Jack pulled up the car in front of the Gotham National Bank. "Here," he said, handing Harley a gun. She felt her heart beating in excitement again.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" she asked.

"Point it at people," he replied. "Don't worry – you shouldn't need to shoot anyone. The threat of violence usually makes everyone nice and cooperative, without resorting to any actual violence."

"Jack," she said, catching his arm as he prepared to leave the car.

"What?" he asked.

She paused. "Why…are you doing this? With the way you throw around cash, and the bootlegging and all…you can't possibly need more money."

He laughed, kissing her. "You're right," he murmured. "I don't. I do it because it's fun."

"Fun?" repeated Harley.

"Yeah. You'll see," he said, climbing out of the car and opening her door. "C'mon."

Harley nodded as she took his hand, her heart beating louder in anticipation and anxiety.

Jack shot the lock off the bank doors and kicked them open. "All right, don't move, old timer!" he chuckled at the one, elderly security guard on the night shift. "Just go open the vaults!"

The man nodded, shaking in terror, as Jack followed him to the back of the building where he unlocked a huge, metal door revealing stacks of cash.

"Go keep watch for the cops, sweetheart," said Jack, as he began loading the cash into a bag. "Though we should be outta here in plenty of time."

Harley nodded, heading over to the window. She glanced outside at the empty street, and then her eyes narrowed. "Jack!" she called.

"What?" he asked, not turning around.

"I thought it was gonna take awhile for the cops to get here," she said.

"It usually does," he said. "Why?"

"Because there's a car coming," she said, pointing out the window as a dark car pulled up in front of the bank.

He raced over to her, glaring outside, and swore loudly. "Dammit, those ain't the cops!" he muttered.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Pinkertons," he muttered.

Harley's breath caught in her throat. She had heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, a private law enforcement organization hired by wealthy businessmen to do all kinds of dirty work, from breaking up labor strikes to hunting down known outlaws.

"We gotta get outta here – Pinks shoot first and ask questions later," muttered Jack, throwing the bag of cash over his shoulder and grabbing her hand as he searched for an alternate way out of the bank.

"There's no other way out," said the security guard, smugly. "You're trapped."

Harley tried to fight the rising panic as she heard the footsteps of men approaching the door of the bank. Jack shoved her down behind the counter and crouched next to her, keeping his gun pointed at the security guard.

"You squeal, and you're dead!" he hissed at him.

The door opened and Harley could hear the footsteps of several men making their way across the floor of the bank. "Evening," said a voice to the security guard. "Everything all right in here?"

"Yes, sir, everything's fine," replied the guard.

"You know anything about that car parked out front?" asked the man. "Not yours, is it?"

"No, sir," replied the guard.

"Only it's been reported stolen," continued the man. "You know anything about that?"

Harley could feel the tension in the air – she was sure the men could hear her heart hammering in her chest. She was trembling in fear, but Jack's hand was on her arm, steadying her.

"No, sir," repeated the guard. "But…the guy behind the counter might."

Jack swore loudly, starting up and firing a bullet into the guard's head, killing him instantly. He then whirled around, shooting at the five remaining men in the room. Harley heard bullets whizzing over her head and burying themselves in the counter as the men fired back.

"Harley, stay down!" roared Jack over the noise, continuing to fire. He hissed in sudden pain as Harley saw a bullet bury itself in his shoulder, blood splattering everywhere. She felt Jack's hot blood splash onto her face and trail down her cheek, and her fury suddenly ignited.

She stood up next to Jack, blasting shots from her gun out at the men. Jack had already taken down three of them – the two remaining ducked behind pillars at the double onslaught, peeking out to fire haphazardly at them.

"Run!" shouted Jack, grabbing the loot and racing out from behind the counter toward the door, still shooting. Harley followed him, bullets hissing through the air around them as they ran across the floor. She fired back, and was pleased to hear a strangled cry, and see a man fall to the ground.

And then they were outside. They both jumped into the car, Jack hissing in pain as he slammed the door with his good shoulder. Then he started the engine and they sped off into the dark streets of Gotham City.

Harley panted, gasping for breath. Her body was alive and throbbing in fear and excitement – she had never felt such a rush as this, the thrill of being in such mortal danger. She glanced at Jack, and could see he felt the same, his face flushed and panting, but his eyes shining with a bright vitality and joy.

"How's your shoulder?" she gasped.

"Fine," he replied, moving it and wincing. "I've had worse."

"That was…that was…amazing!" gasped Harley.

He chuckled. "Amazing? We both coulda been killed!"

"I know – it's kinda wrong to be so excited by that, huh?" she asked.

He laughed. "Wouldn't be the first wrong thing you've been excited about," he murmured, grinning at her.

Every fiber in Harley's body was tingling. "Pull the car over, Jack," she whispered.

"We should wait until we get back home," he murmured. "One of the Pinkertons survived – he could be after us."

"I can't wait until we get home," she whispered. "I need you right now."

He chuckled. "Dammit, baby, you're a doll after my own heart," he murmured, pulling the car over into an alley.

Harley barely waited for it to stop before she was on top of him. "Easy, baby, watch the shoulder!" he hissed as Harley kissed him wildly.

"I killed a guy, Jack," she whispered in between kisses as she worked to pull his clothes off. "He was trying to shoot you…us…and I killed him. It was him or me, and I won. God, it was so primal!"

"Told you it was fun, baby!" he chuckled, undressing her.

"He made you bleed," she hissed, kissing the bullet wound. "I'll kill anyone who makes you bleed, who hurts you in any way! You're my bad, bad, bad man, and I never felt alive until I met you! I need to feel it all the time, every day. I need to be with you, all the time, every day."

He laughed, flipping her over and pressing her down in the backseat. Harley stared up at him, beaming. "My bad, bad, bad man saved me from a fate worse than death," she whispered. "And I love him so much."

"Oh, Harley, baby," he whispered, nuzzling her bloodstained cheek. "I love you too."

Harley didn't care who heard them as she cried out in pleasure. Life always began with crying, after all. And Harley's life had finally begun.