Chapter 11 – Interlude

"The universe is indeed comic …but the joke is on mankind."

- H.P. Lovecraft (1921)

Harley Quinn was in a terrific mood.

Harley had just finished her shopping for the gang's annual Christmas party. She was practically skipping and humming on her way back to the gang's Gotham City hideout. No one recognized or stopped her, or had the balls to, anyway. She didn't notice or care, or if she did, that facet of awareness was lost in the fevered maze that was her mind.

It had been a month since Harley and the gang had sprung the Joker from Arkham Asylum. They had plotted the breakout for months, meticulously planned for every potentiality. Above all, Harley counted on her former workplace continuing their criminally lax security procedures and hiring standards – after all, they'd hired her, for chrissakes – and just as she expected nothing had changed since the days of her ill-fated employment.

Harley and a handpicked crew had gone in through the Deliveries Only gate (like no one had ever thought of that before), and created a successful diversion, causing the crazed inmates to become so riled up that the orderlies fled rather almost immediately than trying to restore order – no one was going to risk life and limb for minimum wage that was for sure. The once-highly respected institution immediately descended into bedlam, with the patients out of control, staff desperately trying to escape, and the Joker gang shooting anything and anyone who got in their way.

In the midst of all the chaos, Harley had gone straight to the basement. She knew from prior experience where he would be. It wasn't his first time at the rodeo so to speak – he was in solitary confinement on the lowest level of the ancient facility.

Her heart had been hammering in her chest as she rushed down the hallways and stairs, thinking of nothing except their reunion. Ever since Joker had been (re)committed during the past two years, he had mostly been catatonic, only snapping out of it sporadically when he wanted to give orders to the gang or cause some havoc to the boredom of routine that was Arkham Asylum. Then he would fall into his weird paralysis again, not speaking and not aware of anything around him. Harley knew (through judicious bribes to the orderlies) that the doctors couldn't explain it.

He had never once mentioned her.

It disturbed Harley. It was so unlike him, and unlike the last time he was incarcerated in this horrid place. Although her memories weren't necessarily reliable (for various reasons) she still vividly remembered when she had been a psychiatrist on Arkham's staff and aware of the rather…antiquated treatment methods Arkham Asylum still practiced. These were techniques that had long been discredited and disused elsewhere, but still remained in use at this old dump. Arkham was being stuck in the past and proud of it, and yet somehow managing to retain its license despite outcries from the medical profession elsewhere. The complaints were ignored by the city government, and even the feds had turned a blind eye. There was just no other place to put the 'crazies.' Gotham City was like that. She was afraid something had been done to him that she hadn't known about. If they had hurt her Puddin...she would make Arkham Asylum a smoking hole in the ground.

As Harley ran through the darkened hallways, hearing the screams and shouts, and smelling the smells (blood, piss, vomit, refuse, who knew what else) she unwillingly recalled that she might have played a part in his condition. She remembered the days when she had once been a bright-eyed internist named Harleen (whatever made her impoverished yet dimwitted parents name her that she didn't know). She had purposely chose Arkham Aslyum as her first residency, hoping that its reputation as one of the toughest places to work would finally eliminate the stigma that came from being a beautiful blonde in a "man's professon" – that and having had to pay for school by dancing, and other things. She had dreams of a great career: her own practice, published articles in scholarly journals, conferences all around the world, of being that one doctor who had gone into Hell and come out intact.

Well, it hadn't quite worked out that way.

Harley had immediately disliked the place the moment she stepped within its walls. She almost thought she could personally sense the torments of the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of criminally insane inmates who had lived and died in this damp and cold prison (there was no other way to describe the place) over the decades. She had hoped to find professionalism and mentorship from the more experienced staff, but instead encountered the same kind of clique-ish backstabbing attitudes that had dogged her ever since grade school. Not one of them wanted to know her, much less be her friend or colleague. She had found herself relegated to the most menial tasks, given endless reams of paperwork to be typed, charted and filed. The computer system was hopelessly outdated as well, a relic of the Seventies. She hardly had any time to work one-on-one with the patients, and the only treatment plan was to keep them doped and sedated as much as possible, rather than engage in real therapy. Despair filled her, and she often cried herself to sleep in the tiny studio apartment which was all she could afford. Her classmates were all on their way to lucrative careers. It wasn't fair.

