CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Love is not rational, true friendship knows no bounds, and the clock ticks. Gains and losses would mar the spreading of my wings, but renewal is never easy and I really didn't lose anything despite the pain. Life, love, pleasure, pain, joy, sorrow. Carpe Diem."
In a city such as Gotham rain, like all forces of nature of course, wasn't absent, but it rarely ever served to be a cleansing agent. On muggy Summer days it made the stench of decaying garbage even more putrid. This night was no different. The day had been uncharacteristically warm for early December and thunder roared so loud it sounded like the sky would break apart at any moment. That image wasn't far from the reality of the night. Any curious eyes could stare up into the diluted darkness and see spindles of lightning streak from one cloud to another, certainly giving a visual of the heavens cleaving open. Just as often—to digress a bit—lightning, white-purple, would also strike the ground, an unfortunate tree, or perhaps even a transformer. The last was the misfortune of Hyacintha Climes, a recently developed suburb in East Gotham. The event left a fair number of houses without power, one of which being Harleen Quinzel's.
She, unlike many of her neighbors hadn't been flustered when around 8:30 the power had utterly been terminated. Of course the preceding explosion of the transformer had startled her slightly, moving her to investigate the noise which had screeched just as her lights had turned off. She wasn't irritated in the least; she found herself grinning as she witnessed the sparking container atop a telephone pole as she stood with a plethora of the disgruntled neighborhood who had also turned up to check out the reason for the power outage.
She took it in stride. She could empathize with the frustration of the other people, though. Gotham was a busy city, and business waited for no one and would hardly halt itself in the face of a storm. It was an accepted truth that neither nature or the real world really gave a damn about anything, which made for some perpetually grumpy tenants within their reality.
Harley chalked herself up as lucky that she had recently taken it upon herself to move from that world and simply join the elemental forces in their nonchalant and in-charge domain. She also considered herself lucky on a more practical level in that she had already eaten and cleaned up before the lights died and upon returning to the inside of her home, lit a few candles and by their flickering light took a shower before heading to bed early—one could always catch up on sleep. The rest of the neighborhood would follow suit, the suburban area going quiet earlier than usual as inhabitants turned in, some of them grumpily.
All were blissfully unaware of the visitor their humble, seemingly quaint street would get that night.
Midnight came, humid and putrid. Rain had started again to fall softly after only a brief hiatus. In the distance, drawing ever closer by the second, came the whisper of more thunder. Hyacintha Climes was silent, but within moments that serenity was broken by the splash and distorted crunch of wheels on wet pavement. Into the neighborhood came a dark station wagon with tinted windows, just like the majority of cars in Gotham. It came to stop right outside of Harley's and almost immediately the front passenger door swung open.
A masculine figure stepped outof the passenger side and into the steady downpour. With the vehicle's head and taillights being the only source of light on the darkened street, the man was unrecognizable. His tenor, however, was merry despite the rain. He almost skipped onto the sidewalk, whistling an unfamiliar, borderline discordant tune.
The thunder was even closer now and a bolt of lightning swam across the sky. This didn't observably rattle the man as he continued to waltz right up to Harley's porch. He merely reached into his coat pocket and in the next flash of lightning a single, silver key was reflected. His whistling floated back to the station wagon as he inserted it into the door and after a few moments, effortlessly turned the knob, opening the doorway into the entrance. Seemingly satisfied at his success he returned his attention back to the idling vehicle that had transported him. More thunder crashed, now louder than ever, and in the following lightning it lit up the scene. The flash illuminated the once unknown man's features; wavy, hair tinged in green and a gruesomely elongated smile: the Joker.
He waved his hand and without pause, the engine revved and it sped off. Only after the sound of the thrumming pistons and tires were far off did the Joker turn his back to the night and enter the quiet house.
Harley was no where to be seen as he bypassed the living room and adjoining kitchen, favoring instead to travel down a small hallway that separated the two. He thought he knew where Harley was; her car had been in the driveway so there was little chance that she was gone. His destination was the first door to his left. He peered into the open doorway and his first response was to grin in victory; she was asleep on her bed. The reaction that won over his mind, however was to stare into the room wide-eyed. She was facing away from him, calmly in the throes of slumber—that wasn't the cause of the reaction. It was her choice of sleepwear.
Her white tank top would have been modest had she been wearing pants. That was the fact that halted him a moment. His tongue darted out to wet the inseam of his lips at the display before him. Harley was clad in a shirt and nothing more than a pair of powder blue panties, which fit the natural form of her derrière perfectly. It was a view he thoroughly enjoyed thanks the rumpled blankets at the foot of the bed and her shirt that had ridden up just enough. He grinned lecherously. The night was looking up already.
The Joker's eyes trailed down the swell of her hips to gander unabashedly at the expanse of her toned legs before making a return trip. It wasn't everyday a man was afforded such a tempting view and he was not one to pass up opportunity.
