Disclaimer: DC Comics owns our beloved Joker and Harley. Please don't sue!
----------
Heaving Harley's unconscious body over his left shoulder, the Joker fiddled with the revolver Sanchez had given him. His progress wasn't halted in the least by Harley - her dead weight was like having a canary perched on his clavicle. Humming a little, he grinned as his little convoy began passing by the occupied cells of his fellow patients.
Stopping in front of 7D, he peered inside.
"You have time to socialize?" Sanchez complained.
The Joker rolled his eyes. "Wherever are your manners? One must always make time to chat with the neighbors." He pressed the intercom button, frowning at the familiar static. "Heeelloo... can you hear me?"
"Unfortunately."
"Dr. Crane, how rude. I'm surprised at you."
A tall, thin figure slowly ambled into view. "I'm sure."
The Joker's brow rose. "Did I disturb you in the middle of play time." He waggled his eyebrows, laughing, as he made a lewd jerking motion with his right hand.
The expression on Jonathan Crane's chiseled, coldly handsome face was one of utter placidity. Sky blue eyes with a core of ice gazed out at the Joker; flickering side to side and drinking in the guards as well as the Joker's special burden. "Not all of us indulge in the more base urges. Making a break for it, are we?"
"Yeah. You're invited if you would care to tag along, Doctor."
A cool smirk bent Crane's sensual lips upward. "Unlike most of the fools you employ, I'm quite literate. I did read the papers during your little - reign of terror - and your comrades seem to be disposable."
"Aw," The Joker pouted theatrically. "you're hurting my delicate feelings! Don't worry, I'm not offering you employment, Doc, or should I call you Scarecrow? I'm just offering you a ticket out of the mad house."
Crane raised one dark eyebrow. "Are you making off with Quinzel?"
"Jealous?" The Joker giggled madly.
"Hardly," Crane replied dryly. "I studied her briefly when I first started working here. She's clinically insane - you do understand this? I've rarely seen such a unique case of psychosis. Couldn't get a word out of her, even after slipping her a tiny dose of my fear toxin. Quiet as a mouse."
A dark veil settled over the Joker and both of the guards took a step back. "Oh? And, ah, did she have a reaction?"
"No visible reaction aside from severe tremors, but the toxin's side effects included tremors." Crane rubbed his jaw. "Perhaps it may be worth breaking out to study Miss Quinzel… "
"I don't share well with others, Doctor." Smacking his lips, the Joker cocked the gun he held. "I like to keep my toys for my own uses. Coming or not?"
"I'm afraid I must decline at this time." Crane smiled. "Good luck with Miss Quinzel."
The Joker snorted. "Enjoy those basket weaving classes, fruitcake." He moved along and thought about stopping at Carmine Falcone's door, but he had a slight aversion to the Italian mob. 'Those inbred cretins have no imagination!'
"Oh Sanchez?"
The older guard swallowed tightly. "Yes, sir?"
"Sir was my late father. I'm the boss."
"Sorry boss," Sanchez quickly replied. "What can I do for you, boss?"
The Joker didn't pause a moment; his stride strong. "How many of the guards belong to me?"
"Fifteen."
"Fabulous. Send three of them down to the good Dr. Thurmond's office to collect him."
Sanchez frowned, hand on his radio. "You're taking Thurmond... alive?"
"No point in taking him dead. I'm not into necrophilia." The Joker laughed wildly as he entered the elevator; shifting Harley just a little so his line of vision was clear. When Peterman, who'd been silently following, tried to step on the elevator, the Joker shook his head. "No, no, no, my chubby friend - I'm afraid this is the end of the line for you." He raised the cocked revolver and pointed it at the now terrified guard.
"Sanchez, you gonna let him kill me?" Peterman pleaded, his eyes betraying his terror. "We're buddies..."
The Joker smirked. "You get his half, Sanchez."
Sanchez shrugged apologetically. "Sorry."
"Why you doing this to me?" Peterman begged.
