West Gotham Offices

Deep in the highrise towers of Gotham's business district, a typical night for the Gotham treasury office carried forward, a bunch of corrupt politicians feeding off the hardship of citizens and the success of criminals. Such places were infamous in the underground world, known for shady deals with high-ranking criminals.

A man in a navy suit, an executive, stood at the front of the room, preaching to a table full of his associates.

"I don't care how it's done. But we should focus on this for the time being."

Taking his finger to the corner of a page, he paused when he noticed the corner shaking ever so slightly. Strange. His hand wasn't trembling. Others mimicked his curiosity when liquid inside their glasses began teetering from side to side. A few suits rushed up to the wall window, glancing down only a few seconds before they snapped their necks back up.

"Shit! It's them."

Everyone panicked when they heard the sound of multiple engines pulling up outside. Loud shouting followed immediately after, and ended with gunshots outside the hallway. In a frantic mess, all the officials scrambled out of their chairs and toward the front door, toppling over one another to escape whatever threat was looming toward them. It was a futile waste of energy, because as soon as the executive, Locke, opened the door, their greatest fear was already there waiting for him - the Joker himself.

Standing in the doorway, the Joker slowly picked up his head and smiled. "Knock, knock."

Fear shot through Locke's heart at the man standing before him. Survival instincts kicked in, and he immediately surrendered all of himself to whatever the Joker wanted, lest he be cut down. "Oh! The Joker! W-We were just..."

"-You were just holding down the fort until we came," the Joker interrupted, caressing Executive Locke's face with his coarse hands. "Good boy." The Joker playfully slapped his cheeks and walked into the room with authority, along with a plethora of sworn thugs in tow.

Each of them were armed to the teeth with military grade equipment - Assault rifles, bullet proof vests, and a rugged attitude that made it unmistakable that they were loyal to the most powerful criminal in Gotham. The only detail that broke up the dreaded tone of their attire was the party masks they'd been forced to wear as part of their uniform.

Despite the quick takeover, one brave soul wasn't ready to fully surrender. "What are these heathens doing here?! What happened to security outside?!"

That's when Harley Quinn made her entrance. She strutted into the room with her attention on her hand mirror as she wiped splattered blood off of her face.

She looked up for a moment to respond to the question. "What happened to those poor ol' bodyguards outside?" She let out a deep chuckle and closed her hand mirror with a loud snap, causing everyone to flinch. "You're all a buncha smarty pants, ain't'cha? You figure it out."

It didn't take a genius to reason that the freshly wiped blood off of Harley's face was from the dead bodies that belonged to security. Intertwining their fingers together, the couple literally waltzed into the room, humming a tune to one another in their own sick and twisted world of romance. Jewelry danced along the Joker's sleeves that were coated in purple leather from his overcoat. Gold beams of light from his plated teeth seemingly blinded everyone with its flashes.

Harley broke away from their dance, only to approach the front of the executive table where one politician was sitting in fear. As she got closer, he began hollering out in fear of what she might do to him, only to be stomped out of his chair and onto the floor.

Harley smiled as she positioned the chair for her lover. "Puddin'! This fella was nice enough to save ya a seat!"

The Joker smiled as he claimed his chair. "And to think that they say that chivalry is dead. You're too kind."

The man was a whimpering mess on the floor, too scared to respond. It earned a laugh from the Joker as he spread his legs, making room for Harley to sit on his lap. With their makeshift throne established, the King and Queen of Gotham beckoned everyone in from the door, all their soldiers and Locke whom was still frozen still in the doorway. He was pushed further into the room by gun barrels pointed at his head by the Joker's thugs. He knelt down onto trembling knees in front of the couple and awaited instructions. For a second, the two lovers basked in the fear that consumed the man, Harley dangling her legs back and forth on the Joker's lap.

The Joker licked his lips and spoke. "I'm sure you know why we're here. You're the only one on this side of town that hasn't wrote his name on my party list!" The Joker's smile immediately disappeared and went stone cold as he clarified what he meant. "You're the only man that's still bargaining with Two-Face."

Executive Locke swallowed a lump in his throat. "We... We have a contract."

"Contracts, shmontracts!" The Joker hollered. "It's just a piece of paper! Just rip it up! Can you do that for me?"

"I can't." The Joker paused, eyes wide in surprise at the denial. "You don't understand! Two-Face saw this coming! He threatened to burn my wife and son alive if I signed over my shares to you!"

The Joker chuckled, amused by the image. "Ah. Ole' Dent always was the flashy type with his executions. But getting burned alive is sooo..."

"-Priceless?!" Harley suggested, fighting back giggles.

"Oh, of course, Darlin', don't get me wrong. It's quite a tickle to watch just how thorough fire can be when it comes to devouring flesh. But, I was looking for a word such as... 'melodramatic.'" The Joker got up, pacing circles around Locke as he finished his twisted threat.

"Now, if I were Two-Face, which, thank God I'm not! I would threaten your wife and son with a firing squad." The Joker finished, stopping just shy of stepping on the man's knees. Proudly, he adjusted the collar on his leather overcoat and smiled. "You see, I'm a little more old-fashioned when it comes to my executions. So, I'm gonna give you two choices for your wife and son," the Joker held out both of his hands. Human barbecue. Or lead shower. Party with me. Or party with Two-Face. Up to you, buddy boy."

