"White sheets, bright lights.

Crooked teeth and the night life.

You told me this is right where it begins."

- Halsey, Is There Somewhere

Warning: Rating has been changed to M.

"Put that down, Harley-girl."

Harleen flinched hard and pressed a hand to her chest, immediately dropping the switchblade onto the table. "Shit, you walk real quiet, J."

Unamused, Joker took off his suit jacket and sat across from her. The club was stuffy tonight from all of the bodies. It made him grouchy. "You know better than to touch what isn't yours."

"I was curious," Harleen defended weakly, taking a small sip of her champagne.

There was a thin, wooden box at the end of the table and Joker opened it to retrieve a cigar. He placed it between his teeth and lit a match. "What, haven't seen a knife before?"

She looked over to the emerald blade again, the diamond incrusted J glinting back at her. It was gorgeous. "I ain't ever seen one like that."

"That's because it was made real, real special." He puffed at his cigar before setting it against the ashtray, frowning. "So don't touch it again."

Harleen watched on as Joker opened a nearby deck of playing cards and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Is green your favorite color?"

"One of them," Joker replied flatly, noncommittal as he shuffled.

Her smile was audible. "But purple is your first, ain't it?"

He rolled his eyes and dealt her two cards. "I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions with you, Harley."

"Fine." After a moment, she captured her bottom lip between her teeth. "So you offed Griggs, huh?"

Not looking up from his hand, Joker grunted around his cigar, "Who?"

"Griggs. You know, creepy guard with the gap in his teeth?" Harleen watched him beneath long lashes.

"Right, right," Joker chuckled bitterly to himself, flicking ash into the tray. "You're welcome."

"Why did you do it?" She absently ran her fingertip along the top of her cards, studying his face. There would always be a part of her that wanted to get inside of his head. "You didn't have to."

"And here I thought you would be pleased." He huffed playfully. Grey eyes flicked up. "You wound me."

Harleen dipped her chin and bit back a smile. This was all so messed up. "I never said that I wasn't."

Satisfied with her answer, Joker winked at her and she swooned a little. "That's my girl."

Something about his tone of voice made Harleen's cheeks burn. Flustered, she quickly looked down to her cards — then squealed with a gasp, "Full house! Ha, I win!"

"Again?" Joker growled, leaning over the table to look at her cards. He shook his head after a moment. "You're cheating."

"Uh, no, I won fair and square." When he scowled and pushed his cards away like a child, Harleen teased him, "You're real lucky money ain't involved. After an hour with me, you'd be broke as a joke."

She was proud of that one.

Joker sneered at her and snatched his cigar from the tray. "I would rather be set on fire than listen to you anymore. Go away."

For the very first time in front of him, Harleen fell back and let out a string of high-pitched giggles. Babyish, a little ditzy, but genuine.

His scowl began to fade. What a cheeky little minx. Joker rolled his jaw to keep from laughing along with her, but those eyes — those fucking blue eyes had his body thrumming with want.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Joker challenged darkly, running his tongue over his capped teeth. Never had a woman grinned so carefree beside him. That squeezing feeling in his chest returned full-force and it made him want to shoot somebody.

Harleen only grinned and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Uh-huh."

Jonny popped his head in and cleared his throat. "Boss, one of Mancuso's men is asking to see you."

Perfect.

"Music to my ears, Jonny! Send him in." Smirking, Joker slipped his prized switchblade into his pocket and ran his thumb over the gun in his holster. He hated fucking Mancuso. The putz owed him fifty grand.

Harleen sat up straight at the news, no longer giggling. Mancuso was a big deal in Gotham. She didn't want to get involved with another powerful man. "I should — I should go, right?"

"No, no, Harley-girl," Joker tutted slyly, "That pretty dress cost me a pretty penny. Don't you want to show it off?"

"But this is—I really shouldn't be here, dontcha think?" Harleen insisted, swallowing thickly. The glimmering, red dress was marvelous as it clung to her curves, but not marvelous enough to ease her apprehension.

Footsteps neared the beaded entrance and Joker lifted his chin to beckon her forward. "Come here, girl. Sit."

Knowing that she would be the most safe beside him, Harleen didn't hesitate to round the table, but she still grumbled, "I ain't a dog, Mistah J."

