Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, baby.”

She rolled over with a sigh, shoving her unkempt pile of blonde hair out of her face. Her mouth tasted dirty. But there was Greg and fuck if he wasn’t the most handsome thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“Hey,” she smiled.

“Big day.” He was blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, rubbing his face like he was a little boy. She caught one of his hands and brought it to her mouth, kissing his palm.

“Big day,” she agreed, slipping her body against his. They slept naked. She had always loved the shiver of cool fabric against her bare skin--and the soft rumble in Greg’s chest when he felt her skin pressed against his. And she marveled at how perfectly they fit together--the way her soft breasts melded against his strong chest. The ease in which his thigh slipped between her knees.

“You okay?” he murmured. “Sure you don’t want me to drive you there?”

“They’re sending a car,” she reminded him--and then she smiled, nipping at his lower lip. “You worried about me?”

“Course I am,” he huffed, opening his sky blue eyes. “That place is a nightmare. A hellhole for the most broken fucks in this city.”

“Greg,” she said a little sharply.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I’m just saying, they’re lucky to have you.”

“I know,” she smirked, squirming in his arms a little.

“Oh, you know, do you?” he grinned, now fully awake in more ways than one. She felt his hardness slip against her hipbone.

“Perv,” she accused. “You want to send me hobbling into Arkham, huh? Have all those crazy boys know what my boyfriend did to me?”

“Something like that,” Greg smirked, his hand sliding around her, down her back, over her ass, between her legs.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she murmured, biting back a moan.

“Is it working?” Greg murmured, swallowing her sounds with a kiss. And then he kissed her throat--and then down the center of her chest, taking his time with each breast. Lower. Lower.

Fuck, he was such a good boy.

She stood in the elevator, twirling the pretty necklace with the heart shaped pendant that Greg had given her, humming to herself. She had been nervous about her first day. Well, nervous wasn’t the right word. You felt nervous when you had no confidence in yourself. But she knew who she was.

Brilliant, driven, beautiful.

And she saw the way they looked at her as she walked into the office and picked up her clipboard. She saw how they stared at her long blonde ponytail, her glasses, her pencil skirt, her fitted pale blue blouse. She saw the curl of their lips. She saw their hidden smiles as they watched and waited.

And then, she saw why they were watching her so closely.

10:00-11:00 Joker

Well. They were fucking around, were they? Right in with the wolf himself.

But she wasn’t scared. She’d been scared before. She knew fear. She’d made friends with it, not because she wanted to, but because she didn’t have a goddamn choice.

The human spirit was tenacious as fuck. She knew that. And somewhere in there was a person. And maybe they had all given up and thrown her to the Joker as their own personal fuck you to her (and she couldn’t blame them for resenting her, twenty-three and a licensed psychiatrist), but she would rise to the challenge. Just like she had risen to every other challenge in her life.

They could laugh all they wanted, but soon, they’d see. Soon, she’d prove to them what she proved to everyone. What she’d proved to Greg over and over again that morning.

“Fuck,” Greg had moaned, gripping her ponytail and pulling her off his dick. She made a loud, wet noise as he dragged her off because she knew he liked it. “Baby, you really are the best.”

The best.

And soon, he’d know it too.

“Aaron Cash?” she asked a large security guard who had surprisingly kind eyes.

“That’s me,” he said with a nod. “You Dr. Harleen Quinzel?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Take me to see the Joker.”

And his gaze showed fear, but hers didn’t.

Because, well. She was the best.

Chapter Text

"Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind."
--Audre Lorde, "A Woman Speaks"

---

“Hey, get up, shithead.”

Lily groaned into her pillow--so Harleen smacked her with hers.

“Owww,” Lily whined, scrubbing her hands over her face.

“Don’t be so dramatic, it was just a pillow,” Harleen huffed. “We gotta get to school.”

“Fuck school,” Lily grunted, rolling over.

“Language.”

“You said shit!”

“Yeah, but I’m older, plus fuck is worse.”

“Now you said fuck!”

“It’s amazing the privileges that age brings. Now kindly get the fuck up so I can take you to school.”

Lily whined, but she sat up, her skinny white legs dangling over the edge of the top bunk. “Are you coming to school too?”

“Maybe,” Harleen offered evasively.

“Pleeeeease?” Lily pouted.

“Oh my God, why is it so important to you?”

“I just like it when you’re there,” Lily admitted, hopping off of the bed and heading towards their tiny shared closet.

“You have to be the only middle schooler alive who actually enjoys the presence of their older sibling,” Harleen huffed.

“Why do I have to go to school if you don’t have to go?” Lily complained.

“Because I’m a genius. We have discussed this. You score a thirty-six on your ACT and then we can talk,” Harleen retorted, but she was putting on her cheerleading uniform.

“You’re coming!” Lily beamed, changing out of her pajamas into a clean t-shirt and jeans.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited,” Harleen grunted. “We’ll probably see each other like one time. And I refuse to wave.”

“It’s okay,” Lily grinned. “Because I’ll know that you’re waving in your head.”

“Something like that,” Harleen huffed. “Alright, kid, you ready to go?”

“Yep!” Lily said cheerfully, grabbing her backpack. “Can we have poptarts on the way out?”

“Ah, sure,” Harleen decided. And her mind was immediately off to the races.

New box of poptarts is $13.99, if I work an extra shift tonight at Henry’s, I can probably make about $60 but Lily needs new shoes which will be about $20 and--

“Harleen.”

Lily wasn’t moving. She was standing on the last few stairs, frozen.

“What? Are you okay? What’s--”

“Anthony’s here.”

Harleen felt dread flood her stomach.

“Quiet,” she advised Lily softly. “Soft feet, okay? Here, give me your backpack.”

Lily very carefully threaded her arms through her backpack. She was so practiced. Something about it made Harleen’s heart clench.

No eleven year old should have to--

“Good job,” Harleen said quietly. “Now come on. Remember, soft feet. I’ll close the door.”

The padding of their feet was completely inaudible. Harleen’s eyes briefly cut to the man collapsed in the recliner, snoring lightly. His perfect hair was mussed, and his eyes looked sunken. The house reeked like it always did when Anthony decided to show up.

Harleen worked the latch on the door until it clicked open. She pushed through the slight resistance it always gave. And then, she let Lily slip through first.

“Go--go to the bus stop,” she mouthed--and Lily was off, running with soft feet, her blonde pigtails flying behind her.

Harleen’s heart was pounding. The door wouldn’t close, not soundlessly, she’d have to pull on it and the sound would definitely--

She heard Anthony snort in his sleep.

“Don’t worry, Harleen,” she mouthed to herself silently. “Don’t worry.”

She got ready to run.

A deep breath. And then she PULLED the door as hard as she could.

SLAM.

---

SLAM.

“You okay?” Aaron Cash’s eyes cut to her. She centered herself (which mostly meant that she did everything to show that her heart rate hadn’t spiked for one awful moment). The elevator had slammed home in the most unpleasant manner. His eyes stayed on her as they moved in a hallway.

“Yes,” she replied. “You weren’t kidding when you said Maximum Security.”

“Well, not to scare you, ma’am, but anything less than that and he gets out. We’ve seen him do it a hundred times. Give the guy an inch and he’ll take the circumference of the globe,” Aaron said humorlessly. His eyes cut to her again. She saw it.

“Don’t worry,” she told him gently. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m just saying, he… we’re require to keep giving him treatment, but this is… I mean, I’ve worked here for five years now, and I’ve seen him use people. Therapists. Don’t understand it, the guy is disgusting, but he gets into people’s heads.”

“I’ve read his file, thank you, Aaron.” Harleen was proud of herself for not sounding clipped.

“I guess… I don’t understand why they’re sending you. You’re so…”

Harleel felt every hair on her arms stand up. A bubble of anger started to creep up her throat.

Swallow. Control. Soft feet.

“Well, I probably don’t need to tell you that you’re--a good looking woman,” Aaron finished, and she noticed that his cheeks were ruddy.

“Thank you,” Harleen said because she was supposed to. And it was nice to hear. Or at least that was what she was supposed to think. But she knew what word usually went hand in hand with pretty. It was the same thinking that had had the little boys in her college classes whispering behind their hands, the same mindset that had caused her sixty-six year old law school professor to tell her not to wear such tight skirts.

Little boys. Every single one of them. They never grew out of it, did they?

Still. Aaron was cute. Harmless. But she knew even the littlest dog could have a nasty fucking bite.

“Not trying to imply anything,” Aaron said quickly. “Just--if he does anything you don’t like, let me know. I’ll be watching. It would be my honor to crack that psychopath’s head. Sorry. Not that--sorry. It’s just--the things I’ve seen him do to good people…”

Aaron shook his head and crossed his arms. And flexed. As if Harleen didn’t notice.

“I appreciate it,” she said gently. “Really. But it will be fine. I’ve worked with all kinds of different patients, including dangerous ones. I don’t really have any expectations. I’m just going to go do my best.”

It was a lie, but it wasn’t any of his business.

“Alright,” he huffed, seemingly comforted by that. “Okay. You ready?”

They were standing in front of a massive metal door. Seriously, the thing was probably ten feet tall--and there was a huge combination lock on the front, the kind with a wheel that took real muscle to move. It was almost comical--but sort of majestic in its own way.

“None of this strikes you as excessive?” she murmured.

“No, ma’am,” Aaron said immediately. “Not one bit.”

Curiosity flickered around her mind. She was, above all, a voracious lifelong learner--and she wanted to learn what made this man so impossibly, terrifyingly dangerous. Because, after all, at the center of him, he was just a man. And men were such little boys.

“I’m ready,” she told him, because it had never mattered before if she was ready or not.

He nodded. He turned the big wheel. She watched and effortlessly memorized the combination.

46. 84. 13. 98.

Just in case.

The door groaned open. He looked at her. She saw the concern in his eyes. Another girl would have found it endearing.

“Don’t worry,” he told her softly. “I’ll be watching. If you’re scared, let me know.”

But good boy, she thought very quietly, I’m always scared. It feels like home to me.

