AN: I normally try to keep my AN Minimal, but I did want to answer a question left in a review. Yes, this is a JokerxHarley Pairing, and we will get there, but there's a lot of story to go before we do, I am not sure whether this story constitutes as a "slow burn", but this is my Harley Origin, and in my mind, at least in the Nolanverse, she would not go gentle into that good night. So prepare yourself for clawing and scratching. And I'm sorry if you don't like the songs, but I hope you do listen to each, as each of my picks add either context or tone. Of course not necessary to read the story, but it is helpful if you would like more characterization.
The wisdom we learn as our minds,
They do burn'll,
Entice the naivety in youth,
As adults will grow and maturity shows,
The terrifying rarity of truth,
As you turn to your mind,
And your thoughts they rewind,
To old happenings and things that are done,
You can't find what's passed,
Make that happiness last,
Seeing from those eyes what you become,
Well you become
I come back to haunt you,
Memories will taunt you,
And I will try to love you,
It's not like I'm above you,
Haunt - Demo / / Bastille
PRESENT DAY
I swung open the door to my tiny apartment, and sighed, spraying my air freshener to help the smell.
Stepping out of my shoes, I grabbed the gin, before reconsidering, pulling out the Bourbon that Ozzy had bought for my birthday the year before.
It was a special occasion bottle, due both to my own foolish sentimentality and also because I would never spend that kind of money on booze, myself.
It may not be a special occasion tonight, but it's beginning to feel like it never will be one. The same routine, day after day, clogging my mind up with inconsequential nonsense.
My stomach growled angrily at me, and I considered for a moment, trying to cook something. Before remembering the only food I keep in my apartment is leftovers, sauce, and coffee.
I grabbed my phone, to order Chinese food from the spot down the block, they deliver, so I wouldn't have to exert any more energy than the call, and opening the door.
One phone call later I am relaxing on the couch, waiting for my cashew chicken and fried rice.
What a boring day. In the middle of a boring week.
I just wish anything would happen
Suddenly, my phone shrilled a ring by my leg, and I picked it up to see who was calling, only to watch it die in my hand before I could.
"Piece of shit," I muttered, throwing it aside.
I stood up, making my way to the shower, intent on washing the long day off of my world-weary skin.
/ / / /
I stepped out of the shower, hearing someone at the door, then stepped nude into the hallway to buzz them in, before walking back to my room, putting on my robe, and piling my hair on top of my head.
God, I look like a mess. I thought, making eye contact with the mirror, seeing my tired eyes and sullen expression head-on for the first time. A sturdy knock sounded on my door, and I shouted out that I was coming, as I made my way to the door. Oh, well, who cares what the delivery boy thinks?
I was speaking before I opened the door. "Hey, thanks so much for getting that over here so fa-"
Johnathon Crane stood in my doorway, a serious expression stencilled across his features.
I considered trying my luck at slamming the door, maybe try to climb down my balcony before he made it into the room, but I had seen enough of him on the news to know that Scarecrow was much stronger and much faster than Johnathon ever was.
His eyes dropped to my robe, for only a moment, before a flush coated his face, starting at his cheeks, then his nose, and even his forehead.
"May I come in Harleen?" he questioned, seeming concerned I would decline.
"Yes. Would you like some coffee?" I stepped back, allowing him to enter. Maybe if I act like everything is normal, I can find a way to get away.
"That would be lovely, but don't trouble yourself, dear," he said, looking down at the overfilled glass of whiskey on my table.
"If you would rather have that, I can pour you a glass?"
"I didn't know you drank?" he questioned.
"I didn't." Before.
He flinched at the implication.
"Ah, well, either would be lovely, though I must admit, I have more of a taste for-"
"Gin? Tequila? Vodka? I've got most of it," I said, turning to my liquor cabinet while keeping him in my peripheral vision.
"Gin would be nice,"
"On the rocks?"
"Please."
