"Look, you wanna sleep on the floor?! Cause I ain't gonna sleep on the floor!" snapped Joker later that night. "And Crane's got the couch, so unless you'd prefer the floor, just get on your side of the bed!"
Harley stared at him in terror, and then slowly nodded and lay down on the bed, fully clothed. "No, that's your side of the bed!" snapped Joker, pointing. She nodded again and moved over. Then she curled up tightly on top of the blankets and shut her eyes.
Joker sighed, grabbed his pajamas, and headed for the bathroom. Nothing had changed when he emerged – Harley was still curled up on top of the covers. He climbed under them on his own half of the bed. "Don't you dare come near me," muttered Harley.
Joker laughed. "I never thought I'd hear those words coming outta your mouth, toots," he retorted. "Usually you're the one who can't keep your hands off me."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted. "I'm Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, promising young psychiatrist and perfectly normal human being. I would never have anything to do with the likes of you, some sort of crazy…freak."
"Sticks and stones, baby," he snapped. "Just shut your useless mouth and go to sleep, would ya?"
He shut his eyes. She shifted her position slightly, and suddenly sat up as she heard a strange noise. She reached under the covers and pulled out a whoopie cushion. "What on earth is this doing here?" she exclaimed.
Joker rolled over and chuckled. "I can't believe you don't remember that!" he giggled. "It's your favorite toy, sweets! Nobody can use that like I can, and nobody enjoys what I do with it as much as you do."
"I…I don't understand what you mean," she stammered.
"Well, lemme put it like this," he said, grinning. "It puts a whole new spin on the phrase 'making whoopie.'"
Harley stared at him. "You mean…you mean you use it when…oh God, that's disgusting!" she cried, throwing it away from her and wiping her hands on the sheets.
"Aw, don't be so precious, sweetheart," he snapped. "You love it. You used to beg me for it. 'Oh please, can we use the whoopie cushion, Mistah J? Please, please, please, puddin'?'"
"Puddin'?" she repeated, horrified. "You mean you use pudding in…intimate situations too?"
"Well, sometimes," he agreed. "But no, it's your name for me, sweets. You must remember that. You must remember puddin'."
Harley just looked at him. "I…I don't know who you are," she stammered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I know who I am, I'm Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, promising young psychiatrist, and I would never, never engage in sexual intercourse before marriage, and certainly not with a man who is clearly mentally unstable. So please stop telling lies about me. I don't appreciate it."
Joker sighed, scratching his head. "Huh. Kinda wish we'd made a sex tape or something now, so I could prove it to you. Plus can you imagine sending it to Bats and having him watch it? It'd be a laugh riot! I can just see his face now, absolutely hysterical!"
He burst out laughing. "Oh yeah, baby, we'll have to do that when you've recovered!" he chuckled, patting her head.
"Don't touch me!" she snapped, pulling away from him.
"Ok, relax, kid," he retorted. "I ain't gonna try anything. I didn't wanna do it all those times you were begging me for it, so why would I go through all the work of forcing you to do it now when you don't wanna?"
"Because you're clearly insane," she said, glaring at him. "And I don't trust you. A weird, creepy, sick freak like you is probably capable of anything."
"You got that right, kiddo," he agreed, chuckling. "And…I ain't gonna lie…it's odd that you don't find that cute," he murmured, looking at her strangely. "I don't like it."
He sat up facing her. She backed further against the headboard. "Got a joke for you, sweets," he said, smiling.
"A…joke?" she repeated.
"Yeah. Doncha like jokes, Harley?"
"Oh…sure. Some jokes. As long as they're not crude or offensive or anything," she replied.
"Oh," said Joker, his face falling. "Well, that limits my repertoire. Never mind, I'll come up with something." He thought for a moment and then snapped his fingers. "What do you get if Batman and Robin get smashed by a steam-roller?"
She looked puzzled. "I don't…"
"Flatman and ribbon!" he chuckled.
She didn't. She just stared at him blankly. "Aw, c'mon, kiddo, laugh," he murmured. "You always laugh at my jokes."
