Disclaimer: All the characters used in this fic belong to DC Comics, and are based on the characters in The Dark Knight. I own nothing but the plot.
Chapter 6: Plans
A/N: My personal interpretation on Harley's past is in this chapter.
Music: Had Enough by Breaking Benjamin
Her dreams had grown hectic and chaotic. She found herself surrounded by those she had known and met, loved and lost. But, above all, her mother's face was particularly visible while the others appeared to be staring at her from within fun house mirrors. Harley watched as her hand moved, stretching itself towards her mother without command from her. In return, her mother stepped back, shaking her hanging head.
"Why?" Harley whispered. "Why did you leave me behind? What was so important... that you chose to leave us?"
She couldn't understand anything. She knew that her mother hadn't abandoned them. It had all been a mistake; a circumstance of "in the wrong place at the wrong time." It hadn't been her mother's fault at all. So, why was she asking such questions? And against her own will, too...
Her mother's soft eyes and delicate features looked up at her, a sorrowful glaze having washed over her usually cheerful face. "You don't remember... I left you because..." Harley watched in shock as a hand reached out of the darkness, grabbing hold of her mother's face. The hand pulled, tearing the skin, revealing the face of a stranger beneath. "You're not mine," the new face said. "You never were my child... I hated you, resented you, wanted to leave you for dead... Leave you to rot..."
Harley's eyes widened as she shot upright, startled awake by the loud sound of breaking glass and swearing. She placed a hand on her chest, measuring her erratic heartbeat. A dream... It had all been a bad dream. Nothing more, and certainly nothing to be afraid of. She glanced at the clock that was sitting on the table beside the bed: 10:21. Harley swung her legs onto the floor, pulled the door open, and stormed down seven flights of stairs to the rec room of the apartment building.
She had always known that men like the Joker had goons, but she'd never expected them to be so immature as to wake a sleeping woman so suddenly. Marching to the door, she kicked it open, taking note of the broken handle, and stared into the room.
"What the hell?" Harley screamed, diving to the floor as a beer bottle came flying her way. "What the hell is wrong with you idiots?"
Harley rolled her eyes as she made her way into the room to find the Joker. A very unpleasant experience. She was tired as hell, had a throbbing headache, and had now been awakened by the sounds of the clown's incompetent goons having a damned beer party. How twenty-five to thirty men could make enough noise to reach the seventh floor was completely beyond her. Unless they had guns. Guns might have caused that much racket. She stared in awe, realizing that the entirety of the room was completely trashed with bottles, cigarette butts, cigars, lighters, matches, and clothing, that Harley didn't particularly care to see.
The sound of giggles and tantalizing whispers reached her ears, and Harley spun around, appalled to see several girls spread out with a large number of the men. Her gaze narrowed at the sight. How sickening...
Not only did they have a beer party, she thought. They turned this place into a whore-house!
One of the drunkards spotted her and approached, deciding it would be a good idea to try dragging her into a corner. Harley screamed and clawed at the man's face, realizing that he must have been drunk to ignore the puncture wounds she had bestowed upon him. She screamed wildly, kicking the man as he tried peeling the form-fitting outfit from her lithe frame. Just when she thought all was lost, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang throughout the room, causing all activity to immediately cease. The man that had been handling her dropped to the floor in a heap, a bullet lodged in the back of his skull.
There was only one force on the planet that could control the mass of drunken idiots in which Harley found herself standing. And she knew that said force was pissed as hell. All eyes immediately turned towards the doorway where the Joker stood with a shotgun. The goons flinched as he stalked across the room, and dragged the shuddering Harley to her feet.
"When I get back, all this shit better be gone," he growled, discharging another bullet.
Several of the girls who lay sprawled out across the room bolted for the nearest exit, not wanting to be caught in the middle of the Joker's tirade. The goons, now free from the distraction of girls walking about in their pantyhose, gave the madman their full attention, not wanting to get killed with some damned bullet... Or worse.
"And get that out of here," the Joker muttered, pointing the shotgun barrel at the dead man. Without a second glance at the body on the floor, the Joker started down the hall, not even bothering to look back.
Harley hesitantly followed him, praying that he wouldn't take any of his horrid anger out on her. Although she felt better being away from the perverted men, his silence was just frightening. Although she had only been with him for a few short days, she had learned enough to know that the bloodlust radiating from his presence was more terrifying than anything Gotham had ever known. It was no wonder the city feared the man.
