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"Commissioner! Commissioner, we have a problem!"
Lowell Amberton and his wife, Molly, had been riding Gotham City Police Commissioner Jim Gordon's ass for endless hours now. Demanding to know exactly what progress had been made on the kidnapping of their five year old son, Preston. Molly Amberton, a woman of extraordinary poise at the youthful age of thirty-two, had turned into a vengeful shrew; threatening Gordon with the FBI, the Mayor, and the wrath of several United States senators when it became clear there was no progress to be made.
Preston Amberton's nanny had been clobbered over the head in the Amberton penthouse and Preston was quite simply - gone. Like a puff of smoke. The building security cameras and private guards caught nothing. Nada.
The Gotham City Police Department was shit out of luck.
Jim Gordon sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair. "What the hell else can go wrong? Okay, Sampson, fill me in." The sight of Lowell Amberton supporting his weeping young wife was enough to sicken the new Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department.
Lowell Amberton had, months earlier, directly engaged the Joker at Harvey Dent's fundraiser. 'You remind me of my father,' The Joker stated with a grimace before a blade was instantly pressed against the middle-aged billionaire's mouth. 'I hated my father!' Only Rachel Dawes intervention had saved Lowell from certain death or disfigurement.
Gordon had considered the Joker a prime suspect, for all of ten minutes. There was no way the crazed clown could have ordered such a meticulously orchestrated kidnapping from the high security wing at Arkham.
"The Joker broke out of Arkham earlier tonight. Took fifteen guards with him, Thomas Thurmond, and..." Jill Sampson froze for a moment, biting her bottom lip.
"What else?" Gordon prodded.
Detective Sampson frowned. "Harleen Quinzel was kidnapped and Earl Finley has gone missing as well."
Horror flooded Jim Gordon. "Goddamnit!" His phone rang and he answered with an uncharacteristic snarl. "What?"
Detective Gerard Stephens cleared his throat. "You okay?"
Gordon drew in a deep breath, calming himself, before daring to speak. "Not really, but I'll deal with it later. What have you got for me?"
"I have Preston Amberton."
Jim Gordon blinked. "Sorry... you what?"
Gerry Stephens was deathly serious. "Preston Amberton was left on the steps of City Hall about ten minutes ago. I have him here at the Main Precinct, safe and sound."
"Thank god," Jim breathed.
Gerry cleared his throat. "You may want to get down here pronto and see the kid for yourself before we release him to the Ambertons."
A creeping sense of dread filled Jim's chest until he could barely breathe. "Was the boy hurt?"
"No," Gerry's voice held a note of reluctance. "We've called in a doctor from Mercy Hospital and she hasn't found a mark on the kid so far. Just come and see for yourself - I think someone is trying to leave a message for us."
Jim frowned. "I'm on the way. Sit tight and make damn sure not a word of this gets leaked to the press."
"Will do."
Turning, Jim sized up the young woman standing beside him. Jill Sampson was everything Ramirez and Wuertz hadn't been - honest. Dark skinned, with large, penetrating eyes, and a beautiful smile, Jill had worked her way up from a patrol officer in the Narrows to the Vice squad to the GCPD gang unit and finally, the Major Case squad. For a man who had his trust broken so badly, and Jim was still smarting from the betrayals he'd suffered during the Joker incident, he was willing to trust this woman. They had known each other for twelve years and Jim had her thoroughly investigated by IA before moving her into Ramirez's spot.
"Jill," he called her over quietly. "I need you to handle a matter of the utmost urgency and sensitivity."
She nodded. "Of course, what is it, Commissioner?"
He drew her away from the other officers and the Ambertons into Lowell's private library; shutting the door firmly behind him. "I need you to get to Sharon Kennison and have her get a court order for Harleen Quinzel's medical records from Arkham. Supposedly, Dr. Thurmond was going to send those records to Earl Finley, but with Finley gone I have no idea if that happened. I also need you to go down the GCPD records warehouse and obtain every record pertaining to Harleen Quinzel as well as the evidence archives." Jim frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want everything on Quinzel and I want it at my office asap. Once you've finished with Harleen Quinzel, I want you to visit IA and have Detective Joseph Quinzel's jacket pulled and brought to my office as well."
Jill looked floored. "May I ask why, sir? The Quinzel murders were solved eleven years ago."
