Chapter Twelve: Something New
The first rule of being a career criminal was "Don't Get Caught." As soon as she dropped the phone, Harley dragged Thomas into an alley, pushing him into the shadows. His bloody clothing would attract attention, especially since they were in the heart of the Gotham business district. It was night, cold, and there were few pedestrians about, but it only took one white knight to make a good crime go bad. While she didn't exactly look inconspicuous either, with her stolen clothes and messed up face, at least she could blend, likely as a wasted prostitute. Aware of the blood on her own body, she found a handkerchief in the pocket of Crane's jacket, and wiped herself down before wrapping it around her injured hand. And after giving Thomas instructions to stay put, she left him to scout the streets.
Finding a local bar and asking to make a phone call was easy enough. She ignored both the concerned and disgusted stares from the bar patrons, with great effort, knowing none of them would recognize her through her busted face. A great effort. Deep breaths. If she started carving them up as she desired, she would be enjoying a lengthy stay at Arkham. Damn Mr. J. She could still hear his voice in her head, telling her to keep cool, just make the call and get out. It was getting to the point where she couldn't tell where her thoughts ended and his began. It took everything inside of her to stay focused. His time would come.
Calling the emergency number Mr. J had made her memorize, she was pleasantly surprised to hear Livingston's voice on the other end. The youthful hacker agreed to send someone to pick her up as soon as possible. With nothing else to say, she hung up and headed back to the alley to wait with Thomas, huddling close to him for warmth against the bitter cold of the wintery Gotham night. Soon enough, a Ford Taurus with tinted windows pulled up, Doc behind the wheel.
"That was fast," Harley commented, as she slid into the backseat with Thomas. Her blood still stained the upholstery from the gunshot wound but it was evident that someone had tried to clean it up somewhat.
"I was at Livingston's," Doc said, looking at her through the rear view mirror. "And you have never looked lovelier." His sarcasm was searing.
"If you keep it up, I'll give you a matching set," Harley said. Mr. J may have liked Doc but the weirdo had never quite grown on her. "Wait, you were at Livingston's? You and her..." she trailed off, in amazement.
Doc ran a hand through his hair, nervously. "Not exactly."
"Then what were you..." Harley trailed off again, realizing the answer to her own question. "Oh, so no more Dr. Leland?"
"She still loves me, but she doesn't have pink hair," was all he said in return, clamming up on the subject.
Harley smiled, leaning back against the seat. As a covert schizoid, Doc had a tendency towards erotomania. It was unusual for someone with his affliction to switch his delusions of love away from his long time paramour, Dr. Joan Leland, but at least with Livingston, he had a chance of seeing something in return. The girl was almost as much of a mess as Doc himself. She wondered if he had started sending the hacker any love notes or gifts. Livingston was insecure, but shy. Harley had no idea what her reaction would be about Doc's intentions. The mental images of their potential awkward relationship amused her throughout the ride to the Palisades.
When they reached the Elliot manor, she instructed Doc to wait for her while she gathered her belongings. Thomas had been silent the entire ride, contemplative, but at least he wasn't freaking out. Harley stole discreet glances at him every now and then, curious as to whether he faulted her for Geoffrey's death in any way. Most people would have. Crane's men, after all, would never have stormed in and killed the butler had Harley not been on the premises. Granted, she wouldn't have been there if Mr. J hadn't insisted, so maybe Thomas blamed him. Scenarios ran through her mind of what she could do or say, but in the end, she decided that he would open up when he was ready. So she left Thomas alone as they entered his home, making the long climb up to the third floor, stepping over the corpses that littered the top staircase. Once back in the guest bedroom, she grabbed her bag of clothing, Crane's journal, and the antibiotics that Thomas had prescribed her. One final look at her sick bed made he understand that for all the trouble, this place had done her good.