She sure as hell had no idea what he was thinking, but something in the back of Harley's mind told her that it had something to do with her. He stopped suddenly, causing her to waltz right into him. Her body went numb when she hit him, and she slowly backed a few feet away just to be safe. She wished she could just vanish into the void that was death. Anything to escape the suffocating rage that radiated from the demon she had been drawn to.
"You need something, doll?" he drawled.
There was a slight edge to his voice, and Harley could almost see the very face of the animal that clawed at the bars behind the mask, demanding release from the dark prison in which it was trapped. A sudden wave of relief washed over her, clearing the thoughts of macabre from her mind, as she attempted to relax.
"Well... Not really. Is there anything you need?" Harley couldn't believe what had just come out of her mouth.
Holy shit! What the hell is wrong with you? her sensible half scolded. You're not in any position to be insinuating things like that! Are you really that dense? To him you're nothing but a toy, a puppet, a tool to be used as he sees fit! You can't relax this much around someone like him!
Harley's more relaxed side immediately kicked itself into high gear, trying to reason with her rational thoughts. What's the big deal? If he tries anything, I can handle it. Besides, he saved my ass, in case you failed to notice!
Great. Now she was arguing with herself. Not much of a confidence-builder.
Well let's look at the facts... He's a fucking psychopath! Can't you see it, Harleen? You've read about people like this! He's a twisted bastard with no moral conscience, and he cares about nothing but fucking up the world! Caring about other people is not within his skill set! What about having a normal life? What happened to that? What about everything you worked for?
She shook her head, trying to shake away the little angel and devil that sat around arguing inside her head. Shut up, both of you! Harley demanded. I'm not listening to anymore of your shit! Harley covered her ears and screamed, trying to drown out all thoughts or feelings of doubt. I won't listen to this anymore, she thought. That part of my life is gone, dead! That part of me died long ago!
"What the hell are you doing?" The Joker pulled her off the floor, and grabbed her wrist. Maybe she was crazy after all. That game of his might have had some severe affect on her mental stability. "Don't go breaking on me now."
See? the angel said. You're only a toy to him. Stop trying to fool yourself.
That was true. So, he had saved her more than once. Big fucking deal. It didn't mean anything. The only reason he had dragged her ass out of Arkham in the first place, was because she could be of use to him. He had never planned to break her out in the first place. The idea had probably crossed his mind while on his way out the door. Besides, she knew that if he deemed her to be a waste of time, it would be easy to dispose of her. She'd just be another worthless victim for Gotham to make noise over.
"Hey! I've got something to say to you, dammit!" she shouted, smacking his shoulder.
The glazed look in his eye vanished, and he tightened his grip on her wrist; the small bones clicking together from the pressure. She stopped shouting and flinched, trying to pull herself away from his grasp. But she blocked out the pain in her wrist as the delicate little bones began grating against each other. The Joker turned on her, pushing her up against the wall. But instead of clamping her eyes shut, she stared back at him defiantly. Daring him to kill her.
But she knew he wouldn't. If he killed her, she'd be free from the strings that now tied her to him.
"Was there something you... wanted to say, princess?" He slid the knife from his pocket, letting the cold steel glide against her cheek, watching her shudder from the blade's icy touch.
Her voice seemed to have left her; replacing her confidence with frightful suspense. The little angel voice inside her head began screaming at her from the back of her mind. I told you, Harleen! I warned you about this freak! Now he's gonna kill you, and everything you've worked for will die with you!
The voices seemed to manifest itself when Harley experienced heightened emotions. Namely fear.
No... She'd made up her mind. She refused to let the demon in her head decide her fate. She'd fight it, even if it killed her. And if she died, then the voice went with her. But she wasn't going let herself die simply to kill the voice within. Harley closed her mind off from all emotions, locking them tightly behind a wall that could only be lifted at her will. Her eyes locked with those of the Devil, watching the flames of hell dance wildly within him.
"Do it," she choked, submitting herself to the Devil's will. "If you wanna kill me, then kill me. My life doesn't mean anything anymore."
