She made the only decision she thought was most beneficial to her. But then, as she lay down on the floor, Bruce Wayne screaming in the background, she thought she could have been much more careful. The caller ID had a call history, and the Joker would definitely recognize the number to Gotham PD. His knife glinted in the dim overhead light as he put it to her throat, shaking.
"You…" was all he could say for a moment. "You…my dear…should have thought this through." The Joker she was used to seeing was gone, now. "You should have thought the end through just a little…more. But I guess you couldn't, with that curious little voice whispering in your ear? Duela Dent and Harvey Dent, brought down by Harlequin and Two Face. Oh, the poetic fucking justice is just unbearable!" he said through his loud cackles, which were doing a great job of covering Bruce Wayne's pleas not to hurt her.
"Now you're just being dramatic," Duela hissed, knowing he could hear her. She was unusually calm…maybe Harlequin had snuck through. Probably. And then a thought crossed her mind, in the midst of all this insanity. She glared up at him, her eyes much more narrow than they normally were. "So do it already," she said, word for word, what he had said to her.
The Joker didn't cry, though, not like Duela did. Instead he grabbed her body, pulling her up and throwing her into the wall. As he yanked her hair and punched her in her ribs, he saw blood coming down her pretty skin, and he hated that he thought she was pretty. She'd never been more beautiful. Fuck.
"You can't!" Duela screeched, like a harpy, with a delightful giggle that rang through Bruce Wayne's ears. She tugged away from him, some blonde hair still stuck in his gloved hand. "You can't. I can't. We can't escape each other, even with our own hands!" she continued, simply dancing with delight. This was the opposite of what she'd guessed would happen. And even though his fist flew into her gut, knocking any air she had in her out, she was ecstatic.
Because hell, she knew how to work with this sort of situation.
"Now that we've gotten to this point—hey!" she yelled, when he swiped at her. "Now that we've realized what little control we have over ourselves when all we wanna do is kill each other, now that we know where we stand…" she took a moment to catch her breath, wanting to paint a pretty picture for her Joker.
"Imagine, if you will, the triumph our return from Arkham will be," Duela mumbled, stumbling a little from the force he used when he knocked her head into the wall. "Imagine how Gotham will feel knowing they're safe, we're gone, the Clown Prince and his little Princess are gone. And then…" she grinned, and heart the SWAT team pull up outside. She had approximately sixty seconds to make this a good trip to Arkham.
"And then what?" he finally spoke, breathing harder than he should be. "And then what do we do, what do we do, what do we do?" he continued.
"Something bigger than you or me, bigger than this city. Send them running like cockroaches." Duela heard their footprints. "And smush them all. And then we go global." She grinned, sure she'd gotten him. She turned this around, she made her moral lapse work for her.
"Global," Joker repeated, glaring dangerously at Duela. He was either stunned by her idea or incredulous that she was pulling this crap. Duela never really knew, because after he said that one word, the SWAT team came in and took control.
----
Twenty-four hours later, Duela found herself in a weird situation. They fascinated everyone…the Joker's sociopath tendencies left everyone else in the dust. Duela's dependency was one for the history books. So they decided to observe them in as natural of a habitat as they could make.
They were put in two rooms, separated only by bars in case the other got violent. In front of them was a huge shatter-proof window for the doctors to peer in, not that they needed it. Above them were four cameras, two in each room, and they picked up everything. The Joker knew how to act…Duela, however, was acting like she was dying. He sat at the opposite end of her, staring forward at her with his eyes cut up.
Duela looked like an entirely different story. While he sat calm and composed she pressed her face against the bars, desperate to be with him. She looked dead; the medicine was partially to blame for that, of course. But the way she laid, nothing but her eyes which were wired on the Joker moving. She almost looked broken, like a doll.
"It's impossible for me to get sleep with you staring at me like you want to eat me," he said gently.
"You never sleep," she responded, wetting her dry lips with a dry tongue.
"Did they let you keep your coin?"
"Yes," she responded, and took it out on cue, examining it with a smile. "As long as I promised not to choke on it…like I would, what a horrible place for this coin to go…"
"It's scrap metal," he jabbed.
"Is not," she responded weakly, but he knew had she not been drugged up, she would have been stronger. "So…" she mumbled, wetting her lips again. "Have you seen a shrink yet?"
"Not yet," he mumbled. Maybe it was the medicine that was sending him into apathy…probably. "Today's my first."
"I saw mine a few hours ago. He's…horrible," Duela mumbled. She gulped, her throat horribly dry. "I miss you," she said, honestly. The Joker glared as a response. This place was breaking her down already…
They sat there in silence for a while. Duela's mind began to race as she thought of getting out. That's all she thought about anymore. "When we get out…if we get out…you'll have to make me a new dress. Maybe this time, you could make me a shirt and a skirt. But then, the dress was rather convenient…" she mumbled, and she let out a small sigh, shaking her head. "I haven't decided."
"And what makes you think I will take you back?" he asked. Somewhere, he knew, doctors were scribbling on paper like there was no tomorrow. "You did something unforgivable. Our biggest client, Duela, dear," he said, seeing her destroyed face and loving it.
"Because I'm your masterpiece," she responded, easily. Still, the panic was clear on her face. "Because you love what you've done with me…because I'm your legacy. I'm everything you are and everything you want to continue," she responded. "You love me because I am you," she continued, her eyes finally widening, making her look vulnerable. Only look.
The Joker took a moment to think about this. She was right. Why wouldn't he keep her around and make her flawless, like him? And then he chuckled. He couldn't. Her talk of plans all the time…of fairness…He looked up to her. "You're almost me. You're like a building…most of the building is amazing. Impeccable. But not even an impeccably designed building can stand on an imperfect base." He eyed her.
"If you're talking about Two Face, I can be both…"
The Joker moved swiftly to the bars, and she backed up out of defense. "You're not perfect. You never will be perfect, because you will never allow yourself to shed that bit of Harvey in you. Which is nothing but stupidity," he spat. "You could've been great. But you'll never be what I am. You'll be the best of your generation, but you'll never be me," he continued, and he slowly began to back up.
For once, Duela didn't argue. She stared down at her coin, shivering a little and touching her face. Maybe he was right. Maybe she couldn't be as good as him…she cared too much about her name. Her first name was Duela Dent…her second name was Harlequin. It was good enough for her, just…not for him.
"Will I see you on the playing field?" Duela asked, tears gathering in her eyes but she wasn't crying.
"Not if I see you first."
----
The Joker sat in a room void of anything but a table, two chairs, and five panic buttons. Five. He was flattered. He stared down at the table. In walked a cute little woman. Her hair was blonde and curly. But it was her eyes that got him…those bright blue eyes that shone down at him as if it would all be okay. And maybe she thought it would all be okay.
"Good afternoon," he said politely, quietly. Taking her in.
"Good afternoon," she responded with a bright smile and a Cockney accent to match. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, but you can call me Harleen," she said, grinning. Always grinning. She looked so pretty when she smiled, the Joker noticed.
"It's nice to meet you, too, Harleen. You know what I think I may call you?" he said, maybe a little dangerously.
She tensed. "And…what's that?"
"I think I'm gonna call you Harley." He grinned. She nodded, and he reveled in the moment.
This would be almost too easy.
----
The following day Duela returned from individual therapy, and she plopped down in her room, looking down at her coin. "When I get out of here…I'll do great. I've been trained by the best, to be the best, how could I fail…"
The Joker looked up, and recognized that lost, glazed-over look. She was having a moment with her selves. He listened to her curiously, ruffling his hair.
"And when I do well…ooh so well, then they'll be proud."
"We've always been proud."