“Thanks,” she replied and smiled. He smiled back. Men always smiled at her.

And then she turned her gaze to the table--and that was the first time she ever saw him.

That was the first time she ever saw someone and for the strangest moment, thought she was looking into a mirror.

I know you.

The words whispered between her ears.

“Hello toots,” he grinned--and his teeth were yellow and he was fucking hideous. “Welcome to my abode.”

Aaron looked at her because for a moment, she was very still. Not because she was worried. No.

She went in, her blonde hair flowing out behind her. She sat across from him. And she looked at him without feeling, without compassion, without anything. She had learned how to live in her body without really existing at all.

Soft feet. Don’t worry.

“Shall we get started?” she asked, her voice even.

And he smiled at her--a smile that she’d seen a thousand times before. And maybe he wasn’t the reflection she’d thought he was.

Little boy.

“We shall,” he murmured.

She flipped her briefcase open.

Chapter Text

"Of course I am not worried about intimidating men. The type of man who will be intimidated by me is exactly the type of man I have no interest in."
-Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

---

“So. You’re at school today.”

Harleen’s eyes flicked up, squinting in the sun.

“Looks like it,” she replied dryly. She reached into her purse and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, taking one between her teeth.

“Smoking is gross, Har,” said Luke, sitting on the steps next to her.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to have offended your delicate sensibilities,” Harleen drawled, her cigarette bouncing as she talked. She dug her pink lighter out of her purse and lit it.

“Just saying. It stinks,” Luke offered.

“Just saying. I don’t give a fuck,” she replied, taking the cigarette away from her lips and blowing out the most satisfying plume of smoke.

“You’re gonna get in trouble if they find you smoking, but let me guess, you don’t--”

“--give a fuck, good boy, you’re learning,” Harleen smirked.

“Haven’t seen you at school for awhile,” Luke murmured. “Thought you were done with the place.”

“Thought I was too,” she hummed. “But it just keeps pulling me back in. Must be the stimulating fucking company.”

“You wound me,” Luke smiled.

They were quiet for a moment. She smoked in silence, stifling a cough.

“I’ve got twenty bucks,” Luke murmured after a moment.

“Fuck you,” Harleen said without a second of hesitation.

“What?” Luke said and he had the gall to be offended.

“Fuck. You, Luke Parker and shove your twenty dollars up your ass,” she snapped.

“I just heard that you--”

“Of course you fucking heard that,” she said, and she was trying to get in control of her voice. The moment they knew you were bothered was the minute that everything fell apart. “And your dumbass was stupid enough to believe it.”

“I know it’s true,” Luke said, his bright blue eyes hardening. He was such a good looking guy, and he knew it. All blonde hair and strong shoulders. Mr. All America.

“You know?” she sneered. “God really fucked up picking who He wanted to lend his omniscience to.”

“Nick took a video.”

Harleen paused, her index finger and middle finger capturing the cigarette. Smoke uselessly spilled between her lips. She kept her gaze forward.

Keep your gaze fucking forward, Harleen.

“Did you hear me--?”

“Course I fucking heard you,” Harleen said quietly.

“So… I know.”

Harleen was impossibly still for a moment. And not for the first time her life, she wished that she was not fucking here. And she hated every motherfucker with a dick. Line them up, she’d cut every single one off. As if having a cock gave you the right to act like one.

“I could give you thirty.”

A box of poptarts is $13.99.

“The fuck do you even want with me,” she said, and her voice was quieter than she wanted it to be and it betrayed a fucking bottomless pit of exhaustion. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“She won’t do what you’ll do,” Luke said in a voice that was almost intimate (fuck him).

She stubbed her cigarette out on the steps.

“What? You want a real slut, huh?” Harleen huffed.

“I want a girl who likes it,” Luke told her.

Harleen sucked on her cheeks. And then, quite suddenly, she turned to face him.

“Forty.”

“Fine, but I want…” He trailed off, and he had the fucking audacity to blush.

“Say it,” she demanded.

“I want… your mouth.”

“Don’t be a pussy, say you want a blow job,” Harleen huffed.

“Why do I have to say it?” he grunted. “God, you’re disgusting.”

“Disgusting, huh?” she smirked. “But you like that, don’t you? Part of you? Or should I say--most of you?”

She reached and just grabbed his dick. He gasped. She squeezed lightly and leaned in nice and close, her lips brushing against his ear.

“Alright, good boy,” she murmured. “I’m gonna fuck you and suck you for forty bucks. It’s a pretty good deal, huh? To get a girl who will do whatever you want?”

Luke didn’t say anything. He grew harder in her hand. She squeezed more--and he moaned, his eyes fading into the blackness of lust.

“Oh, yeah, you like that,” she purred. “You like it when it hurts? Me too, baby, God, I fucking love it when it hurts, but good boys like you can never give me what I want.”

“I can give you what you want,” he exhaled.

“No, you can’t,” she smirked and she was all teeth. “Let’s get something straight, sweet boy. You’re gonna get your fill of me, and I’m gonna moan and I’m gonna be so fucking wet, you won’t believe it, but don’t forget for one second that fucking little boys like you doesn’t get me off. Nothing gets me off. You are fucking incapable of getting me off. And I’m gonna make a big fucking show on you and you’re gonna think you come and you fixed me and I’m your little slutty slave, but honey, sweet baby boy, you didn’t. I’m just as fucking broken as I ever was. And that’s what makes me so fucking wet, is that shitlords like you will never, ever have me.”

She sucked the lobe of his ear between her lips and nibbled. He was throbbing in her hand. He grabbed the back of her head and tried to drag her into a kiss.

“No, no,” she murmured, biting his lower lip hard. “You don’t kiss whores. You should know that.”

“God, I want you,” Luke moaned miserably.

And Harleen knew without a single doubt in her mind that no one would ever really want her. Not all of her. It was something she thought about often five years later, when her beautiful boyfriend Greg would fuck her and moan into her ear and she would have to go into the bathroom later and grind out an impatient orgasm on her knuckles just because she couldn’t stand the incessant throbbing.

It’s something to be the thing that everyone wants, but not really. Not fucking really.

“I know, baby,” she hummed, biting his lip again. God, it felt so good to bite, but she wished she could bite twice as hard. “Let’s go. I got thirty minutes.”

And she would pick up Lily after those thirty minutes were up and she would ask about school through a sore throat, but she didn’t give a fuck about that. Pain felt like home.

The sun is a star, right?

So Harleen would look at the sun for one splinteringly painful second and wish that Lily’s life would never be like hers. That she would some day grow up to be a real girl.

“You’re beautiful,” Luke had whispered to her. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

---

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Harleen pulled out her file on him. She paused and gave him a slightly incredulous look.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to give out compliments so freely,” she huffed, setting her briefcase on the floor and flipping a blank notepad open.

“As if you don’t know you’re fucking beautiful,” he hummed, tapping his long yellow fingernails on the table. And he was looking at her the same way every little dickless boy had looked at her ever since she’d gotten tits.

“Yeah, I do know,” she hummed. “My name is Doctor Quinzel and I’m your new psychiatrist, though I assume you already know that.”

“What?” the Joker gasped theatrically. “You are??? My God, I’m stunned! Blown away! Flabbergasted!”

“Are you done?” she drawled.

“Hold on--ABSOLUTELY fucking floored! I’ve never had one before, I’m a psychiatry virgin. Please be gentle with me, doc, I’m sure I’ll tear easily,” he said lewdly, winking.

“Charming,” she huffed.

“I thought so,” he grinned. “So doc--what do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me,” she offered.

“Ohhhh, you’re one of those, are you?” he said, pleased. “Ooh, yes, you’re my favorite kind. You mean I can tell you absolutely anything I want, doc?”

“Sure,” she said easily.

“I could tell you about what I did to my last psychiatrist,” he said gleefully.

“Thought you were a virgin.”

“Ah, but no psychiatrist has ever penetrated me,’ he smirked. “Wanna be the first? I could peg you as a girl who likes to… peg.”

He laughed, pleased with himself. And despite her stony exterior, his laugh was fucking awful. Not just irritating, unfortunately. There was something about it--the briefest chill ran through her veins, which honestly felt kind of nice.

“Amazing,” she droned, slow clapping. “Show stopping.”

“Now, now,” he tsked. “Don’t be such a tough audience, doc, you’ll hurt my feelings. Just like I hurt my last psychiatrist.”

“I already know what happened,” she said, and there was a flicker of impatience in her voice.

“Yes, but you didn’t hear it from my pretty mouth,” he said gleefully, and he smiled with his broken piano key teeth. “It was a nice man. A pretty man, like you.”

“I’m a pretty man,” she repeated blandly.

“No, but you are pretty,” he hummed, pleased. “You listen so well, doc.”

“It’s in the job description.”

“Well, doc, maybe this pretty man didn’t know about that--because he listened. Oh, sweetheart, he listened so well to every little thought that I had, the ways I wanted to hurt everyone I meet, the things I wanted to do to that pretty face. You see, Dr. Quinzel, you only need to make a few incisions to a lovely face and then it isn’t so lovely any more. It only takes a few seconds. Just a snip here and a snip there. I’ve found taking the nose does wonders.”

Harleen nodded, looking at her notepad as she wrote, I am pretending to write something right now so I don’t have to look into his eyes while he talks about the ways he wants to mutilate people.

Not that it really bothered her, but wannabe good girl ways die hard.

“But it scared the poor boy, it did,” Joker pouted. “And--well, you can only imagine how he felt when I escaped. Because, kitten, I always escape.”

Her eyes flicked up to him. Ice in her veins. Fuck.

“And guess what, doc? All that talking we did--didn’t change me one bit. Because I don’t want to be changed, I like myself the way I am. And he felt so bad when he realized he’d shit the bed. That’s not a metaphor, by the way, the pretty man really did shit the bed when I showed up at his house. And he had such a pretty wife.”

I am pretending to write because man is this guy fucked up, she wrote.