"No they weren't," he replied. "If the Joker took Harleen Quinzel, it may be to use her against me, but I have a feeling there's more to it. The Joker never seemed to give a fig about revenge per say - he likes to create chaos. I won't let him use a young woman who's already been abused and neglected long enough."
"I'll get right on it."
"Harleen, I want you to remember I'm coming back for you." Jim kept his voice steady, his tone patient and warm. "I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, sweetheart. Ms. Kennison, Earl, and I are going to get you the hell out of here."
Jim took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Oh Harleen, I'm so sorry, honey." He remembered the way she had started to cry, but quietly. "I'll get you back if its the last thing I ever do."
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The Joker stared down at the slumbering figure of Harleen Quinzel with a puzzled expression. She was curled up in a fetal position beneath his comforter - sucking her thumb, forefinger rubbing back and forth across her nose. She looked like a little girl to him; all innocence and sweetness.
He sat on the edge of the bed watching her with all the intensity of a hawk studying a sparrow.
Harley Quinn had passed his first test by the skin of her teeth.
The Joker had just started carving into Earl when she had collapsed to her knees, hands slapped over her eyes. He had taken his sweet time with the wailing, struggling lawyer, but his pleasure had been severely compromised by Harley's reaction. Instead of savoring Earl's last breaths, some three hours after he'd begun, the Joker found himself keen to simply finish up.
Harley had returned to a standing position, eyes peeled, when he'd roughly demanded she do so, but her expression had turned strangely dreamy - the Joker had known her mind had skipped out at that point. The realization had ruined the rest of the evening for him and he finished Earl off quickly.
'Let's put a smile on that face, grumpy,' he fairly sang to the nearly eviscerated man. 'You're too serious for your own good!'
The Joker had sliced Earl's face into a grin that made his own scars look like beauty marks.
Harley hadn't said a word while he cleaned the blood off his knife and scrubbed his hands until they were nearly raw. It wasn't until he led her from the room that his little Harley Quinn found her voice. 'Did you kill him because he was gay?'
The Joker remembered laughing hysterically at her naiveté. 'No, no! I could care less about my associates sexual preferences. Had nothing to do with what I did back there. Earl had to go because he was weak... pathetic. He followed my instructions well enough I suppose, but he didn't have a handle on his emotions. See,' he tried his best to explain. 'Earl was a squealer - and a rat can never be trusted.'
She had frowned, a charming furrow forming in the center of her brow. 'How do you know he was a rat?'
'I just know,' he'd replied as he guided her to the bedroom. 'Let's say I have a sixth sense for the squealers.'
He'd tucked Harley into bed like she was a sleepy toddler instead of a full grown woman before pulling a pillow off the bed. The Joker had made due with the floor, he'd slept on far more uncomfortable surfaces, and caught a few hours of shut eye. He didn't need an alarm clock - never had - instead relying on his internal alarm to get him up.
Drawing back the comforter, the Joker smacked his lips before dropping the blanket back into place.
She was still wearing the same dingy Arkham scrubs she had on yesterday. He would have to do something about her clothes - he appreciated nice things, including clothes, despite his reputation for the opposite. He just didn't believe in spending money on the frivolities most of the sheep in Gotham yearned and schemed to possess.
The Joker was a man of simple tastes - he liked gasoline, gun powder, dynamite, and knives. Best of all, every one of those items were fairly cheap. That being said, he did spend when a purpose was being served.
He had a comfortable hide out in the depths of the most broken down, ruined area in all of Gotham; it wasn't a grand estate like those mob fools, Falcone, Gambol, and Maroni, owned. But his men seemed happy and the Joker didn't find himself sleeping in a trash heap teeming with vermin. He owned custom suits, granted the twelve suits in his closet were identical down to the last stitch, but the Joker enjoyed the way they fit him and his image was intimately connected to the outfit - a purpose served.
The Joker wasn't going to have Harley looking like the Arkham escapee she was in his presence.
"We're going to visit the tailor," he chuckled lowly. "once you've gained a little weight."
Standing, he left Harley slumbering and eased out into the warehouse. Billy was seated on the couch, diligently punching keys on his lap top. The younger man didn't bother looking up as the Joker approached him; most men wouldn't have heard the Joker at all, but Billy wasn't most men.
"Morning boss," Billy drawled. "What can I do you for?"