He sat on the faded floral recliner in the corner, facing the sad brown couch where I took a seat.
Suddenly there was a buzzing again, and he nodded for me to allow them in. "I assume you were waiting for take-out?"
I nodded. And walked to open the door when there was a knocking.
"Tell them I am here and I will have to kill them, Harley. And I know you don't want that on your conscience."
I nodded again, opening the door, and taking my food, without saying a word. The delivery boy was happy to take his tip and leave.
I laid my food on the counter, appetite long gone, and sat on the couch.
"Why do you live here, Harley?" He asked, seemingly disgusted with the arrangements.
I laughed a little. "Same reason you used to live in little run-down places like this, I don't care about that kind of stuff."
"You care enough to wear thousand-dollar shoes to work."
I shrugged. "Image is important. I have to ensure people see what I want them to see."
"Which is?"
Someone who has their shit together- that vicious little voice behind my ear spat at me.
"Someone... professional. Someone to look up to. Someone..." I thought. "Important."
Johnathon nodded, leaning back. "Are you afraid?"
"No." I lied steadily, a trick my father had given me, whether through DNA or practice I can't remember.
His head tilted, considering, before nodding. "Good. I don't want you to be afraid of me."
"What do you want?"
He seemed confused, looking at me with clouded eyes, thunderstorms again, instead of the clear cloudless sky blue I loved most on him.
Love-d. Past tense. Get that through your thick fucking skull. The voice whispered. You're gonna get yourself killed.
"What do you think I want, Harley?" He said, breaking my concentration.
"I-" my voice broke, and I cursed myself to hell and back, mentally.
"I don't know, John." I looked away. "Are you here to kill me?"
The question came out a whisper, but I knew he had heard it, because he had moved from the chair, and was knelt in front of me before I knew it.
"No! No!" He said, reaching up to touch my face but stopping short when I flinched. "Oh, Harley, you can't truly think that-"
"I don't want to think that," I said, no small amount of hurt in my voice.
I looked down at him, noticing his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
"I love you, Harley, I always have. You must know that?"
I blinked a few times, before nodding silently. I tried to reason what I thought of his declaration, more than 8 years after my own, but my mind felt like it was moving in slow motion, still processing that he was in my apartment.
He seemed disappointed she didn't say the words back, but not angry, or surprised.
"I understand that for you, perhaps, it will take time. I am not going to hurt you, Harley. I just want to make you remember."
His eyes went from speculative storm clouds to Cobalt lighting strikes in less than a moment, a slick shine in the light, a flash of his hand, and a pinch in my hip, all happened in that same moment. I was on my feet, shoving him over, alone with my coffee table, I could hear the glass shattering behind me as I ran for the door. Unfortunately within seconds, that felt like hours, my limbs felt unbearably heavy, and my span of awareness within my own body had been split down, to the point I couldn't feel my feet, or my thighs, then suddenly, I was face down on the floor, fighting to keep my eyes open, fighting to reach the handle, to escape.
"I'm so sorry, my dear, I mean what I say, I would never hurt you. But time is of the essence, and I knew you wouldn't come quietly." He said, stroking my hair, softly.
And then. Darkness.
/ / /
Crane was still stroking her hair when a knock came on the door.
He stood, lifting the woman in his arms. He was taken aback at how heavy she was, though it probably came from the muscles he could feel under the pink robe she was wearing. He placed her on the couch, covering her torso and legs with the blanket she had laying across the back of the couch. Before stepping to the door, opening it to see two of his men.
"Good. Right on time. Go and pack her things. Anything nice. With color. Nothing boring. She likes pink."
"Uh." One of the boys started, seeming confused.
Scarecrow arched a brow, and before the first man could interject the second sounded off, knowing that both of their lives were in danger.
"Yes, boss." He said.
Crane heard him cursing the other man under his breath as they walked to her bedroom.
Scarecrow stepped around the couch, looking down at the woman on the couch with a tenderness he didn't know he still possessed.