“Now, don’t worry, doc, I didn’t do anything. To kill him--to mutilate him, that would be too easy. I rather prefer the kind of cuts that happen on the inside. Because if you’re dead, you’re free, and if I disfigure the fuck out of you, you just get plastic surgery and maybe you’re even happy cuz you never liked your nose anyways. Though you do have a cute nose, sweetheart.”

“My God, for a psychopath, you’re quite the flirt,” she drawled.

“--you know what I love more than anything?” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her, lost in his own thoughts. “If you wind someone up just right, they will destroy themselves from the inside out. Prettiest fireworks show you could ever imagine. Because I know something you don’t know.”

A long pause. He was waiting for her. Her eyes flicked up.

I know you.

“What’s that?”

“It never gets better,” he purred. He tapped his temple, his eyes wild. “What’s up here. The shit that goes in your mind--it’s like fucking manure in a garden, isn’t it? And everything that grows there stinks of that shit. It never gets better, but maybe some of us don’t want better. Maybe some of us like hurt. And who the fuck decided that pain was so bad after all, huh?”

She kept her gaze focused on his. Most people looked away after awhile. As beautiful as she was, maybe they could sense that if they stared into her eyes too long, they’d fall into the bottomless pit that she was and they’d never crawl out.

But he didn’t look away. If anything, something in his gaze sharpened.

She wrote something. She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t really care.

“So you can try, doc, I’d love to see it,” the Joker leered. “Putting your best effort forward like the good, pretty girl you are. In fact, try, sweetheart. Please. It would make my day.”

She tilted her chin up.

“But you’re gonna fail, baby girl. You’re gonna fail.”

“I don’t fail,” she told him without a shred of arrogance.

“Oh? Egotistical little girl,” he purred.

“It’s only ego if it isn’t true.”

He laughed loudly, delighted, a big horrible sound that clanged through the space in an alarmingly percussive manner.

“Oh, I like you, doc. I like you a lot,” he grinned. “I’m gonna have fun with you.”

That’ll cost you forty dollars, she almost fucking said more for her own amusement than anything else. Same shit, different day. Little boys never outgrew their longing to play with pretty things.

“I’m counting on it,” she told him, standing up and putting away the file, holding her notepad against her chest. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Joker.”

“Call me Mr. J,” he grinned.

“No, thanks,” she said--and she turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

“Are you okay?” Aaron immediately asked when the metal door clanged shut behind her.

His eyes were blue, just like Luke’s.

“Never been better,” she told him.

She looked down at her notepad to see what she’d written.

Do you know me too?

She ripped the sheet of paper off and immediately threw it away.

Chapter Text

“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.”
--Margaret Atwood

---

“How was school?”

The car Harleen drove was a car in name only. It was a rickety, loud, awful piece of shit that didn’t even start half the time, but she’d saved money waitressing and bought it so of course she was proud of it. It may have been shit, but it was her shit. Like when you look down at the toilet after you’re done and you can’t help but feel a little proud.

“It was okay,” Lily said, her forehead pressed against the window, her little body angled away from Harleen, who felt a stab of worry. She was so skinny. Harleen had been tiny at that age too, but she kept worrying she hadn’t been that tiny. They needed more food, she knew it. She quietly promised herself she’d bring home a box from Henry’s later and hide it so Anthony wouldn’t just fucking down the whole thing in a hungover stupor.

“Lil, seatbelt,” Harleen lectured. Lily didn’t look at her, but slowly--almost defiantly--she put on her seatbelt. “What’s your deal, shithead?” Harleen asked.

“Nothing,” Lily grouched.

“Don’t be like that, what’s up your butt?”

“Nothing!” Lily snapped, pulling her legs into her chest.

Harleen fell silent, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. The car came to a wheezing stop at the light. They’d turn left and they’d be home.

“Harleen--” Lily started, but then stopped herself, dragging her knees in closer.

“What’s up, armadillo?” Harleen asked, because she always called Lily that when she folded herself up in a ball. And as usual, Harleen wished that there was some way that Lily could roll herself into a tight, armored ball so no one would ever hurt her. So Harleen wouldn’t have to feel a grinding, awful sensation in her stomach every time she left her alone.

So nobody would hurt her the way that Harleen had been hurt when she was skinny and small and defenseless.

“Can we--just--drive around a bit?” Lily asked, her blue eyes peering at Harleen over the tops of her knobby, bruised knees (both Lily and Harleen bruised like a peach, and Harleen had matching bruises on her knees, but not from playing on the playground).

“Can’t promise Herbert won’t break down,” Harleen huffed, tapping the dashboard.

“It’s okay,” Lily said quietly. “Just… don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Okay, your wish is my command, Lils.” When the light turned green, Harleen lurched the car into the center lane and they drove aimlessly. Shitty apartment after shitty apartment. Hell, at least their neighborhood was consistent.

“Why did Anthony have to come back?”

Lily burst out with it so suddenly, Harleen almost jumped. She glanced over at Lily--and then back to the road. Harleen’s heart was pounding, but not because of the scare. No, this was something else entirely. A clenching dread that seemed to come from the very center of her.

“He usually comes back,” Harleen said carefully.

“I know, but… I hate him,” Lily whispered. “He always… never mind.”

Fuck.

Harleen immediately pulled over. The car behind her honked and the driver angrily waved a middle fingered salute at her as he drove past, but Harleen didn’t give one single fuck. She turned sharply to Lily.

“He always what?” she asked, and her voice was louder and more forceful than she wanted it to be, but that dread was dragging itself up her esophagus.

“Don’t yell,” Lily whimpered, cowering.

“I’m not--”

Harleen could hear the shrillness of her own voice. She sat back. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. And she forced herself not to be in the moment. She’d learned this unhealthy as fuck technique from a psychology textbook she’d been reading (for fun, God, what a nerd). Disassociating. It was something you weren’t supposed to do, but if it was bad, then why did it feel so goddamn good to just not be there in that horrible moment?

“Sorry, Lil,” Harleen said, her voice so much more even now. And she was somewhere. Not somewhere she’d ever been in her life because she’d lived her life from one trauma to one monster to one misery to the next. It was a pathetic fucking life and she’d hated nearly every second of it. No, she went to a place that didn’t exist. A little house where she and Lily lived. And there were no fucking men for a thousand miles around.

Sometimes there was a man. But that wasn’t appropriate for right now. She’d save that for later.

“Just… what does Anthony do?” Harleen asked, and her voice was so calm, it soothed even her own raucous head. Lily peered at her from behind her knees, her eyes a little red. Both Harleen and Lily hated loud voices so much.

“He doesn’t do anything, I guess,” Lily said quietly. “He just… when he looks at me, my stomach hurts.”

And Harleen couldn’t get far enough away from the moment to keep her fucking soul from bottoming out. Every woman knows that feeling--that horrible sensation of primal fear that runs through you when a man, a disgusting man, is too close and has too much power, but Harleen had prayed on her knees with hands folded to a God who had never given her anything--she had fucking prayed that Lily would have a few more years before she knew what that felt like. And the stinging lash of shame that comes with it. Shame for having female skin, and softness that creates hardness.

“I know what you mean,” she said softly, her gaze focused forward. It had started to rain, which was so ridiculously predictable and cliche she kind of wanted to puke. “He makes my stomach hurt too.”

That was all she needed to say to her little sister. The rest she’d keep inside where it fucking belonged.

“I don’t know why,” Lily whispered, and her voice was hoarse and every single atom in Harleen’s body screamed. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Harleen said harshly--and Lily winced. Harleen rubbed a hand over her face and exhaled.

She’d been preparing herself for this conversation, but it wasn’t supposed to come this early. As usual, God had not answered her prayers. Hell, maybe God was a misogynist just like the rest of the shit mankind he’d created. After all, he’d created a tree with the ability to fuck up the world and then had punished Eve for being curious.

“Look, Lily, I just… need to tell you something really important, okay? And it might sound a bit scary, but I just… need to tell you this. So just listen, alright?”

Lily looked at her. She had tears in her eyes now.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“Honey, why are you sorry?” Harleen asked, and every organ in her body ached like the whole shitshow was trying to shut itself down. And her throat still fucking hurt because apparently Luke had thought his dick was a fucking battering ram.

“You’re mad. I didn’t mean to make you mad,” Lily whispered.

“You didn’t make me mad,” Harleen said, and she did her best not to be harsh, but it still cut. Lily flinched. “Hey, hey--look. You are not responsible for the emotions of other people, okay? If I’m mad, it’s my problem. You know you didn’t say anything to make me mad. I’m mad at Anthony--and a lot of other people. Men.”

Lily was quiet, hugging her knees tighter.

“Okay, just... “ Harleen exhaled. “Sometimes in your life, you are gonna meet men who just… feel wrong. Something about them. And you can’t explain it, but they just… make you really scared. They’ve probably never even done anything wrong to you, but when you talk to them, you just want to run away. Is that how you feel about Anthony?”

Tears slid down Lily’s cheeks. She nodded, and wiped her face.

“And you might even feel like--it’s your fault, like you did something bad. But you didn’t,” Harleen said, and her voice was firm. “You didn’t, okay? And when you meet those men who make your stomach hurt, if you can get away from them, get away. Don’t stay. Because they might be nice to you just to get you close, but they don’t mean it. And they will hurt you.”

Lily was crying more now. Harleen stretched her body and hugged Lily tightly.

“Hey, I know, I know, it’s scary, and not every man is like that.” They were, but this was the lie that Lily needed. “Trust your body. It knows, okay? And if you can’t get away, never be alone with them. And if you have to be alone with them, and if they do something--”

“What? What might they do?” Lily asked, her voice rising with panic.

“I--just let me--if they do something, you have to tell me. Or somebody. An adult. A woman. And tell them… exactly what he did. No matter what. Even if…”

No. Not for now.

“--tell them what happened.”

“What might happen?” Lily asked--and she was full on sobbing into Harleen’s shoulder now and Harleen felt her little body shaking like a leaf with real mortal terror, and she knew it was only a teaspoon of what she felt when she was around Anthony, she knew. And she had once thought that a person could only do so much damage to you, that there was nothing to fear from other people, but then she’d realized that there were people who crawled out from the belly of hell itself and the fucking torment they could do to you was endless. Fucking endless.