The Joker paced in front of the couch. "I need you to go out and pick up some clothes for Harley."
Billy continued typing. "Okay. Did she have any special requests?"
"She's still sleeping," The Joker replied. "What do young women wear day to day? Jeans and some shirts. Underclothes, socks, sneakers... and some smelly soaps that girls love so much."
A grin split Billy's face. "How the hell am I supposed to know what size she is?"
Most men who sassed the Joker in such a manner would have been bleeding to death at this point. The Joker liked Billy, so he merely ignored the other man's wise ass retort. "Guess, just bring Harley back something to wear. Now get out of my sight."
Billy wisely scrammed.
The Joker flopped onto the couch and cracked his neck before settling back; staring at the ceiling. He smiled slightly at the thought of breaking Commissioner Gordon at the same moment he broke little Harley like the precious china doll she was. 'Two birds with one stone.'
At first, he'd had no intention of keeping Harley longer than a few weeks - just long enough to drive Gordon completely nuts. The Joker's master plan had involved a long walk and a short drop for the poor little dove, but she was strong. Much stronger than he'd given her credit for and he was intrigued. She was the first person to ever trust him implicitly with a blade in his hand; the first to not stare at his scars while speaking to him.
Harley looked him in the eye and he respected her for it.
He knew she'd been horrified by his Joker persona, with the make-up and costume, but Harley still spoke to him as though he were normal and not a freak.
The Joker hated being treated like a leper. He despised the weakness of his fellow humans once they got an eyeful of his ever-so-handsome mug. The reaction was always the same; horror, disgust, and panic. No one could stomach the sight of him for long - not his grandmother, not his foster parents, not the social workers, not his fellow criminals, not even the whores he'd paid to bed down with him.
Harley was worth keeping around.
"Mr. Joker?" The soft, tentative female voice sent a shiver of anticipation straight up the Joker's spine.
"Speak of the devil," he drawled before glancing at the opposite end of the couch. "Sleep well?"
Harley nodded. "Yes."
The Joker patted the seat beside him. "Take a load off, kiddo, I need to check your wound. Can't have infection wiping you out - that wouldn't be fun at all!" He had applied a strong antiseptic gel to the diamond shaped wound around her eye and bandaged her up the night she'd arrived.
She perched gingerly on the edge of the cushion; careful to not touch him. "Do I have to wear the bandage much longer?"
He eased the medical tape off and peeled back the gauze slowly. The wound was a deep, angry red still weeping pale, rusty fluid, but crusting over nicely in some spots. Smacking his lips together, he grinned at her. "Harley, girl, I think we can lay off the gauze for the time being. A little fresh air and some proper nutrition should start healing you up nicely."
"Good," she murmured.
Awkward silence stretched out between them.
The Joker stood and made his way into the kitchen. "So time for breakfast, toots. What'll it be?"
"Captain Crunch."
He chuckled as he reached into a lower cabinet and pulled out a cereal box. "TA-DA!" The Joker leaned toward her with a genuine smile, one reflected in the depths of his dark eyes. "I told you I had a few tricks up my sleeve. Billy-boy loves this crap too so enjoy. I'm having a real breakfast - eggs, toast, and bacon."
"You can cook?" Harley asked in astonishment as she nabbed the cereal box.
The Joker laughed. "Course I can, ding-dong. Who'd you think fed me all these years? Mom always said, ya gotta look out for yourself because no one else in this world gives a rat's ass about you."
"What happened to her?" Harley asked before stuffing a handful of cereal into her mouth straight from the box.
Such an impertinent question might have drawn his full ire if asked by anyone else, but the Joker couldn't muster even an ounce of anger toward her. Harley was sincere in her inquiry and he recognized the all too rare quality.
He looked up from the frying pan and shook his head. "She died. End. Of. Story." The harshness of his voice clearly expressed his desire to drop the subject. Sadness leached into him at the memory of long golden hair shining in the summer sun and the scent of mimosas...
'Jack! Stay out of the rose bed, sweetheart!'
The Joker shook his head, but the memory of his mother's laughter and the smell of her perfume still lingered.
"I'm sorry," Harley laid one tiny hand on top of his; her skin was cool and dry, but strangely comforting. "I shouldn't have asked."