"And you betta be thankful he's givin' you options!" Harley added, perched on the end of the executive table. "Don't say Mistah J never did nothin' for ya!"

"'Kay, sooo, I got an idea that you folks are gonna love!"

A sudden energetic voice boomed into the room, slicing through the thick tension that masked everyone. All eyes turned toward where the voice was coming from and saw Spider-Man descending from the ceiling, hanging upside down by his web with a box of donuts in hand.

"How 'bout a third option that involves less fire and death, and more chocolate and sprinkles! Huh?! Whaddya say, everybody?! Anyone want a donut?"

He paused, amused by the blank stares from the hostages and angry stares from the Joker and his thugs. Everyone was silent, their frantic heart beats louder than any words they would have to say. Spider-Man turned toward the threatened man in question, holding out the delicacies toward him. "Say, forget the dark side, man. Come to the sweeet side, m'kay?"

A bullet pierced the box of treats square in the middle, leaving a smoking hole on its top.

"Mother of-!" Spider-Man shouted, flipping down onto the ground from his web and taking a look at the person responsible, Harley Quinn. A smoking handgun proudly rested in her hands, accompanied by a scowl on her face. Peter took a second to truly take in the moment before him and the fact that he finally got what he wanted. Finally, here he was, face to face with the couple that ravaged his brain, and, more specifically, the woman he found himself fascinated with.

Her outfit unabashedly proclaimed her love for her boyfriend thanks to her "Daddy's Lil' Monster" bomber, and a golden choker that spelled out her famous nickname for him. She was even more beautiful in person, and Peter had a hard time not letting his awkward habits slip through.

Without knowing what else to do, he resorted to his trusty corny humor to coast him through the encounter. "Oookaay. Gonna take a wild guess and say you're not a donuts kinda gal?"

Harley gripped her gun tighter, unamused by his quip. She responded in her thick Brooklyn accent that Peter quickly found himself getting addicted to, holding in his laugh as she spoke. "I'm the kinda gal that gets really freakin' pissed when her man is rudely interrupted! And, yeah, donuts are overrated as all hell, thanks for askin'."

"Pfft-the-whuh?! Donuts?! Overrated?! In the same sentence?! Jesus, woman, you're every bit of crazy I've heard!"

Harley smirked, taking pride in her reputation. "And you're just as annoyin' as everyone says ya are. Just like a real bug! C'mere so I can hit ya with my slipper!"

"Harls! Harls!" The Joker said, approaching Harley from behind. Gently, he cupped his hand over her gun, and brought her arm down. "That's no way to treat a guest of ours, huh?! Now I know Daddy's taught you better manners than that."

With a confused grimace, she shook her head. "But Puddin'! He's stealin' your thunder!"

"Hey, I don't plan on stealing anything, 'cept maybe those kicks, dude, you're lookin' sharp, Buster!"

The Joker took a second to take in the surprise compliment toward him, looking down at his loafers in pride. "Why... thank you! That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all day!" The Joker squinted at Harley through angry eyes. "And to think you wanted me to wear those wretched boots you bought me instead!"

"It was your anniversary gift! How can you even say that?!" Harley shouted, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Try harder next time?" Peter answered while shrugging his shoulders, and trying not to burst out into laughter.

One businessman from the back had enough and interrupted the comical back and forth between the three. "What the hell is going on here?! Are you gonna save us or not?!" He pointed at an anxious finger at Spider-Man.

"Ohhh, right, right. My bad. Totally forgot about that part." In a flip of a switch, Peter put his game face on and got ready to finally put the power couple under his foot. He turned toward the Joker and cracked his neck. "Alrighty, Chuckles. This is the part where I make you say 'uncle.'"

The Joker sucked his teeth, and let out an exaggerated breath. "Does it really have to be this way, friend? We were just gettin' to know each other, weren't we?!" He carefully paced towards Peter on the other side of the table, passing by the bystanders that violently flinched at his unpredictable presence. "Hell! We haven't even had a chance to shake hands!"

Bony, tattooed fingers stretched themselves out to Peter in a crude shape. It was a brave act to present himself in such a vulnerable way in front of Spider-Man. Peter wasn't even sure if the Joker knew of the strength he was capable of. If that was the case, the Joker was in for a rude awakening. Spider-Man entertained his opponent, meeting the handshake halfway, and grasping onto the Joker's hand.

"Oooh. This one's gotta firm grip." The Joker chuckled.

Peter's voice got deep in serious, prepping himself for the thrashing he was about to dish out to the so called clown prince of crime. "You haven't seen anything yet."

In a sudden show of power, Spider-Man twisted his torso at an angle, and flung the Joker over by his hand. The Joker crashed right onto the extended table behind them.

Bloody coughs mixed with laughter sputtered out of his throat as he stared up at the ceiling. "Bwaha! Talk about a rough landing! Hahaha!"

Peter wondered what was funny, until, for some reason, he started laughing too.

And he couldn't stop...

Something in his body took over.

Mentally, he screamed out for help, desperately trying to figure out why he was laughing even harder than the Joker. But no matter how hard he screamed in his mind, it was muffled out by his howls of laughter that didn't cease one bit. That's when Peter felt a throbbing pain in his right hand, the same hand he used to shake the Joker's, and noticed a green substance oozing out from his palm.