“I--please just promise you’ll tell me, Lily, if it happens,” Harleen whispered, and her throat hurt even more now. She hugged Lily harder, but it was like Lily was breaking apart in her arms.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about! You’re scaring me!” Lily wept, and Harleen knew that in the core of herself, Lily knew. She didn’t know the specifics, but she did know somehow that her soul was at stake.

“I’m sorry, Lil,” Harleen said quietly--and she was sorry for so many reasons. “I love you and I--I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Okay? Forget all that stuff about--just know that I’m gonna protect you. I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.”

And it was true. If anything did happen, Harleen knew that she would collapse in on herself and become an empty pit of a person. She had learned a long time ago that you could absolutely die in your own skin.

Lily’s crying was subsiding. Little hiccups now. Like when she’d been a baby and Harleen had been a scared seven year old, no choice but to take care of her baby sister. A mother before she was even double digits.

“I got you,” Harleen whispered, and she thought about how Lily was the only thing she actually had. The only thing in the whole entire world. “I got you, I promise.”

---

“I promise.”

The Joker leaned back in his chair, letting those words soak in. “What do you promise, doc?”

“My best,” she replied simply.

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned, all yellow teeth. “So? Aren’t you supposed to ask me questions?”

“Sure, I could do that,” she offered. “What’s your relationship with your mother like?”

“She never wants to have sex with me. It’s like she doesn’t care at all about my Oedipus complex!” Joker whined.

“Do you tell sexually graphic jokes to try to offend me?” she asked simply.

Something flashed in his eyes. Interest. She realized that maybe she hadn’t interested him until this point--and maybe all of that leaning and leering and laughing had been an act.

But then again, the whole of him was an act.

“Maybe I tell them to turn you on, toots,” he purred.

“I am so turned on by the thought of you fucking your mother,” she drawled.

“Oooh! Such language!” the Joker gasped, pretending to clutch at invisible pearls. “Well, I never!”

“Just letting you know--that’s not going to work,” Harleen told him simply.

“Why not?” the Joker pouted. “Because you’re a rough and tough bad girl from Brooklyn who don’t take no shit from no man?”

She stopped writing.

“Can’t really get rid of that accent, can you, Harleen? No matter how hard you try,” he grinned.

“Please call me Dr. Quinzel,” Harleen said simply. “What gave it away?”

“The ‘ah’ sound. Still a little ‘aw,’” he hummed. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart, I only noticed because I like that pretty voice of yours. And as far as the rough and tough bad girl bit… let’s just say it’s a hunch.”

“You think that the twenty-three year old psychiatrist in the Armani dress is rough and tough?” she drawled, unimpressed.

“Twenty-three?? Oh my, so young,” he smirked. “And such an illustrious position already. You must have worked very, very hard to get where you are. To climb out of the gutter like that.”

“You really are a master at getting under people’s skin, aren’t you?” she observed, and there was nothing on her face, but there was a prickling up her spine.

“I love getting under skin. Turning people inside out,” the Joker murmured. “Guess you could say I’m a psychiatrist myself. But don’t worry, sweetheart, I’d never do that to you. No, I’d take care of you. I’d give you exactly what you want.”

“You’re disgusting,” she said simply--and Luke’s voice rang in her head. You’re disgusting.

“No, darling, I’m predictable,” he purred. “I’m everything you thought I would be. I can play the part too.”

“That’s the whole point of this,” Harleen replied evenly. “You don’t have to play a part.”

“Don’t I?” he said, and he spoke quite softly. “Forgive me, honey, but what would you do if I laid everything out before you? Every little fucked up thing that happened that made me me? What exactly could you do for me, baby? Fix me?”

“I told you I’d do my best,” she said calmly. “That’s all I can offer.”

“Oh, but that’s not all you can offer, Harleen. You could offer me so much more.”

She gave him a flat look.

“You’re talking about fucking.”

He looked at her for a long, long moment. He was impossible to read. They still let him put the fucking make up on--apparently he’d only come to these sessions if he wore it. He had scars beneath the long strokes of paint. She could see the knotted skin beneath.

And then, he burst out laughing. Long, loud, awful peals of amusement. Not the first time, nor would it be the last time he’d laugh like that, she was sure. She felt like he was laughing directly in her ear and it was like something cold was slithering down her back. She felt her nipples press into her bra.

“Fucking,” he drawled. “Such a naughty way to put it. Maybe I’m talking about making love, Harleen.”

“I’m sure you have a wonderful relationship with your hand,” she replied.

“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be monogamous,” he grinned, wiggling his fingers at her.

She rolled her eyes. She stood and gathered up her belongings.

“What? Didn’t like that?” he asked innocently. “I’ll be a good boy when you come back, Harleen, I promise.”

“Doctor Quinzel,” she said simply, snapping her briefcase shut.

“Doctor Quinzel with the lovely blue eyes,” he murmured, and his voice was soft. And when she looked back, he wasn’t leering. She knew a leer, and that wasn’t one.

What the fuck.

Aaron opened the door for her. And as they rode up the elevator together, she realized that her stomach didn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

"I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much."
--Mother Teresa

---

“Harleen, do you have a moment?”

Harleen had already gathered all her belongings and was halfway out the door of the classroom. She hesitated--and then turned back. There weren’t many people she would wait for.

“Yes, Ms. Pierce?”

Ms. Pierce gave her a smile. “Nothing bad, I promise. Just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

Even though she had explicitly tried to assuage the worries, Harleen was the kind of girl who was used to being in trouble. As distrustful as she was of all of this (school in general gave her a jumpy feeling, a “you don’t belong” slithering under her flesh), she moved back to Ms. Pierce’s desk.

“Grab a chair,” Ms. Pierce offered. “I just wanted to talk about this latest paper you turned in.”

“I’m sorry that the ink was like that,” Harleen said quickly. “I tried to print it on the library computer, but it started acting stupid and I was already late for class so I just--”

“Harleen, this is the best paper I’ve ever read.”

Harleen froze, halfway on her way to sit on the chair. Suspended. Not sure if she wanted to talk because, well, she didn’t know what was going to happen next.

“I didn’t plagiarize it,” Harleen snapped.

“I didn’t say you did,” Ms. Pierce said smoothly. “You are a brilliant young woman, Harleen. You can’t hide that.”

Harleen huffed. “Yeah, well. Thanks.”

“And I heard you scored a thirty-six on your ACT. Congratulations.”

Harleen didn’t look up. She gave a little salute of thanks, the corners of her mouth pulled down.

“You don’t like me talking about this,” Ms. Pierce observed.

“Well, it’d all be really nice if it meant anything. I do--appreciate it, though,” Harleen finally said, because as much as she tried to pretend like she didn’t care, Ms. Pierce was young and whip smart and something of an idol for Harleen. But she’d be damned if she let that be known.

“Considering how little time you spend at school, your grades are incredible--a 4.0 last I checked,” Ms. Pierce continued.

“4.2 Those AP classes really pull it up,” Harleen mumbled.

“And you’re on the cheerleading squad, yes?”

Harleen fidget with the hem of her too short skirt. “When I’m not working, yeah.”

“Yes, right, you also work full time. You are a very accomplished young woman, Harleen, if you had a few more extracurriculars, you would be a guarantee for Ivy League schools, especially considering your story.”

Harleen tensed up. “My story,” she repeated. “What’s my story?”

“I don’t believe it’s mine to tell,” Ms. Pierce said simply. Harleen felt like someone had shoved a rod up the back of her shirt. She sat tense and tall, staring at the door, wanting to run. “Even without the extracurriculars, you still may be able to--”

“Is my story that I’m--poor?” Harleen spat. “Wow, how exciting, I’m sure the Harvard guys would blow their loads over that.”

Ms. Pierce didn’t say anything. She just looked at Harleen, who, after that flash of anger had faded, sunk down in her chair.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Yes,” Ms. Pierce agreed, as in “you should be sorry.” Harleen’s face burned.

You don’t belong.

“But Harleen, the staff and I have some… concerns.”

Harleen stared at her lap.

“You are an incredibly intelligent young woman with a great deal of potential,” Ms. Pierce said gently. The careful handling was what made every hair on Harleen’s body stand on end. “We want to make sure that you are on the best path possible.”

Harleen’s jaw was clenched so tight it physically hurt her. “And I’m not on that path right now.”

“Do you think you are?” Ms. Pierce offered, watching her patiently.

Absurdly, Harleen felt like she might cry. That was nothing new. She was so tired of feeling ashamed just for existing in her body--the way everyone made her feel like her life was one giant “but.” She’s brilliant, but. She’s beautiful, but.

She has potential, but.

“I know that I’m just a teacher, Harleen, and I know we don’t know each other very well,” she continued. “But you are always welcome to share anything you like with me.”

“You’re a mandated reporter,” Harleen said so loudly she surprised herself. She realized she was standing.

Ms. Pierce finally seemed a little taken off guard, that perfect, calm expression flickering away in her warm brown eyes. “Yes. I am.”

“I know what that means,” Harleen said, her hands clenched at her side. “It means that… if I tell you certain… things, you have to report them. And then, the police get involved.”

Ms. Pierce took Harleen in very, very quietly.

“Is there a reason the police need to be involved in your life, Harleen?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I’m not saying anything,” Harleen snapped. “I don’t--I know have potential, okay, but I’m gonna--I can’t leave. I can’t go to some stupid--preppy school. I don’t have the money. And my sister, she needs me.”

“Surely your mother can take care of her,” Ms. Pierce murmured.

“I know what you’re doing,” Harleen said hotly. “I’m not a child.”

“You are,” Ms. Pierce reminded her. “As long as you are in school, you are a child. And you are doing things no child should ever have to do.”

“And if not me, then--?”

But Harleen wouldn’t say more. She knew what would happen. They would take Lily. She’d been in foster care herself, and she wouldn’t wish that hell on anyone.

“At least let me write you letters of recommendation, Harleen. Please. I know the head of the psychology department at NYU, he’s a good friend of mine. It would be close enough that you could travel by train and still tend to your sister if that’s what you want for your life. But Harleen, don’t forget for one moment that your life is just that--yours. And you must live it for yourself.”