Heading back downstairs, Harley spotted Thomas standing in the foyer, in the exact same place she left him, staring in the direction of the kitchen. She could feel his apprehension coating the energy of the room. Stuffing the journal and the pills into the bag, she dropped it to the ground and stood next to her friend, gently taking his hand into her own. He didn't pull away, merely looked over at her, his brow creased in worry and fear. No, his thoughts weren't on blame. They were focused on the horrific sight he would find in the kitchen.
"Do you want me to go with you?" She asked, her voice quiet but not sympathetic. Thomas wouldn't want sympathy.
"No," he said. "I can do this."
Harley squeezed his hand lightly. "I know you can." Then she dropped his hand. "I'm going to leave you my cell phone number and the number of a cleanup crew that handle these kinds of situations with discretion. Call me if you need anything."
After tearing a blank page out of Crane's journal and writing down the numbers, she left him to deal with his nightmares, knowing that she would only hinder him. Being alone would give him the time to sort through whether he wanted her in his life. Harley knew she was a dead albatross, destined to bring pain and suffering to those around her. A curse. Thomas would need to figure out if the price he paid was worth their continued friendship. Closing the front door behind her, she smiled, realizing that for the first time in a long time, she had made a decision contrary to what she believed Mr. J would want. It wasn't big, but it was a start.
"Home, Jeeves," she said to Doc as she climbed into the passenger seat with her bag. Her defiance made everything seem more sweet.
To most in Gotham, the terrible housing market was a blight on the city. To the criminals, it was like Christmas. Banks would sell property at auction to the highest bidder, without asking too many questions. As a result of the heists that Mr. J pulled before his stint in Arkham, he had more than enough cash to procure multiple safe houses with very little hassle. Although Harley never confirmed it, she was sure Livingston handled the transactions, the houses under the name of the wealthy woman. Currently, they were holed up in a two-story, three bedroom on Gotham's north side. It was a culturally-rich neighborhood according to the internet, which really meant, it was impoverished and crime-ridden. Most of the residents had a good idea of who their strange neighbors were, but not a single one of them would say a word for fear of reprisal from Mr. J or herself. Needless to say, they weren't getting invited to any block parties any time soon.
Doc pulled the car into their alley-side parking garage and took her bag without asking her permission. Despite both her excitement and trepidation in seeing Mr. J again, it felt good to be home. She followed Doc to the unlocked back door. No one would dare try to rob their house so none of them bothered with keys. The smell of baked frozen pizza greeted her and she immediately knew that it was a welcome home gift for her. She couldn't remember the last time she ate, so stomach grumbling, she rushed past Doc into the kitchen. Sitting on top of the old gas stove was the pizza she smelled, a six pack of soda on the counter next to the fridge. Immediately she stuffed a piece into her mouth, molten hot cheese burning the roof of her mouth, while she cracked open a lukewarm Coke.
Th gesture by Mr. J was almost romantic, knowing her needs so well. Moments like these were why it was so hard to see the cage around her. She could feel her heart singing with love at his thoughtfulness, but she forced those feeling away, understanding that it all was a lie. He gave her food because he was allowing her to eat. Part of his control. If he wanted to starve her, she'd walk into the kitchen and be greeted by his cold eyes, the shaking of his head and orders to go upstairs. Harley, now, saw this for what it was. And his demands would no longer have any sway. She would take what she wanted.
"Hey Doc," she said, moving aside to allow him to take a couple slices of pizza. "Do you ever wonder what your life would be like without Mr. J?"
Doc ate like a pig, folding his slice up and shoving the entire piece into his mouth. Still chewing, he shook his head at her. "I'd still be in Arkham."
Harley placed several slices on a plate and set it down on the island in center of the kitchen, leaning over her food. "No, I mean, right now. Do you wonder what your life would be like if he wasn't here right now?"
"That's easy. I'd be dead." He opened one of the sodas, leaning down on the other side of the island to face her. "Why you asking? Thinking about taking off? Or just questioning your life choices? Cause the truth is, barbie, the only way you can escape him is in a pine box. You know it, I know it, all of Gotham knows it. There's no leaving the boss."