The silence that followed seemed to make time stand still. The flames of hell appeared to be engulfing her mind, body, and soul, cutting her off from the world in an instant. She found herself unable to move, unable to breathe; trapped in the fiery depths of the underworld, doomed to stare eternally into the eyes of the Devil that was the Joker.
The images that clouded her thoughts shattered, and she was once again sent tumbling into that dark abyss.
6 - 7 - 6 - 7
"Harley? Harley? You need to wake up now," a familiar voice whispered. "Harley, we need to talk, sweetie. Please, wake up.
But Harley didn't want to wake up. She wanted to stay where she was: Warm in bed, surrounded by the blankets that shielded her from the darkness and all the night terrors that plagued the youth of the world.
"Harley? Wake up. Harley, you have to get up," the voice said again.
She shifted beneath the covers, suddenly more alert the second time around. The usually warm and familiar voice sounded different, somehow. It sounded... sad.
Why? I don't get it...
Harley cracked her eyes open and saw her father kneeling at the side of her bed, holding her little hand in his, resting his head upon his arm. "Daddy?" She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking dazedly at her father. "Daddy."
He looked up when he heard her meek little voice. His face was slightly flushed, and his usually cheery green eyes were glazed over with tears. She had never seen him like this before. He was always so strong, so calm and together. "Hi, honey," he said, giving her a weak smile.
"Morning, Daddy" she said sweetly. She rubbed her blue eyes once more and sat up, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a tight hug. He picked her up and sat on the bed, cradling the five-year-old tightly in his arms, gently rocking her back and forth. Her little eyes widened as his body began to tremble, tears falling gently onto the back of her pajama top. "Daddy, are you okay?" She had never seen her father cry, and now he was sobbing like a lost child.
"Harley... Your mother... she's gone," he said, squeezing her tighter. "She's gone, baby."
The little girl smiled, thinking that her words might console her father. "Did you forget, Daddy?" she asked. "Mommy went to Boston for Auntie's wedding."
"Yes..." he said with a nod. "But this time, honey... she's not coming home."
Harley couldn't believe what she was hearing. Not coming home...? That's what her parents had told her when Grandpa Quinnzel hadn't been able to come live with them. Because he had... died. Her mother was... dead? How?
"You mean she's... dead?" Harley's words came out in a high-pitched whisper. Being a child, Harley didn't know what death really was. But she knew just enough to know that it was something that kept her from seeing people ever again.
Her father sighed and nodded. "I'm sorry, Harley. She was going to call when she got there, but... there was an accident... and Mommy didn't make it."
"Mommy..." Her blond hair fell into her face as her bright blue eyes, the ones her mother had given her, filled with tears. "Mommy, no! Mommy, come back!"
"I'm so sorry, Harley. There wasn't anything the doctors could do to help her... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
6 - 7 - 6 - 7
Harley awoke to the loud roaring of an engine. She opened her eyes, and found herself staring up at the inside of a van, her head resting on the Joker's lap. She glanced up to see that he was staring out the window into the dark. She began to rub the sleep from her eyes and found tears.
"You passed out," he said, closing his eyes.
Had she missed something? Why did he care what happened to her? Did he care? Why was she in a van with him anyway?
"Where are you taking me?" Harley choked, sitting up straight. I'm in a vehicle... with the Joker. Oh, crap.
As if things weren't already weird enough. He had gotten her out of Arkham, killed the scumbag who had tried to violate her, and now this.
"To put it simply, we're waiting for the Batman," he muttered, opening the door before the engine stopped. She followed him outside and craned her neck up at the large building that stood before them.
Wayne Enterprises. One of the greatest multi-billion dollar business empires in the world.
The building must have had at least thirty floors and over two hundred windows. A few lights were visible in a few of said windows. Probably the offices of those working late. Harley looked from the building and back to the Joker, noting the sadistic smirk on his face.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.
"Before you even ask, we're gonna start a game for the Bat."
Harley crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, still looking at the skyscraper. "Don't tell me this is another one of your genius plans to get the Batman to lose his cool?" Honestly, the Joker was the craziest son of a bitch that Harley had ever met. And she had met quite a few, when taking her shitty dating experiences into consideration.
"Do I look like a man with a plan?" He took her by the chin, turning her face towards his. "I don't plan. I'm like a dog chasing cars, Harley. I don't have plans. I just do things. When you have plans, there's always something or someone out there that's bound to fuck it all up."
