Blue prints had scattered themselves across the desk that sat, solitarily, in the middle of the large room. The burning in his skull refused to cease, He could not be at peace until he killed Batman, but once Batsy was taken care of, what purpose did the Joker have in life? What was he expected to do after Batman's demise? He needed coffee, something, anything to keep him awake. "Harley!" He called. He waited briefly for a "Yes, Puddin'?" Or a " Coming Mista' J" but nothing. He tried again, louder this time "HARLEY!" he shouted. There was still no response. "She must have gone out." He thought, getting up and making his own coffee.
He wondered when Harley was coming back, he hated doing things for himself, and when someone was so blinded by love as Harley was , it was easy to get them to do things for you like laundry and cooking. Since Harley could take care of all of that The Joker had much more time to plan Batman's demise.
Walking down the hallway, he saw the door to her bedroom sitting slightly open. He stood outside for a moment, deliberating if he should enter or not, just to see if she had left. He had been pretty hard on Harley the previous night, there was no denying that. She had interfered a little too much, he was at his desk and she had climbed up, begging for his attention as usual. A quick slap sent her reeling across the room. The worst part about it, aside from it not being funny, was that he hadn't even thought about it. His hand just automatically went up and slapped her, square in the face. She had presumably ran and hid in her room.
Joker decided to push open the door. She was asleep. "What a lazy bitch!" He thought, preparing to slap her again. He stepped forward, when a sudden crunch caught him by surprise. He picked up his foot, and looking where he had just trodden was what appeared to be a crushed pill. He looked closer at Harley, There where pills everywhere, his heart stopped . The Joker gathered himself as quickly as he could and pulled the covers back off of her.
The blood was everywhere, along with more pills. She was laying there un conscious, in one of the Joker's white button downs, left unbuttoned . He nearly screamed, frantically searching for the telephone. Merely a few weeks ago, he and Harley had used the phone to make drunken prank phone calls. His mind was racing as he dialed 911. The operator picked up as soon as he re-entered the room.
When asked the nature of his emergency , "My…My….I think she tried to kill herself." He was willing to disclose their secret location, and when the operator said the paramedics would arrive soon , the joker calmed down a bit. "Now, You said she's bleeding? And that she's taken pills?" The operator asked
"Yes. What can I do?" He pleaded, tears started to stream down his cheeks.
"Get a a cloth and apply pressure to the wounds." She said, her voice calm.
He immediately picked up anything that looked like fabric and held it tightly to Harley's wrists, holding the phone between his face and shoulder as he shuddered and trembled, fear capturing him. This was most certainly not funny. He wrapped her wrists up tightly in the fabric, when he realized that he couldn't hold on to her much longer. The paramedics showed up soon enough and carted Harley away. Nobody asked if he wanted to ride in the ambulance with her, to see her to the hospital. They barely even looked at him. No, scratch that, one medic had briefly asked him her name. "Harleen Quinzel" He had replied, He went into the bedroom with a small plastic bag to collect the loose pills, which he would take to the doctor. He wasn't sure if he needed to do that, but he would just in case. Placing the pills in his pocket, he walked over to the bed where the razor lay. He sighed, and closed his eyes as he carefully picked it up, wrapped it up in the small towel on the nightstand, where he presumed Harley had been hiding it. He carefully held it until he found somewhere he could dispose of it.
Returning to the bedroom, The joker looked at the bed, that was his next task. On the pillow, he had failed to notice the small envelope on the pillow where Harley's blonde head had been laying. It looked like a love letter, a pink envelope sprayed with perfume and sealed with a kiss. The joker slowly opened it, not sure what he would be reading. Inside was a simple white sheet of notebook paper, and in red ink it read "Mista J, Now I won't be in your way anymore, Love Harley" This broke him. She had never really been in his way, he just couldn't properly express how he felt for her. She really thought that she had to kill herself? The thought astounded him; it ripped him to the core. He must have really made it seem like she was disposable. "So help me, if she lives I will never lay a finger on her again…" He pleaded with whoever could listen.
He stripped the bed of the blood-soaked sheets, he put them in a trash bag, intending to take them to the Laundromat later, after he'd had time to check on Harley. He set out, but when he reached the door, he remembered what he was wearing, and what people would think if they just suddenly saw The Joker walk into a hospital. The last time he had been there, he came out dressed as a nurse. Even that memory wasn't funny anymore.