"It's not that," she said, taking a sip of her soda. "I meant, what if he were dead? What would you do?"
Doc shrugged his massive shoulders. "Knowing me, I'd probably do something stupid and wind up back in Arkham. Truth is, he's the only one who lets me be me. Everywhere else, it's all drugs and judgmental looks about my so-called condition, but the boss treats me like he does everyone else. Better, even. He encourages my creativity instead of drowning it."
Harley nodded, understanding his sentiment, even if she didn't share it. Doc was free, as free as he could be at least, and he was happy. Even though it had only been a week, she missed the days before she wound up in the care of Thomas. The days when she felt the same way as Doc, before everything got so messed up in her head. Nothing cut deeper than that truth. They were both his prisoners. Only Doc would never see the bars around him because anything was better than the padded walls of Arkham.
"Thinking about killing the boss?" he asked, conversationally. "Cause if so, I probably have to report it."
She laughed, picking up another slice of pizza. "You should know by now that I don't think before I act. I just do things."
"You sound like him."
And with those four words, Doc had hit the broken nail on the head, exposing her fears all over again. She closed her eyes as she took another hungry bite of the pizza, shaking off the feeling of dread that was growing inside of her. She worried the moment Mr. J saw her that he would see inside her soul, that he would pluck at her growing determination until it reached a boiling point. He would watch her explode and then pick up the tattered shreds of what was left and rebuild her anew. Because that was what he did with his Harley. But maybe, just maybe, she could find an equilibrium. A way to truly be herself but still watch the city burn by his side. It was hard enough to pry herself away, demand to be her own person. She didn't want to forsake her love as well. Because despite all Thomas had said, she believed there could still be love when there was fear. And if she could break Mr. J's tight leash on her, the fear would dissipate. She just wanted to avoid total implosion of her entire life.
Doc, having lost interest in the conversation, grabbed another slice of pizza and headed down the hallway to the living room. When she finished enough pizza to satiate her sizable appetite, she followed his path down the hall, going up the stairs instead of joining him in the living room. Time to face her monster. Upstairs was quiet, a calm that often eluded the residence of the three crazies who lived there. But it was late. Mr. J was either sleeping or working. She passed by the closed door to the second bedroom, his usual work space. He would be inside. Choosing not to disturb him, or rather to push a delay, she entered the master bedroom.
Nothing had changed in the past week. Smears of greasepaint littered almost every piece of battered, used furniture. The same sheets clung to the bed, his pillow cover a mess of white, black, and red. Reveling in his lack of Harley, not washing his face before bed. While she she had no issue with his painted guise, his war mask, she detested cleaning the sheets every couple of days. One of the only things she had fought for against him and won. Sighing, she flung off her stolen clothing, not watching as it landed. She needed the feel of her own clothes, her own ways before she faced him. A shower was needed.
The water was like heaven against her skin, washing away the stink of the outside world. It ran red as the dried blood of her violent nature swirled down the drain. Harley stood there for a long time, beads of liquid pouring over her shoulders and down her back, watching the metaphor unfold before her. In this home, she was a different woman. She could feel the walls closing in, just as the blood left her skin, leaving her changed again. Just the mere thought of his presence, the maniacal, sadistic man, had her clinging to the mildewed walls, fighting against the silky words that caressed her thoughts. Demanding her surrender, to leave all thoughts of the world she wished for. Overwhelming her inner reflection of her nature, a seduction of thought. Mr. J, always the devil.
The inner voice stopped with the water, leaving her dripping wet and angered that he could invade every part of her so thoroughly. Slipping out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her head, she grabbed one of his tiny razor blades from the mirrored cabinet. He would not have every part of her, she thought, just before she sliced every kill, every face that haunted her memory, deep into her left arm. The trickling blood from the wounds had a sensory memory of power, making her resolve stronger. She could only laugh as she stared at her messed up face in the mirror. No smashing this time. She was ready to fight for herself.