He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his gray blazer; it landed beside his just as carelessly disposed of footwear. His dark eyes focused on her mussed cornsilk hair and his dark jeans joined the pile of discarded clothing. If she could sleep in just a shirt and underwear then so could he. He quietly crossed the room in his emerald boxers and blue plaid shirt to climb into the downy bed.
He came to tower over her prone figure and he raised a hand to her head, balancing on the other with his weight. He tucked some of her sleep-matted hair behind her ear. She looked so peaceful; he almost felt bad for what he was about to do. Almost. He craned his head and stared down neckline of her tank top. He frowned quickly; nothing, he couldn't see anything: no breasts, not even a subtle hint of cleavage! However, that could be easily fixed, and he grinned wolfishly as his free hand curled around her collar and gently pulled it away from her body. In doing this he was made to redistribute his weight, leaning further over, making his forearm press against her back, causing the cloth there to ride up even more. His arm brushed against the naked skin of her back and he pulled back when he felt a raised patch of skin brush against his own. He hadn't gotten his peek, but that no longer mattered as he bowed his head and scrutinized her back.
Deep and spindly, he saw the curve of a scar that continued beneath her shirt, above her tattoo. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into an even more noticeable frown than before. He carefully raised her shirt until he saw enough to understand the design that had been carved in her back with the most painful accuracy. Four spiraling question marks covered her upper back, all centering around an oval which was massive in comparison. It appeared the skin had been peeled off by the make of the scar. The Joker chewed his cheek in remembrance of his own marks. So the Riddler had done this? The Riddler had carved up his queen?
The words of the guard he had pushed out of the van during his escape from Arkham replayed. The Riddler had carved her up somethin' fierce. The Joker growled lowly and his hand began to trace the question marks.
That man had no respect for property, and he had been warned about someone vandalizing his possessions. He had just practiced his art on the Joker's most valued gift. How dare the amateur think he was going to get away with this, but no, the Joker recalled seeing the news. He had brunt down the house he had been using for a hideout. If he had been scared, now the stakes were even higher. The bastard had marked Harley his. People should know better than to attempt to stake claim on his things. He had a criminal, a kid in a candy shop who just couldn't stop stuffing his face with chocolate, to teach a lesson to. His eyes were dark as he was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't plan, but he knew the extent of pain he was going to put Edward Nashton through.
The Joker didn't notice Harley mumble and shift away from his probing hand. If he had, he would have smirked at the noise she gave in annoyance. He unconsciously followed her movements. Nobody messed with his queen. Nobody. His finger gently traced the curve of one of the marks when her body stiffened and she whipped around, trapping his hands beneath her back as she stared up into his face.
That pulled him from his thoughts and he stared down at her soberly. That look turned into a smirk and chuckle when she blinked a few times, screamed, and rolled off the bed. She hissed when she made impact with the floor, but recovered quickly. She bolted upright and glared at him over the edge of the bed.
"How'd you get in here?" Her shock had erased all traces of sleep from her voice.
The Joker remained grinning, "I'm half Mexican, babe, you can't keep me out."
She stared at him unamused, "Are you really?"
"Well, no, I'm a fourth from my mom's side, but that portion still counts."
"How'd you get in here?" She repeated the question. "Do I have a window unlocked or something?" The Joker raised a brow, "I hope not, do you know the kind of crazy people that could sneak in here and see you in your conservative PJ's?" The innocence in his voice made her roll her eyes. "I'm looking at a prime example of that, and he's newly escaped from Arkham no less. Do forgive me for sleeping like this. I wasn't expecting company at," her eyes strayed to the clock, "12:30 in the morning!"
"It's not that late." She sighed, "It's late enough. So how'd you really get in here and not only this time, but when you gave me the flowers." He grinned, "So you got those. Did you like them?" All parts of her wanted to tell him she had, but perhaps it was the last of her self-denial or maybe she just wanted to play hard to get. "How would you propose I enjoy such a gift from my former patient at Arkham?"
"You didn't complain when I drove you to the hospital." She started, and she felt guilty for her words. "You did do that," she whispered. "thanks. I'm not sure I wouldn't have fainted if you hadn't shown up when you did."
"I have a key," he answered after a moment, when nothing more was said. He didn't know what to say to her gratitude; you're welcome, it was nothing? He just couldn't, and somehow that was understood on her part. He didn't have to say those words; Harley knew.
"You have a key to my house?"
"I'm the one that found and suggested it to Gordon's man." Harley blinked. "You choose my house? No, more important, the police guy gave you a copy of the key?!" The Joker glanced sideways at her, "He really wasn't in a position to refuse me, ya know."
She shook her head, "Is there anyone else I need to know about having my key? Do any of your henchmen have a copy?" The Joker paused and laughed, "They better not. If they did, I'd have to kill them."
"My prince charming!" She mocked. "Saving my dignity." She glared at him, "Speaking of which," she stood up, "what were doing earlier when I woke up?"