“That’s beautiful, Ms. Pierce, where’d you find that? A Google search of inspirational quotes?” Harleen sneered.

“Harleen,” Ms. Pierce said, and even yet, her patience had not faded, which only made Harleen want to scream in her face. She hated perfect people--they were such a hideous reminder that she herself was anything but.

“I don’t need your recommendation letters,” Harleen said angrily. “You wouldn’t mean them anyways. Not really. I know what people around here say about me--and I know you know what I do. Luke Parker has a big mouth.”

Ms. Pierce didn’t say anything, but she didn’t look away either.

“And I’m not ashamed, by the way, I’m not--embarrassed about doing what I need to do to help my little sister,” Harleen continued, and her throat was starting to hurt because fuck she didn’t want to cry, not right now. “Because I wish someone had done for me--what I’m doing for her. And I’m--I will die before I let anything happen to her.”

“What happened to you, Harleen?” Ms. Pierce asked quietly. A bitter laugh tore from Harleen.

“Spin the wheel of trauma and throw a dart, Ms. Pierce,” Harleen answered. “I’m not doing this. And I don’t want your help. I’m going to do whatever I need to to… make everything mean something.”

Harleen didn’t even know what she meant by that, but somehow, there was a look of understanding in Ms. Pierce’s eyes.

“I’m still going to write those letters,” Ms. Pierce said quietly.

“Great,” Harleen snapped. “I look forward to hearing about how Yale used them for toilet paper.”

Harleen stormed out of the classroom. She went to her car and waited for Lily to come out. She gripped the steering wheel. She slammed her palms on it over and over again until the skin was bright red and screaming, until she knew she’d have bruises, but at least they’d be of her own making.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, and she wasn’t crying. Fuck no, she wouldn’t cry. “I will do whatever I have to do. I can do this.”

A sob tore out of her throat without her permission.

“I have to.”

---

“I have to.”

Harleen glanced at Aaron Cash in the elevator, shaking her head slightly.

“I’m not sure if you do, Mr. Cash,” she told him simply. “The Joker has not been violent towards me.”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I didn’t watch,” he confessed.

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Maybe it was the tiniest flirt. Harleen smiled a little. Because despite her detestation of them, she had always secretly hoped that one good boy might prove her wrong.

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to the top of her blouse. She had unbuttoned a few extra buttons today. His gaze lingered.

It was so disappointing to be constantly proved right.

“You are very capable, Dr. Quinzel,” he admitted, his eyes finding her face. He gave her a boyish smile. “I’ve never seen… well. I know you’re only two sessions in, but he’s very… responsive with you. Usually we have to, you know, convince him to come to these sessions, but with you, he’s been ready before we even came to get him.”

“I imagine it’s because I’m good looking,” Harleen offered. She watched Aaron’s face and--there it was. The little flicker of disapproval. Little boys hated nothing more than a girl who knew she was pretty. It made their inner (and outer) toddlers want to shove their pretty faces in the mud.

“Well, yeah, I’m sure that’s part of it, but… I don’t know. He’s had good looking women work with him before,” Aaron told her.

You’re not that special, toots.

She almost smiled just because it was painfully predictable.

“I’m sure,” she allowed. “I just think it might be better if he knew no one was listening. What if you could watch, but not listen? After all, these sessions are supposed to be confidential.”

“We haven’t had good results with upholding that,” Aaron sighed.

“Please,” she said quietly. She turned to him when the elevator door opened. She touched his arm lightly, but it was a sweet, intimate touch. “I really feel like I’m getting somewhere with him. This could change his life--this could change Gotham forever. Think--if he was somehow rehabilitated, what that would mean.”

Aaron’s eyes darted back down to her blouse--and then snapped back up because he was a good boy.

“You really think you can fix him?”

No one can be fixed, little boy. You should know that.

“Yeah,” she lied. “I really think I can.”

I mean. Maybe some stupid part of her hoped. Because if he could be healed, that meant that maybe she could be.

How pathetic was that.

“Alright,” he allowed. “But--if he starts acting weird--”

“I’ll let you know right away,” she promised. “Thank you, Aaron, this is the right decision, I promise you. You’re a good man.”

And he smiled at that. They had paused their walking in the hallway. And for a moment, his body language drifted towards her like he might--

“I will see you when our session is complete,” she told him, stepping away from his leaning body. Aaron, to his credit, took the cue. He opened the cell for her and she stepped in, heels clicking.

“Doc,” the Joker grinned. The door slammed closed--louder than usual. “Oh no, is Cashy upset?”

“No,” Harleen said simply, sitting across from him. “Why would he be?”

“Cuz pretty Miss Harls likes me better than him,” he hummed, his eyes sparkling with glee.

Don’t damn yourself with faint praise, clownboy. I’d take a psycho over a good little boy any day.

“Dr. Quinzel,” she corrected softly, but she didn’t correct him because she wasn’t above using anything to get what she wanted. And what she wanted was to win.

After all, every little boy that she’d ever met had fallen so neatly in the palm of her hand. And it was so easy. So easy that it disgusted her.

“Doc,” he grinned, stretching the word out. “Why is that so important to you? That I call you doc?”

“I worked hard for my degree,” Harleen offered, writing in her notepad. She always pretended to take notes, but she never actually needed to. Everything filed itself neatly in her mind, a puzzle easily clicking together.

“Obtaining a masters and a PhD in five years, what a brilliant, brilliant girl you are,” he purred. “And all from top schools, yeah? NYU, and then you finished up at Harvard.”

Her pen stopped writing. She sucked her cheeks. She looked up at him.

“How did you know that,” she asked simply.

“Intuition,” he grinned.

“Bullshit,” she replied in the same calm voice.

“You fascinate me, doc,” he murmured. “I had to know more about you. The most beautiful, intelligent woman I’ve ever met in my entire life. Darling, you confound me, you draw out the beast in me. I can’t decide if I want to fuck you or pick that pretty brain apart.”

“I’ll take C, none of the above,” she replied. “Tell me about your wife, Jeannie.”

His smile flickered for just one moment--one utterly fascinating moment. Everything in Harleen wanted to lean in closer, but she didn’t.

“Ooh, someone’s been doing their homework,” he said quietly.

“It’s my job.”

“Jeannie, Jeannie, my sweet girl,” Joker hummed. “Oh, doc, you would have loved her. She was gorgeous. About 5’6”, 126 pounds, 32B. Lovely trim girl. And so smart. She went to NYU and Harvard, don’t you know.”

Harleen’s eyes were hard. She wasn’t pretending to take notes any more.

“Congratulations on knowing my tit size,” she said flatly. “You’re not the first to guess correctly, it’s not impressive, it’s just creepy.”

“Who, me? Creepy?” the Joker gasped, hand on his chest in mock despair.

“And furthermore,” she ground out, “I am taking this seriously. And I don’t give up. I will be here for every single session and I will give you my best. I can actually help you.”

His gaze was wintry. He was quiet for a very, very long time.

“Help me do what,” he asked softly.

“Be better,” she answered. It was what she always said.

“Be a better what.”

“Man,” she replied, and again, it was automatic.

“And what if I like the way I am?”

He was angry, she could see that now. Ice in her veins. Her heart quickened. And for a moment, she felt a delicious rush of fear spill deep into her gut.

“Then enjoy Arkham,” she said flatly, trying to hide her irritation.

He took her in. He leaned back in his chair. His eyes swept over her. They were so dark, almost black, like a great white shark before it consumes its prey.

“I am, Harley,” he said very, very softly, intimately.

She sat just as still as he did. Her eyes didn’t waver from his. And for another small moment, it was almost like the irises of his eyes opened. Like she could see behind them.

Oh my God. I fucking know you.

“Dr. Quinzel,” she corrected softly.

“My Dr. Quinzel,” he murmured.

Ice in her veins, but not numb. Not numb at all.

She didn’t remember the rest of the session. She tried to remember later that night, but she couldn’t find it. Like she’d misplaced his file.

She begged Greg to fuck her, and he did. But it left her empty and aching on the bed.

She went into the bathroom. She ground out a painful, furious orgasm and it hurt so much that she wept, but she hadn’t come that hard in months.

And it was like the sun spilled through the curtains and found her finally, collecting dust, but fuck, there she was. There she was.

Well. Fuck.

Chapter Text

“Everybody at school says stuff about you.”

Harleen looked up from the large psychology textbook she’d been reading from. She took her glasses off and took in Lily who was standing uncomfortably. Harleen noticed that her clothes were too small for her. Again. She was growing so fast. It was so jarring and discomfiting that Harleen nearly forgot what she’d said.

Nearly. So close too.

“Well. Everybody always has stuff to say about everyone else,” Harleen said breezily, flipping a page and sliding her glasses back on. “People can’t mind their own fucking business, can they?”

“Harleen, they say you…”

Lily trailed off. Harleen didn’t want to look up because she knew what she would see written in Lily’s body, on her face, she knew she’d never be able to forget that. Everyone had looked at her like that her whole life, but never Lily. Never Lily.

Harleen forced herself to look up at her. If she was going to do the things she did and say she wasn’t ashamed, then she needed to follow through. You know, make your bed, lie in it, that whole thing.

(Though privately Harleen would rage about the fact that she hadn’t exactly made the bed--but rather, she’d been born in this stupid bed, the one with an absent mother and a piece of shit ex boyfriend of hers who kept coming around to fuck with her, and maybe now Lily [though she’d kill that motherfucking son of a bitch before he laid a fucking finger on Lily]. This was definitely not her bed. She would have picked a different set of pillows. Anyways, the metaphor escaped her at this point.)

So Harleen looked up at Lily. Because she knew that if she wanted Lily to be honest with her and tell her everything, she had to do the same. Even if the truth was something that she’d never be able to make sense of to Lily--especially not in this world when she was seen as something dirty and broken.

And hell, she was dirty and broken, so. Oh well.