Frantically, he threw off his glove and squeezed his palm. How could he have been so oblivious? Obviously, the Joker must've planned this all along.

Harley's voice behind him confirmed his theory. "And you're just as dumb as a bug too. Go figure."

Spider-Man spun around just in time to see her ring covered knuckles flying straight toward him. And just with one left hook, everyone's hope for salvation was a bleeding, laughing mess on the floor. What hope was there now but to submit to whatever desires that would satisfy the King and Queen?

Everyone watched as Spider-Man's pained laughter faded into a disturbing whimper as his body went limp, confirming what everyone believed to be his death. Everyone had seen enough corpses dressed with smiling faces to know what fate awaited Spider-Man. But just when hope seemed completely gone, a window on the far side of the room shattered, and through it came the the veteran vigilante most were familiar with - the Batman.*

Batman wasted no time in saving the hostages. As soon as he made contact with the floor, he let out a smoke bomb, shrouding the room in a gray haze while he directed everyone to safety. Using a quick shot of explosive gel, he blew a hole open in the back wall of the room, offering a crude but effective emergency exit, since the thugs were still stationed at the entrance of the room.

On Joker's command, they fired into the cloud of smoke, but were picked off one by one by Batman's lightning fast blows.

"Bats!" The Joker hollered, hoping for a glimpse of his nemesis somewhere in the fog. "I love hide-and-seek as much as the next fellow, but this doesn't seem quite fair!"

After the smoke cleared, the Joker was welcomed to the same room, save for the absence of bystanders. Instead, the floor was littered with thugs too unconscious to provide backup. Only Harley was left, standing as close as possible to her lover.

Her gun was pointed at Batman, who was simply standing still a few feet away from them. "Why is it always you?!" Harley whined.

She threw her gun behind her and whipped out her trusty "G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T" baseball bat. Before she could rushdown Batman, the Joker grabbed her arm and kept her locked in place. "Whuh?! Puddin'? Don't'cha want me to bend B-Man over my knee?!"

"As much as I'd love to see that happen, remember what we came here for…" Joker nodded slowly into her eyes. Harley nodded back, then shook her head, then quickly nodded again when she could see him getting irritated by her. Joker snapped his fingers in her face multiple times and through clenched teeth, said, "the Key!"

By "Key," he meant a data chip that Executive Locke had on him at all times. Rumors in the underground world said that this data was actually hidden in a large ring that he never took off, which was a reason why this "Key" was so hard to obtain. The information on this chip was also rumored to have extensive details on not just hidden accounts that were topped out in dirty money, but also on the secret remaining partnerships Two-Face had with corrupt politicians.

If the Joker was blessed with such data, he could use it to form a blacklist, pick off members of that list one by one, and finally claim any unconquered sect of Gotham for himself, giving him full, uncontested reign in the city. It was basically a "Key" to Gotham istelf.

Despite Batman right in front of them, the Joker didn't hesitate to sternly make it clear to Harley what he wanted. "It doesn't matter to me if you snuff the poor bastard or not. Just make sure you get that ring, Rotten. I'll handle Bats."

Harley playfully dusted off her hands and began skipping away. "Done."

Batman squinted his eyes as he wacthed Harley retreat out of the room, knowing full well who she was in pursuit of.

No problem.

He reasoned he'd finish off the Joker first, and then go after Harley before she could complete her mission. Easy enough. Or so it seemed.

The Joker turned toward his enemy and stretched his arms out in a welcoming manner. "Now, Bats. You and I have the floor to ourselves. We're past due for another tango! And this time I remembered to wear my lucky tie! Whaddya think?!" Joker asked, pointing towards his puke colored article.

"It clashes with the rest of your suit." Batman nonchalantly replied.

"Gee, you sure know how to flatter a clown!" Joker looked down with an unhappy look to said tie. "Ohhh, but it appears I have a pesky wrinkle. Let me see if I can jimmy this out," Before Batman had time to react, the Joker activated a button in his tie that began spewing flames out.

Bright and intense, Batman's vision became nothing but a haze of orange before he knocked the cone of fire away with a gust of wind from his cape. Once he was able to open his eyes again, the Joker was gone, with only a faint trail of laughter down the adjacent hallway as his lead. It was just a diversion.

"Coward." Batman murmured to himself.

He nearly broke out into pursuit until he looked to his left and noticed something peculiar on the floor - The unconscious vigilante he'd heard so much about. Thinking quickly, Batman took out his biological scanner and analyzed Peter's body. Sure enough, his body had been fed the Joker's laughing gas, a poison that Batman had become too used to recognizing in local victims. But what caught him off guard was the fact that Spider-Man's body seemed to be successfully fighting it and keeping him alive.

Any normal person's immune system would've failed by now, giving the poison total leeway to kill the rest of the body. Acting fast, Batman equipped his emergency all purpose antidote from his utility belt, and shot it into Peter's forearm. In an instant, his eyes shot open and his body violently jerked up from off the floor as he rolled onto his back.

Peter's heart beat out of his chest and he struggled to catch as much oxygen as he could. In desperation, he was about to remove his mask but paused when he finally realized that Batman was there.

Batman rested a hand on Peter's shoulder and urged him to lay back down. "Stay still. You're in no position to move. Rest here." Batman stood up and began to move.

