Disclaimer: DC comics owns everything.
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Vomit - he hated the smell of puke!
He'd barely managed to pull the limp, still giggling, blood-soaked young woman into his bathroom and maneuver her head over the toilet before she'd become a human geyser. The Joker only wished she was spewing water like Old Faithful - he would have vastly preferred it.
The Joker watched dispassionately, his nose wrinkled, as Harley clutched the toilet and retched violently. "Why are you so upset? You did a good job, kiddo, no need to feel something as senseless as remorse for killing that loser."
After a long while, Harley grew still as her body stopped heaving. She finally turned her face up toward him exposing a blood smeared and tear stained visage which struck a nerve in him. The diamond shaped scar over her eye only added to the unsettling feeling of familiarity. He had the horrible feeling he was looking at a more innocent, female version of himself.
"I'm a murderer."
"So what?" The Joker asked merrily. "I am too and you don't see me getting all weepy about it."
Harley shook her head. "I don't want to be a murderer."
He sighed. "We can't fight our true natures, Harls. Besides, you're very good at it - hell, I was highly entertained and not much tickles me."
"I beat a man to death with a hammer." Her pretty face crumpled. "I don't even understand why I did it."
The Joker calmly flushed the toilet, pushed her back, and threw down the toilet lid before sitting on it. "You know exactly why you killed Thurmond, darlin'. Must have made you real angry when those guards tried to have their, uh, way with you. I heard what you did to them - I bet they would be just as dead as the good doctor if reinforcements hadn't arrived to save their sorry asses." Reaching down, he stroked the unscarred side of Harley's face; his fingertips delighting in the softness of her flesh. "I heard you giggle like a little girl at Christmas while you wielded that hammer, don't try to tell me you didn't enjoy killing just a teensy bit."
"No."
He snorted derisively. "Aw, Christ! Back to the pathetic denials and one word vocabulary. Stop being so damn boring! If I wanted boring, I'd go back to Arkham and let the brainiacs try to cure me!" He pulled a face before pausing. "Although, I could let Crane have a go at trying to figure me out. Might be interesting to receive psychoanalysis from a certified loon!" Breaking into hysterics, the Joker slapped his leg.
"I'm going to burn in hell." The seriousness in Harley's brilliant eyes brought him plummeting back to earth.
The Joker's lips curled into a slight smile. "No you won't because there isn't any such place, pookey. When we die - we're worm food - there isn't anything else. No God, no Savior, no life beyond what you're experiencing through your own senses. I'm going to let you in on a big secret," he leaned forward, licking his scars. "there is no rhyme or reason for our existence. At. All. Period."
The expression of horror flickering across her face made him giggle. "Chaos and anarchy - now both of those are real. The great thing about chaos is how fair it is; we both have the same chance of being offed by some whacko while we're buying a cup of coffee. Now, they don't want you to see the truth about chaos and the freeing power of anarchy. They want to keep the truth about life a secret." The Joker frowned. "They want you to be a slave."
"Who are they?" She asked solemnly.
"Anyone who has power over the masses - lawyers, cops, doctors, priests, government officials, teachers." Hate twisted his features. "They have all these pitiful little rules and they believe the rules they create will save them, but they never see the truth."
Harley had crawled so close to the Joker, he could feel her body heat. "Tell me what the truth is."
"Rules are useless," he stated simply. "The only way to live - to really experience freedom - is to live without all the rules they try to ram down our throats. Be free, Harley, be like me and forget all the foolishness society has crammed between your ears all your life. I'll protect you, I'll save you from them."
To his shock, Harley closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his thigh. "Please don't be angry with me. I'm not like you want me to be, I know it. Don't send me away." Her soft murmur sent the heat of her breath skating across the top of his thigh; burning through the thick fabric of his trousers into his flesh. "I don't want to be alone anymore - I can't be. I-I'd rather die."
He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and released it slowly. Clearly, she had no idea what a vulnerable position she was putting herself into. The moment her breath had blistered his skin; a certain part of his anatomy, one which seldom was used for procreation purposes, roared to life with a dull, uncomfortable throb. He stared down at his groin with mounting disgust as his trousers tented in an obvious sign of arousal.