He went into the bathroom and eyed Harley's box of makeup removing wipes. The initial layer of makeup came off with the wipes, but the rest required soap and water as well as some hard scrubbing. It felt as though the initial scare was over, what had started as a deep burning passion to save her driven by fear had turned into a nauseating ache that she was gone. They probably couldn't save her, The sheets where just too bloody, he skin was too sickly, he remembered seeing her ribs as he straddled her, trying to hold the cloth to both of her wrists. What had happened to his Harley?
Just a month or so earlier she had been his giggling side kick, her curves hugged by the Harlequin's costume, her eyes bright with love and evil. He hadn't even noticed the change in her. He thought back a while. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard "Puddin" in a while , nor had she jumped into his arms. He hadn't seen much of her at all, except when he called her. She would cook his dinner and leave it at his desk, his laundry would be folded and put away. To him, life just seemed normal.
He changed out of his suit and into more appropriate "Street clothes" a pair of black pants, a purple tee shirt and black shoes. He combed out his hair; he wanted to seem as normal as a man with scars from a Chelsea grin could be. Sometimes he deeply regretted doing that to himself.
The Joker picked up his keys and drove, abiding by the speed limit, all the way to the hospital. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over or worse, have batman coming after him if he looked too suspicious.
The hospital was repulsively bright and white. This was the kind of light that should not exist in the middle of the night. He tried to calmly approach the reception desk. His legs felt like jelly. "Can I help you?" The nurse asked.
"Yes…I'm wondering what happened to a Miss Harleen Quinzel?" He asked, his voice shuddering.
The nurse picked up a phone on her desk, spoke a few words to someone on the other end, hung up and turned to the joker. "Have a seat over there" She said "Her doctor will be out in a moment."
The joker sat down in a flimsy chair, his heart heavy and Harley weighing his mind down. Batman was the farthest thing from his thoughts at this moment; all he wanted was for Harley to be safe.
"Mister…Joker?" The doctor could recognize him without his makeup. How many people walked around with scars like that? The Joker looked up. "Follow me, please." The doctor said, leading him back into a small room . He was instructed to sit , and he complied. "Miss Quinzel's heart stopped beating …we had to use the defibulator . She's still alive, but it's definitely been a rough night. We managed to pump out her stomach and stitch her wrists up, she's getting a blood transfusion as we speak. Over all we think she'll live. She hasn't said a word since she's been here and we're going to keep her for a seventy-two hour surveillance period. You can take her after that, if we think its ok. For now though, no visitors. We'll call you if anything changes." The doctor said.
When the Joker returned to his lair, he laid down in his bed, curled himself into the fetal position and cried tears of relief. This couldn't go on anymore. He knew that this was his fault and he couldn't live with himself. He had to make it up to Harley. No more hitting her, ever. He would figure out how to show her that he loved her more than anything. He didn't even realize how much he did love her until she was almost torn away from him. From now on, he would treat her like the wonderful creature she was.
The following three days where the longest of The Joker's life, the morning after Harley's suicide attempt the joker washed her sheets three times, with bleach, just to get all of the stains out. As soon as they were white again, The joker put them back on Harley's bed, as neatly as he could. He couldn't focus on his blue prints, he couldn't even manage to eat. Guilt, a totally new emotion to him, was tearing out his insides and tying them in tight sailor's knots. He thought about how her climbing on to his desk, only to be slapped then ignored was probably one last effort to get his attention, one last try before she ended it all.
He had to quit being selfish. There had to be other reasons why Harley would attempt suicide. This life must have been hard on her. Up until they met, Harley was an accomplished girl living a charmed life. A blonde haired blue eyed student, at University on a full ride Gymnastics scholarship. A life of crime and broken-hearted longing had reduced her to a sobbing , bleeding heap of bones wrapped in pale skin. Suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks. He got up out of his chair, ran to the sink, gripped the counter for dear life and heaved for what felt like an eternity. This guilty thing was really hurting.
She was finally allowed to leave. When he saw her, his heart sank and leapt at the same time. She was so pale, even without the white clown makeup, her hair looked dirty and white bandages came up to her elbows. He had brought a pair of her pajamas, because they had tossed out the bloody shirt and left her in a hospital gown. A nurse escorted her into The Joker's car and they drove off, once again obeying the speed limit.