Suddenly, the memory hit Spider-Man and he scrambled to his feet despite the older heroes' instructions. "Crap! The Joker and Harley! Where are they?! I'm not finished with them yet!"

Batman immediately stopped in his tracks, turned right back around, and got in Peter's face. "Yes you are. The Joker is far out of your league. If you were foolish enough to fall for his poison trick, then you aren't fit to even read his criminal record." Batman got even closer, putting his pointed finger on Peter's chest. "I don't know who you are. I don't care who you are. But the best thing for you to do is to go back to New York."

Batman turned around and started towards the Batmobile. Curiosity caught Peter. One, for how Batman knew where he was from. And two, who this person thought he was. No one talked to Spider-Man that way and got away with it.

"You will know me soon. The Joker is mine. And if you get in my way, you'll regret it with your life."

Before Batman had a chance to address the threat, he looked over just in time to see Spider Man leaping out of the window.

Batman let his slightly tense shoulders settle. "Reckless kid. He's going to get himself killed."

He felt remorse for Spider-Man even though he didn't know much about him. He even saw a lot of his early self within Peter. But if there was one thing Batman wasn't, it was a babysitter.

And if Spider Man wanted to be murdered by the Joker, that was his choice to live with.


Searing red light burned into Harley's eyes, courtesy of the stoplight she was standing above. Maybe if she stared at it long enough, it would blind her, so that she wouldn't have to face The Joker. She knew the fate that awaited her from her failure. She had tried her best to catch up to Executive Locke, but he was long gone. She'd found his car on the side of the road, empty, and with not even a footprint to be used for a potential pursuit. But, of course, finding him would be impossible after all. Even so, the Joker would want her to look anyway. No excuses. He would half expect her to pick up Locke's scent like a dog and follow his trail on all fours. It didn't help that the Joker already saw her like a dog anyway.

After Harley would fetch Locke, she might as well fetch a ball while she was at it. Even if his location was impossibly far, she had better go there, even if her shoes were falling apart.

Didn't matter.

She'd better take the shoes off and walk until her feet bled. One impossible expectation after another, and it never stopped with the Joker. It hadn't for the past few years she's been with him. Still, her love for him remained strong. But it was nights like this, where she knew that instead of coming home to his loving arms, she could expect to come home to arms that only abused her.

Faint echoes down the empty street sent shivers through her body.

It was him.

Years of anxiety, passion, and depression all wrapped up into one made her develop a sixth sense for his presence. On some days, it came in handy, being able to prepare candlelight dinners for a surprise act of affection. Other days, it served its purpose to warn her to get away... Never too far to where he will get suspicious. But always just enough. It was these many hoops that Harley learned to jump through over the years, so much so that it became muscle memory to her - A routine that she followed religiously down to every second. After all, the Joker might as well have been God to her.

A large armored van skidded to a stop under the redlight, the side door flying open in a frantic attempt to pick up their ally.

"Ms. Quinn! What are you standin' out in the street for?! Get in!" One of the thugs shouted. Another thug reached out his hand and hoisted her up into the van. With haste, they shut the door and sped off into a cloud of smoke. Instinctually, all the thugs in the van inspected her to make sure she was okay. Harley responded with simple nods and mindless "mm hmms" as she thought of the multiple ways the night would end for her, even going as far as to guess how many new bruises she would have on her body from her reckless lover. The man in question turned around in his passenger seat and rose up.

Harley's breath hitched in her throat as she looked at him make his way towards her from the front to the barren rear of the van. The interior was gutted and the only seats were that of the driver and passenger. So the Joker steadied himself along the inner metal walls to accommodate for the hectic maneuvers of the driver as he sped everyone toward a hideout. Without saying a word, the Joker approached her, his skeleton like hand reaching out toward her chin. Firmly, he took the bottom of her head in his hand and plunged his mouth onto hers.

Almost hypnotically, Harley grabbed his cheeks and pulled him closer into her mouth. Such an action came robotically, and was motivated not necessarily by love, but because her damaged psyche told her it was the "right" thing to do. Her heart only interpreted it as love, and whether or not her soul agreed with that, depended on her mood in that moment. Pleasing the Joker was like drinking water - It didn't feel right if she didn't meet her daily intake.

Their lips separated from the sudden passion for a moment. A string of saliva formed a bridge between their upper lips. It wouldn't be there for long. Amused by their accidental creation, Harley took her tongue and whisked it away by licking the side of his face, transitioning into sloppy kisses.

The Joker put his hand in between their mouths and rested his index in the bed of her lips. "You're still breathin', Darlin'..." He paused for a second, his mouth hanging open as he looked her up and down. "Good."

Disappointment shrouded Harley's mind. It seemed that he said it in a way that he didn't care whether she was alright or not. At times, she realized he would do this in order to get attention from her, and she had reasoned in the past that he never truly meant such thoughts. But based on his recent behavior, she began to rethink her theory. Maybe he really didn't care if she was okay or not. And maybe he only offered simple words like "good," to keep her on all fours, tied to his leash. A nervous cough broke the tension between the couple. The aura was awkward to say the least, so one of the thugs decided to offer small talk.

"So what do we do now? The Treasury knows we're onto em'."

