yours." She tapped Harleen's forehead with a manicured nail and smiled. "Just relax, okay? The clown is all locked up. I got you, Harleen."

Feeling faint, Harleen looked around them with frantic eyes. Had she really been imagining him? Was she already that drunk?

Then, gruff and suddenly behind her, "Hey, blondie!"

Jumping out of her skin, Harleen whipped around and was met with a tall, bearded man wearing tinted sunglasses and a hard frown. His golden cufflinks reflecting off of the chandeliers looked like they cost more than her car.

Taking a step forward, he looked her up and down with dark brows furrowed. "What did she just say your name was?"

Harleen felt her body grow cold with dread and fell mute, trembling beneath his stare.

Cursing under his breath, the man grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly towards the staircase. "You're coming with me."

Caroline immediately stumbled after them, shouting, "Hey! Let go of my friend!" Before she could reach them, two men in suits grabbed her from behind, making her kick and scream in protest. "Ugh! Get off me, you uppity fucks!"

Harleen watched in terror as her friend was dragged away and began to panic, struggling in the man's tight grip as she begged, "Don't, please! I'm sorry! Please let me go!"

Grunting, the man pulled her swiftly in front of him, and she felt cool metal press into the bare skin of her back. The small pistol dug hard into the center of her spine, bruising her.

"I suggest you keep walking," he growled at her. She could feel his beard scratch against the back of her neck.

Heart hammering in her chest, Harleen let out a soft, defeated sob and nodded, allowing herself to be led up to the row of secluded booths. Each step felt like a year off of her life. Each breath, a decade.

This was it. She was going to die tonight. She was going to fucking die.

Lines of cocaine were being snorted in the first booth. Mostly off of the bare breasts of women, accompanied by high-pitched giggles and uproarious laughter.

The second booth housed a few older, Italian men playing poker in clouds of their own cigar smoke, cursing like sailors and holding strippers on their laps.

Two men in black suits, openly carrying individual semi-automatic weapons were guarding the third booth, and Harleen knew that was where to stop. They looked down at her briefly, uninterested, before going back to keeping watch over the club and immediate area.

Quietly, the bearded man pulled back some of the beaded curtain. "Boss, you got a moment?"

"I've got nothin' but moments for you, Jonny-boy." It was teasing, deliberate, and one hundred percent Joker.

Harleen hiccuped on a cry and felt tears roll hot over her cheeks.

Joker's guards promptly stepped aside and the bearded man — Jonny — pushed her past the threshold of hell with his pistol.

It was astonishing how different Joker looked now that he was no longer Patient 0801.

Instead of the dirty asylum uniform and rusty handcuffs, he was in fitted magenta pants and a crisp white tuxedo shirt, half-open and exposing his tattooed chest. Several golden chains hung around his neck, but they didn't compare to the Rolex on his wrist or the large rings on his fingers — rubies, sapphires, skulls — Harleen became instantly aware that Joker wasn't visiting Smile and Grin.

He owned Smile and Grin.

And there in his booth he lounged like a King, legs spread wide, one arm lazily draped over the top of the leather couch. In his other hand was a long, purple cane, the handle flooded with diamonds, and over his shoulders were leather gun holsters.

Mirrors, everywhere, to make the space seem much larger than it was.

Upon glancing up at the distressed Harleen, Joker slowly exhaled thick smoke from the joint he was holding and had to blink a few times before smiling madly.

"Hellllllo, nurse," he drawled, keeping his keen eyes on her as he set his blunt down on a nearby ashtray.

"Found blondie downstairs," Jonny told him smugly, putting away his pistol. "The one that got away."

Joker slowly got to his feet, making Harleen's heart jump, and began to circle her like a hawk. "Oh, but this couldn't be my doctor," he replied, sweeping some of her blonde waves off of her neck. His touch was very gentle and it scared her. "Because my doctor wouldn't be strutting around in a little black number like this." He stopped in front of her, bending slightly to her eye level. "Isn't that right?"

Not wanting to anger him, Harleen gave him a small, mortified nod and looked to her feet. Joker bared his capped teeth in a grin and lifted a hand to swipe away a falling tear with his thumb. She flinched hard and he cackled.

"No, no… you've got it all wrong, Jonny-boy," Joker tsked.

Jonny's back went rigid and he replied quickly, "Her friend called her Harleen, boss. It has to be her."

Harleen heard somebody cough quietly beside her, and she gasped, looking over to see two well-dressed men nursing glasses of beer on the opposite couch.

Joker's hand shot up and grabbed Harleen's chin, forcing her to look up at him. His rings were cold against her jaw. "No. This here…" He ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth, cherishing this awaited moment, "Is my harlequin." Grey, teasing eyes darted briefly to Jonny. "Close, but no cigar."

Catching his drift, Jonny bowed his head and smirked over Harleen's shoulder. "I apologize, Boss."

"You see, boys," Joker let go of her chin and ran his palm over the side of his slicked green hair, addressing the two men, "I've just returned from my winter… excursion. I vacation from time to time." He laughed and they politely followed suit. "And now that I'm back, I have some business to attend to."

Harleen felt herself begin to cry again.

"Shh, shh…" Joker dragged his middle finger over her trembling lower lip. "Don't be nervous. I've heard… marvelous things, about you." Casually, he looked over to the men again. "A new dancer. From… Brooklyn, mm?" Grey eyes flicked back to her.

