Harley plucked the keys of her lap top. She searched the Joker on yahoo. Mostly news websites came up as a result. She decided to search his name under images. Several appeared on the screen. His mugshots were a few of them, he smiled broadly in them. Like a kid getting school pictures taken rather than a dangerous criminal. But Harley Quinn found them somewhat endearing and saved the images.
She scrolled down and saw another set of mug shots. Unlike his other pictures he wore no make up and wasn't smiling. Without the clown make up he was like a different person. He could only be identified as the Joker by his Glasgow smile stretching across his face. He seemed so average without the make up though. So young and non-threatening. It was strange.
Looking at the pictures of Mr. J it occurred to her she did not know much about him. She understood his psychosis but not so much about him or his past. There was a lot of things she wondered about him. Most of all she wondered who he was before the scars.
She gently ran a finger down the computer screen. Over his scars. She longed to touch them in reality. His scars were an object of fear and disgust the rest of society, but not to her.
Harley's cell phone began to ring. She rushed towards the counter to answer it. Excitedly she flipped open the phone.
"Hello," she greeted happily.
Her heart sank, it wasn't Mr. J, it was a wrong number. A Spanish speaking man spoke on the other line.
"Sir, you have the wrong number," Harley tired to explain.
The man continued to speak quickly in the foreign language, so she hung up.
"Damn," she cursed.
Just then there was a knock at the door. She thought about ignoring it. Her hair was a mess in two uneven pig tails and she was wearing clown make up. Old clown make up from the previous day. It smudged all over her face causing it to become mostly shades of pinks and greys.
"No one's home," she called despite the fact it made no sense.
She walked towards the door and looked through the peep hole.
"Oh my god!" she squealed after seeing who stood at the door.
Immediately she flung it open and through her arms around him.
"I missed you so much," Harley cried as she held Mr. J tighter, "I knew I'd see you again, I knew it," she sighed.
She closed her eyes taking in the moment. Trying to memorize every detail. She buried her face in his trench coat, it smelled like smoke and gasoline. She sighed again, it was like a scene in one of those romance novels. Well, almost. Usually in those stories the lead characters weren't murderous clowns. Still the concept was the same.
"Hey Harl, we better go inside. Ya probably don't want your neighbors to see this," he said
"Oh okay, c'mon," Harley took his gloved hand and led him inside. She had not really cared who saw however. She was not ashamed, she could have stood there forever.
After locking the door she turned around finding herself once again in his embrace. She stood on her tip toes and gently kissed him.
"Wait," she said pulling back, "I've got a surprise for you, just give me a few minutes to get ready," she began pulling the hair scrunchies out of her messy pig tails, "Wait here, I'll be right back,"
He watched her hurry off to the bathroom to primp, he smiled.
"Wow," she exclaimed after looking at her smeared face paint, "Uh, maybe more than a few minutes Mr. J," she warned, "Don't go any where,"
Joker sat on the couch, he looked around the room. Though he had visited Harley's little apartment before he had never taken the time to observe things. He stood and began to look around the room. He didn't know why he was curious about this girl, it was strange. He had been involved with plenty of women he knew absolutely nothing about. But something about Harleen Quinzel made him wonder. He heard the shower in the bathroom begin to run, she was completely distracted. Joker strode towards her bedroom.
Chuckles drove "home", back to the hideout. Joker had said he would call when he was finished with Harley. He assumed that meant his boss was going to kill the doctor. But he wasn't about to ask. If there was one thing he had learned about working with the clown was not to ask questions. About anything, because you just never knew how the Joker would react. Chuckles had worked for loose cannons before, but nothing like the Joker. No, he was an entirely different class of criminal.
Joker liked to make a point. Anytime a henchmen stepped out if line they quickly became an example of what unacceptable behavior was. And it was usually pretty gruesome, the clown was creative.
To the clown is wasn't just robbing a bank or taking a hostage. It was a game. A game of chance. Joker was the craziest bastard Chuckles had ever meant. But he liked the boss. He was a bit eccentric but he was cool, definitely paid well since he didn't care much about money.
He thought back to the morning's events. He had no idea why his boss seemed upset about his name suggestions. Chuckles was just thankful he decided to let it go. He had never got on the Joker's bad-side, he did not want to start now.
He pulled the van into the parking lot of the apartment complex.
"Home sweet home," he said to himself as he pulled the keys out of the ignition.
Harley's room was small but she had managed to cram a dresser, a night stand, a bed and a bookshelf into it. The bookshelf contained mostly nonfiction. Books on psychology and the criminal mind. She had some biographies on famous killers as well. Jack the Ripper seemed to be among her favorites, she owned several books on the serial killer.