"For real," another thug joined in. "Word'll get around to that fool Two-Face, and we'll be two steps behind."

The Joker turned around. "Oh, ye of little faith! What do you think Harley was doing all this time? She has Locke's ring."

Oh, but she didn't.

And that's when Harley found herself strapped in to a sudden guilt trip. She told herself that once the Joker found out, that the beating forthcoming was one she deserved.

"We'll have our very own nerd herd crack open that sucker, and we'll start workin' our way down the list until the West side is ours." He spun his head back around towards Harley and nodded at her. "Tell em', Harley! Show em' the Key that ya got!"

Nervous fingers twiddled at the frayed edges of her shorts. Her eyes found themselves glued to the Joker's shoes.

There was no use in lying. He always found out.

No use of stalling. He would still beat on her, no matter how much time she bought.

A somber tone trailed out of her mouth as she spoke. "I wasn't able to catch Locke like you told to me to." Harley paused, using what little strength she had to pull her eyes up into his. Her lips trembled.

There it was.

The blackness that glossed over his pupils, as if a demon took over his soul. Swiftly, her mind shifted into defense in hopes to lessen the impact of what she was saying.

Her words began jumbling out of her mouth at a quick, terrified pace. "Stupid Bats cost us too much time! B-By the time I made it out, Locke was gone! I tried scopin' around the block for him! I-I did! But I-"

"Shh! Shh, shh, shhhhh..."

Through wincing eyes, Harley found the Joker's index hovering back above her lips. Gone was the demon in his eyes. By a miracle, he was smiling.

"Stop, stooop, oh, Darlin', you're breakin' my heart." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her gently closer to him. After taking a moment to study her fearful expression, the Joker winced and tilted his head. "What?! You thought I'd be mad at you?! Is that what my little Rotten thought?!"

Harley was truly at a loss for words. Not a clue in the world for what to expect. Her walls stayed up and her mouth stayed shut, both in order to prepare for anything. He shook his head and kissed her forehead. "Oh, Harley. Now, you should know me better by now. I'm not mad..."

Again, the Joker took his hand, gently placing it underneath her chin to lift her gaze up towards him. Harley searched her lover's eyes, desperately in pursuit of just a trace of mercy somewhere within him. And just when she thought she'd found it, her fear was confirmed as his hand slid down to her neck, grasping it firm into a choke. "...I AM BEYOOOND THAT, HARLEY!"

Harley's heart began to beat out of her chest, so fast that she could barely focus. She knew she was screwed and her body already began involuntarily wincing from the excruciating pain that was sure to come. Every second savored was like morphine to the violence that he would no doubt torture her with.

"YOU MISERABLE CUNT!"

The Joker stood up and dragged Harley toward the back of the truck by the collar of her bomber. The driver began slowing down, flicking his eyes back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror.

The Joker took his free hand, pulled out his revolver and aimed it at the back of the driver's head. "Keep going! Or I'll give this truck a new coat of paint with your blood! You hear me, boy?!" Turning back around, the Joker kicked open the backdoors with his foot. Holding her by her ponytails, he let Harley dangle out of the truck just enough to where her nose was a mere inch away from the pavement that was sure to grind her up if he dropped her.

She wanted to plead to her lover so badly, but the updraft from the high speed wind prevented her from barely even breathing. Of course, it didn't help that her frantic heartbeat was causing her to suffocate on her own. Despite the loud wind screaming into her ear, she could hear the Joker hollering out from behind her.

"GODDAMMIT, HARLEY! DO YOU FAIL TO SWALLOW WHEN YOU EAT?! DO YOU FAIL TO WIPE WHEN YOU SHIT?! THEN HOW COULD YOU FAIL SOMETHING AS ELEMENTARY AS THIS?!"

The factor that made Harley upset the most was that she failed her lover. She convinced herself that she wasn't mad at how he was treating her, but rather, she focused the resentment on herself. It was her fault and she deserved to be dangled out of the back of a speeding truck. The Joker tightened his grip and pulled her back up, letting the back of her head tickle his nose with her hair. For a brief second, relief hit Harley harder than ever. But then, Joker whispered, "Find your own way home."

Before she had any time to process the words, Harley felt a brutal thump to her back, and all she could see was pavement, then sky, then pavement again, then sky once again, and the cycle repeated itself as she continued to topple over into the street like a discarded toy.


It would be a cold day in hell before Peter let the Joker get away with embarrassing him at the office. Spider Man's name was infamous already from just a few days in Gotham, and there was no way he'd let his reputation be tarnished from the Joker, who didn't even break a sweat to take him out. It was a careless mistake on Peter's behalf. But he swore up and down to himself that it would never happen again. His Spider Sense should've warned him, and perhaps he was losing his edge. "Slipping," as Coulson would call it. Yet, despite the deep contemplation that Peter found himself in, he swung through the Gotham skyline, his black suit being illuminated by the midnight moon.

It was careless to push his body as hard as he was. After all, it was only a minute ago that he'd been cured from the poison. But he just couldn't let the Joker get away. Using his senses, he picked up on the sound of a speeding truck, and followed it. Sure enough, he spotted a purple and green truck with smiley faces plastered along the sides.

"Idiots," Peter grumbled, thinking about how foolish it was for them to give themselves away due to the livery on their truck.