Harleen looked up into Lily’s beautiful blue eyes. There was anger there, yes, maybe that was what was right on the surface, but anger was a secondary emotion used to mask other feelings. There was hurt too. But more than anything else, there was shame--and the hatred that it demanded.

“Tell me what they say, Lily,” Harleen said quietly.

“They say you… do… things. With boys. For money,” Lily whispered, and her jaw was set and she was frowning and she was fighting tears.

“And they tell you that’s a bad thing,” Harleen said quietly.

“Because it is,” Lily said--and her words exploded out, harsh and loud, but Harleen knew they weren’t her words. No, they had been born on the playground--the place where innocence died by the monkey bars. Kids could be so goddamn cruel. She knew that.

The things they had called her.

Do you really fuck your dad?

She shoved a thousand horrible memories back into the hell of her mind where they belonged.

“Okay,” Harleen said patiently. “Why is it?”

“It’s disgusting,” Lily said, and even though Harleen was still keenly aware that these weren’t her words, they still slithered down her back and before she could stop herself--

“You don’t even know what you’re saying,” she snapped. “Don’t just say whatever shit other people say, Lily, have a fucking spine.”

Lily’s face fell. And then, the anger melted away--and then, just the pain. And worse, the embarrassment. The shame.

Shame. It was a hell of a fucking thing. Literally, it was hell, and Harleen knew it well--what it felt like to be the most repulsive, unlovable, disgusting thing on the face of the Earth. To wish that you could just fall off of it. To hear the words “I love you” and to only be able to think if you only knew, you would wish you’d never said that. You’d throw up.

She hated shame, so she refused to wear it. Or at least she tried. Because she had worn shame for things that weren’t her fault for so many years--maybe these things she did, maybe she should be embarrassed about them, but at least she’d fucking chosen to do them.

Harleen looked away from Lily, sitting up and taking off her glasses.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized softly.

“I hate you,” Lily whispered--and Harleen felt those words stab directly into her soul.

“You don’t,” Harleen corrected gently.

“I do,” Lily replied, but her voice was more broken than angry. “I just… nobody likes me anyways because I’m dirty and skinny, and then--and then all the boys were asking--if I could talk to you for them. And they were--showing me their money.”

She hiccuped miserably. Harleen’s entire body hurt.

“Lily, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I… I know you won’t understand this now, but I’m doing what I have to do. And--those people who make you believe that you’re bad for doing what you have to to survive--they’re the ones who are bad, Lily. To be so cruel to someone who has no other choice--what kind of person is that? They have everything. They don’t know what it’s like to be us--to live our lives.”

“I like our life,” Lily sniffled. “I mean--I hate Anthony, but… I like living here when it’s just us. You’re--everyone’s always talking about how their moms and dads are so mean to them and don’t understand them, but you’re never mean to me. You’re--I’m sorry I said I hate you. I don’t.”

Harleen swallowed a lump in her throat, but it was too late. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I just wish… you didn’t have to do that for me,” Lily said softly.

“Lily, it’s alright,” Harleen lied. “Even if you weren’t here, I’d probably be doing it anyways. Things are hard right now, but--Lily, I’m--I’m gonna go to school. I’m gonna go to a real college, a good one. I’m gonna get lots of scholarships and then--I’m gonna get a really good job and then I won’t have to do that any more.”

It all clicked into place very suddenly and before she could even begin to piece this dream together, it was launching itself out of her mouth. Maybe not the best way to make a huge life decision, but Harleen had never been a big planner. Things just tended to click in place for her like a big puzzle in her sharp mind.

Lily peered at her. “Really?” she breathed.

“Yeah, I mean--well, I’m not going yet, I have to graduate first--and I have to apply and everything, but I can do it--and I bet I can do it really fast too. And I’ll get lots of scholarships and I’ll work extra shifts at Henry’s. And--I won’t do that any more. That--thing that those boys were being awful to you about.”

Lily’s eyes fell. Even the mention of it seemed to make her miserable. It made Harleen’s insides twinge with that familiar sensation. Shame.

God, she really never could escape it, could she?

“I promise, Lils,” Harleen continued fiercely. “I’m going to make a good life for us. It’ll just… take me a little bit of time, but I promise I’ll do it, okay? Have I ever broken a promise to you before?”

Lily was looking at the ground. She shook her head. Harleen watched several fat tears roll down her cheeks--and Harleen was there to wipe her tears away. The way that her own mother had never, ever done for her before.

“So you can trust me,” Harleen whispered, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “Okay? I’m gonna make this life good for us.”

Lily nodded and more tears slipped down.

Harleen knew she was lying, but what she was lying about didn’t matter. She would make a good life for Lily. Her own life was already shit so there wasn’t any point. Even if she lived in a fucking cotton candy castle someday, it would always, always be shit.

But Lily’s life would never be like that. She’d make sure of it.

“Cuz I got you, shithead. I always will. Got it?”

---

“Got it?”

Harleen stopped writing and took a look at the notepad that she’d been writing on.

“Yeah, I think I got a pretty good picture,” she said.

“Alright, run it by me,” the Joker grinned, leaning back in his chair.

“According to you, your father was a necrophiliac cannibal,” Harleen said dryly, “and your mother was a scat-obsessed prostitute with a heart of shit.”

“Exactly,” the Joker said, chuckling darkly. “Isn’t my story ever so compelling, Harley girl?”

There really wasn’t any point in correcting him any more, so Harleen didn’t bother. Besides, as far as shortening her name went, this was probably her preference (she detested Harls, Har, or God forbid, Leen. Who the fuck wants to be called Leen?)

“It’s absolutely fascinating. It also happens to be complete bullshit, but I guess that’s not important, is it?” she said dryly, ripping off the sheet of paper and crumpling it up. The Joker gasped in a ridiculous, over-the-top way.

“I cannot believe you would ever suggest that all of my heartfelt confessions were false!” he lamented. “After the way I poured out my heart to you!”

“So is this what we’re gonna do?” Harleen asked, and she tried not to betray any frustration. “We’re just gonna fuck around?”

“I’d love to fuck around,” the Joker grinned, delighted.

“Yeah, I’m sure you would,” she huffed, and she was actually irritated because… well. No. She didn’t want to put voice to that thought.

She reached into her button up shirt and drew out the necklace that Greg had given her. It was thoughtless the way that she toyed with it, the pretty heart-shaped pendant. It had actually been one of the few things that Greg had given to her that she’d actually liked--mostly because it had actually been as expensive as he’d told her it was (usually he picked up some shit from Claire’s, as if she couldn’t tell the difference between sterling silver and some cheap metal that turned her neck green in a matter of days, not that she really cared about expensive shit, but if she was gonna fuck him and all of his pretty, rich boy bullshit, she wanted to get something out of it, and right now, that something definitely wasn’t orgasms).

“That’s pretty,” the Joker purred, his eyes on her necklace (and coincidentally [or maybe not coincidentally] on her chest).

“Thanks,” she said simply, not stopping twisting it around her fingers.

“Looks expensive.”

“Looks don’t deceive.”

“Boyfriend?” the Joker guessed.

“Hmmm.” It was a non-response, one that she was very good at giving.

“I know why he gave it to you,” the Joker grinned.

“Oh yeah? He tell you after you guys were done fucking?” Harleen asked dryly. The Joker exploded in a delighted peal of laughter.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure he’s my type, but no,” he murmured, warm and pleased. “Do you want to know why?”

Harleen stopped pretending to write and looked up at him.

“He’s with you, yes? He’s dating you, living with you, fucking you, buying you shit, but he knows something all that way at the core of his being,” the Joker hummed. His eyes dropped down her body. Down her breasts, her waist, her hips. Her legs were hidden by the table, but it was almost like he could see them too. And then, those shark-like eyes were back on her face. Black, like he’d smelled her blood in the water.

“And what is that?” Harleen asked, her voice vaguely interested.

The Joker leaned across the table and smiled. His smile was fucking awful, and his breath was worse.

“He knows he will never own you,” the Joker whispered almost tenderly. “And more than that, he knows that he will never even know you. So he bought you that because he knows you’d wear it, and when he looks at it, he gets a little hard and he thinks, that little slut is mine. But he knows you aren’t. And you never will be. Because you could never, ever belong to anyone, not entirely.”

Harleen realized that she hadn’t looked away from him. Normally, she was back to pretending to write, but her eyes had stayed on his through that entire fucked up speech. She wasn’t twirling her necklace any more.

“Don’t call me a slut.”

It came out of her mouth more harshly than she had intended it to--and once she realized what she’d done, her stomach was twisting. No. Never let them see, Harleen, what the fuck.

But if the Joker noticed, his face didn’t move. But maybe something in his eyes darkened just a centimeter. His long index finger was tracing idly on the table. She tried to ignore it, the way it made small, intentional circles. Sometimes flicking. Tracing an invisible line.

As if she didn’t know what he was simulating.

“Why? Because you think that’s a bad thing?” he murmured.

“It’s a shitty word,” she said, and she was still not in control. That motion on the table was very fucking distracting.

“Only if you let them decide what it means.”

“Who the fuck is them?”

“Such a mouth on you today, Harley, have I struck a nerve?” he hummed and gave a particularly vicious flick on the imaginary clit he was working.

Piece of shit. So much like all the other men.

“And I think you know who I mean when I say them,” he murmured. “All of them out there. Dear Aaron Cash, for one. The people who think that you have to be something to earn love. People who think you need to be better, like you aren’t the loveliest thing imaginable just as you are.”

She forced herself to look at her notepad. She wanted to spit on him.

“Slut is only a dirty word if you let them own it,” he hummed softly, back to tracing rough circles. “Only if you let them decide that wanting to fuck and be fucked is a bad thing. How the hell could that be bad? It’s one of the simplest pleasures this world has, don’t you think?”

Harleen stood and replaced her notepad in her briefcase.

“Where you going, doc? Gonna go nurse that struck nerve?” the Joker graveled.

“This conversation is not appropriate.” There it was. The meticulous control. She had it back. “I will see you for our next session.”

He stopped his motion and gave her a smile. “I look forward to it, Harley.”

“Dr. Quinzel,” she said coolly.