Before Harley could open her mouth, a wall of flames erupted from the building, sending a billowing cloud of smoke up over Gotham.
"Here." The Joker handed her a slip of paper and a can of paint. "Put that on the South side of the building."
She shrugged and ran around to the South side, glancing at the folded paper in her hand. "What the hell is this?" Harley had no idea what the hell the Joker was up to, but she did as she was told, and sprayed the letters on the wall. Upon completion, she stepped back to get a better look at her handiwork. The letters dripped streaks down the wall, and Harley realized that the paint was a deep shade of red, giving the impression that the letters had been written with blood.
He's just as the papers described, she thought with a grin. A spontaneously insane genius.
6 - 7 - 6 - 7
Gotham Police Commissioner Jim Gordon sat at his desk with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, reading over a few records that had been faxed to his office. Several phones rang from the other room as the officers tried desperately to answer them all. Despite all the hell he and his men went through, Jim couldn't say he hated his job. He just hated knowing that the city was full of low-lives who sought to do harm to their fellow men. If he didn't do something about it, then no one but the Batman would. And though the Batman was a vigilante, Jim knew the man had good intentions. Much like himself, Batman sought to bring peace to the citizens of Gotham.
That was one thing they had in common.
Maybe tonight will be the night I can get home on time, Jim thought, bringing the mug to his lips. He watched the phone on his desk carefully as he took a drink. Usually, when the work hours started drawing to a close like this, things started happening. Of course, that was to be expected, he supposed. Suddenly, the coffee mug flew from his hand as the phone began shrieking like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Just my luck, he thought, reaching for the phone.
"Commissioner Gordon speaking," he said into the receiver.
Detective Stephens' voice echoed in Jim's ear. "Commissioner, I apologize for the sudden call, but Wayne Enterprises has just been set on fire!"
"Shit!" Gordon shouted, slamming his fist onto the coffee-soaked desk. Things in Gotham had actually gotten worse since the Joker had been put in Arkham Asylum months earlier. It certainly seemed that the city's criminals were more afraid of the Joker than they were of Batman. That alone would explain why the mobs had started venturing out into the open again. And with the mobs running loose once again, the police had been busier than ever trying to round them all up.
"Sir, we have reason to believe that the Joker is behind it."
Jim rolled his eyes. Of course. I should have seen this coming. "All right. I'll be right there. Get as many squads down there as you can," he ordered before slamming the phone down on its base. He pulled his coat on and shoved a few extra clips into his pockets before heading outside and hopping into a patrol car. I'll never know how that son of a bitch pulls these things off.
Once inside the car, Jim pulled his cell phone from his pocket, selecting Wayne Manor from the speed dial. Seeing how Bruce Wayne owned the company, it was only common courtesy to inform him of the situation. As the phone rang, Jim remembered that Wayne Manor had been burned down three years earlier during one of Bruce Wayne's crazy birthday parties. But even after the fire, Wayne had continued with his party antics for every holiday of the year that he deemed worthy. The "Playboy Prince of Gotham" never seemed to learn his lesson.
Jim pressed the phone to his ear, the other end of the call ringing three times before it was answered.
"Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking," the butler said upon answering the phone.
The officer cleared his throat, reminding himself to remain calm. "Evening, Alfred. This is Commissioner Gordon. I need to speak with Mr. Wayne immediately. It's an emergency!" The words all seemed to come out at once, and Jim lost track of his exact words.
"My apologies, Commissioner. Master Wayne just left on an important call," the butler said politely. "But I'll be sure to inform him of your call once he returns. Is there a message I could pass along to him for you?"
The Commissioner furrowed his brow. Important call? But his company is... "No, that's fine. Thank you, Alfred," Jim said, hanging up. The strangest thought had shot through his mind during the call: Was Bruce Wayne the Batman?
If Wayne was Gotham's Dark Knight, then everything would make sense. After all, the multi-billionaire could probably afford the high-tech gadgets that the vigilante used. At the moment, Gordon had more pressing matters than the identity of the Batman. But he couldn't ignore the fact that there were still a few more questions he wanted to have answered: Is Bruce Wayne the Batman? Who is responsible for the technology he uses? And, more importantly: Who is the Joker?
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