His lips quirked as he looked at her. "So don't do it again." The Joker advised in a stern voice as he slid his hand free of her grasp. Something about her mouth caught his attention and he chuckled before flicking his index finger across her upper lip. "You had a few crumbs..."
Harley backed away from him in an instant, stuffing her face with Captain Crunch. "Yeah?" She mumbled, mouth full. "There's more where those came from."
The Joker laughed almost uncontrollably.
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The pair sat eating in companionable silence across the table from one another.
Harley devoured the entire box of Captain Crunch, much to the Joker's amusement - though he made a mental note to hide Billy's gun upon his return - before starting in on the bowl of grapes he'd brought to the table earlier. Any worries about her appetite had fled from his mind as she continued to eat. With any luck, he'd be able to bring her to the tailor in a month.
"Hey," he managed to get her attention. "I have a present for you."
Charming little lines formed in the center of Harley's forehead. "Oh? What kind of present?"
The Joker shrugged. "Just a little something from Arkham I thought you'd enjoy. I'll show it to you tonight."
Before she could ask the question her mouth was opening to pose; the main doors to the warehouse slid open with a slight groan. Billy entered with two of the Joker's more senior men - all of them loaded down with shopping bags. He noted with growing glee that all three wore expressions of discontent ranging from minor to - in Billy's case - extreme. In fact, Billy seemed very put out as he dumped his bags on the couch.
"You owe me three hundred bucks!" Billy shouted. "Hope it all fits 'cause I'm not bringing anything back."
The Joker smirked as he made his way over to his henchman. "Oh stop being such a whiny pants!" Leaning close to Billy, he licked his scars. "If you can't control yourself, William, I'll gut you like a fish."
The others backed away murmuring amongst themselves.
Billy's eyes were bright with anger, but he nodded with obvious respect.
Another of the Joker's men, Pavel, entered with three enormous rottweilers on leashes. The animals were wagging their stumpy tails and whining as they pulled their muscular handler toward the Joker as though the brawny Russian were nothing more than a feather.
"Ha!" The Joker cried as he knelt with his arms spread wide. "Children! How I've missed my boys!" He'd admired the Chechen's magnificent pooches the moment he'd laid eyes on the half-starved purebreds. He respected animals, something which surprised most people, and the Joker prized dogs over any other animal.
Dogs were loyal - they had nothing to prove - wanted nothing but to be loved and fed.
Perhaps the Joker didn't understand the concept of love... exactly. He did however comprehend loyalty along with the desire to eat; he abhorred the idea of starving any living creature. The Joker had killed his share of people, but he'd killed them quick enough. Even Earl had died faster than those in Sudan or one of the many hell holes around the world where people starved to death every day.
Rubbing ears and bellies, the Joker felt himself relax. A wet, slobbering tongue traced a molten path down the side of his neck. Giggling at the sensation, he felt a distinct tickle at the memory of the same tongue licking up the Chechen's spilled blood as the other two dogs tore chunks of flesh from the former mobster's dead body. He'd had the Chechen killed as much for half-starving his dogs as for daring to call the Joker a freak in front of the other men.
Allowing disrespect bred contempt among the those who lacked the balls to take the reigns of power on their own.
"Pavel," The Joker began cheerfully. "Have you fed my boys?"
"I feed dogs steak like you say." Pavel ground out in badly accented English.
"Good." The Joker stood and crooked a finger at Harley. "C'mon over, Harls. I want you to meet my sweet little boys."
Harley wandered over still munching grapes. She didn't voice her unease, but the Joker could see her every emotion; she was cursed with a very expressive face and he had a certain expertise at reading people. "You have dogs? I didn't see you as the type to have puppies, Mister J."
The Joker leaned towards her; sucking at the scars gracing the interior of his cheeks. "I'm full of surprises, sweetheart. Harley meet my boys - Boris, Ivan, and Vadim. Boys meet your new mommy, Miss Harley Quinn." He pointed at each dog in turn. "No biting Harley or I'll turn you into a fur hat. Harley, no biting the boys or I'll slice your pretty little lips off."
"What about you?" Harley asked archly.
"Me?" The Joker, wanting to laugh, managed to keep an innocent - offended even - tone of voice. "You think I would actually bite someone?"
"Yes."
"How rude!" He replied mischievously. "I only bite when I'm asked."
Harley's eyebrows rose.
