Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters belong to DC Comics. The Little Mermaid belongs to Disney.

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The Joker maintained an office separate from the communal living quarters in the abandoned warehouse complex he'd taken over some six years earlier. The building was smaller than the rest and had been lovingly rescued from the rusting mess it had been. Now the interior was passable as that of any simple businessman - paneled walls with framed newspaper articles detailing the Joker's various crimes decorated the wall behind his desk. He had simple, but functional furnishings meant for work purposes; desk, filing cabinets, and a bank of high tech computers which held the capability to hack into any system the Joker had a mind to peek into.

Three LCD screens were mounted above the door and wired to surveillance equipment which should have been only available to government operatives - one screen displayed the gym, one screen the main living quarters, and the third screen monitored the Joker's private bedroom where Harley was currently napping.

Only a few weeks earlier the Joker had caught one of his computer programmers peeping on a half dressed Harley...

Billy winced at the memory of the man's dying screams.

"So, Billy-boy, what's the story with Mr. Yamamoto and his ilk?"

William Napier was a veteran of the war in Afghanistan - he'd survived bombings and firefights with his buddies in Special Forces as they'd faced down the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. He had been stabbed, shot, clubbed, and nearly burned to death, but William had never felt any real fear. He'd faced terrorists, drug cartel kingpins, and half-crazed, sadistic, psycho murderers - all while following orders his superiors had issued - yet he always had a sinking sense of dread in his gut whenever he faced the Joker.

Just the sight of those gruesome, twisted scars licking up the sides of the Joker's face - turning the man's expression into a pained, insane smirk - terrified Billy beyond comprehension. Half-forgotten memories of how Jack Napier had acquired that sickening, leering grin of his seeped out of Billy's deep subconscious; where he preferred they remained buried.

Billy was Jack's younger brother, his only sibling, and every day Billy wished the connection didn't exist.

The relationship did exist, twisted and tangled as it was, and there was nothing Billy could do to alter the fact. Billy tried not to think about how much he owed his older brother - if not for Jack Napier's actions so long ago, Billy had no doubt he'd be just like the Joker...

Which was exactly why Billy had left the armed forces at Jack's request and served as his older brother's eyes and ears around Gotham; the simple truth of the matter was the Joker's damaged face didn't make it easy for him to go incognito. Billy, on the other hand, could go places and deal with people in ways the Joker never could. Whether it be something as simple as shopping for groceries or as complex as dealing with corrupt cops on the Joker's payroll - Billy did it all.

Shaking his head, Billy allowed his eyes to settle on the Joker's familiar, expectant gaze. "The Yakuza seem to believe you've grown soft since you got pinched by the Batman. Yamamoto wasn't around, but one of his lieutenants hinted the Yakuza have merely been hired to clear the way for someone else."

Smirking, the Joker relaxed in his chair. "Hmm..." he grunted slightly. "That so? I wonder who? I suppose your little friend didn't happen to mention any names?"

Billy let out a humorless laugh. "Ah - no."

"Couldn't ever be that easy," The Joker shot out of his chair and began to pace up and down the length of his office. "I have a list of suspects as long as my damn arm. Can't bug every criminal in Gotham - as much as I'd like too. So..." he frowned before a sly grin stole across his face. "there's really only one thing to do."

"What boss?" Billy treated his older brother with deference a commanding officer would receive and never let on about their true relationship. He was well aware it would put the both of them in danger and the Joker had always been explicit about what such a revelation would mean to Billy. He unconsciously rubbed his undamaged face.

"Make an example of Yamamoto and his Yakuza gang."

"When?"

"I'll start making arrangements for tomorrow. I want to catch the little bastard off guard." The Joker smacked his lips as his eyes roamed around the office before settling on Billy again. "Have you heard anything more about Gordon's attempt to find Harley?"

Billy shrugged. "My informant tells me Gordon and Kennison just dug up the entire Quinzel plot out at Holy Angels cemetery a few hours ago."

Chuckling, the Joker shook his head. "And all the Commissioner's medical examiners and all the Commissioner's men couldn't put poor little Harley Quinn back together again." A dark frown crossed his face. "The simpleton can't see the truth staring him in the face so how is he going to put up a fuss against me?"

Billy knew the Joker was spewing out another of his rhetorical questions and remained silent.

The Joker waived a hand in Billy's direction. "Go on, get the hell out of here and get some sleep. Tomorrow you and I are going to have a little fun, Billy-boy."