But then a ray of light had entered her life!

Harley smiled, thinking about the first time she met her Puddin. A hand rested on the large bump under her festive holiday sweater, and she patted it tenderly.

The infamous criminal, the Joker, had been captured by the vigilante Batman, found incompetent to stand trial, and duly committed to Arkham Asylum. However, not a single member of the staff wanted anything to do with him, since he had a reputation for being violent and otherwise playing "pranks" on them which ultimately resulted in high turnover of said staff, and many claims of workman's comp.

The Administrator then, a Dr. Joan Leland, was getting flak from her bosses high up in the Gotham City power structure. No one knew who the Joker was, and they'd demanded she uncover his identity or, they hinted, she could look for another job. Shit rolls downhill as they say, and she took it out on her staff, yelling at the senior psychiatrists, but no matter how much she threatened, they would not agree to treat the Joker. The one man who actually tried, a prestigious clinician from Switzerland, had come rushing out of the room in tears, the Joker cackling maniacally behind him. He'd quit right then and there and after that no one wanted anything to do with him. Harley later learned that he'd returned to Europe and quit the profession altogether, becoming a hotel manager instead.

Harley saw an opportunity where others saw a career-killer, and had asked Dr. Leland to give her a chance.

Instead of being pleased, Dr. Leland had only shrugged, and given her a weird look.

"If you want to give it a shot, go ahead," she said indifferently. "It's your funeral."

So she gave it a shot. Harley was resolved to solve the case of the Joker. She had half-expected to receive the same treatment as the Swiss shrink, but once she actually met the Joker, she saw what no one else did, what no one else cared to see. A tortured soul, an artist, misunderstood by the world. Once he saw that she was willing to listen to him, he told her everything about himself, his childhood, his life. If anyone needed help, real help, it was him and she was ready to provide it. Their one-on-one talk-therapy sessions were the best she'd ever been part of. A pity she couldn't remember most of it now, but she was certain it was profound.

Nevertheless, Harley had been forced to administer the electroshock treatments prescribed by Dr. Leland, although she hated it. It broke her heart to see him strapped down to the operating table with those awful restraints, like he was Christ on the cross (or something). He'd begged with them – with her – to not do it anymore, that he would behave. He had looked directly at her when he'd pleaded for help.

"Please, doctor!" Joker had cried out as they'd secured him to the table, staring at her with his beautiful eyes. "Don't let them do this to me! You promised you wouldn't hurt me!"

Harley had just stood there helpless, nearly in tears as the barbaric electroshock treatments were applied and her love jerked uncontrollably on the table, moaning in pain through the leather strap clenched in his jaw. She could hardly write her notes she was so upset. Her supervisor caught her tearing up and chewed her ass.

"I've reviewed your notes. I can see you are incapable of objectivity in this case. Don't listen to him, Quinzel," Dr. Leland warned after summoning her to her office. "It's all an act, of course. He's playing with you."

"He's a human being, not an animal!" She'd cried. "Can't you see they're torturing him?! This is wrong! I want this stopped!"

But that old bitch just stared at her like she was some bleeding heart nut.

"Just administer the treatments like you've been told to do!" She snapped. "And I'm taking you off his case. I can't see you're doing any good. If we can't get the truth from him after this, at least we can prevent him from doing any further damage. I am going to schedule the lobotomy as soon as possible"

She was horrified. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I will. You are in clear violation of professional boundaries with that...that individual. If you persist in this wild fantasy that you can cure him, this will only spell the end of your tenure here!"