The Joker smacked his lips. "Well two reasons really. The first is you didn't handle Miss Harley very delicately at all and I'm the only one who gets to play rough with my toys. Second, you're a moron, so in all reality you should be thanking me for putting you out of your mi-ser-y." Without missing a beat, he pulled the trigger.
Peterman staggered as the bullet caught him in the forehead, blood flowing freely from the gaping hole in his skull. As the elevator doors closed, he sprawled on the floor; wide eyes seeing nothing.
The Joker laughed so much he almost collapsed and dropped Harley. Tears ran down his face as he danced around the elevator, swinging Harley wildly as he did so. "Ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-ho!" He noticed for the first time how Sanchez had crammed himself in the farthest corner, his fingers twitching near the emergency stop button. "Why so serious?" The Joker's laughter was gone in an instant. "Didn't you see the expression on Chubby's face? It was priceless!"
Sanchez whipped his hand away from the emergency button. "Uh-huh."
Rolling his eyes, the Joker sighed. "Never mind, Sanchez. Say, did you drop your testicles somewhere up on the fifth floor?" He enjoyed the dull, reddish flush spreading over the other man's face. "Maybe you should go back up and find them."
The elevator door opened to reveal two guards with a gagged and bound Thomas Thurmond struggling between them. The Joker grinned as he shimmied past the group with Harley. He cleared his throat and inclined his head toward the horrified psychiatrist. "Good ev-en-ing, gentlemen, and imbecile," the Joker indicated Thurmond. "We'll be soon be leaving the Arkham Fun House for digs that are, ah, frankly more fun."
"Mmmmm..." Thurmond was squealing behind his gag and it reminded the Joker of a pig.
Cupping his ear, the Joker leaned over the bound man. "What? Sorry, Doc, I couldn't quite make that out. Rest assured you will completely enjoy the accommodations I have for you at my, uh, pad. In fact," he began in a soft, conspiratorial tone. "you're tomorrow night's entertainment! Wait 'til Harleykins gets a load of you, Doc!"
Grabbing Thurmond by the chin, the Joker bobbed his head up and down maliciously; a sadistic laugh breaking free from his throat as he shoved Thurmond back into the arms of the guards. "It goes without saying, but I'll spell it out in case someone doesn't understand, I expect you to kill anyone who gets in my way."
The Joker's new men stared at one another uneasily as he continued down the corridor.
----------
The ceiling was swaying back and forth gently.
Harleen gagged as her stomach rolled in queasy waves. She held up a hand and thankfully found herself only looking at one extremity instead of several. Blinking, Harleen realized the white film over her left eye was gauze...
Pain, burning, stinging, raw.
She recalled the Joker cutting off the last vestige of the mask she'd been forced to wear; taking skin and blood right along with it. She knew his actions were because of her requesting he help, but the agony now blooming across her stripped skin made it hard for her to concentrate.
It occurred to her a few minutes later that the ceiling above her was wood, not dingy gray pad.
Stretching out her fingers, Harleen swallowed tightly.
'Fine linen, ample room, cushiony softness... I'm not in Arkham anymore!' Harleen bolted and landed in a heap next to a very large, immaculate bed swathed in soft white sheets with a black comforter pulled back.
She rubbed her fingers against the floor experimentally.
The wood was old, but resurfaced and the reddish oak had been shellacked and polished until it gleamed. She noticed the surrounding walls were clean and painted a soft, pale gray which gave the room a strangely relaxed atmosphere. The nightstand and chest of drawers across the room were both well kept and painted black.
Harleen forced herself to her knees and grabbed the bed linens; hauling herself to her feet.
Swaying unsteadily, Harleen held out her hands as she stumbled towards the huge door looming like a sullen giant across the room.
When the cool brass door knob met her palm, Harleen congratulated herself. She took a deep breath and threw the door open.
The outer room appeared to be nothing more than a huge warehouse, though apparently well taken care of, and furnished with separate living, dining, and work areas; there was even a gleaming kitchen where several men dressed in jeans and sweat shirts congregated.