William Napier, the good soldier he was, nodded and did as he was told.

----------

"The Joker is not someone you will win against, Mr. Thorne."

Rupert Thorne folded his newspaper and set it down on the table beside him. "I'm quite aware that the Agent of Chaos is not someone to be taken lightly, Mr. Yamamoto." Thorne glanced around the opulent garden room his mansion boasted and smiled. "You see, this Joker character, has stolen from me - from me! I cannot tolerate this show of disrespect or I won't be able to continue as a... businessman."

Akira Yamamoto kept his expression emotionless; this he had learned long ago at his father's knee in Kobe. Often, Jiro Yamamoto had allowed his only son to sit in on important Yakuza business meetings as Akira grew. The experience was not always - pleasant - yet Akira had taken away many important lessons not just on power, but human nature.

Akira found it was the invaluable education on human nature which had benefited him most over the years.

"If the Joker kills you and spreads your innards from one end of Gotham to the other, you will no longer be in business either." Akira didn't often contradict his clientele, but first hand reports were trickling in on the Joker and his crew. Intelligence regarding the escaped criminal mastermind was not encouraging. "Mr. Nakamura has had contact with one of the Joker's more senior men. I must, in good conscience, try to dissuade you from pursuing your current course of action."

Saru Nakamura was one of the long dead Jiro Yamamoto's most trusted lieutenants, and closest friend, he was not a man who frightened easily. Nakamura's words echoed in Akira's ears, 'The Joker's man is honorable. He is also quite mad - I saw no fear in his eyes even when I threatened to cut out his tongue. Mr. Napier is a warrior - yet there was dread in his eyes when he spoke of his superior. This Joker is no one to be trifled with, Akira-sama.'

Clearly, Rupert Thorne was not a man who had often been told no over the years. He possessed a paunch which spoke of too much rich food and drink; broken capillaries over the American's broad nose only further indicated the man's fondness for alcohol. There was a genteel aura in his fine clothes and well groomed facade, but his cold eyes belied him as a gentleman. Thorne was legendary in Gotham, not only for his incredible wealth, as a man who could influence policy in the city, but also throughout the United States and the world. Thorne had started in his youth working in the import trade and before thirty had several import/export businesses with offices all over Asia - including Kobe, Japan. He was elected to the United States Senate and had spent several years as a ranking member of the Foreign Intelligence Committee.

Once it became clear Thorne's business - illicit for the most part but so well buried beneath legitimate fronts no one could ferret out the illegal activity - was threatened by former allies in Gotham, Thorne had retired from the public arena. He took his bleach blonde, ridiculously stupid, and much younger wife and left Washington DC altogether. Thorne traveled extensively with her as a cover; all the while wreaking vengeance and havoc on those who had thought to defraud him in his absence.

Akira Yamamoto had met the man as a young boy when his father Jiro - the most feared and respected Yakuza leader in Japan - had partnered with Thorne. Jiro's death, from natural causes, had left a power vacuum which Akira had sealed.

Impressed with the young Yakuza's cunning and skill, Thorne had offered him a very profitable partnership.

The authorities in Japan were beginning a severe crackdown on the Yakuza, so Thorne's offer had been gratefully accepted.

Leaning forward, the old man's steely gaze pierced Akira's patient expression. "Are you afraid, boy?"

Smiling, Akira shook his head. "No, I am not. Death comes to all creatures eventually - it is folly to believe otherwise. However, to throw one's life away foolishly is not honorable, Thorne-san." He shrugged delicately. "I merely seek to warn you of the danger you face."

Rupert Thorne frowned. "Did you know the Maroni's, the Falcones, and the Rossi's all worked for me? Even Gambol - before that freak killed him! My fingers have been in every criminal enterprise in Gotham for over forty years, Mr. Yamamoto. Then this Joker shows up out of nowhere and the little fucker starts stealing from mob banks - from me! He helped to ruin everything I spent my life working for - he disrespects me! Now what do you think should be done?"

"He must be dealt with most severely. I do not contest your will on this subject."

"You have reservations?" Thorne questioned as he picked up a fine Cuban cigar.

Akira nodded elegantly. "Yes, I believe to call him out, so to speak, is a mistake. A man like the Joker must be handled in a more delicate manner."

"How so?"