'Has it been so long? A near skeleton gets you all wound up!' The Joker questioned himself, balls aching. 'I need to find a whore before I lose my mind.'
"Harley, get a grip!" He ordered; his voice taking on a testy tone. "Like I said, you did a good job - so you get to stay." The last thing he needed was to slip and end up banging his new subordinate; despite the incredible temptation to do so.
She opened her eyes and the Joker found himself pinned in place by the startling need in those uncanny blue orbs. "Will you..." Harley's voice drifted off.
"Will I what?" The Joker asked quietly; damning himself as she looked straight at his erection, her eyes going wide. 'She might be innocent, but she knows what you've got stashed in your pants isn't a salami.' "Hey," he caught her attention and relaxed when her pink face tilted up to his. "Will I what?"
Harley swallowed. "Will you get me some more Captain Crunch? I'm hungry."
The Joker laughed. "Yeah, I'll get Billy-boy to run out for some. Now, lets clean you up and I'm gonna make you a mean omelet. You're gonna need to have a little variety in your diet, sugarlips."
----------
Three months... three months of nothing...
Commissioner Jim Gordon stood in front of the expansive windows of Sharon Kennison's office and frowned. "The Joker's left no clues, attempted no further crimes, he's apparently disappeared off the face of the earth."
Sharon Kennison was a lovely brunette in her mid-thirties; she carried herself with supreme confidence and despite her conservative choice of dress and deportment - won the heart of Gotham's working class. No case was too trivial for the new District Attorney to oversee and she kept an eye on all of the Assistant DA's under her. Like Harvey Dent, Kennison always had an eye out for corruption.
"Perhaps he's fled to another city," Sharon stated quietly. "New York is experiencing quite a rash of mysterious bank robberies."
"It's not about the money - the Joker likes sending a message." Jim replied. "Besides, he has Harleen and I don't think he would risk moving her so soon."
"Perhaps not," she agreed. "Have you considered the Joker has probably murdered Miss Quinzel? I can't fathom, nor can FBI profilers, why he would have taken Quinzel in the first place. I don't mean to sound callous or cruel, Jim, but I don't think your goddaughter has survived this long in the Joker's company."
Jim turned toward her. "I know Harleen is still alive, Sharon."
"How?"
"I feel it in my bones." He shrugged. "I can't explain it any better. I would know if Harleen had died."
Sharon's expression clouded. "I understand you've pulled Joseph Quinzel's jacket and you tried to pull the evidence from the Quinzel murder case. You wanted me to petition the courts to have all six of the Quinzels exhumed for DNA analysis, but you won't share why." She stood and joined him at the bank of windows overlooking the financial district of Gotham. "You and I have been in a stalemate over this for months. We're friends for crying out loud! I can't go to the courts and request a mass exhumation from an eleven year old case without a better explanation than your hunch Harleen is innocent."
Jim frowned and shook his head. "I don't want my suspicions leaking to the press - they'd have a field day."
"Christ!" Sharon swore angrily. "I'm your friend, Jim! Doesn't that count for anything?! You and I have broken what was left of the mob - can't you trust me at all?"
A muscle jumped in Jim's jaw. "Barbara can never find out. Not unless I know its true."
"What are you talking about?"
Jim Gordon suddenly looked very old and very tired - Sharon felt a pang of pity for the man. He turned his gaze out to the Gotham streets. "I believe Harleen is my daughter."
Sharon gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain?"
"Not without a DNA sample, but I'm fairly sure." He sighed. "I think I've always known. I was just hoping it wasn't true." Flashing a tired smile at the DA, Jim continued. "Part of me wanted Harleen to be mine so badly because if she was there was the tiniest crumb of hope Colleen would leave Joe for me."
"I'm sorry..."
"Don't be," he replied curtly. "This was all my own doing - I slept with Colleen and I chose to ignore the time period of Harleen's conception. You see, even though I loved Colleen with ever fiber of my being, I couldn't find it in me to tell Joe what I'd done. How do you betray your best friend and then waltz away with the woman he's loved his entire life? I just waited and hoped Colleen would leave him." Jim's face hardened for a moment before his expression softened. "That never happened - and then I met Barbara."
Sharon waited patiently as the man across from her to collect his thoughts.