Maybe it spoke to how rich and powerful they were. That they could speed around in a patriotic vehicle with little regards to the ramifications of the act if they were caught. Spider-Man shot one web out to the tallest building he could see that was closest to him. Once connected, he did a backflip, grabbed the web line again, and began descending down toward street level to intercept the truck. At breakneck speed, Spider Man tensed his body in order to bash through the truck, but something unexpected halted him.

Something horrible.

The back doors flew open, and Peter witnessed firsthand the Joker terrorizing his beloved by dangling her above the road. In all of a sudden, he faked like he was about to reel her in, but then kicked her out just as fast. The last thing Peter saw was an eerie smile from the Joker. The two locked eyes, and the clown's cruel smile hadn't wavered one bit, almost as if the Joker was beckoning, taunting Spider-Man to question his morality and the 'love' he had for Harley.

Make no mistake, it was a horrific sight for Peter to see. He slowed down as swiftly as he could, and he was suddenly faced with a moral decision - Save Harley or let her suffer? Peter's logic kept shouting at him to let her reap the consequences of being a villain. To let her experience the full punishment of whatever reason the Joker tossed her for. But his soul, his spirit, his heart was begging him to show her mercy and put an end to the loathsome pain that was ripping through her body. Forcing himself to make a decision, he positioned his hand to shoot a web, but it was too late. Harley's body crashed into a newspaper column that was fixed onto a corner of a street. Spider Man's breath hitched in his throat from witnessing the brutal impact, and he landed right next to Harley to assess her condition. Glass from the machine was shattered everywhere, all along the ground where she lay, as well as underneath her.

The shattering glass was the last thing he heard before his senses went dark, all except for his sight. All his surroundings, as far as his eye could see, faded to black. Nothing else was important. His hearing followed suit, only tuning into the whimpering cries of her on the ground. In this very moment, she had become his world. And his world had become her.

Newspapers covered her like blankets, and the paper soaked up the blood that oozed from her body. It began to rain at a steady pace, and Spider-Man's feet made light splashes as he carefully walked up to Harley. As he did so, he entered a trance of worry with every emotion linked to it, surging through his body. It was almost as if it was the first time he'd witnessed a crime all over again, feeling the helplessness and the moral questions that came with it - How was a human capable of such a horrific act? He kept up the pace, walking up toward her like a robot, absent minded and focused on the sight before him.

It was worse than Peter could've ever imagined.

Harley's body convulsed in place on the ground, her body twitching back and forth as if it were still being tossed about to gravity's pleasure. She was face down, arms and legs twisted out into different directions, degrees, and angles. Each limb was dressed with fresh cuts and bruises, as well as plenty of old ones that were now reopened. Everything from her bomber to her fishnet leggings was tangled from the asphalt ripping it apart. And silent whimpers could be heard as Spider-Man towered over her with his lanky frame.

A large part of Peter was still quite traumatized from seeing the event firsthand. From Joker's twisted smile as he pushed her out, to the sheer savageness of the act itself. But to top it all off, it was the pain of seeing her flipping over countless times on the road. His voices were still shouting, arguing back and forth on what he should ultimately do.

One was telling him that he should leave her there. That she was a villain and that this is what she deserved. But the other voice preached compassion and mercy, which Spider Man used to have an abundance of. What little remained of his compassion, though, should be saved for someone that deserved it. Or what if Harley was the one that did?

Peter slowly crouched down and rested his hand on the back of her head, gently moving her head so that he could see her.

And it was worse than he thought.

Thanks to the dim orange glow from the street light above them, he could see all the details of her face. It was porcelain white, and not from any makeup. It was the skin itself, and it fascinated Peter. He took his thumb, made small circles on the mound of her right cheek. Even with his gloves on, he could still feel the smoothness of her skin. Impossibly soft and complemented with a faint dimple just below it. Peter moved his thumb upward to her eyes. There was no denying it. Harley Quinn was a gorgeous woman.

And just like countless people before him, Peter fell victim to her looks.

He hated himself for it.

He couldn't understand why he felt so instantly attracted to her. She was among the worst criminals he had ever seen, but his heart wanted him to take her and caress every bruise, every cut, and every sore that plagued her body.

He hated himself so damn much.

Gotham's rain gradually washed the blood away from her face, and Spider Man offered to help the rain by wiping away a glob of blood and saliva that pooled together at the tip of her chin. From the contact, Harley's eyes shot open.

"Wh-erngh-Wha...?" A shadow of a word gargled out of her gory mouth in a disturbing, coarse manner. It made Peter want to shed tears for her. Harley choked on her pasty blood as she looked into the eyes of a man she thought was dead. Confusion enveloped her even more so than the pain.

"...Wh-What..." She tried spitting the word out again, only for more blood to flow out of her mouth. Peter had enough of her struggling. He took his hand and caressed the side of her face, silently urging her to stop trying to talk. He must've forgotten who she was. She reminded him by spitting the remaining blood into his masked face. Peter jerked his head away, taking a moment to address the attack. He wiped his face, looked at her blood on his gloved hands, and back into her livid eyes.