Harleen staggered forward; bare feet slapping noisily on the cool concrete floor.
"Well, Miss Harley, I was beginning to think you were never going to get up."
Harleen turned toward the darkened dining area. Squinting, she noticed two figures seated at the table - one shape was familiar - the other seemed to that of a very small child. She rubbed her eye and looked again, but the mirage stayed in place.
"C'mere," The Joker ordered. "I haven't got all night, you know. Besides, Preston and I are having ice cream."
"Yeah, chocolate!" A giggly little boy's voice enthused.
Harleen tilted her head, trying to see into the semi-darkness, but only the two outlines were visible. She eased herself across the cavernous room until she stood only a few feet away from the table. Both close enough to see once her eyes adjusted and to smell the sweet, cloying scent of chocolate and cream. Her mouth watered even as her eyes bulged in their sockets.
The Joker's face was like a nightmare.
Stark, snow white, with coal black circles around each eye and garish red smeared haphazardly across his scarred mouth; enhancing the details of his disfigurement to chilling new heights. She knew he had to have painted his face, but the red slapped across his mouth and cheeks reminded her of blood...
... Blood was everywhere.
Splashed on the tile floor in the bathroom, arcing insanely across the walls like some art project gone wrong. The sweet coppery smell pungent in Harleen's nose and so thick she could nearly taste the salty liquid on her tongue.
Weeping, Harleen raised her face and looked into the bathroom mirror.
A large knot, already black and blue, was blossoming like an obscene flower on her right cheek. Tears burned her tender flesh as the liquid flowed over the cuts and scratches littering her skin.
Harleen's eyes caught sight of a tiny foot sticking out of the bath tub at an odd angle. "No... no... Bree... NO!"
Reaching out with trembling fingers, Harleen yanked the shower curtain back.
Screams tore from Harleen's throat as her eyes took in the bloody, butchered body of her four year old sister...
The little boy seated next to the nightmarish Joker was no more than five. He had burnished gold curls and wide, innocent green eyes which held curiosity as he looked at her. Dressed in khakis and a Daffy Duck tee shirt, little Preston was the picture of a sweet little boy enjoying his ice cream - aside from the fact his face was painted in an eerily similar manner to the Joker.
Harleen lunged forward and pulled the child into her arms.
"Now Harley..." The Joker stood, settling his spoon into the bowl of ice cream at a precise angle.
"Are you okay?" Preston asked with rounded eyes.
Harleen backed into the light. She ran her fingers over the boy's chubby cheeks and sighed as the fleshy pads came away coated with greasy paint. Relieved, she let her forehead rest against the child's temple.
"I'm not a monster," The Joker stated quietly as he slipped into the pool of light beside them. "Do you think I'm a bad man, Preston?"
The little boy shook his head. "Nuh-uh! Mister J is a clown. Right Mister J?"
The Joker beamed. "Exactly so! Why don't you put Preston down so he can enjoy his chocolate ice cream."
Harleen could sense beneath the Joker's affable exterior, deadly seriousness lurked. She bent at the waist and allowed Preston to slip to the floor. He eagerly scampered over to the Joker's side and the Joker ruffled the boy's hair.
"Mister J is going to show me a magic trick later!" Preston shouted excitedly before running back to the table.
"Magic trick?" Harleen echoed hollowly.
The Joker shrugged and jammed his hands into the pockets of his purple, pinstriped trousers. "I may not be a real clown, but I always have a few tricks up my sleeve." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Now do you want some ice cream before we get down to business?"
Harleen hesitated, but her stomach spoke for her. A rosy blush stained her cheeks as her stomach growled angrily.
Smirking, the Joker offered Harleen his hand. "Gotta eat, my flower. It just won't due to have a half-starved Harley Quinn bumbling about."
The three of them ate their ice cream in silence for the most part. It was a strange affair; Preston was happily licking his spoon and babbling to himself, but the Joker stared at Harleen the entire time he ate and all the while said nothing. Harleen tried to keep her eyes on her bowl of ice cream while ignoring the unsettling man across from her.