His eyes scaled her scantily clad form, "What was the question again? You're distracting me, puddin'." She fumed and pulled her tank top down, "What the hell were you doing earlier?!"
His eyes found hers again, mirth quite obvious in his expression, "I was merely examining the new battle scars the Riddler gave ya." Her eyes widened a moment and she bit her lip, but then she shrugged. The Joker sat up and faced her more directly, "They, uh, don't bother you?" She stared down and one of her shoulder's raised and fell again, "They did at first, I mean that's his signature. He was branding me his to proclaim victory of the game. The way I see it now, there is no alternative I would rather turn to, so I'm stuck with them. I have to see them differently so I view the scars as a trophy. I'm alive, I beat him ultimately. How do you view yours? Surely they stand as a symbol other than the trademark grin that gained you fame as The Joker."
"True," the Joker nodded, "I saw the rotten rind of life and I escaped from it, yes it changed me forever, but I was offered the truth. I witnessed the funny side of life. The ultimate irony and was left with a permanent grin." He clicked his tongue and offered a dazzling smile.
And Harley now saw it too. She didn't say anything to that, however. "Why aren't you wearing your make-up?" She asked, suddenly noticing the absence of it. The Joker raised a brow at her sudden change of subject, "It's raining for one. Uh, I didn't want it to smear and besides that would have startled you more. Then again, that might have been even better."
"The appearance of my former patient was a surprise all its own." She quipped.
"I told you I was coming, Harley." Once again she changed the subject, shaking her head, "So you saw my scars? Alright, you bastard, what were to doing to have discovered those?!"
His reply was a wolfish grin. It spoke volumes, "Pervert!" She crossed her arms, and then seeing that his eyes were focused on them, "My face is up here." He didn't correct himself, "And your boobs are right there, see I know anatomy too." He could only imagine the even more enraged expression—all an act. He gazed up her, now and saw her thinned mouth. "Hey, it's not my fault that you're standing there in almost nothing. I'm not one to pass up getting a gander at the true side of Harleen Quinzel. I approve, babe, I absolutely approve. And you want to know my favorite part? It's not your chest, although, I will definitely not lie; its wonderful too." There was silence in which she glared at him even more.
"No smart rejoinders? Okay, I'll tell you because obviously you're curious," he waggled his finger, "and don't ya try to deny it. My favorite part at this moment is your legs. I've never seen them so revealed before." He licked his lips, "Perfectly toned, and dainty feet. And such, a womanly set of hips." She felt a shiver of pleasure shoot down her spine at his voice, deep and lustful. Why did he tell her these things? She could probably suppose all the fantasies running through his head involving the part of her body he was praising. "And you know, if these lights were on I could enjoy this view even more."
"The power's out," came her awkward voice. The Joker chuckled, "Pity." He leaned slightly towards her side, his eyes giving nothing away, but Harley immediately knew he was up to something, but should she stop him? "Hey where are your clothes?" She had realized his undress as he shifted. "If you can sleep in just that, then I can lounge around in my boxers and shirt too, but the rest of my clothes are lying in a heap on your floor over there." He gestured back with his thumb. "Why don't you come back to bed, I don't bite."
"I highly doubt that."
The Joker chuckled, "I'm not leaving, and if you hadn't wanted to see me you would have called the cops the minute you got my flowers. Harley, I'm free, you're free. This denial can stop now."
She froze, mouth open at a loss. There was nothing she could say in defense, it was all right, every word. She longed to no longer deny it. After all that she had been through, she wanted to live. Hadn't she already walked the line, fallen off, and caught herself? The world had taken on a different tone to her and sitting before her, reaching out to her was a man who understood. Suddenly the reality of his appearance here hit her. He was here, in her bed, still flirting with her in his forward way. She felt light, and her vertigo was destroyed, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was-
She yelped as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her forward onto the bed. She caught herself and rolled over, only to come face to face with the Joker in much the same way as she had that one time under the treatment table. Remembrance left her blank, without words. She could only stare at him and gasp as one of his warm hands lightly touched a leg, right below her knee. She watched mutely as his eyes fell from her face to focus on his hand as he moved it slowly up. The gaze was so intense, but she could tell he was relishing in the touch and so was she. She squeaked and jolted as a finger stroked the bend of her leg, beneath her knee. His eyes flickered to her and he smiled, repeating the action. She gave a squeal that turned into giggles at his merciless attack at one of her ticklish spots.
"Where else are you ticklish?" He mused with a dastardly curiosity. His hand swept up the rest of her leg, her hip, and he prodded her side, rewarded with another squeal. He grinned and licked his lips, both hands brought up to assault the sides. She struggled against him, laughing as she tried to escape. This was her torture? Tears were falling down her cheeks at her giggles and her chest burned.