"I believe there are other ways to destroy a perceived threat rather than falling back on brute force. I have studied this Joker closely and I believe he is only a few steps from complete madness." Akira's eyes glowed with excitement. "He enjoys chaos and thrives on anarchy, Thorne-san, so I propose we allow him to take on Gotham and the authorities for the time being."

Rupert Thorne gave a brief nod of encouragement.

Akira finished his tea before continuing. "He must not learn about you or your distaste for him. Once the Joker is fully engaged with the Gotham authorities we strike him where it hurts. Only then will this man fully appreciate the unpleasant consequences to his actions."

"How will we know where to wound him?" Thorne sounded intrigued. "I want this little punk to bleed and beg before the end."

"Every man - no matter how insane or evil - loves something or someone." Akira smiled serenely. "We simply discover what this Joker cares for most and destroy it. I have already taken the liberty of inserting an agent into the Joker's organization; it will take time to get results."

Thorne raised his eyebrows. "Is it Napier?"

"No," Akira shook his head. "Mr. Nakamura feels Napier will remain loyal to the Joker until the bitter end. I placed someone inside a few months ago - the agent will remain safely anonymous until the operation concludes."

"You've moved in on the Joker's territory. He'll come after you and hit you hard, Mr. Yamamoto."

"Indeed, I would be disappointed if he did nothing. As in any military action, casualties must be calculated and expected."

"How very cold of you, Mr. Yamamoto. You'll lose a lot of men."

Akira Yamamoto remained expressionless. "The Yakuza are good soldiers and they expect to die as warriors when their time comes. The death of noble warriors will be revisited on the Joker a thousand fold when I finally have him. I will take what he treasures most and I will tear it apart in front of his very eyes when he is helpless to stop me - a wonderful retribution for the death of my men."

"Remind me not to make you angry, Mr. Yamamoto."

----------

The night had been long and tiring for James Gordon and Sharon Kennison.

The exhumation at Holy Angels cemetery had brought up all the Quinzels: Joe, Colleen, Andrew, Patrick, Sabrina, and John; who had been stillborn at his birth some three years before Sabrina had come into the world.

Jim had watched the caskets being removed with the same grim expression as when he had watched them being lowered into the ground years earlier.

Staring at Sharon seated across his desk from him, he sighed. "How much longer?"

"I have no clue," Sharon replied. "DNA is tricky - we've put a rush on it as is."

A knock on the door brought Jim out of his tired stupor. "Come in."

Detective Jill Sampson entered the room carrying a sealed manila envelope and placed it squarely in front of the Commissioner. "Here are the preliminary results, Commissioner. The crime lab is stressing that the results need to be examined again to be sure of accuracy."

"I understand. Thanks, Sampson."

The woman smiled as she shut the door behind her.

Sharon nodded toward the envelope. "Do you want the honors?"

"Funny enough, not really." Jim replied as he handed the envelope to the District Attorney.

She opened it quickly and read the enclosed papers with a slight frown.

"What is it?" He asked as a numbing cold settled in the pit of his stomach.

Sharon looked at him; ashen-faced. "The children all share mitochondrial DNA traits, but the routine paternity test the lab ran indicate not one of those children belonged to Joe Quinzel."

"That's not possible!" Jim blurted in shock. "What about Harleen?"

Sharon handed him the paternity test. "Prelims indicate you were right - Harleen is your daughter."

He stared at the papers which proved his folly beyond a shadow of a doubt. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes tiredly before staring at Harleen's paternity test with unseeing eyes. Numb and sick, Jim's memory was thrown back...

... "You're certain this isn't an imposition?"

Jim grinned at his partner and shook his head. "Not at all, Joe. I like kids - can't wait to have some of my own."

Joe Quinzel laughed. "You say that now, but you wait until you're married with three children and two of them have the flu." He slapped Jim on the shoulder. "Thanks for watching Harleen for us. The last time she caught cold we ended up bringing her to the emergency room with pneumonia."

Jim looked over his shoulder at the little girl curled up in the corner of his couch watching a cartoon. "I really don't mind. Tell Colleen that we'll have lots of fun together and not to worry - just concentrate on the boys."

"Be good and listen to Uncle Jim! Understand, Harleen?"

Harleen knelt and peered over the edge of the couch at her father. "Yes, daddy. I'll be good, I promise."

Joe winked and waved at Harleen before leaning close to Jim. "She's a great kid for the most part, but she's got a sweet tooth a mile wide. If you don't watch yourself, you'll both be eating Twinkies and Captain Crunch all freaking weekend."