"She doesn't believe you - show's she's smart!" Billy called out as he searched the kitchen cabinets. "Hey who ate my effing Captain Crunch!"
The Joker pulled out the pistol he kept in his pocket and fired it at the ceiling.
Everyone froze and the rottweilers surrounded the Joker, growling low in their throats at the others present.
"Anyone who opens their trap gets a bullet. Questions?"
No one said a word.
The Joker nodded and waved the gun around absently. "Good! Harley, go try on your new duds while I visit with my boys. Billy, I want you to keep on that little project we spoke about earlier."
Harley finished the rest of her grapes before gathering the bags of clothing and toiletries and heading into his bedroom. He waited until she shut the door before looking Billy's way. "How is the good Doctor Thurmond holding up?" The Joker gently massaged the back of Ivan's ear before a wet muzzle was thrust into his other palm; Boris was a tricky fellow and very demanding. He gave Boris the same treatment.
Vadim had the quietest personality out of the three dogs and was perfectly content to curl up and snooze on the Joker's couch; which is exactly what he did.
Billy looked up from the bacon he was frying. "Well, boss, not so good. Thurmond looks like he's already dead. Won't eat, won't drink. Just kind of lays there and sleeps."
"Too bad," The Joker murmured. "I suppose he's preparing himself for the inevitable, but Harley won't have very much fun if Thurmond's all compliant."
Billy chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully. "You're gonna make her kill that chicken shit?"
"I'm not gonna make sweet Harley do anything she doesn't want to do." The Joker answered with a giggle. "Trust me, Billy-boy, Harley wants to kill the man who held power over her all those years. She'll find it to be, uh, liberating. Did you manage to clean out the GCPD storage facility of the Quinzel evidence?"
Billy nodded. "The guys are on their way back with everything. Why so interested in a crime that happened eleven years ago?"
"I have a feeling Harleykins didn't kill anyone in that house." The Joker's dark eyes grew hollow and cold. "I'll be cleaning up Earl's mess - make sure you come get me when the evidence arrives. I don't want Harley catching wind of my little, ah, investigation."
Billy murmured his assent and watched his boss disappear into his work room. The door slammed loud enough a couple of the guys jumped, but Billy just kept eating. He'd been working for the Joker so long it took a lot to rattle him.
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Preston Amberton's small face was painted in an exact replica of the Joker's visage.
Jim Gordon frowned for a moment and turned to the young doctor standing beside him. "Thanks for coming, Dr. Jimenez. You didn't find anything wrong with Preston?"
The dark-haired young woman shook her head. "No sir. There are no bruises or contusions of any kind - not even a paper cut. I couldn't find any evidence of dehydration either. All in all, Preston is in great shape, but I do suggest the Amberton's take him to see the family pediatrician just to be safe."
Stephens showed the doctor from Gordon's office and packed her off with a patrol officer back to Mercy Hospital.
Jim was squatting in front of Preston and smiling at the boy. "Who painted your face like that, son?"
Preston smiled brightly. "Mister J!"
"Mister J?" Jim echoed before realization widened his blue eyes. "Is Mister J the Joker?"
"I guess." Preston shrugged his small shoulders. "Someone else called him that."
Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Can you tell me who else was there besides Mister J?"
Preston began counting silently on his chubby fingers. "Nine people I saw, but only two stayed in the room with us."
"And can you describe the two?" Jim cajoled.
"One was a guy with sorta brown, short hair." Preston squinted in concentration. "The other one was a crazy lady who didn't like her ice cream."
Jim's heart soared and he fought to keep his voice steady. "Oh? Was she wearing a strange mask?"
"Nah, she had a boo-boo on her eye though," Preston said sadly. "She was wearing a really big band-aid on it."
No mask... the idea of Harleen being hurt made Jim want to scream, to break something. It took every ounce of his much touted self-control not to begin ripping apart his own office. "Did she say anything?"
"She talked about a doll and her sister. I didn't hear her say anything else."
Jim nodded. "Okay, Preston, I'm going to send you home to your parents with Detective Stephens." He motioned to a young patrol officer and smiled. "Parker, can you get young Preston here cleaned up while I'm talking to Detective Stephens?"
Parker grinned and laid one hand on the little boy's head. "Sure can, Commissioner."