"Stop...I...can't...breath!" She managed in-between laughs, and he did stop, breath just as ragged as hers. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at her, his hands coming to brace himself by both sides of her head. She felt him shift, one leg coming to rest in the space between hers. He inclined his head, his smile so genuine, making him look younger. She let go of all her refutation with one question.
"What took you so long, Jack?" She reached up and touched his cheek.
His smile fell away, but it was nothing to be alarmed of as he blinked, his face relaxing even more, eyes becoming dark. He kissed her palm before turning back to her. "Say my name again," he whispered, his nose coming to brush hers.
"Jack," she murmured and his lips brushed hers sweetly, before pulling away. A sound of disapproval vacated her throat before she could stop it. She no longer cared. Her hands grabbed his collar, and she smirked, "Now, Jack Napier, where do you think you're going?" She questioned playfully and inclined her head, teasing his lips with hers before pulling away nipping his bottom lip in the process, eyes shining.
He glared down at her playfully before diving on her lips with a growl. Her hands entangled in his hair as her lips pressed against his and parted automatically. His hands fisted in her pillow; both of their eyes were closed as he kissed her deeply. When they parted this time, there was only the sound of breathing. She didn't head-butt him this time, instead her fingers traced his scars, followed by her lips.
"Harley," his voice was gravelly, his eyes closed. Her kisses stopped and he turned and caught her mouth again. "You drive me crazy." He lied down at her side and she curled into him. He ran a hand up and down her hip, just staring at her for a moment. There were no words needed and she closed her eyes soon after. Before long, the Joker could make out her even breathing, announcing she had fallen asleep once again. His chest swelled and his hand raised to caress her cheek. She had fallen back into her dreams with him there. It felt good. He wrapped an arm around her and brought himself closer.
How long had it been since he had slept last? He wasn't tired, just relaxed. He peered over her head, feeling her light breath on his collar and stared into the curtains that covered her sliding, glass window. He heard the patter of rain, light thunder, and Harley's gentle breathing. He stared into her hair.
She was his, unabashedly his. Her denial had been fun, but this moment and what had happened before, it had been amazing. He only felt this way for her; he couldn't hurt her, couldn't stand to see her cry. Yet he was still him, unpredictable, but something about the girl in his arms calmed him, soothed the chaotic mess within.
He felt human, and guiltily he admitted he had always longed to feel that way. Life had done something right for a change. It had given him Harleen Quinzel, a little firecracker who had turned his life upside down and not the other way around. He ran his hand through her hair and closed his eyes.
So maybe he was a little tired.
Hours later he groggily awoke. He felt warm skin beneath his fingers. He opened his eyes and in the darkness he saw Harley's head just below his. His hand was cradling her back, beneath her top. His other hand, rubbed at his face before his gaze came to the clock. It was 4 am. He removed his hand from her back and tilted her head gently towards him. She sighed and he ran his thumb across her plush bottom lip.
He had to leave before the sun came up, before he was seen. No, he didn't care for himself if he was spotted. He inclined his head and kissed her. He cared for her. She cooed and her lips pulled into a faint smile. He quickly kissed her cheek and pulled back. Quietly he got out of the bed and shuffled over to his clothes.
He glanced at her as he thread his arms through the sleeves. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gray cellular phone. He opened it and dialed. He licked his lips as he waited.
"Lane, I'll be waiting at the entrance. Don't be late."
He shut the phone and sighed. He glanced around her room, and his eyes landed on it. A green notebook lie on a chair near the door. He grabbed it and in the dim light wrote a quick message in a pen he had in his pocket.
As much as I would have loved to stay and cuddle with ya, babe, business calls, and I'm not sure you'd be happy for the attention I would have brought, leaving your house any later. I'll be back, though, you can count on it; same time, tonight if you want. You want me, you call. I'll put my number at the bottom, if you can't reach me immediately just wait a little and I'll call ya back. I swear. I hope to be hearing from ya soon, pudding.
Love,
Jack
He tore it from its place and just as he was about to place it on the empty pillow he had once occupied, he paused. He glanced at her and then the note. He fished a purple crayon from his pocket, and using the nightstand on his side to bear on wrote a large, final message.
I love you.
He folded the paper and placed it on the pillow. He took one last, wistful look at Harley's form before leaving the house, much the same way he had come.
Four hours later Harley groaned as the sun, infiltrated her eyelids. She turned over and snuggled into the pillow that still smelled like the Joker, or as she called him, Jack. Something crinkled against her face. She grunted and opened her eyes to find herself utterly alone.
She sprang up in bed, away from the scent of gasoline, smoke, and some scent that could only be described as male. For a moment she just stared around blearily before her gaze found the piece of paper. She grabbed it and unfolded it, her eyes quickly reading it.
By the end of it she was laughing. A warmth bubbled up in her, chasing away the disappointment she had had when she first began reading the letter. She refolded it and placed it in her drawer. She stood and up and stretched, laughing randomly as she took a shower and got ready to have a day out. She felt renewed and refreshed. She felt like shopping; she'd have to call Pam later.