Exiting the bathroom, her forward momentum was killed quickly by Mr. J, standing right in front of the door, blocking her path. No makeup caked his face this evening, his cold eyes even darker without the black smudged all around them. She opened her mouth to speak a hello, but he quickly closed the gap between them, slamming her clean body against the doorframe, his lips crushing against hers with brutal force. Instantly, her mind went blank, all thoughts of rebellion quashed, as she felt his need wash over her. It was so unexpected, that all she could do was accept his kiss and let the scent of his desire flicker in her nostrils. The pain from her injuries only intensified the lust growing inside of her, her hands running up and down his chest, as his hands gripped her head in a vice. The towel dislodged and fell from her head, a wet pile at her feet.
When he pulled away, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder with a breathless, "Hi."
Mr. J tilted her head back up to look in her eyes. "You need to brush your teeth." His lips formed a grin as he released her, backing away to lay on the bed.
Harley brushed her lips with her thumb, knowing his ever watchful gaze was taking in all the details of her changed body, looking for anything to use against her. She went back into the bathroom, pulling out her toothbrush. She debated if she was being weak by following his words, but even she could taste the decay in her mouth from lack of care. In the background, she heard the TV being turned on, the sounds of GNN as always. When she was done, she sauntered out, not sparing him a glance as she grabbed the med kit off their beaten up dresser. A necessity for their regular activities. She sat down on her side of the bed, pulling out various bandages and gauze to wrap her wounds.
As she began to wrap her left arm, she felt his fingers touch her shoulder. Bereft of his touch for too long, she closed her eyes and sighed at the sensation of his warm fingers on her body. Then his nails dug in and he shook her to grab her attention. "You've been regressing, Harley."
Hearing the anger in his voice, she wrenched herself free of the controlling grip of his fingers and stood up. The fire in her belly came back, but she kept her back to him as she spoke, not yet wanting to see the look in his eyes. "I've been doing a lot of naughty things, Mr. J. Maybe you shouldn't have left me alone for so long."
There was a short pause before he spoke again. "Basement, now." His tone was even, but the command had the force of his crazed rage behind it.
She turned, looking down at his relaxed form on the bed. At any other time, their positions would be a bedtime ritual. Her naked body, his clothed one. The dance, always continuing, always fueling their every move. His hands behind his head, hers folded upon her naked chest. Their eyes met and there was none of the usual playfulness between them. The tension in the air was thick as she made her decision. The point of no return.
"No."
Mr. J's eyebrows rose, ever so slightly at her refusal. Not a good sign. She could see his muscles twitching, his fingers curling behind his head. Death was in his eyes and Harley knew he would drag her down to the basement, kicking and screaming, if he needed to. Before, when she first arrived, she would have fought back. But in truth, she never gave it her full effort. That Harley wanted what he was offering, wanted the training, the punishment. But this Harley was determined to never again see that wretched place of horror and submission. Mr. J was about to see a whole new side of his girl.
Quick as a viper, he shot off the bed towards her. "Don't make this hard on yourself." His hands reached out to grip her neck.
Harley slapped his arm away, getting right up in his face. "Things are going to change, as of now, Mr. J." Fury guided her hands as she pushed hard against his chest. He stumbled backwards, catching himself against the nightstand.
Normal couples would talk things out. They would hear each others side and come to a compromise. But compromise, for Mr. J and Harley, was a weakness. Their relationship was built on power, who had it, who could keep it. It wasn't just about dominance. Their dance required so much more than that. Cunning, strength, manipulation, the will to win. And most of all, the ability to see inside each others heads. Her change would confuse him, not because he didn't know her, but because he had only had a glimpse of who she really could be. Because he had sculpted it out of her, Mr. J had never really seen her power.
His eyes met hers, as if trying to ferret out the secrets of her mind. "We both know how this dance ends."
"Do we?" And she bared her teeth in a grin that would rival his own. "Our dance has changed before."
"And you always cave." The corners of his lips raised, just a little. A dangerous smile, full of wicked promises and pain.