Gordon waited until the boy was gone from the room. "I don't want you to mention anything about the Joker's little face painting episode to Molly Amberton - she's already long gone off the deep end with worry. Pull aside Lowell and let him know; tell him this may be an auspicious time to take the family on an overseas vacation."
Gerry Stephens frowned. "You think the Joker wants revenge on Amberton?"
"No," Jim clarified. "I think the Joker is going to pull off something big and I don't want this kid in the crossfire." Jim's mobile trilled with a familiar ring tone. "What have you got, Sampson?"
"The Quinzel evidence is gone. The property clerks can't find it, Commissioner."
Jim Gordon's fingers tightened on the small mobile, but he kept his rapidly dwindling composure. "Get to the DA and get to Internal Affairs before Joe Quinzel's file turns up missing as well."
Sampson's voice was troubled. "Will do."
Gordon sighed and shook his head. "I need to get a hold of Mayor Garcia and Detective Carver up at Arkham and sort out that godforsaken mess. Can you get back down here after dealing with the Ambertons?"
"Yeah, I'll get my ass back here on the double." Stephens paused. "I sure as hell wish we had the Batman here now."
"You and me both," Jim Gordon breathed. "I think we're on our own here."
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The clothes Billy had bought were a little baggy, but Harleen was grateful for them anyway.
She had showered in the Joker's private bathroom before pulling on a pair of jeans, tee shirt, and a black hoodie. The second set of sneakers Billy had picked up fit her perfectly and Harleen enjoyed the feel of having a real pair of shoes on for the first time in years.
Pushing her damp hair back, Harleen leaned toward the bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. A giant reddish-purple diamond shaped scar now marred the pale, otherwise flawless, skin of her face. She didn't touch the still stinging wound - her fingers hovering in the air over the sore lesion.
'My scar is a beauty mark compared with his.' Another thought occurred to Harleen which nearly took her breath away. 'This little diamond is rather... pretty.'
She giggled. "I can't say the Joker's never given me anything."
Logically, Harleen was well aware she should be terrified by him. The Joker was a criminal, a terrorist, a maniac of the first order, but she had seen something in his eyes which fascinated her. In those deep brown, almost obsidian depths, Harleen witnessed kindness and a wry sense of humor. She'd also seen rage and hatred staring out at her, yet it was the softer emotions she dwelled on.
Those eyes of his betrayed the fact despite his relative youth, Harleen guessed he was only two to three years her senior, he had seen more than most people ever would. Those eyes could make him look decades older when he was tired... the thought depressed her.
She pitied him because in some ways he was just like her - only far more violent.
A sharp rap on the door ended her rumination.
"Oh Harley Quinn," The Joker sing-songed. "Are you decent?"
She crossed the bedroom and opened the door.
The Joker was wearing his purple suit coat once more and grinning deliriously down at her. "A huge improvement, darling! Still not exactly fashionable, but far better than Arkham chic. Speaking of Arkham, look what your Uncle Joker brought with us from that rat hole." Seizing her, he pulled Harleen out into the main room. A familiar man was kneeling on the floor, gagged and bound like a trussed up turkey. "TA-DA!"
Harleen's heart sank like a stone.
Doctor Thomas Thurmond was staring up at her with unconcealed hatred in his eyes.
"What is this?" Harleen muttered. "Where is everybody?"
The Joker laid his arm heavily across her shoulders. "I sent the guys out to patrol the grounds and on errands. See, I didn't want you suffering from, ah, performance anx-ie-ty." He pulled something out of his pocket and waved it in front of her face. "I even went out and bought you a little present."
A small silver gun was pressed into her hands.
"I know you said you liked quick and clean." He smacked his lips. "Its automatic, so point and shoot. Shall I demonstrate?"
"No," Harleen shoved the weapon down her shirt and tucked it into her loose fitting bra. "Why is he here?"
The Joker was eyeballing the prominent bulge between her small breasts. "You don't play fair, Harley. Okay, so I thought it was time for you to prove yourself to me by passing a little test." He giggled sickly. "No written exam, I promise. Anyway, I want you to kill the man who forced me to slice up that pretty face of yours."
Harleen felt the blood draining from her head. "Dr. Thurmond didn't have anything to do with my face… "
"He didn't?" The Joker questioned in a deep voice; his expression was one of confusion. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't he force you to wear that mask in the first place?"
She could feel her heart begin to pound. "Yes, but..."