"You're remaking that Halloween Costume?"
Harley ran a hand along a bolt of crimson fabric, silk. It was perfect to line the inside of the small black blazer she would be sewing with the other bolt of fabric in her arm. She measured it out generously.
"Yeah, c'mon, Red, that was the best thing I ever made."
Pam watched her as she expertly cut the fabric, stuffing into her bag. She was moving onto the denim material, ivory because she would dye it red, and then to the black denim. She measured them out. Pamela had been confused.
"Harley, wouldn't it bring back bad memories? You were kidnapped in that get up." She reasoned. Something was wrong; she was happy because Harley seemed filled with life again, but the resurrection of the costume she had been wearing when the Riddler had abducted her threw her.
"I need closure. I can't be afraid of that man for the rest of my life." Harley reasoned, eyes hard as she glared at the fabric dyes, searching for the correct hue of scarlet. Pam touched her shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you have to remake this costume. No one is asking you to get over your fear. You've already beaten him by not cooping yourself in your house all day. Harley, you can talk to me, you know that. I'll not ask what you're doing with this, but I hope you can tell me someday."
Pamela perhaps didn't know the details, but she knew enough. It had to do with the Joker, something told her that. Her behavior before, her behavior now. It flickered in her eyes, across her mouth. The Joker, it was about him. She wasn't incompetent, and somehow she knew that Harley was aware that she knew the truth. Neither of them said anything, at that moment.
"I know," Harley nodded, "and someday I hope I can find the words to tell you."
"Are you in love with the Joker?"
"What would you say if I told you I'm in love with the Joker?"
The unspoken words hung heavy in the air as Harley skittered towards the black fabrics. "I think," she mused, "I want to line the red tank top I wear under the jacket with black. It'll make the diamonds flow better into the cloth."
Pam nodded, "You know when you said you wanted to shop, I thought you meant at the mall." She was rewarded with Harley's laughter as she followed the petite woman. Pam smiled to herself. She shouldn't be comfortable with it—somewhere within her she wasn't—but if he was making her happy, then what could Pam do. She knew she couldn't blame her.
The Joker and her were now the same. Pam saw it. Harley had always embodied a jester, mischievous, cunning, and manipulative. Now, though, now, the jester had fully emerged. The world had turned its back on Harleen Quinzel. Harley Quinn had no choice but to emerge from the ashes. Just as long as the Joker didn't harm her.
Pamela had missed her smile. She wouldn't claim to understand it, how Jack Napier, the man known as the Joker could make Harley sane again. Sane and yet at the same time, insane.
"We'll go to mall, I'm thinking about buying me some new clothes. I need some new pjs." Harley glanced back at her. "What do you need?"
"Nothing," Pam smiled. "So tell me, what prompted this outing? You're in a sunny mood."
"I realized I couldn't be depressed anymore. I have life still, I'm breathing, there are better things in this world. The Riddler will be caught, especially now that Edward Nashton has revealed himself."
"And do you know the motive?"
"Mm-hm," Harley nodded, fingering a fabric. Pam stepped forward and touched it. "Light, not constricting. I think it's perfect for the lining." Harley pulled some out, beginning to measure. Pam leaned back, staring around at the vast array of material around them. All she could think about was the report done on the Joker that had aired recently in the wake of his escape and yet absent chaos.
'Clothing is custom...Is she why he hasn't caused chaos since his escape? Has he seen her? Is that why she's happy? Why don't I care if my best friend is entertaining him? Because he protects her.'
The image of two playing cards entered her mind. A black and red joker. The two Harlequins, never balanced unless together. Both jesters of chaos and fire. She watched Harley and blinked. She had a feeling a part of her life was ending. Harley was still her best friend, would always be, but something about her own calm attitude when thinking of the path her friend was taking scared her. The air in was Gotham was becoming stifling, she needed a break.
Dr. Jason Woodrue from an acclaimed university upstate had phoned her with an opportunity to explore the Crane Fear Toxin. He wanted to strengthen it in light that it was a powerful possible biological weapon. She was Botanical Chemist, her expertise would be appreciated. She could leave Gotham, leave the air that was becoming its own brand of toxin.
She had a month, but she knew she was going. She didn't know how to tell Harley. The girl would be safe, though, as long as the Joker continued to love her. Pam, didn't know why, but she doubted that she had to worry. Somehow, beyond science, the girl had entangled that man in her web.
No one ever said love was rational, though. It also wasn't scientific and Pam had long ago discovered that.
Harley sat at her small dining room table waiting for the water to boil. She fingered her phone and with a sigh, dialed the number. The stove top clock announced to her that it was nine in the evening.
It rang, and with each successive ring her heart beat faster and faster. Then she almost felt her breath leave her when a voice answered.
"Hello?" The nasally voice of the Joker greeted her.
She could hear the giddiness in his voice. He didn't know it was her. She gulped. "You know, it's rude to just breath into the phone." He twittered. Harley licked her lips.