"I take it you're speaking from experience?" Jim asked with a chuckle.

Joe rolled his eyes as he disappeared out the door.

Throwing the locks into place, Jim went into his bedroom and deposited Harleen's overnight bag on his bed. Spending some time getting her unpacked, he noted with a slight smile that all of Harleen's clothing smelled like baby powder. The scent caught him off guard and a lump formed in his throat.

Finishing up, Jim stuck his head into his tiny living room and smiled.

Harleen was still curled up in the same corner of the couch; her eyes riveted to the television. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair tucked behind her ears, she had her chin resting on her knees. At eight, she was the most innocent creature Jim had ever known and he delighted in spoiling her rotten.

"What'cha watching?" Jim hadn't paid much attention when he'd inserted her tape into his VCR.

She glanced in his direction and smiled - revealing her missing upper front teeth - before putting a hand shyly over her mouth. "The Little Mermaid."

Jim leaned against the open doorway. "Is that a Disney cartoon?"

Harleen's blue eyes widened in disbelief. "It's the best movie in the whole world!"

"Well," he smiled at her as he made his way to the couch. "I can't miss the best movie in the world!"

"Nuh-uh!" Harleen patted the cushion beside her.

He sat and glanced down at her; the fact she looked like a miniature version of Colleen hadn't escaped him. Jim turned his attention to the TV and grinned at the little red-haired mermaid and talking fish. "She looks like you."

Harleen flashed her gap-tooth grin at him. "Oooh! This part is good! Wanna sing?"

Jim stared in shock at her. "Sing?"

She knelt beside him and clutched his jaw in her small hands. "Yeah," she moved his jiggled his jaw. "like this!" Harleen took a deep breath and began to warble. "I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something starting right now. Watch and you'll see, someday I'll be, part of your world." Considering the significant whistle her missing teeth created, Jim thought she had a very sweet little voice.

Harleen stared at him. "Hey, you didn't sing!"

"I was too enchanted by you, sorry about that." He couldn't help the wide grin spreading across his face.

Her eyebrows were arched and her expression wavered between disbelief and suspicion. Leaning close to him, Harleen let her forefinger rest against his cheekbone just below his left eye. "Are you my real uncle?"

Jim frowned at the quick change in conversation. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"We have the same eyes." Harleen was peering intently at him. "Same color and everything. Mommy and Daddy don't have my color eyes."

It was true; Colleen's eyes were a clear gray and Joe's a deep hazel.

Something niggled at the back of Jim's brain; a thought so unsettling he pushed it away. "It's a coincidence."

"What?"

"It's just pure luck we have the same color eyes, Harleen. Lots of people have blue eyes."

"Oh." The air seemed to have been sucked from Harleen's body and she lowered herself until she was sitting properly again. "I wish you were my daddy."

Jim was startled. "Why? Don't you love your father?"

"Yes."

"But..."

Harleen looked shyly up at him. "But you're more fun."

"And I give you Twinkies when no one is looking." He concluded with a grin.

She smiled at him. "Uh-huh!"

Jim found himself laughing as he handed her a Twinkie he'd grabbed from the kitchen on his way out. "Make sure you don't tell your parents or we'll both be in hot water."

Harleen squealed with delight and shoved herself against his side. "Thank you! I love you, Uncle Jim."

He ruffled her hair affectionately. The scent of baby powder wafting up his nose...

.... "Oh god," Jim moaned in despair. "What did I do? I have to get her back."

Sharon laid her hand over his; compassion spilling over in her eyes. "We'll find her, Jim."

"I have to tell Barbara." Jim shook his head tiredly. "Then we'll have to tell James and Bibi."

"Everything will be fine."

Jim shoved his glasses back on his face; his expression uncharacteristically hard. "I doubt it, Sharon. Somewhere out in the cold, in the grime and the filth of Gotham - my daughter is being held by a maniac. Harleen is a captive of the Joker and if I don't find her soon she's never going to recover." He stood and made his way to the door. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Thank you for all your help."

Sharon stood. "Jim?"

He turned.

"Who do you think killed the Quinzels?"

"Not Harleen." His words were harsh and a hint of finality rang through them. "Maybe Joe lost his mind if he discovered Colleen was going out and getting pregnant by other men."

She picked up the DNA report. "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know what the hell to believe anymore." Jim sighed. "I never would have thought Joe capable of... I just don't know."