His eyes darkened, but for a different reason. And maybe she knew in that moment she wasn’t the only one trying to find footholds here.

“See you later, Doc.”

She had no desire to masturbate that night.

Chapter Text

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
— Eleanor Roosevelt

---

“Wow, Harleen.”

Harleen looked up from where she was sitting in front of the school. She immediately looked away.

“Sorry,” Luke Parker said, dropping down to sit next to her. “Just--wanted to tell you that you look really beautiful today.”

“I’m leaving in five minutes,” Harleen told him. Her fingers were fiddling with the edge of the pencil skirt she had somehow found at Goodwill and the pink blouse that she wore was scratchy as fuck, but she was forcing herself to sit still and not fidget too much.

They won’t know you’re out of place there, Harleen. You can blend in. They won’t know. Not unless you wear it.

“Okay, can I just--sit with you until then?” Luke asked gently.

She glanced at him. His eyes were the exact same color as the sky on a cloudless day. He wore a pink button up shirt and he was tan. He was beautiful and he was pure and he held open doors for the older teachers and he told the other guys to lay off when they were making fun of poor fat Stephanie Albers.

God, she fucking loathed him with every cell of her being.

Don’t let it show.

Because honestly, Harleen hated every man she met, so she was going to need to work on, you know. Toning that the fuck down. The people at her NYU interview were probably going to be men, so she had to make sure that she--

“I’ve missed you,” Luke told her softly, intimately.

Harleen kept her gaze forward, but she felt her jaw set. She wanted to smoke--she wanted to fucking smoke so bad.

“Don’t talk to me,” she said quietly.

“Harleen, please,” Luke murmured. “I just want to talk to you. I know you’ve been getting my texts.”

Yes, she had been getting his texts. His fucking pathetic thinly veiled booty calls. His adorable little “how are yous” and “you looked so pretty today” and “saw these flowers and thought of you.” As if he’d read a book called “How to Get a Bad Girl to Fuck You for Free” and he’d taken notes.

“And I didn’t reply,” Harleen said flatly. “Most guys can figure out what that means, but I guess you’re special, huh?”

“I broke up with Rachel,” Luke told her, which was new information, but it didn’t really change anything. At least not for Harleen.

“I’ll send flowers to your relationship’s funeral or whatever.”

“I broke up with her because I want to be with you.”

“Because you want to fuck me.”

“Because I want to be with you.”

“How about you stop wasting time, Luke? Because really, you’re not only fucking wasting my time, but you’re wasting your own,” Harleen snapped. “I’m not your fucking broken Barbie doll, Luke, and you’re not my fucking knight in shining armor.”

“That’s not why I--”

Luke exhaled and ran a hand through his messy hair. And Harleen stupidly felt her heart pang--because while she absolutely loathed beautiful boys, there was something about them. Even if it was purely physical. Their pretty eyes, their lovely mouths, their hair that always seemed to know exactly where to go. Harleen wished she could just be fully gay instead of this stupid bi business because she absolutely loathed everything about men, and yet, she was stupidly attracted to them.

Stupid fucking boys.

“Harleen,” he said quietly. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I tend to have that effect on people,” Harleen replied. She forced herself not to fiddle with her skirt. Leave it alone, Harleen.

“I want to be with you,” he told her in this achingly sweet voice that made her want to punch him directly in the mouth.

“Luke, I’m gonna need you to kindly shut the fuck up,” she snapped, turning to look at him finally. She knew that she was flushed and she wished it was just because she was upset, but fuck it, fuck it all. Fuck him for making her believe that something as oxymoronish as a good man actually existed, truly and seriously, fuck him a thousand ways to Sunday.

“Let me take you out, please,” he said quietly and he had the unmitigated gall to reach up and touch her cheek. She jerked away.

“Look, I don’t know if this is some kind of fucked up dare--or if you’re bored or what, but I’m not fucking going out with you ever,” she said flatly. “Now leave me alone, I have an interview with NYU today and you’re fucking destroying my mental space right now.”

“NYU? That’s awesome, Harleen,” Luke said--and he looked genuinely pleased for her.

“Are you selectively deaf? Did you not hear me tell you to fuck off three thousand times?” Harleen exploded, finally standing--and what she didn’t realize was that a part of her skirt was hooked on a jagged portion of the steps.

Rip.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and reached around to the back of her skirt. The rip was right up the back--and dangerously high, and while it wasn’t exposing anything, it was--

“Oh shit,” Luke said, standing. “Is it--?”

“Fuck off,” she spat with as much vitriol as she could muster, trying to get a good look at the back of her skirt.

“Come on, I’ll take you--you can go get a new one, when’s your interview?” he asked and his blue eyes were so concerned, such a good fucking actor.

“It’s--at four,” she ground out.

“It’s 3:15--come on, we can make it, Target’s like five minutes away,” he told her, heading towards the parking lot. “I’ll drive you. Come on.”

And she just stood there, fighting absolutely furious tears, her hands gripped at her sides into tight fights. “No, I--have to pick up my sister.”

He looked confused. “But--didn’t the elementary school get out like--a half an hour ago?”

Lily was at a friend’s house. Harleen had helped her set it up. She scrambled for another lie.

“No, I--I wanted to be early, I need to--” she struggled out against the tightness that was constricting her windpipe.

“You don’t want to go like that--I mean, the rip’s not that bad, but it’s NYU, come on,” Luke said gently. “If you’re embarrassed, you can just give me your card and your size and I’ll go in and--”

“Luke, you fucking numbskull,” she finally ground out--and much to her horror, tears splashed down her cheeks.

And Luke softened immediately. Because of course he did. He was immediately in front of her, reaching for her hands.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Look, I know it’s embarrassing, but it happens--one time, I ripped my pants right after PE. I had to tie my sweatshirt around my waist, but I think everybody knew. Pretty dumb, huh?” He gave her a lopsided smile.

She jerked her hands away.

“Are you the fucking stupidest person who’s ever lived?” she said--and she had never been this angry before, never. Only once when Anthony had been alone with Lily. She was so angry she could have fucking killed Luke, she wanted to, fuck, she wanted to.

“What? What, you think I suck dick for money because it’s so fucking fun?” she snarled, and she was being loud but there was no one around and even if there was, everyone knew, it wasn’t a big fucking secret. “You think I beg you for forty fucking dollars because I’m--what? Bored?”

“Harleen--” he started and his eyes were still confused, this fucking idiot.

“I’m poor, you fucking jackass,” she snapped. “I’m so fucking poor--more poor than you could ever fucking comprehend. Every bit of food I eat in that cafeteria is only made possible by your parents fucking tax dollars--and that fuck paid for my little sister’s lunch. So maybe you can write that shit off as tax deductible since you were practically donating to a charity. You are so fucking stupid, don’t touch me--”

He was reaching for her again, his eyes so concerned.

“Harleen, I’ll buy you a skirt, it’s no problem,” he said quietly.

“You fucker,” she snarled. “I don’t want your pity or your charity. Leave me alone.”

“Harleen.” His voice sounded choked now--and she looked at him and expected to see pity and thinly veiled disgust on his beautiful features, but it wasn’t there. It struck her silent. Where the fuck was it?

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit, now everyone know what a disgusting little fuck you are.

The words were screaming into her head, but he wasn’t looking at her like that. Why the fuck wasn’t he looking at her like that?

“You want to go to NYU, right?” And his voice was almost firm.

She swallowed. More tears stupid ran down her cheeks. She shoved them away the second they left her eyes.

“It’s stupid,” she muttered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said--and now she was sure he was being firm. And suddenly, he was close--and he smelled good. Like clean laundry. “I think it’s amazing. You’re really smart, Harleen, everyone knows you’re the smartest person at this school.”

“Everyone knows I’m the sluttiest person,” she argued, not looking at him. Her chin trembled.

“Nobody should talk about you that way. They don’t understand what you’ve been through--I didn’t understand,” Luke said quietly. “I shouldn’t have--what I asked you to do, what I paid you to do, I shouldn’t have done that, I just--I don’t know. I was being an asshole.”

“Yeah, you were,” she said flatly.

“I’m sorry, Harleen.”

It made her stop. Those two words.

She realized in that moment that no one had ever said that to her before--well, they had, but no one had meant it. Because this--this felt differently. She felt a nearly painful tightness in her chest take over.

She had thought her heart was dead--and that the only reason it jerked to life sometimes was for Lily. Fuck, she wished it was dead, because this fucking hurt. Apparently, every laceration on her heart had landed and was still bleeding freely.

She didn’t even realize she was still crying until she felt his surprisingly soft thumb brush a tear away.

“Don’t,” she said softly, and she didn’t know what she was trying to get him to stop doing. She had an idea, but it wasn’t one that she would even let her mind voice.

“Let me buy you a new skirt, okay? And I’ll take you to your interview,” Luke said quietly.

And Harleen’s entire life changed the moment that she nodded yes.

---

“Yes.”

She fixed the Joker with an unblinking stare. She had been told by patients that it was unsettling before. She found that it worked well with compulsive liars--and people who didn’t want to displease. And maybe that was the most interesting thing about the Joker--she had the strangest feeling that he actually did not want to displease her. Not really.

“Yes--as in, you do think these sessions are worthwhile?” she confirmed.

“Yes,” he murmured with a nod.

“But you haven’t told me anything,” she answered, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. Today, she wore a pale blue blouse with a charcoal grey skirt. Her light blue pumps matched her skirt. She wore her long blonde hair pinned back neatly in a bun because she had noticed him eyeing her neck a few times. It was likely sexual, and she didn’t care--as if this would be the first time she used sex (boring, dull sex) to get her way.

“Haven’t I?” the Joker murmured, smiling at her. He was always smiling at her. At first it had been a smirk, but that had changed. She had no delusions--just as she was studying him he was studying her, but she knew her cracks (then again, so did he, she was sure). He was smart. Maybe that was what surprised her more than anything. “I’ve talked to you for three weeks now, Doc, just tons and tons of information, surely you’ve gotten something out of all of that?”

“I find it works better when the patient is an active participant,” she told him.