"You told me I could call."
His own breathing stopped. She heard a rustling, then, "Get out! I got some business to speak about! Out, out, out!" She cringed at the sound of a gunshot, but then his breath returned to fill the phone. "Harley?"
"No, this your conscious calling. I'm just wanting to let you know that I quit, I've had enough of your shit." The quip flew from her before she could stop it. Why was she calling him again? To hear his voice? There really was no motive, she wanted to call him, needed to.
"Well, I appreciate the call, but couldn't we have had this conversation easier in another way?"
"You and I both know, you never would have gotten it any other way." She was rewarded with chuckles. "Hi, puddin'." He purred and she knew he must have been alone, with no chance of being interrupted, at least his men had better not.
"Is this a bad time?" She asked. "You said, 'call me if you want me.'"
"What do you need?"
She pursed her lips. Should she? What could she lose? She grinned against the phone. "You. I need you, Jack." She said seductively and then flipped her phone shut. She was silent a moment, processing her action, and then she laughed. Oh lord, what had she done?! That caused her giggled more. She stood up and made her way to her stove. The water was boiling.
The Joker's feet fell from their propped position atop the desk he was currently seated at after she hang up. At first his expression was blank, but after a moment he shut the phone. He chewed on his cheek and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His eyes, pools of darkness against the kohl that ringed their sockets, came to rest on the phone.
He grinned savagely; the little tease! He stood up and grabbed his purple trench coat from the back of the chair and put it on. Depositing the phone in his pocket, he made his way to the door, leaving his messily construed desk behind. That woman had sealed her fate. He pushed it open and entered the hallway of his "base", an abandoned theater in the Narrows where madness was bred like a disease—who better to be its ruler than the Clown Prince of Crime?
He opened doors in the corridor, peering in as he inwardly mused. Harley, Harley, Harley. He fingered a knife in his pocket as he opened another door and grinned at the figure asleep on the dilapidated couch.
He bounded into the room and pounced on the man, smacking his cheeks until he opened his eyes, "Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty," he sang, "I need the keys...and I'm not in the mood to wait."
The man startled as he stared up at his boss perched above him, still pinching his cheeks. He released the painful grip and held out his hands, "So are you going to give me the keys?" He raised an eyebrow, "or am I gonna have to kiss you? Really, I'm flattered, but I, uh, don't hold those kind of," he cleared his throat, "feelings towards you...so just give me the keys."
The man desperately dug into his jean pockets and held out the requested ring. The Joker grinned and pulled away. He swung the keyring around his finger as he quickly left the room. The man on the couch, fell back into its worn cushions. He knew better than to question his boss. He closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.
It didn't take long for the Joker to be on the highway. He was still decked in his signature suit and greasepaint. He swerved across the lanes, arousing riled horns. He grinned; he had a woman to teach a lesson to, a very memorable lesson. He chuckled, nothing was more important. He sped towards the suburbs.
She had started something, she knew it. She was calling for him, teasing him, she knew he would come. He entered the suburbs at a breakneck speed, tires squealing. Oh, he was coming, and she was going to get a punishment.
Harley was aware he would be coming. How long, though, she wasn't sure. She knew she had lit a fuse, and her gut clenched at the impending explosion. She was stirring angel-hair pasta, her mind failing at keeping itself unaroused. Racing thoughts about when he would get there caused her pulse to quicken. Dinner, she had to focus, though. She put her attention back to the slowly softening pasta.
It was at that moment that she heard the screech as a car pulled into her driveway. Immediately she knew who it was, and when the car's horn blew in the melody of "Shave and a Haircut" she was even more sure. She picked up her phone from the counter and dialed his number.
"Who's there?" She asked simply when the phone picked up.
"Radio," he spoke. She could hear the car idling in the driveway.
"Radio who?"
He chuckled, "Radio or not," his voice grew husky, "here I come." She gasped, "Wait, I have an idea. How about you count to ten and then come find me?"
"No, no, you've had your fun. I'll count to three. One-"
"SHIT!" She scrambled and shut the phone and turned off the stove. She quickly looked around.
The Joker laughed at her scream, closing his phone. He shook his head and turned off the car, placing the phone back in his pocket. "Two..." He opened the door and stepped out. "Three." He shut the door and ran onto her porch. He twisted the knob, ecstatic that it was unlocked, and threw it open.
"Come out, come out wherever you are," he sang, entering.
He smelled cooking pasta, but as he entered the living room and peered into the kitchen he saw nothing. He glanced around and began walking down the hallway.
Harley heard her heart thudding in her ears. She wondered how the Joker couldn't have heard her almost hyperventilating in the nook between the refrigerator and the wall. She wasn't scared, no, adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She felt elated, playful. She heard him retreat down the hall, and sighed. Perhaps she would have time yet until he found her.