Sharon watched him walk out the door and turned her attention to the report in her hands. "Let's find out what's going on here."

----------

The dawn had seeped over the horizon cold and gray - much like Gotham itself.

Hoshi Mori emerged from Akira Yamamoto's office carrying a briefcase filled with illegal documents; the paperwork stuffed inside passports and green cards to be used in smuggling young western women into Japan for forced prostitution.

The Yakuza profited greatly from the sex trade.

Mr. Yamamoto and Mr. Nakamura both had accepted Mr. Thorne's kind offer of the use of his country estate for the weekend.

Hoshi was in charge of the Yakuza until the return of his superiors. At the tender age of twenty-three, such responsibility was a heavy burden, but one he bore cheerfully. If he did well in his masters absence, Hoshi knew he could expect great things to come.

Looking up from the briefcase, he expected to find Kenji, one of the guards, but instead three strangers occupied the space beside the door. One, he recognized as William Napier, the second man was taller with greasy black hair and a dead stare.

The third man was absolutely horrifying.

He was tall with slicked back, wavy, lime green hair and a face like something from a nightmare; chalk white, with blackened circles around each eye which only emphasized the coldness of his gaze, and scarlet paint crossing his mouth and into the ghastly scars running up each cheek.

Kenji lay in the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Hoshi had heard of the Joker - seen news reports - but he had never thought to see the monster in person.

The Joker looked down at the dead body sprawled at his feet and raised one brow as he stepped over it casually. "Good morning," he began brightly; despite the gruffness of his voice. "This is your official Gotham welcoming committee! Now, ah..." He gestured to Hoshi.

"Hoshi Mori."

"Mr. Mori," The Joker continued pleasantly. "Where is Mr. Yamamoto?"

"Out of town." Hoshi would never tell this American swine anything about his superior's whereabouts.

"You wouldn't be interested in telling me where he went would you?" The Joker asked with a smile which froze Hoshi's blood.

"No."

The Joker's smile slowly died. "No? Well that isn't very neighborly is it boys?"

"No, sir."

"Not nice at all, boss."

Hoshi said nothing; his gaze becoming blank.

The Joker tilted his head as he studied the younger man. "You're going to be a tough nut to crack. I can tell these sorts of things," he whispered conspiratorially. "Let it not be said I don't enjoy a challenge. Billy, burn this place to the ground and anyone in it. Lawton, bind up Mr. Mori nice and tight, he'll be enjoying my hospitality this evening."

The Joker took the briefcase from Hoshi and smacked his lips as he popped it open. Rifling through, he shook his head with mock outrage. "Forced prostitution! Shame on you boys! And you Japanese like to call us Americans pigs. A bit like the pot calling the kettle black, eh?" Leaving it open, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the papers inside.

Soon orange flames were leaping and crackling as the fire consumed six months of hard work on the part of Mr. Yamamoto.

"Mr. Yamamoto will make you pay for this." Hoshi warned in a low voice as the man called Lawton finished duct-taping his hands together.

The Joker laughed; the sound bone-chilling to all present in the room. "He's welcome to try! Yamamoto wouldn't be the first to hold a grudge." He sneered at the young man and leaned closer, pulling his switchblade from inside his purple jacket. "Say, wanna know how I got these scars?"

Hoshi said nothing.

----------

Weary to the bone, the Joker finished scrubbing his hands until the skin was bright red with bloody cracks opening around his knuckles. He sniffed and frowned as the stench of blood raced from his nostrils down to coat his tongue. He turned from the sink to regard the completely disemboweled man hanging limply from the chair in the center of his work room.

He'd bolted the chair down to the floor years earlier when a particularly strong Mafioso actually wrestled himself, chair and all, into a standing position. The jerk had run around the room bouncing off the walls in order to smash free from the chair - and the Joker had found himself in the ridiculous position of hacking the moron apart piece by piece while trying to avoid being stampeded.

The Joker smirked at the memory.

"Well Hoshi, it was nice meeting you, but I'm a bit tired so I must bid you adieu."

The Joker flipped off the digital recorder mounted on the wall to the right of the door before easing himself out. Billy was leaning against the kitchen counter reading the Gotham Times with a frown that practically begged him to screw with the poor guy's mind.

Sliding the door shut, the Joker made his way across the room as quietly as possible.

"Yeah, boss?"

The Joker stopped to tickle Boris, one of his three rottweilers, under the chin. "Where's Ivan?"