This earned her a rough pull onto his lap and his mouth against her ear, "Behave and watch that mouth of yours. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not ask questions. If you act up around my client, your ass will pay for it. Am I making myself clear?"

Heart in her throat, she gripped the table and nodded quickly. "Crystal."

Pale fingers wrapped securely around her waist. He was always so cold. It felt nice against her flushed skin. "Good."

Enter Mancuso's employee: grossly robust and balding — a sweaty kind of drunk. "Mr. Joker!" he slurred with a grin, "Lorenzo De Luca. Pleased to — hic! — make your acquaintance." He extended one of his pudgy hands, which went ignored.

But Joker was smiling, his default setting. "Oh, I don't doubt that. What brings you here tonight, hmm?"

Lorenzo plopped down clumsily where Harleen had once sat. By the look of him, there was more alcohol than blood in his veins. "Came to represent the Mancuso family. To welcome you back, of course. To — hic! — see the girlies, too." Dark eyes moved to Harleen. To her chest, mainly. He leered, "And who do we have here?"

Harleen stiffened and leaned into Joker without thinking. Was she supposed to respond? Was she allowed? The last thing she wanted to do was misspeak and get hit.

Joker's hand ran up along her side and she felt lightheaded. "Answer him," he coaxed, entertained.

"I'm —" Harleen licked her dry lips before forcing a quivering smile. She couldn't use her real name. "Harley. Harley Quinn. Nice to meet-cha, Mr. De Luca."

Lorenzo hummed low to himself, devouring her with hungry eyes. He wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. He wiped sweat off of his forehead. "Very, very nice."

Harleen felt like throwing up. Her hand fell to Joker's thigh to anchor herself, and he stiffened — but didn't move her away.

"Does she dance?" Lorenzo grunted at Joker, eager and scooting forward.

That squeezing feeling in Joker's chest morphed into something demonic and he gritted his teeth, confused by it. "For me," he stated firmly. "She's new."

A wave of relief crashed over Harleen and she loosened her death grip on Joker's leg.

Red in the face, Lorenzo had the nerve to scowl, slurring, "C'mon, Joker. We do good business. We make good money. A piece of ass like that deserves to be passed around between friends, don't you — hic! — think?"

"Piece of ass?" It came out of Harleen sharp and incredulous. A certified therapist who had committed murder? Yes. A woman tipping off the edge of sanity? Probably. But never a piece of anything.

"Tsk, tsk. Rookie mistake, pal." Faster than Harleen thought possible, Joker had pulled out his pistol and shot Lorenzo in the kneecap.

"Son of a bitch!"

Due to the silencer, the gunshot wouldn't draw attention, but the screams of agony coming from Lorenzo triggered Jonny to signal the DJ. A second later, the club music drowned him out.

Harleen had been frozen on Joker's lap, staring at Lorenzo's bullet wound, when she felt cool metal being pressed into her palm.

Confused, she looked down and squeaked in alarm — Joker had handed her the gun. "What? No, no, no I can't —"

"Sure you can," Joker reassured with a grin, eerily patient, "Aim between the eyes. Believe in yourself."

Trembling with nerves, Harleen wrapped her delicate fingers around the handle of his golden pistol and slowly pointed it at Lorenzo. Here goes nothing.

"Like hell!" Lorenzo spluttered, seething in pain, and he reached out to grab the gun — which promptly made Harleen panic and shoot him in the shoulder. "Agh! You fucking bitch!"

Joker burst into laughter and patted her knee. "A little low, Harley. Try again, try again…"

And there Doctor Harleen Quinzel was, in a back-alley strip club, comfortable on a madman's lap, trying her best to keep the gun in her hand steady enough to kill.

Breaking the rules had never felt so good.

She closed one eye, bit her tongue, and adjusted her grip — bang! Off went his left ear. Lorenzo passed out from the pain.

"Damn it." Harleen grunted softly, pouting and trying again. Off went his right. "This is impossible!"

Running a hand through his hair, Joker continued to lose his shit, cackling and hysterical. "He's only three feet away!"

"I know that!" Harleen huffed in frustration. Flipping some of her hair over her shoulder, she gripped the gun with both hands, pursed her lips, and finally shot him above the bridge of his nose.

In a sick, sick moment of glee, Harleen gave the dead body a wolfish grin.