Harley was so distraught that she knew she had to help Joker, no matter what. She did whatever he asked afterwards.

The rest was history as they say.

It was her Puddin who had helped her see her true calling, to be his muse and his companion, always at his side. It wasn't his fault his genius went unrecognized by an uncaring world, and who could blame him if he reacted the only way he knew how? In a way, she could never blame him for his unpredictable moods and occasional outbursts, it was only the natural reaction of someone who had been so terribly mistreated as he was. She had played a role in that, as well-meaning as it was, and she was not going to let history repeat itself.

Harley had found the Joker as she'd expected, and to her vast relief, he seemed okay, if a little groggy. They'd doped him up, she was sure of it, but he was capable of running out of the cell with her and into the courtyard where the getaway van was waiting.

It would have been a perfect getaway if it hadn't been for that meddling security guard. Some doofus kid, probably thought he was going to get the key to the city by acting the hero. Instead of running away, like any normal person would, he'd grabbed his pistol and fired just as they were crossing the last few yards to the open door of the van.

She felt Mistah J fall against her and she grabbed him, then she had seen the small but spreading blotch of red on his thigh.

"NO!" She'd screamed. She'd immediately trained her gun on the guard and shot him. He fell with the first bullet but she didn't stop firing until the clip was empty and the guard's body riddled with bullets. How dare he hurt her angel! She ejected the clip and inserted another one, and would have just kept firing, she was so angry, but one of the gang members had dragged her and Joker into the van, and they pulled away, tires screeching.

"Mistah J!" She cried as he slumped against her, his gridded teeth clenched.

One of the henchmen eyed the wound even as he was driving.

"We need to get him to a doctor-"

"NO!" Harley screamed again. This time she aimed her gun at the back of the man's head. "Get us the hell out of here now!"

"All right, all right," he grumbled.

"You're gonna be all right, Puddin, I've got ya," Harley grabbed him and held him tight against her. "You're gonna make it, just hang on, hang on!"

"Harley…" He burbled but his words were muffled as Harley smushed his face against her ample breasts.

Another of the gang, one with some training as a medic, ripped open the Joker's sweatpants and examined the wound. "Looks like it went right through, a clean shot..."

Whatever else he said was drowned out by Harley's wailing.

"Tell me he's not going to die!" She howled. "He can't die! You hear that Puddin? You can't die on me! You're gonna live! Tell me he's gonna live!"

"He'll live," the gangster said, partly because it was true (it was only a 9mm round that had gone through his leg) and partly because Harley still had her gun trained on him and he had thoughts of living himself.

"You hear that Puddin? You're gonna live! We're gonna live, and get married, and have babies someday, I know it!" She smiled reassuringly at him.

Joker had smiled at her, and then promptly vomited right in her crotch.

The next couple of weeks had been a little touch and go, as Joker recovered from his bullet wound, and a corresponding fever. He grew very sick, making Harley frantic and she nursed him herself (well she had to, after she shot the doctor). At some points he had become delirious, and been raving about all sorts of things that Harley couldn't understand, something about traveling to distant parts in search of a mysterious object, as if he were Indiana Jones or somebody. Harley figured he'd been watching movies to keep busy while incarcerated, sometimes they had let the patients have movie night.

They had laid low in one of the Joker's amply furnished underground hideouts, and although there was lots of press surrounding Joker's latest escape, no one had even come close to uncovering their hideout. It was like a little recuperative vacation. Harley had gently tended the Joker as he convalesced, and although he could be a noncompliant patient at times, he recovered quite quickly. He slept a lot. While he recovered, they resumed their relationship, although sometimes he needed some peace and quiet, which Harley enforced. He recovered quickly and the raving delirium disappeared much to her and everyone's relief. He had taken up reading old books, and preferred the old-fashioned kind.

"He doesn't want the Kindle anymore," said Harley one day, rubbing the bruise on her temple where he'd thrown the latest model at her. "Just go rob a library or something."