"Pavel decided to take him out for a little walk before he crapped on the floor."

"What about Vadim?" The Joker had noticed recently wherever Harley went Vadim had begun to follow.

Billy folded his newspaper and placed it in a tidy pile on the counter. "I think Harley has him in the bedroom with her. So what can I really do for you?"

The Joker's eyes narrowed. "How about getting my little tape of Hoshi to his boss - I wouldn't want Yamamoto getting all worried about his missing subordinate."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's worried about that punk when we left forty bodies behind and burned his office to the ground." Billy raised one eyebrow. "You're bored, aren't you?"

The Joker could feel his blood rising. "I'm not bored." He pointed at the younger man with irritation. "Stop being such a wise ass or I'll..."

"Gut me, I know." Billy kept an innocent expression on his face as he passed the Joker. "You never did call that whore - what was her name?"

"Yvette." The Joker supplied with a grimace. "I found I didn't really need her... services."

"Harley's kinda pretty." Billy supplied cheerfully.

The Joker frowned. "Just for that - you can clean up the mess, Billy-boy."

"Gladly."

"No one likes a wise ass," The Joker breathed as he watched Billy disappear into his work room. Shaking his head, he continued into his bedroom. Shutting the door and throwing all the dead bolts, he relaxed a little as he began to unbutton his shirt.

The low light revealed Harley snuggled up to the very relaxed Vadim on the bed. She had one arm thrown around the pooch's neck and the comforter pulled up around her waist. Vadim, for his part, had one eye wide open and pointed directly at the Joker.

"Vadim, my boy, are you being good?"

The rottweiler wagged his stumpy tail with excitement.

Chuckling, the Joker stripped off his shirt and threw it into the laundry basket in the bathroom. He scrubbed the make-up off his face before heading back into the bedroom. He noticed that Vadim had abandoned Harley for his cot across the room and the Joker smirked as he stripped off his suspenders and belt.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" The Joker groused.

A yawn escaped his throat and he smacked his lips as he approached his former bed. 'It's plenty big enough for six - Harley won't even notice.' The Joker stretched, joints cracking, before he lowered himself gingerly to the opposite side of the bed; as far from Harley as possible.

The feel of the sheets and the softness of the mattress were like heaven to him.

The Joker closed his eyes...

"What are you doing here?" Harley's voice was rough with sleep.

"Trying to get some shut eye," he replied, his tone grouchy. "Vadim stole my bed. Now shut up."

Harley was only quiet for a moment. "You still have your shoes on."

Opening his eyes, the Joker forced himself to sit. He pulled off one shoe, then the other, and used both as missiles which he sent sailing against the door. Throwing himself back against the bed roughly, he counted to ten as he let his eyes drift shut...

"Don't you have pajamas?"

He groaned and slapped his hands over his eyes. "What?"

"You aren't wearing a shirt."

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Sherlock." He hissed. "I didn't realize there was a dress code in my own bed!" The Joker rubbed his scars, frowning at the lined, hard texture of the skin. "Now, can I get some damn sleep?"

He looked over to find Harley staring at him with wide eyes. "You're going to stay on your own side... right?"

"Yes."

To his relief, Harley remained quiet.

----------

The Joker always knew when it was 5am. He had a gift of sorts for being able to awaken naturally an hour or so before the sun rose. The feel of warm blankets tucked in around him made the Joker sigh with appreciation once more for not being relegated to one of the vermin infested trash heaps many homeless were forced to occupy on cold Gotham nights.

Groaning, he flexed a hand and frowned.

Something extremely warm and incredibly soft filled his left palm.

Forcing one eye open, he glanced down. "Shit."

Normally, he didn't swear, but the Joker wasn't in a normal situation. He was curled around a still slumbering Harley with one hand cupping her breast tenderly. What made the circumstance all the more bizarre was the fact he had no desire to move.

Her soft backside was arched into his groin and her back was sealed to his chest creating the most delicious body heat he'd ever experienced. Sure, he'd had prostitutes, but not one had ever allowed themselves to be touched by him like this.

Not. One. Woman. Ever.

The Joker was warm and pleased by the feel of Harley's body against his own. Breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, he had a revelation.

'She's mine - all mine. I'll kill anyone who lays a finger on my Harley Quinn.'

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-A/N- Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please read and review and let me know what you thought! More Harley/ Joker interaction coming in the following chapters. Also, I will be moving this story to a Mature rating due to upcoming violence and possible adult situations.