'Bastard,' she thought giddily, 'didn't give me enough time to hide correctly. My hair's all filled with dust now—who cleans beside the fridge? Maybe I can hide somewhere else now, on the chance that he stays occupied for a while.' She stealthily began to remove herself from the space, but that was ruined when she misstepped and the broom she also kept there fell with a sharp thud to the floor.
The Joker's head popped up from inspecting beneath her bed. He bounded over the mattress and ran to her door. That had come from the kitchen; he licked his lips.
'Shit!' She sped from the kitchen in time to see the Joker race from her doorway. He grinned ravenously at her before almost crouching like a predator about to take down his prey. She yelped playfully and ran back into the kitchen.
"C'mon, Harley," he peered into the kitchen through the bar. He saw her standing in the middle of the floor, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her face was flushed, he saw her pulse fluttering in her neck. He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the floor, continuing to towards the entrance to the room. "I found you, now I think I deserve compensation for—"
Like lightning she had scaled the counter and sink and climbed through the opening. The Joker turned just as she impacted the ground and hit him on the shoulder, giggling.
"Tag, you're it."
His eyes darkened not in anger, but lust. He did love a spirited woman. "Bad decision for you, bad," and he took off after instantly. She squealed as she barely missed a swipe by his hands. "How come you were never this fast in Arkham, you little tease? You were so much easier to get...but, I do like this. It'll make capturing you all the more enjoyable." He called to her as she careened into the bathroom. She shut the door in his face and he grabbed the handle just as it locked.
"Harley," he warned, but it was easy to tell his voice was only a mask of anger. She really was driving him crazy. He had never enjoyed a game of cat and mouse so much, well, with Batman, but for different reasons. With Batman it had been a test of thinking, wits. With Harley, it was chaos, instinct, freedom, fire.
"Na na na!" He heard her call, then the opening of the small window in the room. "You're still it, J!"
The door was simple enough. He took another knife from his pant's pocket and picked the lock expertly. He threw open the door and entered the bathroom, closing it behind him. He glanced around at the tub, encased by a shower curtain, at the open window, whose drapes were riding the breeze. He nimbly went to it and peered outside, eyes flickering for any sign of Harley.
He lowered his eyes, dark orbs coming to rest on the shower-curtain. That had all been show. The bathroom only looked empty. He slowly walked over to the curtain, anticipation making the moment sweeter. His fingers wrapped around the plastic-like material and with the sound of the curtain rings on the metal rod, he drew back the curtain.
He threw off his gloves as he peered at the woman trying to press herself into a corner of the tub. Her mussed blonde hair framed her still flushed face. She looked frightened, but her eyes were alight. The Joker climbed into the shower after her.
"Well, well," he shook his head, smiling. He grabbed her as she tried to escape. She was pressed back to chest against him. "I got ya," he whispered into her hair and with one of his arms firmly around her waist, used the other to maneuver her hair to her left shoulder. He pulled the shoulder of her blouse down and began planting kisses from her shoulder to her neck.
She leaned her head back, eyes closed, giving him more access to the column of her throat. He nipped at the sensitive flesh, earning approval in Harley's mewls. He tightened his grip around her, holding her even closer. She opened her eyes.
"You're still wearing your greasepaint." She commented seeing a glance of it out of the corner of her eyes. "Yeah?" He muttered against her neck, "Some temptress decided to rile me up. I didn't have time to take it off. I didn't want to keep you waiting." He felt her hands entangle in his hair. He took her ear into his mouth and suckled on it. She called his name and he whipped her around, pressing her against the wall, dark eyes drinking her in.
He couldn't stop the gasp, when her own mouth began to taste his throat. The paint that covered his face was bitter, she discovered, as she nibbled along his jaw. His hands were bunching into the back of her shirt. His breath was ragged. She didn't care, it was him, and that's all that mattered. She would let him be who he wished. She pulled away from his jaw and without hesitation bit into his neck, suckling on it as his eyes flew open. His hands dropped the hem of her shirt and grabbed the back of her thighs. He hauled her up and with one look at her bedroom eyes, savagely attacked her lips, tongue immediately running along their inseam.
He hungrily kissed her, her back pressed against the cold tile. It was a stark contrast against his warmth. She cried out as his teeth sunk in the junction of her neck and shoulder, leaving his own mark.
"Harley," he murmured and that's when someone knocked on the door. The Joker growled and Harley stiffened. He knew why she had to answer it and he reluctantly placed her down, but not before giving her a deep kiss. "Hurry back," he whispered and she nodded.
"Give me a minute!" She called as she stumbled out of the bathtub and then from the bathroom.
"I don't think the cab can wait that long."
Harley's head flew up. Pam? Cab? She ran from the bathroom. She threw open the door and stared up at the form of Pamela Isley, who stared in shock at her and her less than composed appearance.
The red-head turned to stare at the yellow taxi. "Keep that meter running, I'll pay you whatever it says." She then ushered Harley into the house and glanced around. Her eyes caught on the purple heap of cloth, and as she glanced at from the corner of her eyes she realized it was the Joker's coat.