He tilted his head slightly as he studied her closely. "Wasn't the mask retaliation because you attacked three guards? Men who tried to rape you, Harley. Dr. Thurmond here allowed you to almost be raped by the scum Arkham employed and then he punished you for it. You're not just a little bit angry?"
Rage, thick and red, clouded Harleen's vision as the memories crowded in on her.
Hands pulling at her scrubs, pinching her breasts cruelly, grabbing at her crotch; the humiliation of the guards laughter as they began to rip the scrubs right off her body. Filthy names being whispered in her ears as one of them forced his hot, slimy tongue into her mouth.
Harleen took a deep breath, but calm eluded her.
'Slut, you come back here, girl! I'll kill you just like I killed your whore mother!' Harleen remembered running, slipping on her brothers blood as she ascended the stairs. Pain blossoming from the punch which her attacker had landed to her right cheek. The evil, deep cackling laughter from downstairs was getting closer. 'You think you're going to get away? The only place you're gonna go is the graveyard bitch!' The voice was distorted, but familiar, so sickeningly familiar...
"Untie him." Harleen was almost panting now. "I can't kill somebody who's tied up."
The Joker arched a brow. "Why not?"
Harleen stared at him. "It isn't fair."
"My lady's wish is my command," The Joker stated as he whipped a stiletto from his pocket. He moved gracefully across the room and in seconds Dr. Thurmond's bonds were on the floor along with his gag. "So how are you going to proceed."
She moved forward stiffly. "I'm going to kill you Doctor, but I don't want to be unfair about it." Harleen tilted her head slightly as she studied him. "So if you make it out the door, I'll have to let you go. I would suggest you run and find a weapon if you can because I don't intend to lose."
Thurmond stood on shaky legs. "Harleen, you're sick, you need help..."
"One." Harleen announced tonelessly.
The Joker smirked.
"You don't have to do this," Thurmond pleaded, his eyes already looking for a weapon.
"Two."
The Joker sat down on his couch and began to clap. "A game! I love games!"
Harleen took a step forward. "Three."
Thurmond fell backward on his skinny ass, but was up in a second flat running for the door.
Harleen stared over at the Joker for a moment.
"Are you just gonna stand there or what?" He groused. "Boring."
To his surprise, Harleen smiled broadly at him and winked before strolling after the tripping, panicked Doctor. She passed by the kitchen and noticed a claw hammer and a handful of nails sitting on a counter along with a few blocks of wood.
Stopping, Harleen picked up the hammer and tossed it experimentally from hand to hand; never breaking stride. "Hmm..."
Thurmond had his hand on the warehouse door when a whistle stopped him cold. It wasn't a cat call, although the sound was distinctly playful. Fearfully, he turned to find Harleen inches away from him, a hammer raised above her head.
Those blue eyes that had begged him for mercy the first few years she spent in Arkham had gone deathly cold - the pupils so dilated Harleen's eyes looked almost black. A wide smile stretched her once pretty face into a skeletal mockery of a practiced beauty pageant contestant; so contrived was her expression.
"Aw, Dr. Thurmond, you look worried," she leaned forward a little and giggled; the sound froze the blood in his veins. "You really ought to smile more. Mister J doesn't like a long face and guess what?"
Thurmond swallowed; feeling his life ebbing away. "What?" He could see the Joker sitting quietly on the couch, his black eyes riveted to the show Harleen was putting on.
"Neither do I."
A scream tore from Thurmond's throat as the claw side of the hammer crashed into his skull.
The last thing Thomas Thurmond heard was the sickening crunch of bone, Harleen's high pitched laughter ringing like church bells, and the slap of the Joker's hands as he applauded from his couch.
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A/N - Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and also to all those who have been reading! The next few chapters are going to introduce a little anarchy into Gotham, as well as the Joker's life! Oh, in a PM someone asked if the Joker's relationship with Harley is going to turn abusive. Well, the Nolanverse Joker and the DC comicverse Joker are a little different, as are my Harley and the comicverse Harley. So, in a word, not really. Ledger's Joker was evil, no doubt, but nothing in the Dark Knight or the novel version of the movie makes me think he would be physically abusive or sexually abusive to a woman. That being said, Nolanverse Joker is dark, so is my Harley, so their relationship isn't going to be hearts and flowers. Please read and review! I love hearing your comments.