"... boo-boo?"
Harleen blinked.
Preston was standing next to her chair pointing at her face. "How did you get your boo-boo?"
Harleen's hand drifted up to the large square of gauze covering the area around her left eye. "My boo-boo..."
"Preston," The Joker began in a soft, almost melodic voice - one Harleen had never heard him use before. "It's very rude to point as I explained to you earlier. Harley doesn't want to talk about her, ah, boo-boo."
The boy frowned. "I'm sorry."
Harleen didn't see Preston anymore, but a little golden haired girl with large gray eyes and a shy smile. 'I'm sorry, Harleen. Are you mad about the dolly?' Bree held out the porcelain doll their mother had given Harleen on her tenth birthday, a large crack running down the center of her bisque face. 'I dropped her on the stairs.'
Tears welled up in Harleen's eyes, the ice cream on her tongue tasted like dust. "I'm not mad."
Preston looked confused. "You aren't?"
"It was just a dolly, Bree," Harleen muttered. "Don't be sad, dollies break sometimes. We'll buy another."
"Who is Bree?"
Another face loomed in Harleen's line of vision; a painted, grotesque clown from hell.
She leaned back in the chair, but he only leaned closer to her.
Licking those crimson lips, the Joker tilted his head. "Who is Bree?" He repeated.
"My sister."
He stood. "Ah, I see." Turning, the Joker whistled sharply. "Billy!"
One of the men milling around in the kitchen jogged over. He was around twenty-five with cropped dark blonde hair and serious hazel eyes. Tall, but still lagging a few inches of height compared to the Joker with a good physique; it was clear in a physical confrontation he would hold his own with no problem. He was good looking, but there was a hardness about him which Harleen picked up on at once.
"Yeah, boss?"
The Joker ruffled the little boy's hair again. "Take a few of the guys with you and drop Preston here off at Commissioner Gordon's office down town. I'm sure he would like to see his mommy." Leaning toward Billy, he dropped his voice down a few octaves, but Harleen could still hear him. "Get the boys outside on patrol, it's a warm night - no need for them to be loafing around in here."
Billy shot a glance in Harleen's direction. "Gonna break her in?"
A harsh laugh, almost ending on a sob broke free from the Joker's throat. "Billy you slay me at times! No nookie with the employees, I always say. I thought Harley could be gently introduced to my service through watching me deal with the lawyer."
"She isn't gonna stay long if you do that." Billy warned.
"Harley Quinn is here for the long haul," The Joker's voice dripped with confidence. "I'm going to make her... just like me."
Billy took the little boy's hand, shooting a sympathetic look in Harleen's direction. "Whatever you say, boss. Me and the boys are out of here."
Preston wouldn't budge. "What about my magic trick?"
The Joker laughed with delight and Harleen shuddered. "Sorry son, I have a guest who's been, ah, languishing away. I'll have to make this quick so..." he strolled over to where Preston and Billy stood and pulled a pencil out of his hip pocket. Leaning down, he shoved the pencil into Preston's chubby hands as he whispered in the boy's ear. Harleen watched the Joker's wild gesticulations with growing dread as the grin on his painted face only grew more broad and pronounced. "... TA-DA!"
The little boy looked up in awe. "WOW!"
Billy's brow had risen considerably, but he knew when to keep his trap shut and simply began to haul the child toward the kitchen.
"Oh and Preston?" The Joker called in a sing-song voice.
"Yes?" The little boy responded diligently.
The Joker's smile was gone. "Tell your dad he still reminds me of my father."
"Okay."
The Joker didn't move until every last one of his men - and Preston - were gone.
Harleen stood and eased herself backwards. The hunched posture, the manner in which his head was slightly bowed, the fists clenched at his side - this was the man who'd frightened her in the solarium at Arkham. He seemed to take no notice of her movements, until she bumped into a side table.
The groaning scrape of wood against concrete was as loud as a gunshot in the oppressive quiet.