"Barbara was everything I could ever hope for and I have a family now. I'm happy."
"But you still believe Harleen is your child?" Sharon prompted.
He nodded. "Harleen looks just like Colleen, but she has my eyes. The corruption in the Gotham Police Department and the District Attorney's office at the time of the murders tied my hands. I was just a lowly detective and I had no power to help her." A bitter laugh escaped his throat. "So the great Commissioner Gordon sat on his ass and watched his own daughter get locked up in the pit of hell because he didn't want to risk losing his job and his family trying to save her." Tears sparkled in his eyes as he regarded the woman across from him. "I'm one heroic sonofabitch, aren't I?"
Sharon swallowed tightly. "Jim, you couldn't have done anything to help Harleen without proof..."
"Bullshit!" Jim thundered. "You know why the Joker didn't choose me over Harvey Dent to torment? Because the Joker has some kind of sixth sense for people and he knew instinctively I wasn't a good man. Now this sicko freak has my daughter! How long before he twists her mind - if he hasn't already - past the point of no return?"
"What are you looking for with the exhumation?"
"DNA evidence from the bodies," he said quietly. "I want to run DNA tests on all of the Quinzels. If we can scrape up some DNA from Harleen's medical records at Arkham, I may be able to prove she didn't kill her family."
"I'll contact Judge Illington tonight."
A soft voice on the intercom interrupted the discussion. "Ms. Kennison, Mr. Wayne is here to see you."
She smiled. "Send him in, Laura."
Jim chuckled. "Bruce Wayne?"
"He's a friend," Sharon insisted while grinning. "We have a benefit to discuss which we are co-hosting."
"Lucky you! City politics are something I can do without."
Bruce Wayne strolled through the now open doors wearing a navy blue Hugo Boss suit with his short dark hair impeccably coiffed. The sunlight showed off his tan to perfection and glistened against his flawless, radiant white teeth. "Sharon, we're due at Milanos in half an hour. We really shouldn't be late or the paparazzi will be all over us." He glanced over at Jim and his smile darkened just a little. "Commissioner Gordon! Good to see you again. How is the search for that Joker fellow going?"
Jim Gordon had to restrain himself from laughing. "Still on the hunt, but I'm sure he'll turn up soon." Shaking Wayne's hand, he nodded to each of them in turn. "Thank you for your help, Sharon. Nice running into you again, Mr. Wayne."
Jim waited until he'd cleared Kennison's outer office before shaking his head in disgust. 'Why do otherwise intelligent women find that Wayne buffoon so charming?'
----------
Holding herself perfectly still, Harley gritted her teeth as rivulets of sweat soaked her hair.
She didn't refer to herself as Harleen Quinzel anymore - no, Harleen had died right along with Dr. Thurmond. Now she was simply Harley Quinn, just as the Joker saw fit to nickname her. The name suited her and Harley found since she'd killed Thurmond that the niggling memories from the night Harleen's family had been murdered were retreating farther and farther back into the blackest recesses of her mind; the nightmares had faded into barely recognized old movies she didn't care to replay.
Pushing, Harley lifted her leotard clad body straight up from the mat covered floor; toes pointed at the ceiling. She grunted slightly at the burning in her biceps and shoulders as she began to move forward on her hands - moving each one silently while balancing herself precariously.
She'd began walking on her hands when just after her fifth birthday and Harley had never dreamed being away from it for so long would make what had once been easy a trial by fire.
The Joker had bought her the gymnastics equipment she'd desperately wanted; mats, vault, balance beam, pommel horse, uneven bars, parallel bars, and a fine set of rings. One of the warehouses in the Joker's large complex held a gym full of all sorts of equipment for the men - from weights to treadmills to rowing machines and more. He had simply smirked at her request and the next day the empty side of the gym warehouse was chock full of every piece she had asked for.
Allowing herself to sit, Harley pushed back soaked strawberry blonde hair from her face. She drew in a deep breath and reveled in the feel of her flesh filling out; muscle growing and working properly where it had once atrophied from forced disuse.
She had to admit being surprised the first time she'd seen the Joker slip into the gym. He'd washed his face clean of his Joker makeup and was wearing plain gray sweatpants and a simple black tee shirt. Without so much as looking in her direction, he had started working out using the weights. He made no noise, aside from an occasional low grunt when he strained himself, and spent over three hours working out on various machines never once acknowledging her presence.