He snapped his fingers again. "Ok, got another one! Why didn't Superman know he could fly?"
"I don't…"
"Because he didn't know his Cape Abilities!" he laughed. Harley continued to just look at him in puzzlement. "See, it's funny because he wear a cape, kid," retorted Joker. "Cape…Abilities? Get it?"
"Yes, I do," replied Harley. "It's just not funny. I don't think you're a very funny man, so you should probably stop trying to tell jokes."
He seized her suddenly around the throat and shoved her down on the bed. "Don't…you…dare…say I'm not funny ever again, you little brat!" he hissed. "You always think I'm funny, you got that?! You're my biggest fan, you useless dame, so just act like it, or I swear I'll snap your little neck in two!"
"Please…don't hurt me!" gasped Harley. There was genuine terror in her eyes, terror that never belonged in Harley's eyes when he was threatening her. She loved the pain and the threats – there was only ever love and adoration gazing up at him when he had strangled her before. Even when she struggled and screamed and pretended to be afraid, there was only ever worshipful affection in her eyes. But now…now there was only fear. Wild, unimaginable fear. She was afraid of him. She should never be afraid of him. Even if he was going to kill her, and he had vowed he would one day, he knew she wouldn't be afraid. She would just smile and let him. Because she loved him, with a mad, insane love that would let him do anything he wanted to her, and she would adore it. She would love her death if it came by his hand. She wouldn't be afraid of it.
He released her throat and she sat back up, gasping. She continued to gaze at him in terror. "Why aren't you smiling?" he murmured.
"Smiling?" she repeated.
"Yeah. My Harley would smile at me when I was hurting her. And you are my Harley, toots, whether you like it or not."
"I am not!" she gasped. "I am Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, a promising young psychiatrist interning at Arkham Asylum, and I don't want to have anything to do with you! Please leave me alone!"
She flinched as he gently cupped her face. And then cried out in pain as he suddenly knocked his fist into her head. "Yoo hoo! Harley! Are you in there?" he called, continuing to knock against her skull. "Answer me, kid, c'mon, this ain't funny! Harley! I know you're in there so just come back to your loving Mr. J right now! C'mon, kid, the joke's got old, and I know they can't have killed you! I know nothing as easy as drugs could have erased my Harley girl! So just come back, you worthless brat!"
"Stop…hitting…me!" she shrieked, ripping herself away from him. "Please…please don't touch me anymore! Please leave me alone! Please!"
He stared at her, shaking his head. "No," he said, firmly. "No, they can't have destroyed all my hard work. It's not possible. Harley would never have let them – she would never have stopped fighting…"
He took her hands and Harley flinched again. "Harley," he murmured. "Look at me."
She obeyed, and he gazed into her vacant eyes. "You gotta remember me, kid," he whispered. "You gotta remember your Mr. J."
"I don't know who you are," she murmured. "Please don't hurt me anymore."
"You're gonna upset me, and you don't wanna upset me, do you, kid?" he murmured. "It would break your heart. So just snap outta it now. If I get upset, bad things happen. People die. You wouldn't wanna be responsible for that, would you, Harley?"
She shook her head. "I…don't know what you want," she breathed.
"I want you to remember," he murmured. "I want you to stop all this sanity and come back. Come back to the madness. Come back to your Mr. J. Come back, my little Harley Quinn," he whispered, bringing his lips to hers and kissing her tenderly.
For a moment, she shut her eyes. He felt her gently push her mouth deeper into his, sliding her hand up the back of his head and pressing him closer against her with a low moan of pleasure.
And the next instant, it turned into a shriek of horror as she shoved him away, terror in her eyes again. "No!" she screamed, leaping from the bed. "No, no, no! Get away from me, you horrible clown! Stay away from me! Stay away!"
She rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. He heard her sobbing against it, and then rolled over and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the noise and go to sleep. But he was upset now, and people died when he was upset. And before he drifted off, he had chosen who the first person to die would be: Bruce Wayne.