The Joker abruptly turned on his heel, glaring. "Where do you think you're going, Harley?"
Harleen froze. "Nowhere."
"The first rule of your employment is not to lie to me," The Joker stated in a falsely pleasant voice as he advanced on her. "See, I'm a man of my word and I expect that kind of honesty in return. So, try again."
She hugged herself to stop herself from shaking. "Away from you."
He raised one eyebrow. "Why?"
"You scare me when you act like this," Harleen replied quietly.
The Joker towered over her and she could feel the malicious intent rolling off of him in waves. "Good," he pronounced angrily. "You should be afraid of me - half the time, I'm afraid of me. See, I never know exactly what I'm going to do until its crunch time and decisions must be made."
"Gabe said you planned out everything you did last summer."
He frowned slightly; his scars puckered. "Gabe?"
"The janitor," Harleen whispered. "He told me all about you."
The Joker laughed. "I thought you didn't talk, you little minx!"
Harleen shook her head. "I didn't, he talked to me when he cleaned my cell."
Smacking his lips, the Joker scratched his chin thoughtfully. "So you knew what a naughty boy I'd been and you still came with me; even after I offered to leave you in your little nest. You're completely cr-a-zy, Harley!" A smile cracked his face and he snatched Harleen into his arms as though he were going to dance with her. "You and I belong together! Like Astaire and Rogers, gasoline and matches, Bonnie and Clyde!"
Harleen gagged slightly as a wave of dizziness overtook her; the Joker swinging her wildly about the room as he half-danced, half-dashed across the warehouse. Everything blurred and she had the strange feeling she was flying...
The breath was driven from her body as she collided with cold concrete. Her head smacked the wall and darkness wavered on the edge of her vision. He stood over her as Harleen slid slowly down until she was huddled on the floor.
"Just remember," The Joker's voice had turned cold. "You be honest with me, I'll be honest with you - I'll even tell you when I'm going to kill you. Consider that one of the perks of being my, uh, right hand gal. I never tell the guys when their services are no longer required, but I like you, so I'll make an exception."
Harleen shook the cobwebs from her head. "Why not kill me now?" He obviously had few qualms about hurting her.
He laughed so hard he bent at the waist, clutching his middle. "Harley, I don't want to kill you! I need you around, but if I have to take you out, I will. I'll just warn you first, I'm a man of my word." Straightening slowly, the Joker reached down and captured her hand. Pulling her up, he steadied her against the wall. "We're a lot alike, you and I, but you're still relatively normal." Leaning down, his warm, chocolate scented breath fanned her cheek. "However, I see the little freak in you. Oh, you try to hide her so hard, but I still see her in your eyes, sugarlips."
"Tell me the truth now," he pulled back and stared her in the eye. "Did you take an axe to the your family like everyone thinks?"
Harleen whimpered. "I don't know." She tried desperately to recall, but the only true memories she had were coming home and finding her mother and then later finding Bree trisected in the bathtub; dark blanks existed between those two points of horror. "Not my mother, I found her dying, but I don't know about the rest."
The Joker's face twisted into a strained grimace and he released her like she was a hot coal. "Found mommy on the brink of death, huh? How tragic." He reached out and sharply rapped on a huge metal door beside them. "Tonight you are going to get your first introduction to my way of doing things. Bloody, yeah. Necessary, absolutely. See, you let people get away with disrespect Harley and you end up dead in our business. I'm gonna toughen you up, girly."
He pulled the door open with a flourish and shoved her into the cold, yellow light flooding the room. "Oh Earl, Harley and I've come to visit!"
Earl Finley was gagged and strapped to a chair in the center of the room under several large lamps. He was covered with a fine sheen of sweat; two damp circles ringing each armpit and the crotch of his Brooks Brothers trousers was wet. A huge yellow puddle was just below the chair and the stench of urine was thick in the air.