The only time he visited the gym was very early in the morning - when the small warehouse was either abandoned or only occupied by her.
Harley had discovered the Joker to be both thoughtful and quiet in most of his pursuits, but filled with a raw energy which, if not harnessed or expelled, caused him to display a frightening mania.
'And when the mania came - so did destruction.'
A loud clap broke her train of thought.
"Very good, Harley!" The Joker, dressed in his purple and green regalia, leaned against a nearby treadmill as he continued to clap. "You're getting stronger every time I come in here." Lifting one brow, he smiled brightly at her. "How about a little trip?"
She pushed herself to her feet. "Where?"
He looked her up and down with a jaundiced eye. "It's a surprise, but a nice one." Throwing his hands up into the air, he leaned toward her. "Something girly like."
Harley tried not to smile, but failed. "Fine be all mysterious."
The Joker liked it when she smiled and laughed; her sunny outlook drawing a slight, but genuine, grin from himself. "So get your sweet derriere in gear, puddin'. I'm busy, can't spend all day waiting around for you."
She nodded and ran past him; squeaking in shock as his palm landed with a sharp crack across the cheek of her ass. His resounding laughter filled the warehouse and echoed off the walls and filled her mind with the evidence of his all too rare delight.
An hour later, Harley found herself in the middle of a dusty shop filled with bolt after bolt of expensive, no doubt antique, fabrics. The shop itself was located in a squat, nondescript brick building on the edge of the Narrows and the all but abandoned section of the Joker's home territory in the most southern tip of Gotham. There was no sign above the boarded up windows to indicate the building was itself anything but a washed out hull.
The proprietor of the establishment was a wizened old man that topped five feet on his tip toes; he wore a black suit which looked as though it had been made sometime in the 1930s, but the fairly new sheen to the cloth spoke of it being a recent creation. The gentleman was in his mid to late eighties with a thick white mustache, bald head, and a perpetual squint.
"So what can you do for my little Harley Quinn?" The Joker lisped as he ran his gloved fingers over a bolt of purple satin.
"Vat vould you like?" The old man asked as he measured her with surprisingly quick precision.
Harley shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not so good with clothes."
"Vis ist obvious, liebling." He sighed. "Vat ist your favorite colors?"
The Joker turned to Harley with the purple satin and raised eyebrows.
She shook her head and the Joker dropped the bolt with a frown. Clearing her throat, Harley spoke quietly. "Black, red, and white are my favorite colors."
The Joker yawned and took a seat in the waiting area. "Make sure her style matches mine, Wolfgang. I don't want her looking like some sort of hooker or BDSM slave."
"Ja! I take care of everything." Wolfgang shooed Harley over to the waiting area. "I vill have one set ready for delivery in three days. How many outfits your girl need?"
"I want her to have at least two weeks worth of clothing." The Joker ran a critical eye over Harley. "Make sure at least three of the outfits are identical and the rest can be different. How soon will you be able to deliver the remaining goods?"
"A veek at most - my vife vill help me."
The Joker stood. "Excellent - full payment upon delivery, Wolfgang."
The old man nodded. "A pleasure as always, Mister Joker. I vill include three new shirts for you at no charge."
"You're too good to me."
"One must appreciate repeat customers."
The Joker snickered. "Isn't that the truth!"
Harley followed him out of the tailor's shop and to the anonymous black SUV the Joker was so fond of using. The three men in the front were silent as the Joker waited until Harley had slid into the vehicle before hopping in and slamming the door behind him.
"Where to boss?"
"Back home, boys. Did Billy make it back from the Yakuza's territory yet?" It was no secret that the Joker was having all rival gangs and criminal organizations monitored; his little jaunt in Arkham had given some other criminals the balls to try and take some of the Joker's hard fought-for territory.
Seeing as how he wanted to keep under the Gotham PD's radar for the time being - he allowed a few minor losses here and there. Still, he monitored all of his enemies with startling precision. It wasn't about the money, Harley had quickly learned, but waking the world up from its mass stupor. The Joker just wasn't ready to send any messages at the moment.