"Fuck you," Harley spat, loud and clear. "I don't need your fuckin' help." Even after getting barbarically punished by the Joker, she still had some fight left in her. Peter could admire that. And he did. Peter licked his lips, wincing at the involuntary taste of her blood that seeped through the fabric. If Harley could see past his mask, she'd see Peter staring right into her eyes, fascinated by her resilience. Any normal person would've died or at least been knocked unconscious from what she'd experienced. Yet, here she was, wide awake with enough strength to deny help.

Harley was an enigma.

A paradox.

No person had captured his curiosity like she had, even with the little interaction he had with her. He looked her body up and down, taking in the bruises upon bruises that dressed her skin, and even the visible tattoos that declared herself as property of the Joker.

"Him."

That monster.

Peter wanted to know. To understand. To grasp the reasons why he would do this to the woman he claimed he love. Spider-Man found it harder to breath, swallow, or even stay sane as he continued to look into Harley's livid eyes. But if anything, he wanted to offer her sympathy.

Again, he ignored her warning and reached his hand out to caress her face once more. She wasn't having any of it. Through clenched teeth, she let out a terrible warcry and punched Peter square in his jaw. He tumbled over to her right side, and she quickly fought to get back up.

One leg cooperated with her, but the other, not so much. Harley was so close to standing all the way up until she fell right back down on her knees, clumsily onto Peter's torso. Peter's anger only lasted for a second until he felt her trembling palms sink into his chest, wincing at the weight of her on top of him. She steadied her body to keep herself from falling all the way onto him, until she forced herself back up all the way, dragging her disobedient legs over Peter's body. Peter turned around onto his stomach, watching Harley stumble through the rain at jagged pace.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she take a moment's rest?

"Harley!" Peter pleaded. "What are you doing?! You can't walk!"

"Watch me," she protested in a hurt, afraid voice, that contradicted the confidence in her declaration. As quickly as the words left her mouth, her legs proved her wrong and gave out from her depleted strength.

"No," Peter murmured to himself as he saw her about to fall.

Not on his watch. He wouldn't bare to watch her suffer more pain. If she fell down again, there was no guarantee that she'd be getting up again, and that wasn't good enough for Peter. He scrambled onto his feet. Right on time, Peter caught Harley from the back, securing his arms around her waist. He used the momentum from her fall to swing around so that his back was facing the ground when he collided with the concrete. Peter gladly absorbed the impact with his own body, and he lay on the ground with her directly on top of him.

Immediately, Harley struggled and wriggled out of his grip. "Get off of me!"

Of course, he could've kept her in his arms, but he opted against it, deciding she had enough of someone holding her against her will in the first place. Harley's arms found freedom, and she used them to turn around on top, and channel her rage onto Spider-Man. She launched her left elbow into the side of his neck and kept it there while she raised her other arm. Her right fist hung in the air, ready to crash down onto the man beneath her, but she paused and took a second to study him.

"Why won't you leave me alone?!" Her words bit into Peter with anger and regret. "Why can't you just fucking let me suffer by myself?!"

"Because you shouldn't have to in the first place! Okay?! You're better than this! You just-"

"-You don't even know me! You're just some square from outta town!"

Keeping his hands in a surrender position, Spider-Man continued his plea. "I don't know you! You're right! I don't! But I know a victim when I see one! And I just can't stand here and watch you be that! Okay?! I can't do that!"

So badly, Peter wanted to yank his mask off and be vulnerable with her. For her to look into a pair of eyes that were genuine, and meant what they said. But the way Harley's own eyes reacted to his last sentence told him that nothing could be so black and white. Harley's eyes had somehow gotten even darker.

A nerve had been touched.

Her disconnected look confirmed that. Peter no longer felt her frantic breaths onto his face as she loomed over him. Her heart had stopped cold and submitted itself to the darkness within it. Slowly, she opened her mouth in a way that seemed to be painful for her. Her lips moved to form a sentence that had yet to be uttered, but those silent words still brought immense pain to her lips as they left her mouth in a empty breath.

"...I am not a victim." The words finally choked out in a painful expression, equal to the agony that had taken over her face. Harley continued. "He loves me."

"No. No, no, listen to me. He doesn't."

"He loves me," she repeated, tuning out his words, as well as her own denial. Harley opened her mouth to repeat herself, but instead, a strained grunt found its way out instead, stemming from the pain that was washing over her entire body in throbbing waves, Over the years, Harley had built up a great deal of pain tolerance together with being a criminal, and the Joker's punching bag. But her current condition was just too much for her to maintain, and Spider Man's hardened heart broke when a hoarse groan cracked out of her throat.

Harley Quinn slumped onto Spider-Man, shrunk herself into a fetal position on his upper body, and filled the streets with her tortured cries. Reaching for anyone, anything, her hands naturally found a tuft of Spider-Man's suit, so she grabbed hold of him and held onto him for dear life. Jagged sobs bored into his neck as she pushed her contorted face up against his throat, begging for a reprieve from her collapsed heart. On cue, the rain started pouring its hardest, as if the Gotham sky was mourning for her. Peter could hear the brokenness through each tone of her cry.

"It fucking huuurts!"

Everytime Harley paused to inhale, it sounded like she was begging for forgiveness.

Begging for a second chance. Begging for freedom.

Peter laid on his back and watched like a helpless child, his hands awkwardly in the air, not sure of what to do. There was no moral dilemma this time. No arguing back and forth in his head. Peter knew what he wanted. And what he wanted was to wipe each and every tear away from her bleached skin. He couldn't understand why. He didn't need to. Yes, he would hate himself and chastise himself for every ounce of compassion he had for her. But that could wait until later. Above all else, this broken soul needed someone.