A single finger stroked her cheek, softly. Amazed at the silkiness of her skin. "Perfect."
He took a walk around the apartment, looking for any sign of a happy person living in this run-down piece of shit apartment. He found nothing. None.
No food in the kitchen. No pictures. Sure, she had a bookshelf, that was full of books, but it was coated in a layer of dust that was frankly impressive. The only thing that was worth anything in the house were her clothes, makeup, and perfume. Multiple bottles of perfume. A couple of which were brands he recognized, and if they were any indication, they were all incredibly expensive.
Soon enough they had her things ready, and it was time to leave the depressing building, and Crane couldn't be happier, climbing into the car, still holding Harley to his chest, leaning back, so her face is within his view, staring down at her he found himself amazed at her beauty all over again, and was fascinated to find that she was only more beautiful than the last time he had seen her. Her eyes and cheekbones were more prominent, more defined.
Her lips looked exactly the same. He resisted the urge to lean down to kiss her, knowing she wouldn't approve if she were awake.
For now... he controlled his face, keeping his smile inside.
Upon arrival at the penthouse that they would be staying in for the next week, as a precaution, staying under the radar until the heat cools off.
He left her lying in what would be their bedroom, before walking into the kitchen, and making coffee, sitting down, and making calls to his associates, both muscle, and buyers, letting them all know of his early release, and informing them that he would be prepared to step back into the business within the week.
/ / /
The man reached to mute the television, rubbing his temples in the dark room. On-screen the news continued to explain the most recent Arkham breakout.
Scarecrow had escaped and killed multiple guards on his way out last night. The man felt shame in his bones. I should have been there. He couldn't keep torturing himself like this. Watching this, knowing he can't do anything about it.
He steeled his resolve, and reached for the remote again, intending to turn off the television, or perhaps change the channel, anything but hearing about the lives he could have saved.
Then the headline changed. He had kidnapped a doctor from the Asylum. One of the other doctors had come to see her the morning after and found the door open, and signs of a struggle inside, and upon checking the cameras in the halls, there was footage of him carrying an unconscious Doctor out of her apartment.
But it wasn't just the kidnapping that caught his attention.
"Harley?" Bruce said incredulously, as the image of a stern, yet kind woman, with dark hair showed on screen, an Arkham ID photo perhaps?
"A friend, Master Bruce?" Alfred said from behind him, looking up at the screen and thinking to himself that she reminded him of the late Rachel, a bit, not so much in the face, but there was certainly something there. A strength, he supposed.
"Yes, I knew her in college, I haven't seen her since." He seemed pensive. "She was Cranes star Student at the university. This cannot be a coincidence."
"No, I suppose it isn't."
Bruce was torn. On one hand, he had decided to put the suit away. On the other... this was Harley. Darkly funny, take-no-shit Harley. Loyal to a fault, Harley.
He couldn't just let her die.
"So am I to ready your evening attire, Master Bruce?"
Bruce sat silently for a moment, weighing his options.
"Yes, please Alfred."
/ / / /
The bed was too comfortable. I didn't want to wake up, ever. The smell of John's cologne surrounded me, and I snuggled down further into the sheets, relaxed beyond belief.
Johns cologne.
My eyes snapped open, and I sat up in the bed, making eye contact with Scarecrow.
I cried out, before scrambling backwards on the bed, only stopping when my back is fully pressed against the headboard of the massive bed.
Crane reached up, ripping off the mask, and dropping it, before raising his hands again in a placating manner, like I was a spooked horse, for god's sake.
"I apologize, Harley, I had forgotten I was wearing it." He seemed sheepish.
"No, no, completely understandable," I said nodding. It isn't, but it's not the matter at hand, I corrected internally. "It's the watching-me-sleep part that I'm freaked out by, John!" I glared.
He seemed surprised and delighted for me to say his name.
Psycho. I thought, looking into his too-bright blue eyes, and trying to think of a way to get away from him.