Yes, he was still her Puddin! Now it was the holiday season, and she couldn't be happier that they were reunited, and home together.

Harley soon found herself in the warehouse district of Gotham City; only a few more side streets, into an abandoned warehouse, and down a long disused stairwell, and then she was in another world. Beneath the streets of Gotham was practically another city, as comfortable as any corporate boardroom or hotel. She saw most of the Joker gang seated in one of the recreational room playing cards. Johnny Frost, Joker's chief henchman, was there. He looked up as she entered.

"How did the shopping trip go?" He asked.

Harley grinned and lifted the bottom of her sweater. The butterball turkey fell out and landed on the table with a frozen thunk. The gang all laughed.

"Christmas dinner!" She proclaimed. She emptied out the rest of her coat of cans of cranberry sauce and pumpkin mix. "I guess the Whole Foods are terrible at spotting shoplifters, who knew? Where's Mistah J?"

"He's still in his room. He hasn't come out all day."

"He hasn't?" She shrugged. "Well, get cooking. I'll see if he wants anything."

Frost shook his head as he watched Harley skip down the hallway singing to herself. That bitch was just as nutty as the boss, and just as unpredictable. Some days the two of them would fight like cats and dogs, so viciously that he was ready to go get the mop and bucket, certain he'd have to clean the brains of one or the other off the wall. Other days they'd be cuddling together like the sappiest lovestruck teenagers, listening to Journey's "Open Arms" and proclaiming sweet nothings. Or, that would happen in the same day.

The large and luxuriously appointed bedroom they shared was at the far end of the hall. It was decked out like the blingiest, flashiest pimp's boudoir, in rich colors of purple and red and gold.

"Puddin?"

Her Puddin was standing in front of the floor-length diamond-encrusted mirror, his arms folded across his lean and muscular, tatted torso. He wore a tense yet thoughtful expression, his forehead furrowed. She knew that that meant he was plotting something.

"Whatchyou thinking about?"

"Batsy," Joker murmured.

"Oh yeah? What about him?"

"Don't you think it odd, Harley, that our dear friend hasn't come by to see us?"

Harley thought for a moment. It was true, the first thing they'd expected was that Batman would make it a priority to return Joker back to Arkham Asylum. He would scour the underground for them, patrolling the streets, and the skies above. His unreasonable hatred of her angel was well-known. So she'd planned every contingency in case of that. There were alarms on every inch of their hideouts, their properties scattered throughout the City. But not one of them had gone off, or even detected any pursuit. It was as if he hadn't known, or been bothered to care.

"Hey, yeah," Harley muttered. "What's up with that? Is he ignoring us?"

Joker said nothing for a moment, but she could hear his breathing change slightly. For some people that might mean the difference between life and death.

"No, I don't think so, Harls. I think he's just...preoccupied."

"With what?" Harley demanded, feeling slightly outraged. "What's more important than you, Puddin?"

"I don't know but I do know one thing."

"What's that, sugar?"

He looked at her and smiled, his metallic teeth glinting. He had smiled like that once before, just before he'd applied the juice to her brain.

"If Batsy won't come to us, we'll go to Batsy."

To be continued...

[A/N: A short interlude to the long wait, but I've had a lot of work come up, so haven't been able to write as much as I have. If you've kept up with the reading so far, you may notice that a month has elapsed now between the events at Dr. Fenderbrake's house and what happens in this interlude. So we'll see what has occurred since then with our heroes, particularly with Bruce and Zatanna in the next chapter. There will also be a lot of flashbacks which will explain what happened at Clark's work-camp. It seems the Joker will involve himself in Bruce's life again, look out! I have the Suicide Squad Joker and Harley in mind, and can't wait for the extended edition. Also there will be a major new character appearing in the next chapter, and we'll see if he turns out to be a friend or a foe. Thanks again for reading this far, and please review!]