Humiliated by his lie, Harleen clenched her fists and looked away. This earned her a light smack to her cheek, just enough to sting. Taking in a tremulous breath, she slowly looked back up, submitting. "That's right, Mistah J."

Basking in the glory of her response, Joker rolled his jaw and let out a ragged breath, sitting back down. "Good girl…"

For some godforsaken reason, Harleen preened at his approval. She immediately hated herself for it and wanted to bolt, but there were a whole lot of guns in this nightclub. She wouldn't stand a chance.

Joker flicked his chin at Jonny, signaling him to raise the volume of the speaker beside him. Sensual, thumping bass filled their area and Harleen could feel it in her toes.

Leaning back, Joker patted his lap and gave her a silver smirk, bathing himself in her torture. "Okay, little girl. Show me what you've got."

Harleen closed her eyes tight, chest and face pink with shame, and centered herself. Maybe if she let herself be toyed with, she would be allowed to leave unharmed.

To see another day. To see her mother again.

Gripping tightly onto her will to live, she opened her eyes and made her way over to the Clown Prince of Gotham. He stopped her, though, looking mildly unimpressed as he gestured to her dress.

"Off."

At that command, Harleen openly glared and began to shake her head — but his hand moved to the gun in his holster, a silent warning. He shook his head instead.

Again, this time deep and serious: "Off."

Face burning, Harleen praised herself for choosing to match her panties and bra tonight — both a sheer, red lace — and pulled her dress off over her head. She had never been so mortified, standing in her underwear with four men watching.

Grey eyes raked greedily over the swell of her breasts, the flat expanse of her stomach, her narrow hips — all of this new unblemished skin. Unprofessional and selfish, Joker let out a groan of appreciation and beckoned her forward, spreading his legs.

"Come to Daddy…"

Setting her jaw, Harleen reminded herself relentlessly that she didn't want to die in a back alley strip club and straddled Joker's lap, forcing herself to move her hips timidly to the song playing.

Sometimes I don't know where we're going,

Sometimes I feel you should be crawling back to me.

But it wasn't hard to be graceful with years of gymnastics. Wanting to get her punishment over with, Harleen gave into the music and danced fluidly against Joker's body, closing her eyes and pretending she was alone. Cold hands curved around her hips a minute later, making her breath hitch. Cautiously, Harleen looked down to see Joker caught in a trance, lost in her body, jaw unhinged.

Time is ticking by without us knowing,

before you know it, it'll be too late to see.

Confidence surged through her veins, nearly jolting her, and she dared to step off of his lap to drop down low to the floor, catching his gaze as she rolled her body back up. The awe in his eyes felt so good.

Right from the start, you always made me feel a fool.

The guilt you hide will come between us after all.

Harleen was a bookworm with a PhD in Psychology and a minor in watching Netflix. And here she was, grinding like a tramp on a psychopathic clown. What was going on with her?

Fortunately for her, the song came to a close and Harleen immediately moved away, snatching her dress from the floor. Slipping it back on, Jonny and the two strangers averted their eyes and coughed, shifting uncomfortably in a way that made Harleen want to gag. And smile. Her body couldn't decide which way to sway.

Clearing his throat, Joker smoothed out his dress pants and ran a shaking hand through his hair, rolling his neck and cracking it.

"Leave," he ordered suddenly in a rasp, licking his lips. Before Harleen could react, he gave her a sharp glare. "Not you. Them."

Knowing better than to disobey, Jonny and the others promptly ducked out of the booth without another word.

Now all alone in this private box of luxury and twinkling lights, Joker rolled up his sleeves, now mostly composed. "Stunning performance," he praised, chuckling in what looked like disbelief. "Gotta say… didn't know you had that in ya."

With eyes smudged with mascara and cheeks stained with old tears, Harleen glowered at him. "I played your game, J. I ain't stayin' here any longer."

Joker stood with dark eyes and Harleen felt the terror from before sink back into her bones, confidence dwindling. "Oh, but that's not stated in our agreement," he began, dragging out each word and taunting her. "And you owe me."

Harleen crossed her arms over her chest, still feeling exposed. "I haven't agreed to anything," she retorted as he grew near.

Huffing out a laugh, Joker smacked his palm to his forehead. "Right, right, I forgot… Nothing you say matters anymore, now that you're mine."

She opened her mouth to snap, or cry, maybe even defend — but a gun was pressed beneath her jaw. Joker's other hand tangled in her hair and yanked back, deliberately replicating the first time they had ever touched. But instead of his tongue, it was a loaded barrel.

More furious than afraid, Harleen glared up at him beneath wet lashes, gritting out, "You. Don't. Own. Me."

Joker cocked the gun and she flinched. He tucked some of her hair away with the barrel of his golden pistol.

"In the day time, you can be Little Miss Harleen Quinzel," he sneered at her, "But at night, dancing for me in my establishment?" He dragged the barrel over her lips, just as his finger had done before. "You're Harley Quinn."

So sorry for the wait between updates. I came down with an awful cold and it's still not completely gone. Thank you so much for reading, I love you all. Reviews are always adored and welcomed and I will try to update very soon.

P.S. If you'd like to listen to what Harleen was dancing to, look up Guilt by Nero and fast forward a minute in. ;)