"Alright I have three questions for you." Pam spoke.
"Yeah?" Harley asked and Pam smiled.
"You know what I'm going to ask, don't ya?" The Joker heard the conversation and lurked just out of sight. He knew the voice before he saw her, he remembered she was the red-head who had been held at Arkham with him. Harley nodded. "You're gonna ask whose car that is in the drive way."
"Bingo." Pam nodded seriously. "You're gonna ask, why I have smudges of greasepaint on my neck...but the third...I'm stumped."
"Do you have a new affinity for purple or is that the Joker's purple trench coat lying in a heap on your floor?" She raised a brow as Harley whipped around. 'Damn,' she had forgotten that was there.
"Ah ha, I knew it! So where is he? I know he's not gone and left the car."
Harley opened her mouth, but Pam shook her head, "I'm not here to reprimand you for it. I don't know what you see in him, but he makes you happy, even a mindless dolt could see that. I just want to speak to him civilly before I leave."
"Leave?" Harley had heard the rest of her words, but that one struck her instantly. Pam nodded soberly, "Yeah, I've been offered a job upstate with a chemical specialist, Dr. Jason Woodrue. I've decided to take the offer. Harley, Gotham, it's choking me. Too much has happened and I'm scared. I'm calm in the light of things that should have me incensed, like the fact that you and the Joker were making out before I got here, but I'm not angry. Concerned, but not angry, because somehow the two of you have entangled yourselves in a web, and...I...I just need to know one thing before I go."
"And what would that be, toots?" Pam raised her head as the Joker entered. She by passed Harley and came to stand in front of her. "What are your intentions with my best friend?"
The Joker chuckled softly then it grew louder, "You really are something else." Pam shook her head, "You better love her, you better protect her. If I find out you hurt her I will not hesitate to kill you. Unlike some people in this city, my sense of justice does involve killing. If I get the chance I'll do it. I don't care if I die attempting your murder. It's in your best interest if you don't lay an ill-meaning finger on her. You take care of her, or I swear you'll know why my friends sometimes call me Poison Ivy." She turned back to Harley. "If you two get caught and thrown in Arkham, call me, but don't expect me to break you two out. I'll keep in touch, and I'm sorry to spring this on you, but...I just figured out two hours ago I was leaving. I'm having a company pack all my stuff at my apartment and move it."
She walked to Harley and wrapped her arms around her, "You take care and keep yourself safe. I'm sorry I couldn't save you, but if he really means well towards you, I'll be happy for you. However," she glanced over Harley's shoulder, "You kill anyone I know or like and we may have a problem." She kissed Harley's cheek. "Chin up, Harleen, I'm just moving upstate and I'll always be your best friend. But I need to go, I feel if I stay here any longer I will become mad myself." She pulled back and nodded her head to the Joker, "Again, you take care of her."
And she turned away, opening the door. Her last words were spoken to herself.
"I don't wonder if I'm not just delaying the inevitable myself."
This year had scarred everyone, some physically, some emotionally, and some both. The door shut behind her and the Joker watched Harley run to her living room window. She watched as the taxi pulled away and left into the night. Then for awhile she didn't move. It was keen observation that made the Joker notice minutes later that her form was quivering.
He walked to her and guided her by the shoulders to face him. He sighed as he clearly saw the tears running down her cheeks. Her best friend had just left town. He whipped her cheek and she threw herself into his arms. He picked her up bridal style and carrying her to her room and kicking off his shoes climbed into her bed, still holding her. She buried her head into his chest and sobbed. He ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her as best as he could.
"Shhh," he whispered into her hair, wishing she wasn't shedding tears. It was only natural, however, he would endure it. He had never liked her pain, but he couldn't protect her from the world. He was already keenly aware of that.
He rubbed her back absent-mindedly even after she was asleep, the food on the stove long forgotten. He would stay as long as she needed him. Her world had taken another hit. He kissed her head.
His little harlequin was a resilient woman. Sharp and feeling; strong and warm. She was made of more than porcelain. His fingers traced the diamond design on her arm.
She truly was his Queen of Spades, opening herself up to injury and downfall and yet rising stronger despite her enemies because she was fighter. She was a winner, she was his partner, she was his world.
She was Harley Quinn.
The princess of chaos who had the potential to rule beside him had awakened. He hadn't ever wanted her to understand his life, but now he knew she too had embraced all her chaos. It was only a matter of time before she entered the public eye with him.
He hadn't wanted this for her. Another broken soul like his; he had wanted her to stay ignorant. Ignorance was bliss, but the flower had bloomed, and it would be a lie if he said she wasn't a beautiful ebony and crimson rose.
"Shave and a Haircut" is a pattern of knocking. Thanks to Kiss of the Breeze for discovering that. You really are a wonderful beta! Enjoy the chapter! And reviews are always welcome!