A hesitant hand started towards her shoulder, but paused when he felt a pressure on his chest - her palms against it to push her up. Sitting up just enough to look at her condition, Harley's blood ran cold at the state of her body. She was, literally, covered in blood. It might as well have been a second skin, with all the crimson that poured from her open gashes.

Panicked seized her heart, somehow halting it into an even slower pace. When would it collapse? Be still so that she wouldn't have to see him anymore, she wondered. At least, if she couldn't do anything right by him. And Harley cursed herself for this, putting the main blame on her body as she replaced saddened cries with angry ones.

"W-What the fuck?" She said, shaking her head in awe at her body. "What the fuck?! What am I gonna do now?! Look at me! I-I-I'm too fucked up! He'll never take me back now!"

Another disturbing croak came from her mouth, immediately followed by her gritting her teeth into another cry.

"Oh, God, fuck!"

Drowned, heavy, and trembling with emotion, Harley drug her eyes up to Spider-Man's. No pupils met hers back, but she could feel them on her, and that is what she subconsciously screamed for. For someone to see her and sympathize with her. Peter realized that, too, through her fearful glare. It wasn't the gashes that dressed her head to toe from scraping concrete.

No.

The worst pain for Harley in that moment came from the idea of her love not being reciprocated. That pain was worse tenfold.

Glittered thumbnails sank into her thighs as she quietly pushed all her weight onto them. It was a crude form of self-harm, angry at her body for letting her down. For letting him down. Again, the horrifying condition of Harley blew Peter away. He paused in shock and had to take a second just to make sure he was seeing things correctly. But as Harley continued worsening her injuries through her mental breakdown, Peter tackled her onto the ground and squatted above the center of her waist.

"Harley, quit it! What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?!"

Harley closed her eyes, her head rocking to and fro as she heaved curses onto herself.

Peter had enough.

He exhaled deeply and shouted with all of his heart, "He doesn't love you!"

And that's when Harley snapped.

Before Spider-Man had time to react, her eyes snapped open, bloodshot and red from all the crying, and Peter felt cold steel against his chin. He knew the gun was there. He didn't need to look at it. He couldn't look at it. He couldn't take his eyes away from hers. They were filled with so much anger and hurt, her very lids twitched from the pain in her body and soul. She forced herself to stop the tears but instead of flowing out, they pooled in her ducts and burned against her cold skin. Peter didn't dare look away for a second. She didn't say a word. Instead, her eyes said everything.

"He does love me! He does love me!"

Harley was shouting at the top of her lungs, and Peter heard her loud and clear. But neither her denial, nor the hand-cannon against his throat could stop him from speaking what he believed. His nerves were like the very steel against him as he struggled to swallow.

Peter repeated himself, this time more carefully. "He doesn't… love you."

Harley couldn't hold them anymore. The dam broke and the tears flushed her face again. Spider-Man felt a fresh bullet load into the chamber as Harley pulled the hammer back with her thumb. Peter knew this was serious and that he was risking his life with her. But something told him that she was worth it. He lost himself in her eyes that were nearly as red as the blood coating her skin.

And instead of speaking through him with her expressions, she used her voice one last time, "I'll kill you."

The words rolled out of her mouth at a steady, threatening pace. Fear literally crept up Peter's back when he heard them, because it lacked the heavy Brooklyn accent with her warning. It was almost like it was constructed from the remains of whatever person she used to be before she became who she was now. That previous identity dead and long gone by now, instead, replaced with a broken tool that the Joker used at his pleasure.

The barrel of the gun dug deeper and deeper into his throat, with the steel tip threatening to rip the suit, due to her trembling hand. Realizing that there was no hope, Spider-Man got off of her, stood up, and turned his back toward her. Harley glared at the back of his head before she finally used what little strength she had to bring herself onto her feet.

Every limb, every joint, every inch of her body was on fire from the sharp pains that pelted her like a million needles. Despite all of it, she carried on, holding her arms close to her abdomen, and steadying herself along the wall with her right shoulder. Spider Man heard the light splish of her feet as she walked away, but couldn't help but to turn around and take one last look at her. She was wobbling side to side while struggling to keep her balance. Her back was hunched and her head slung down to study the patterns of the concrete she trudged along.

A faint humming came from her. Peter focused his hearing and listened to what sounded like some sort of nursery rhyme that Harley sang in a somber tone. Tears tugged at Peter's own eyes, so he opted to look away from her and vault onto a rooftop in order to get away. He hadn't cried in years and didn't want to start again now. He cried rivers after his life turned into a tragedy, and he didn't want to be reminded of those times. So Spider-Man shot a web into a building and launched himself high into the Gotham night. Even with the wind rushing past his ears, he could still hear her humming clear as ever.

Harley Quinn haunted him.


AN: As you can imagine, seeing someone get thrown out of a truck and the gruesome details from it really fucks Peter up and is one of the main things that leads to Peter going insane. I don't think it's much of a spoiler, but yes, Peter literally goes insane in this story. And there's gonna be certain feats he does that'll prove his insanity, and I'm really eager to share those chapters whenever the time comes.