"Yeah," Sanchez mumbled. "Not too happy about what he saw. Said those Japanese mobsters are sneaky bastards."
Harley still couldn't picture Sanchez, the former guard at Arkham, as one of the Joker's henchmen. "Hmm," The Joker relaxed against the back seat, turning his head toward the passing buildings. "Apparently I'll have to flex a little muscle soon. Pity, I was waiting to hear something about the Bat-man."
"Why?" Harley asked.
The Joker shot a dark look in her direction. "Well, snookums, announcing my return without the Bat-man being present would be, ah, dull." He pointed out the window at the rows of crumbling, empty buildings they were flying past. "I'm going to reduce all of Gotham to this and after Gotham - the world. However, I like a little fight, and I'm certainly not going to get a good one from the Gotham Police."
"Commissioner Gordon won't stand for it." Harley pointed out softly.
Screeching laughter escaped the Joker's throat. "Oh Harley!" Gasping for air, he leaned his head against her shoulder. "Gordon is gonna be a little too tied up with you to notice squat!"
The blood drained from Harley's face and she felt ill. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about how my little Harley Quinn is going to start earning her keep like everyone else around here." Grinning, the Joker loomed over her and shoved Harley back into the hard seat. "We're gonna have loads of fun being naughty, my little bunny."
"Naughty?" Harley's thoughts returned to the night in the Joker's bathroom, after killing Thurmond, and the sight of him aroused only inches from her lips. The memory made her blush a deep red before turning her face away from his.
Harley hadn't ever had a boyfriend in school, too many activities to juggle. Swimming and gymnastics - among others. She hadn't even kissed a boy before that disgusting guard in Arkham had shoved his tongue down her throat...
She was becoming more and more aware now that she wasn't a girl anymore. Harley's body, now well nourished and exercised, was that of a twenty-seven year old woman and the woman's body was beginning to have urges that set her nerves on edge. Harley had dreams at night of committing acts and being touched in a way which had her waking up in a cold sweat more than once.
He hadn't attempted to touch her in an inappropriate manner, or even make crude suggestions, in the three months they had shared a bedroom. In fact, he'd moved a cot into the room and against a far wall where he slept every night. She almost wanted him to try something - just so she could get the thought of it out of her mind. Instead, he was the consummate gentleman.
Occasionally, his dark eyes lingered on her a fraction of a second too long. From time to time, the Joker would find some excuse to touch her hand, but for the most part he seemed to have no interest in her at all other than a cohort in training.
A part of her found his lack of desire profoundly distressing - the other part of Harley was disgusted by the fact she wanted him. The Joker was a criminal mastermind, a man who could kill at the drop of a hat. Yet, she still felt a thrill of yearning when she was in his presence.
Harley stared up at him boldly.
"Very naughty," The Joker muttered against her ear. She shuddered as his warm breath burned against her delicate flesh. "Now relax, Harls."
Harley could hardly relax while she felt like her body was on fire, but she managed a fine imitation for his benefit.
----------
"So, will I be sharing you all night with your mobile?" Bruce Wayne inquired.
Sharon felt her face begin to burn as she shoved her cell into the small clutch she'd brought along. "Sorry, I've been trying to get a hold of Judge Illington."
Bruce nodded. "Any particular reason? Something juicy perhaps?"
She laughed and savored the sight of Bruce's lips bowing upward; he didn't smile or laugh the way he had before Rachel and Harvey both died. She'd known Wayne a few years, through Rachel Dawes, and he still retained the same suave charm, but now there was something dark just behind his eyes.
Sharon wasn't entirely sure she ever wanted to see past her friend's charming exterior - a small part of her was frightened by the thought of what she might find.
"Hardly," she shrugged lightly. "I'd love to confide in you - I could use the support - but the matter is police business after all."
Bruce didn't say anything; he simply smiled and slowly drained his wine glass. "I see. Well, Judge Illington isn't available by phone because he's three tables over your right shoulder." He chuckled. "Looks like he's having dinner with his wife."
Sharon turned and her smile faded. "Oh, uh, Bruce, that isn't Judge Illington's wife."
He arched one brow as he studied the pair. "You don't say... oops."
Sharon sighed and stood. "I'll be right back and then you'll have my undivided attention."
