POV- Harleen Quinzel

Disclaimer : I do not own the Joker or Harley Quinn.

2 Months Later

I woke up to light shining in my face from the tiny window. I had been moved to the Joker's room since I hadn't tried to escape in a while. I guess I gained his trust.. Just a little though. I no longer had the stupid hand cuffs or rope that restrained me from being free. I rubbed my eyes with my hands and looked up.

Glancing across the small room I saw the Joker who was sleeping. But then I did a double take. He wasn't wearing the face paint. I suddenly got curious and could only wonder what his scars felt like.

Getting up I crept over to the other side of the room and stopping about two feet from him. I crouched down to his level and stared. I couldn't take my eyes away from him. For once he looked somewhat peaceful.

He was also kind of.. handsome, if you looked past the scars.

I shook my head and mentally berated myself.

Why am I thinking like that? He's the Joker for crying out loud! I felt like I sort of had something for him. Only somewhat though. He still got on my nerves too. And he loved making me mad or annoyed. I knew he thought it was hilarious. He enjoyed annoying people.

I was too busy thinking that I didn't notice he woke up. It happened so quickly that I didn't realize what was going on. He pinned me up against the wall and had the shiny silver blade against my cheek in no time. I felt my eyes go wide.

My breathing quickened.

"Do you like them?", he said with his voice deep and husky.

He gestured at the scars.

"It's a little token of my fathers uh, affection." He paused. "Wanna know how I got 'em?"

I stood there with my mouth slightly open, not knowing what to say. He positioned the knife as if it were going to slice my cheek open... like his own scars.

Then he said,"My father was, a drinker and a fiend. And one night he goes off craaazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit." He paused licking his lower lip and looking up. His deep brown eyes filled with emotion.

It looked like they had darkened.

"So, me watching, he takes the knife to her laughing while he does it. He turns to me and he says, why so serious?", he said as his voice started to deepen.

"He comes at me with the knife, why so serious?!"

"Sticks the blade in my mouth, lets put a smile on that face! Aaand, why so serious?" He takes the blade away from my mouth and mimics him slicing his scars open.

It scared me how that happened to him. Or was that story even true?

"I see aggressiveness runs in the family.", I said arching my brow.

I couldn't stop myself from saying something.

His eyes widened in surprise for a second when I said that.

Why did I talk back to him? Did I want a death wish?

He then narrowed his eyes and they almost looked black. His face full of anger.

Pushing me out of the way I fell into some broken glass. I whimpered in pain but he only slammed the door while walking out.

My arm started to bleed. I tried pulling some of the glass out but it barely pulled out. I sat there on the floor waiting to see when he'd come back.

If he comes back.

I leaned my head up against the wall.

During one of the past two months he didn't come back for four days. I felt nervous for some reason. I had no idea why though. When he came back after the four days he looked exhausted and paler than usual. When he took off his jacket he had blood caked on the side of his vest. He had been shot... and I had to clean up his cut and even stitch it up.

After that we had become closer. At least I think we did. If I told him that he would probably only laugh in my face. Over the two months I quickly learned that if I did anything to annoy or piss him off then I would get hit or punished any other way. He was sort of abusive but I usually brushed it off. Maybe that wasn't good.

After an hour of bleeding and trying to pick out small pieces of glass he barged through the door startling me.

He eyed me and sauntered over to me with his hunched shoulders. His purple coat floated behind him. When he got over to me he crouched down next to me. Looking at the cut he examined it some and got up to go to the bathroom.

When he came back he put a box next to me. I didn't know what was in there. He then shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the couch.

Crouching down next to me he opened the box. There was thread and a couple of needles. I looked up at him wide eyed.

"No. You are not going to stitch my arm up.", I told him passively.

He only arched one of his eyebrows and shook his head.

I didn't want him to stitch me up. I didn't know if he knew what he was doing either! And I didn't trust him that well. Especially because he's the Joker.

He grabbed my arm and cleaned up the cut first. It stung a bit at first but I ignored it. I had a feeling the stitching up would be way worse.

As he was cleaning it up he said,"You should be more careful, beautiful."

I stared up at him not knowing what to say.

Was this his way of apologizing?

I winced as he started to pull out the first piece of glass. When it was out I sighed in relief. I looked up at him and stared. I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

He took his eyes off the wound and glanced at me. A grin was slowly appearing on his face. It was almost like a smirk. I couldn't decide if he was amused or disappointed.

I felt weird for staring.

Did we have something? No. Nothing would ever happen between us.

While finishing the cut he was silent. He didn't even look at me. When he finished cleaning my wound he wrapped it up with a bandage. After he was finished he pushed himself off the floor.

Then he said, "I'm going out for while."

"When will you be back?", I asked him.

I don't know why I did. I wondered if he even knew when he was coming back..

"I don't know, Harley." Then he slammed the door without saying bye.

"Okay.. Bye."

I already started to miss him.

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