And then she was airborne, tossed over Joker's shoulder as he cheered and spun her around. "Well done, Harley-girl!" he praised loudly, "Bye-bye birdie!"

Harleen only squealed in delight and laughed, surrounded by gore and insanity and loving it.

Jonny, who had been watching from the sidelines, golf-clapped appropriately. "Very nice, Miss Quinn."

"What are you doing?" Joker gave her an odd look from behind his laptop. She had been touching the back of her head for five minutes and it was creeping him out.

"I just… I feel something weird," Harleen slurred, fingertips trailing up and down the bumps on her scalp. Then it dawned on her. "Oh! I never got my stitches taken out," she explained to him through giggles, "Whoops."

It had been a few hours since Lorenzo's death and they had relocated to the penthouse above to celebrate. Joker's group of men were in the kitchen area, roughhousing and playing poker, while the two of them were lounging drunkenly in the living room nearby.

Joker set aside the blueprints he was looking over and took out his green switchblade, opening it with a quick flick of his wrist.

"No way," Harleen shook her head and the room began to spin. "You ain't sober enough to touch me with that."

"You underestimating me?" Joker raised an eyebrow, standing. Sure, his vision was a little blurry, but he still had a steady hand. Sort of. Whatever.

"You'll scalp me, Mistah J," Harleen insisted, shrinking back against the black couch she was laying on as he approached. "I'll have someone at Arkham take care of it."

Arkham. The word made Joker nauseous and he shook it out of his head, sitting beside her. With a swift tug, Harleen was against him, and he balled her hair up in his fist to expose her neck.

"Where is it?" Joker squinted at her hairline and cackled at her darker roots. "Are you a brunette, Harls?"

Harleen's cheeks flared. "What, like your hair is naturally green?" she snapped, embarrassed. He continued to laugh. Wanting to change the topic, she reached back to point out her scar. "There."

Pushing back some of her hair, Joker raised his eyebrows, impressed with the damage he had caused. Nine whole stitches. He tilted his head to the side. "Huh. Would you look at that."

"You thought I was lyin' or somethin?" Harleen asked moodily, tensing when he lifted the blade. "Be careful."

"Shut up." He was playing an adult game of tipsy Operation and he needed to concentrate. It took over a minute, but he managed to take them all out without nicking her.

But there her neck was again, on full-display. Unblemished. Perfect. He licked his lips and dragged his knife along the back of Harleen's neck, just light enough to not break the skin.

She shuddered hard when she realized what Joker was doing. "J…"

"Sit still, Harley-girl," Joker flicked a lock of green out of his eyes. "It'll hurt more if you move and I want it to look nice."

Harleen's pulse spiked and she began to sweat. "What'll hurt? What are you talkin' about?" Slowly, the back of her neck began to sting and she hissed sharply. "Jesus, ow!"

"Don't be a baby, it's not even deep." Joker scolded, focusing on the small, deliberate cuts he was making. Her blood was like rubies as it trickled.

Dizzy from discomfort, Harleen whined softly. He was scaring her. "How long is this gonna take?"

"Turned out better than I thought," Joker hummed to himself, pocketing his switchblade. At the base of her neck was an old-fashioned J, looping and permanent. He wiped away the blood with his thumb, making her whimper, and stuck it in his mouth to suck it clean.

Harleen turned around and made a face at his bloody smile. Even if it was a little contagious. "Alright then, my turn." She held out her hand expectantly. When Joker didn't comply out of confusion, she glared. "If I get a J, you're getting a damn H."

Tickled by her idea and too drunk to say no, Joker handed over the blade and sniggered when his shirt was tugged off. "Jeez, Harley. At least buy me dinner first."

Jonny walked by, choked on his beer, and rounded the corner.

"You wish," Harleen teased, propping herself up onto her knees. The weapon felt heavy in her tiny hand as she positioned it against the back of Joker's right shoulder.

Five torturous minutes later, a jagged H was carved into pale flesh and Joker was wincing through laughter — it shifted into a low growl, though, when he felt her hot tongue lap at the sensitive wound.

Harleen's girly Brooklyn lilt was soft and mischievous against his ear when she slurred, "Thank you, Daddy."

Oh, he was going to absolutely destroy her.

So sorry for the gap in updates. School is nuts. Next update will be much sooner, ducklings. Thank you so much for reading. Your reviews make my day.