Bruce nodded. "Of course."
Sharon eased her way to Judge Edward Illington's table and smiled down at the older man she'd clerked for just out of law school. He was old enough to be her grandfather - perhaps that was why seeing him holding hands with his receptionist, who was young enough to be his child, was so repugnant to her.
"Edward? Imagine seeing you here." Milanos was one of the few five star establishments in Gotham which Bruce Wayne hadn't yet purchased; reservations were booked three months in advance, unless you were famous or Bruce Wayne.
Judge Illington's face turned a very unflattering shade of umber. "Sharon! I didn't expect to see you tonight. How... delightful." His tone of voice clearly indicated the surprise was certainly not a delight.
Sharon forced herself to keep right on smiling. "Tell me, Edward, would you be willing to sign an exhumation order on six graves? I need the exhumation to start tomorrow morning."
Illington sighed. "Just who would we be exhuming en masse?"
"The Quinzel family."
The older man's eyes nearly popped from their orbital sockets. "You want me to exhume six murder victims eleven years after the crime has been solved?! Do you have permission from a family member? What is the purpose behind the exhumation?"
Sharon cleared her throat. "I can't divulge the details in public, as you're aware, but I promise you there is a valid reason. As for permission, we have permission from a family member's legal guardian."
"Gordon." Illington spat the word out like an epithet.
"Please." Sharon's voice was soft and filled with need.
Shaking his head, Illington sighed. "Gwen, darling, would you mind calling the office and requesting an exhumation order be delivered to Ms. Kennison's office tonight."
The dishwater blonde nodded and began dialing; her voice low and urgent.
"I take it no mention will be made to my wife regarding my little outing with Gwen."
Sharon shook her head and tapped the older man on the shoulder. "I wouldn't have mentioned anything to Louise even if you denied my petition."
Illington rolled his eyes and gave her a firm wave goodbye.
She picked her way back to her table and smiled at Bruce. "Mission accomplished. Now where were we?"
Bruce was busy thumbing through his emails on his blackberry. "I believe I was trying to pawn off the annual Gotham Autumn Charity Ball on you." He opened his suit and dropped the blackberry into an interior pocket. "You were probably getting ready to tell me to go to hell."
"No," Sharon shook her head. "I was getting ready to tell you that you're devious."
He grinned. "I like devious, I think it suits me."
Sharon's mobile rang.
Smiling, she threw her trilling clutch onto her lap. "I'm not much for planning balls."
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Bruce asked with a caustic grin.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I promised you no work related interruptions tonight and look what happens."
He chuckled. "If its any consolation, this is my bad karma coming back around and biting me on the ass."
"I can't believe you would have bad karma."
"I do, trust me."
The mobile continued to ring.
"Answer it," Bruce waved wearily toward her lap. "I'm begging you - before we get tossed out on our ears. There are only so many restaurants I can buy before the Gotham food critics start screaming monopoly."
Sharon felt her face burn, but dug her mobile out. "Hello?"
Her assistant began spilling all the details of Judge Illington's newly arrived exhumation order into Sharon's ear with surgical precision.
"Contact Jim Gordon and get him out to Holy Angels cemetery. Also, we'll need to contact the medical examiners office and tell them we'll need enough equipment and crew to remove all six bodies. I think it would be best to get this over with tonight if possible. Thank you." She smiled briefly at Bruce before chewing at her lower lip. "I have to go."
"Duty calls." He offered with a strange gleam in his eye.
"Something like that." Sharon murmured. "Sorry."
Bruce Wayne stood and buttoned his jacket. "Don't be sorry. I understand where you're coming from better than you might think. Let me give you a ride to your office."
She released a pent up breath. "Thanks, Bruce."
"I suppose this means I'm planning the Autumn Charity Ball... alone."
"I'm afraid so."
Bruce flashed a brilliant, genuinely amused smile in her direction. "I guess I'm not as devious as I'd like to believe."
Sharon laughed as they strolled out. "You better work on that."
"Oh, I will."
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-A/N- Thank you for reading and reviewing as well as putting this story on your favorites list and story alert list. Please read and review - let me know what you think, it really does inspire me and brighten my day! I should have another chapter for you the middle of this week, albeit a shorter one.