Joker noticed how all Harleen's books seemed to be in order by subject. He felt the urge to mess them up but decided not to.
He continued to look through the room. He opened up her closet door finding a neat row of rather boring clothes. At the end was her new, red apparel as well as her Harley Quinn suit. Then he noticed a cardboard box on the closet's floor. He slid it out into the light and opened it, the box was full of trophies and meddles. Most of them for gymnastics, a few for ballet and the others were academic awards like perfect attendants and the honor roll.
At the bottom of the box he saw a picture of a little girl, maybe seven years, in a pink tutu. Her blond hair was tied in curly little pig tails, much like now. She smiled proudly revealing several missing baby teeth. This must be his little Harley Quinn. He put the box back into the closet and began to explore the rest of the apartment.
Her dresser was completely cleaned of, not a speck of dust lay on top. He opened up the dresser drawers. One contained socks and tights, boring. Underwear and bras in the next one, not quite as boring.
Joker headed for the night stand and pulled open a small drawer on it. Inside was several journals. He picked one up and flipped through it's pages.
He read through a journal entry from a few months ago.
My mother called today, as usual she bothered me about marriage and having children. Doesn't she realize it is her fault I'm so alone in the first place? If she and dad hadn't been so strict maybe I would have found someone by now and had a family. I guess it just comes down to the fact I can never do anything right. No matter what I do I'll never be good enough.
Joker rolled his eyes.
Could she be any more cliche? Joker had no sympathy. Did her "horrible" parents ever beat her unconscious? Did her father ever try to kill her? Probably not.
He wondered if Harleen had wrote anything about him. He removed another journal from the nightstand. This one was unfinished and did include her most recent patient.
Today I met my new patient, The Joker. The therapy session did not go well, I'm afraid I'm to blame...
Boring he skipped a few pages in search of something more interesting.
What have I done! I don't know what I was thinking. The Joker and I... I can't even bring myself to write it. I just could not control myself. It's so hard to around him. I was no better than an animal and what frustrates me the most; I would do it again. There's just something about Mr. J. It's so stupid but maybe just maybe it's love? I don't know. There must be a logical explanation for my actions today... I just don't know what it is. Maybe I do love him.
He heard Harley drying her hair in the bathroom and decided to skip some more pages. He came to the day after he broke out of Arkham Asylum.
I decided I'm done lying to myself. I do love him, I love Mr. J and what's wrong with that. Nothing. But society wants me to think it's wrong simply because he's... different. But I'm done following the rules. I love him, if only I had told him that. I should have never fought my feelings for him. Now Mr. J's gone, there's a chance I may never see him again. I feel so frustrated with myself. Mr. J was the first guy I have ever had feelings for. He's the first guy to ever show interest in me. Now he's gone... I promise never to make that mistake again. If we meet again he'll know I love him. I don't care who disapproves. I'm in love with the Joker.
He tried not to laugh. This added an interesting twist. His little Harley had never been in love before. How precious. And in Harley's naive little world she and her Mr. J would live happily ever after forever. They'd get married and settle down, raise little clown babies. All would be right with the world. He snickered, she was in for a surprise.
"I'm ready Mistah J," Joker heard her call using her Harley Quinn accent.
He returned the journals to her night stand.
Harley opened the bathroom door. She had applied new face paint and put her hair up in several little pony tails all over her head. She stepped out into the light revealing a black and red striped bustier with matching two-tone tights. She had bought them earlier on one of her shopping sprees shortly after meeting Mr. J.
"So uh, do ya like it," she twirled one of the pony tails around her finger.
"No, no I don't, I think ya'd look much better with it oofff," he walked towards her.
Harley began to giggle, "Can ya give me a hand?"
"Of course," he responded as he removed his purple trench.
He slowly pulled off one of the thigh high tights, the red one first. Followed by the black one. Harley felt herself shiver as his gloved fingertips lingered over her bare thighs. She throbbed in between her legs almost immediately. Joker stood up again and pulled her to him, pressing her freshly painted lips against his own. She wrapped her arms around his neck then slowly moved backwards toward her bed.
They climbed on to her bed. This time Harley straddled him kissing him as she undid his vest and tie. After successfully removing them she began to work on his shirt buttons. She moaned and began kissing down his neck, he laughed. For a moment it crossed her mind that the other tenants in the building might hear, but she didn't care. Soon his shirt was completely opened, with her eyes closed she kissed down his chest feeling various scars beneath her lips. It fascinated her.
Each one was a different size and shape. She didn't look at them instead let her mind make the mental image of each scar. They trailed all over his chest and some down his stomach. Harley followed them down and then back up again to his mouth. She licked his facial scars, his face paint was bitter. She ran her tongue carefully along each scar before plunging it into his mouth. Joker managed to stop laughing for a moment to return Harley's kiss.