"John."
His eyes and smile were soft when he replied. "Yes, Harley?"
"I would like to go home, now." I worked to keep my voice even.
His face fell, "We can discuss that later," he said deeming disappointed. "For now, get up, get clean and dressed. You and I are going to have a meal together."
He pointed to a door on the left side of the bedroom, "Bathroom." He said in explanation. "I've already put your things away, this room is yours, to do with as you please, I've taken the Liberty of bringing art supplies for you as well, seeing as your apartment was empty of them."
He patted my hand softly, "I'm sure you've noticed the windows, behind you." He nodded to them, and I turned to look, at large stained glass windows, absolutely beautiful.
"You may be wondering why I am so comfortable leaving you in a room you could so easily escape. The answer is that we are 24 floors up, and that window opens to a free fall. You will not be able to escape from here. If you try, you will die." He said with an earnestness that seemed to say that my death was an outcome he preferred to avoid.
"Just come through this door" he pointed to the door behind him, "When you're ready. And Harley?"
He gazed at me, a warning in his voice. "Don't keep me waiting too long."
And without another word or a glance back, Crane stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
What the fuck am I gonna do?
Fuck. I am fucked.
I stood, taking account of the room, which was lavishly decorated, the bed was a California king and had plain grey bedding. A high ceiling, and simple lighting. I walked to the bathroom to take inventory. He wasn't joking when he said that he had found places for all of my things, the bathroom was clean, but lived in. Looking up into the mirror I noticed that my hair was an absolute rats nest, and I was still dressed in her bubblegum pink bathrobe.
I could strike? Refuse to shower or change. Maybe he would get sick of having a captive that smelled like shit.
I smirked at the idea but stripped out of my robe, and climbed into the shower, washing and detangling my hair, cleaning and moisturizing my skin.
finally, when I stepped out I felt human again. I noticed he had brought my entire skincare collection, I hardly ever use the stuff, but I figured, why not, it buys me more time away from him.
I did my makeup, perhaps a waste in a hostage situation, but a habit nonetheless, then, wrapping myself in a towel, I stepped back into the room, to survey the closet, wondering what he had brought for me to wear.
"Jesus H Christ," I muttered. Taking in the fact that the only clothing I had in my closet were either clothes from when I was in college, or my designer dresses, including my Tetch originals. Looks like I'm dress-up Barbie for the Master of Fear. I thought with a small amount of disgust.
I picked the most conservative outfit I could, a longer, Pink Gingham women's suit, with a pencil skirt. Along with my Pink leather Burberry heels. I decided to forgo the expensive perfume, thinking that the flammability of my perfume collection could be helpful in the long run.
Once my hair was dried and styled plain, slicked down my back, I stepped out of the room, to find Johnathon sitting on a recliner, reading a book that rested on his crossed legs.
"Ah! You're ready." He said with a smile, standing and guiding me to a fabulous kitchen, where a very frightened older man and two younger men were cooking, he continued walking, arm around my waist, pulling me into a candle-lit dining room.
A man stoic-looking man, in a suit and tie, pulled out a seat for me, which I thanked him for as I sat down, keeping one eye on Scarecrow as I did.
He sat directly across from me and smiled.
"I am so happy that you've decided to be reasonable about this." He smiled.
I noticed that there were two large men, one in either corner of the room behind him. I couldn't try anything now, without the distinct possibility of becoming injured and making myself less physically capable of escaping.
"Yes, I don't see a point in fighting."
Scarecrow's eyebrow raised, suddenly suspicious.
"For now," I finished, which seemed to appease him.
"Well, I am happy to hear that, especially considering the work I've put in to make this dinner perfect."
At that moment the man in the suit returned with two glasses and a pitcher. He placed a glass of red wine in front of us both, and filled our water glasses, before quickly exiting the room.
Bleh. I hate wine. Sangria once in a while is fine, but just red wine? Yuck!
I kept my face neutral as I lifted the glass, taking a sip of the foul liquid.