The Joker's brow rose as he slammed the door shut and threw the lock into place. "Whew! I thought you had more self control, Earl, but obviously not." He began to unbutton his green waistcoat with surprisingly nimble fingers as he crossed the room. "I shouldn't be too surprised seeing as how you've acted like a little punk since we first met."
Harleen watched in growing horror as the Joker neatly hung his waistcoat from a peg and began rolling up the sleeves of his deep gray dress shirt. "How embarrassing you've pissed yourself in front of a lady." The Joker jerked at the knot of his tie, loosening it, before hanging the scrap of silk on another peg beside his waistcoat. "Not exactly the way I'd wanna go out, but we're all different I suppose."
A small metal table on wheels sat below the pegs. A deep blue cloth was spread across it and Harleen could make out what appeared to be all manner of silver tools. Humming, the Joker turned over a few things, but stopped his perusal.
"C'mere Harley," he ordered quietly.
She crept to his side; careful to avoid the pleading eyes of her former attorney.
The light bounced and glittered off gleaming silver blades in every shape and size; wicked serrated edges yawned like shark teeth, demanding blood sacrifice in order to be appeased. Those sharp, single edged blades were just as cruel looking - and just as deadly.
The Joker swept his hands over the assortment. "What do you think, Harley?"
Mouth dry, heart pounding, Harleen knew he was going to force her to transform into the murderer she'd vowed to become before he took her from Arkham. If not tonight, soon. The thought had bile pooling at the back of her throat, but she swallowed it back.
"I don't like knives." She murmured.
He chuckled darkly. "I do - so you better get used to them." Picking up a large knife with a black grip and serrated blade, the Joker swished it through the air experimentally. "Knives are much better than guns in showing you who a person really is; down deep in their putrid little souls. Guns get the job done, no doubt about it, but its too quick."
"I like quick," Harleen whispered. "and clean."
The Joker's dark eyes lightened with an emotion Harleen almost thought was affection. "I'll get you a gun if you prefer, but you're still gonna learn about knives. You're such a girl," he smirked and ran his fingers through her hair lightly. "Now go stand by the door and observe."
She had only taken two steps when he cleared his throat.
Turning, she found he'd pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and had the wicked looking knife firmly in hand. "Try not to vomit - I hate the smell of vomit. You'll distract me and I won't be able to savor all of Earl's pathetic little emotions." He grinned and tapped the blade against his palm. "What else? Oh yes, no talking, no pleading for mercy on Earl's behalf, and no leaving the room until I'm finished."
Harleen nodded and did exactly as the Joker asked. She pressed her back to the wall beside the door and realized she had an excellent view, much to her distress. Harleen hadn't cared for Earl Finley, but she certainly didn't want to murder the man.
"You may, however, feel free to scream, cry, and cover your eyes from time to time." The Joker concluded as he fairly skipped over to the terrified, bound lawyer. "So Earl, here we are all alone together - except for Harley, but don't pay any attention to her. She's here to learn a few things this evening and we're going to start her, uh, education."
Ripping out Earl's gag, the Joker leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the other man's numb lips. "Isn't that what you wanted?" The Joker asked. "I'm afraid I can't give you anything more. Alas, I adore the feminine gender far too much for my own good." He shoved the gag back into Earl's mouth and tapped him on the head with the flat of the blade. "Shall we begin?"
Earl began to scream and the Joker frowned; his nose twitching in disgust. "You just crapped your britches didn't you?" He sighed as he jammed the knife expertly into the thinner man's forearm. "This is going to be a very long night."
Harleen closed her eyes as Earl wailed behind the gag.
----------
- A/N - Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so thrilled you took the time to respond and that reading the story has brought you pleasure. After the next chapter, things will really start to get rolling! Please review and let me know what you think! Oh, I received a PM asking me who the visual inspiration for this Harley Quinn was and I have to confess she was no one famous. I was in Boston last September and noticed this Goth/Punked out girl and I just thought, Holy Cow! Nolanverse Harley Quinn!!! I promise you Harley will not end up looking like a Goth. Again, thank you all!