"I let you win because I wanted it." She took two steps back as he took two steps forward. "I was scared of myself, of my violent desires."
"Then ask yourself this," he said. "How many people, who would have died by your hand, have been spared your special brand of death?"
"Many," she admitted, his truth always cut deeper than his lies. "But I no longer fear myself, my actions, or my needs. Fuck the rest of the world. They can burn beneath my wrath. I will be free, Mr. J. You can either let me be who I am, or I will show you something you've never seen before."
Mr. J was a coin. Flipped one way, he was a creature of impulse, going wherever the surge and chaos would take him. Flipped the other way, he was an intellectual, a man who took in all alternatives before making his decision. The intellectual won out as he opted to consider her words. He scanned her up and down, looking for any sign of vulnerability, a flaw in her mind, one tiny detail that would give him the upper hand. Harley could see his mind working away at the new puzzle of her, trying to find an angle that would give him the advantage. But she wouldn't let him gain any leverage against her, understanding how well-matched and stubborn they each were in their tenacity.
After several tense minutes of staring down one another, he said, "Show me."
He immediately exploded into action, closing the gap between them to grasp her by her shoulders and slam her up against the dresser. Her lower back collided with the edge of the hard object, and she felt the pain stretch up to encompass her mind, but it didn't translate to pleasure as it usually did. It changed and vibrated inside her mind, bringing out her past. Something old, something new. When she told the story of her life to Mr. J, she explained that much of that year of blood had been a blur. That her memories had been lost in her desire and it was hard to distinguish between reality and her own fantasy world. A vivid dream, she had said. She never told him the reason why, though. He never asked.
The pain that pierced through her back, nestled into her mind, sending her vision red as it did before with Crane's men in the bathroom. Everything slowed down inside her head, her breathing, her heartbeat. She could feel the ghost of his hands upon her, holding her in place and readying himself for the next move against her. A move he would never get. The red fury twisted inside her head, its tendrils infecting her every pore. And she welcomed it as an old friend, losing herself inside of it. She allowed it to take her over and send her to the edge of her limits. There was no longer a sense of self as her mind was pushed beyond its capacity, until her rage bubbled up into a beserker frenzy. And she howled, a scream of pure unadulterated fury, directed at the man holding her captive.
Harley's perception fled her and the next moments didn't exist fully in her thoughts. Fragments only. Her teeth biting into his flesh, blood in her mouth. His fist connecting with her stomach. Her head whipping into his face. The mirror above the dresser shattering around them. Little cuts. Her body being flung onto the bed, hair pulled back. The glint of a knife. Slashing flesh. More pain. More screams of fury. Punches, kicks. A handcuff. A jerking body beneath her. His dark eyes staring at her, surprise behind them.
When her mind cleared of her frenzy, she felt the handle of the blade in her hand and the warmth of a body between her thighs. Below her was Mr. J, his shirt ripped and blood pouring from a slash to his chest. Both his hands were cuffed to the headboard. He was relaxed underneath her, watching her every move. She could feel his caution, neither of them moving. Their heavy breathing filled the room, the sweat poured from their bodies. Harley gazed down at him, knowing the brief confusion that filled her blue eyes, as she tried to regain herself, would add more gasoline to his arsenal of controlling Harley Quinn. He, now, understood her truest darkness. The beast that lay within. The real reason Dr. Harleen Quinzel was so terrified of herself.
With a purr of satisfaction at the tables being turned, she leaned down, grasping his chin with her blood soaked fingers. "Was that enough of a demonstration for you? Or do you need more, my love?"
Then, the devastating lust, that accompanied the aftermath of her frenzy, overtook her senses. To the victor come the spoils, and she would claim Mr. J for her own.
A/N: Just in case either of my stories wind up being deleted on here, both are available at the The Joker X Harley Fan Fiction Archive under the same author name.
It feels good to be writing Mr. J again. Their conflict is not yet over and the next chapter will be very interesting. Thank you all for continuing to read! Please review if you have a moment.