I smiled a small smile and nodded. "Fantastic choice on the wine."
"Yes, it is a favorite vintage of mine," he nodded. "I'm glad you enjoy it."
The room was awkward, and still. Too quiet.
After a minute of that, I broke the silence. "John, listen, if you don't want me to go psychotic, I need my cigarettes. I am beyond stressed right now. I feel my hair going grey."
He chuckled under his breath, "Well, I hope the stress will dissipate soon rather than later. But to your request, yes, I had Victor pick up a carton for you." His tone changed entirely, "Victor. Please bring Harleen her cigarettes."
The man swiftly left the room, and Crane continued. "My intention is not to make you uncomfortable, Harley. Rather to give you all the comforts you desire."
The man in the suit was back, and Harley noticed for the first time he had a name tag pinned to his chest. William, it read.
William placed soup bowls in front of each of us. Inside was a glassy looking Tomato soup, he also placed a small plate with-
"You've got to be kidding me-" I laughed, genuinely.
"You brought these fancy French chefs down here, kidnapped them, and this poor waiter… to make" I laughed even more heartily at the ridiculousness of the situation.
"You." I stopped to laugh again, covering my mouth. "You brought them here to feed me grilled cheese and tomato soup!?"
Scarecrow looked sheepish. "I wanted to only have foods you like," he said. "This was your favorite."
"When I was 19!" I laughed. "God, John, how are you funnier than before?"
He was laughing too now, face still fire-engine red, but at least he was in on the joke. The man came back with my cigarettes, and I lit one before saying anything else. After taking my first drag, I leaned back in my seat, relaxing even if only slightly.
"I just want to give you all the good things in life," his smile was soft now.
I chuckled again, dunking the too-pretty sandwich into the soup, and waving the end at him. "You're ridiculous." and took a bite.
The dinner went well from there, and I even found myself enjoying his company, relaxing into the easy friendship we had before. Though I told myself, I was only pretending, I knew deep down, I still cared for this man, in what way I didn't know, but I knew I did care.
After dinner, he turned on a hidden sound system and soft classical music began to play. He stood from the table, took my hand, leading me in a dance.
I was surprised to find myself still attracted to the man, confused by it. That certainly didn't mean I would let him know about it. I did dance without doing anything that could be considered rude, not wanting to encourage him, but also wary of upsetting him.
Why the hell hasn't Batman shown up yet anyway? I mean, aren't these freaky criminals his whole thing?
Eventually, he was finished with his mock date and allowed me to go back to my room, with only a kiss on my forehead.
I paced my room, hoping that eventually, I would think my way out of this box he had put me into. Which I was surprised to find I wasn't angry about. Upset? Scared? Desperate to escape? Yes. Angry? No.
Not at all.
Shrugging my shoulders, I realized despite sleeping all night and today, I was exhausted. I stripped out of the suit and put on one of the silk nightgowns that were in a drawer. I didn't recognize them and assumed he must have purchased them for this very scenario.
At least he's treating me well, I thought with a huff, I bet other abductees are jealous.
I let out a laugh at the thought, and laid down, kicking myself mentally for my thoughts the night before.
Hey, Batman, I thought, a silent prayer. Get me out of this and I swear I'll never complain about being bored again.
/ / / /
Her apartment was nearly bare. No furniture in the living room, no food in the kitchen. Her clothes were picked through. After the Scarecrow abducted her and left her front door open, her neighbors and others all had their pick of Harley's belongings.
Batman was sad to see it, of course, her landlord could track down some of them with the cameras in the building, but many of them wore masks before entering. The crime scene was picked clean, and there was nothing for him to see here. Batman walked back to the Balcony he had come in, looked up at the moonless night sky of Gotham, and thought about all that could have happened to her since he had taken her. The pain she must be in.
I'm going to find you, Harley. I won't let you down, again.
/ / / / /
AN: PLEASE REVIEW.