But he couldn't help but giggle. It was so damn funny. He was in bed with his psychiatrist, she was licking his scars and ripping off his clothes. The situation was down right hilarious.
"That's it doc," he thought to himself, "Give in to those selfish desires, God knows I was never really your patient,"
He ran his hand up her back trying to remove her bustier. Joker succeeded in unbuckling it, he pulled it off and tossed it across the room. Then he rolled over positioning himself on top of Harley. As they continued kissing she removed his suspenders followed swiftly by this shirt and began to work off his pants.
Harley's mind was in a haze, she could not think of anything else but the here and now. She liked it. No cares, no worries, living for the moment and nothing else. Joker began biting her neck, she screamed and gasped. It did not matter who heard her now. He pulled of her red underwear and removed his own. Then he thrust into her. She moaned and grit her teeth.
"Oh Mistah J," she breathed.
"What was that, say it louder," he panted.
"Mistah J," Harley raised her voice.
He giggled, "Louder Harley Quinn,"
"Oh Mistah J," she yelled.
He laughed uncontrollable as she involuntarily grinded against him.
Slowly Harley calmed down. She panted heavily and smiled at her Mr. J, who now laid beside her. Feeling exhausted she pulled the covers over them and snuggled next to him.
"I love you," she said quietly.
Joker didn't respond to her, he wrapped an arm around her a stroked her crazy hairdo. She slowly fell asleep.
"I know you do," he thought.
Once she was in a deep sleep Joker considered leaving. That ought to break her spirit. Little Harley waking up to an empty bed. She would be crushed, she have to buy thirty cats and spend the rest of her days alone with her mother nagging her. Oh no! But he decided against it, he wanted to see what else he could make her do.
Harley was dependent on him. She was "in love" for the first time. What a fun little puppet she had the potential to be.
"It's been two hours man," Chuckles looked at his watch, "What do you think Joker's doin' to Dr. Quinzel,"
He, Spades, Mime and a new guy who had not yet been named sat watching television.
"I don't wanna think about," Spades shook his head.
"Shame though, I mean, you guys ever seen this bitch?" Chuckles continued.
The other men shook their heads.
"She is fiiine," he smirked.
"Damn, you're such a horny bastard," laughed Spades.
"Man, I know," he replied, "Hey you, new guy, go get me a beer," he nodded towards the nervous little man at the other side of the room.
Cautiously he stood up an headed for the kitchen.
"Yo, is he uh, ya know," Chuckles made circles with his finger at his temple.
Spades shrugged, "Dunno, he sure doesn't seem right though,"
Most of Joker's men had some mental issues. Joker's sane henchmen knew there boss did as well, though he insisted otherwise. It was something the they had become accustom to, though it was still a bit unnerving.
The man returned from the kitchen with a beer. He handed it to Chuckles avoiding eye contact.
"Damn I wonder what's takin' so long," Spades cringed at the thought of what the Joker was now doing to his victim.
"Who knows, hey you've worked for him the longest right," Chuckles asked.
Spades nodded, "Yep,"
"What's the sickest thing you've ever seen him do?" Chuckles took a swig of beer.
"Cool sick or disgusting sick?" questioned Spades.
He rolled his eyes, "Disgusting,"
"Nah dude I don't wanna scare new guy," he shook his head.
"Hey he's gotta learn what he got himself into," laughed Chuckles.
"Fine, but know you're a sick fuck," he began, "This one time I saw him skin a guy,"
"Oooh man, you said you don't wanna scare him and you bust out wit that shit, look at him over there," he pointed to the new henchmen, eyes wide with fear.
"Ya wanted to know the sickest thing I've seen him do," shrugged Spades.
"Yeah man but I thought it'd be like disembowelment or cuttin' some dudes mouth up,"
"Disembowelment? That ain't bad?" chuckled Spades.
"Not as bad as skinin' a guy,"
"I dunno, have you ever seen someone get disemboweled it's pretty bad," Mime spoke up, "Smells awful,"
The new guy held his knees against his chest rocking back and forth slightly.
"You two are full of shit, he skinned someone. Like a fuckin' potato!" laughed Chuckles, "Was the dude alive?"
"Well yeah Chuckles, why would you skin a dead body?" said Spades.
"I don't know man. Cause the Joker's insane maybe," he suggested, "Wait a sec, what did he do with the skin?"
The newest henchmen threw up.
"Aaaaw shit," Spades exclaimed, the henchmen began laughing.
"Man you better clean that up or the boss will skin yo ass," Chuckles gestured at the large spot of vomit.
He threw up again.
"Damn boy how much is inside you," cringed Mime.