“Well, I don’t open up that easily, doc,” he hummed. “I imagine you don’t either.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Harleen said with complete and total disinterest.

“But we could,” the Joker murmured. “In fact, I’d rather like to.”

Harleen took him in, her face completely expressionless. God, she had worked so meticulously to perfect that expression--and she was so good at it that sometimes, she could actually feel that way. Nothing. It was so sweet.

“I’m not interesting,” she told him simply.

“Au contraire, lovely Harley, I find you very interesting,” the Joker said almost tenderly. “I’d love to pluck you apart. Find your soft spaces. I’m sure you have them.”

“Oh, I have them,” she retorted, and that irritation leaked in again, but she was at the point where she didn’t care. “I have to tell you, this whole ‘I want to fuck you’ routine is getting pretty fucking tired.”

“Is it?” he murmured, leaning back in his chair, holding his shackled wrists in his lap. His lipstick was extra wild today and his poorly dyed green hair stuck up all over his head. Maybe once he had been a pretty boy, but he surely wasn’t one now.

“I’ve dealt with this shit my whole life,” she said, trying to relax her tightening jaw. “It’s fucking tired as hell. I can’t tell if you’re trying to turn me on or scare me, but you’re failing in both areas.”

“Oh, honey, if you’ve experienced this your whole life, then surely you know that it’s never about you,” the Joker hummed. “Isn’t that what they always say? Harassment is never about an actual desire for sex, but just a way to exert power.”

“Do you feel powerful then?” she asked him. She wasn’t writing in her notepad--she hardly bothered any more.

He looked at her quietly.

“I never feel powerful, Harley,” he said quietly. “People like us never feel that way, do we?”

“People like us,” she repeated flatly with no comprehension.

“Yes, baby, people like us,” he said, and there was the slightest growl to his voice, a little gravel. He spoke like this when he was passionate about something--and sure enough, he leaned forward in his chair, setting his wrists against the table. “People like us who’ve been fucked our entire lives. Both literally and figuratively. Does that ring a bell, baby girl? Have you been fucked by the world?”

She didn’t say anything. No expression. None at all.

Like looking in a mirror. Fuck. Fuck it all.

“You don’t need to tell me,” he murmured. “I know. I know a fucked fellow when I see one. And isn’t it funny? It’s the people who get fucked the hardest who try to change the world. They run around, trying to undo every bit of trauma that’s ever been done to them, but don’t you think that that’s just fucking rich, Harley girl? After all, why the fuck should we be the ones trying to improve the world?”

She was listening. She didn’t move.

“The people out there who fucked us--guess what they’re doing right now, doc? Just take a wild fucking guess.”

She tapped her pen against her pad. She wet her lips.

“I imagine they’re out there fucking more people.”

“And teaching their fucked up little kiddies how to do the exact same thing,” he filled in, his eyes bright and eager. “And they never fucking say they’re sorry because they aren’t. They’re not, baby, all the boys who rode you like you were a trick pony until you fucking broke. They’re not sorry. They look back on it and they get off.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said quietly. Somewhere deep inside of her was clenching. A physical sensation.

“Shh, shh, shh, just listen, baby girl,” he murmured, and he was leaning forward so far she could smell his breath--and it was as rank as his words. “So why the fuck should you bend that pretty ass over and let them have at you again? Huh? Because that’s all you’re doing. You’re making the world a better, easier place for them. A world where people can be broken down to nothing and rise up again to be the bigger person. Isn’t that just some shit, huh? That instead of figuring out how to purge the world of these motherfuckers who break beautiful girls like you, we’re out there trying to teach people how to deal with them. Well, fuck. That.”

Her eyes had never left his. Clenching. Clenching. Pain. Fuck.

“I want them dead. Because they are what makes this world so fucked. Not people like you, not people like me who clean up the shreds they’ve left behind, no. But let me tell you something, sweet Harley with the fucked pussy, if you try to make sense of the bullshit they do, you are enabling them and then I’m glad they fucked you. You were asking for it.”

Something shrieked in the back of her head. She was on her feet.

“I was never asked to be fucked,” she was saying before she even realized she was.

“I know,” he purred, and he was sympathetic. She looked for the pity and disgust in his eyes, but it wasn’t there.

“I’ve lived a hard life, but I made it out the other side.” She was getting her control back again. Feel nothing. Feel nothing. “And I won’t have you talk about the good work I do like that.”

“Keep lying, honey,” he purred. “Oh, you keep lying, you’re so pretty when you do it, but listen, baby. They see you and all your broken parts and they laugh at you. Because you’re playing pretend, aren’t you? You’ll never be whole.”

She grabbed her notepad and shoved it in her briefcase.

“Does he make you come?”

She froze. She hated herself for freezing.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” she spat.

“I would make you come,” he said softly. “And it wouldn’t be about sex, baby girl. I would be about power. And you would feel like a fucking goddess in my arms, because you are. God, you’re the most fucking beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I want you to be mine.”

She turned and grabbed her cup of coffee. She threw it in his face. It was lukewarm, but she would have done it even if it wasn’t.

She walked out. She heard him laughing behind her.

Greg was out of town. Good.

She went home. She ordered pizza and got out a gallon of ice cream. She watched a piece of shit movie on Netflix. She drank beer and ate until she knew she wouldn’t fit into her skirt the next day.

And then, she went to bed and she got her favorite dildo, the one that was so big it hurt.

She started off with the porn she was supposed to watch, but then, she just fucking gave in. She watched the bad girl porn. The kind where people hurt each other and they cry and there’s blood and fuck fuck fuck fuck she made herself come until her legs were numb.

And on the last one, she said fuck it all.

She imagined him.

She imagined him bending her over the bed. He’d bound her wrists with zip ties. She imagined he spanked her until her ass ached. She imagined he fucked her ass without enough lube. She imagined he powered through her pain and her crying and at the end, he rolled her over and he kissed her throat and he whispered, yes, he fucking whispered,

I know what you want, Harley girl, and I know what you need.

And she came so hard she screamed into her pillow.

Fuck. There would be no way to take that shit back.

Well, mother fucking fuck.

Chapter Text

”Because I am a woman, I must make unusual efforts to succeed. If I fail, no one will say, ‘She doesn’t have what it takes.’ They will say, ‘Women don’t have what it takes’”
--Clare Boothe Luce

---

“How’d it go?”

Fuck him. He’d waited.

The new skirt from Target was the single nicest piece of clothing that Harleen had ever owned in her life. The fabric felt incredible against her legs. And it was just a fucking Target skirt, how fucking pathetic was that.

“I need to get home,” she told Luke, heading towards his car. “Just drive me back to school so I can pick up my car, okay?”

“Hey, come on--tell me how it went,” Luke asked, but he followed after her.

Harleen’s heart gave a nervous little flutter.

“I--don’t know,” she lied.

“You’re intent on leaving me hanging, huh?” he grinned, opening the door for her. “Give me details. Anything. I’m dying here, Harleen.”

Ridiculously, stupidly, embarrassingly, she felt herself fighting a smile. He got into the driver’s side and looked at her. “It was… fine,” she mumbled.

“Oh my word, you killed it, didn’t you?” he asked, absolutely beaming--and she simultaneously wanted to hug him and punch him in his stupid mouth.

“No,” she grunted.

“Yes, you did, you blew them away,” he grinned, starting the car. “They didn’t know what hit them. All that beauty and brains in one package.”

Now she was frowning. “Just shut up and drive me back to school.”

“What? Come on, it’s true, you’re beautiful, and you’re so smart--”

“Look, the faster you get to school, the faster I suck your cock, okay?” she snarled.

Luke froze. They were at an intersection. The light turned green. He was staring at her. Somebody honked behind him--and it was like he jerked back to life. An adorable Frankenstein in a pink shirt (fuck him for being attractive, she still wasn’t over that).

“I, uh--what?” he stuttered, eyes focused on the road.

“What the fuck are you stuttering about? It’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” she huffed, staring out the window.

“I… Harleen, I don’t…”

“Shut up, yes, you do,” she said in a low, hateful voice--and even though, yes, she had fucking killed her interview and they’d been so impresed with her and she loved her new skirt, anxiety twisted itself around her stomach and she kind of wanted to throw up.

“I don’t--need that. That’s not why I--”

“Seriously, Luke, shut up,” she snapped. “Even if it’s not like--your goal for today, I’m sure it’s your end goal, so let’s just--get it out of the way, okay? I don’t care. It doesn’t mean anything to me. I owe you anyways.”

Luke was quiet for a moment. And then, suddenly, and a little alarmingly, he pulled over.

“What are you--?” she sputtered.

He turned to face her. “Harleen, I’m not doing this because of that--and I was serious when I said I was sorry. You’re… I just wanted to do this for you because I think you’re amazing and smart and I… I really do like you, okay? But I get it if you’re not into me like that, I’m not gonna like… I’m not doing nice things for you because I like… expect you to have sex with me or anything. That’s not who I am. I just… want to get to know you. That’s all.”

Her jaw was so tight it physically hurt her. She wouldn’t cry. She’d already fucking cried in front of him and it had been so pathetic. She didn’t know why she felt like this--and it was so fucking frustrating.

“If that’s not what you want, I get it,” Luke said quietly. “And in that case--I’m sorry that I’ve been like… pushing it.”

And maybe she knew--maybe she understood in that moment that the only reason why anyone would want her was so that they could fix her. But there was something that she absolutely understood--that she would never, ever, ever be able to be fixed. She would never be whole--and she would never be good. Palatable. Pretty.

“You don’t want me,” she said softly. “Not even as a friend. I’m all kinds of fucked up and--you don’t have time for that, and I don’t want you to make time.”

He looked at her. He reached up to touch her cheek. And she felt like a real girl--like a pretty good girl who had a pretty boyfriend and everything was good. Good. And she liked the things that were good, and she didn’t crave pain (because pain was one of the first things she’d ever known, and pain felt like home to her and when she was scared she just wanted to be hurt because it was the safest thing she knew, and she understood it so much better than this tenderness which she had only ever found to be achingly temporary and so false, so what was the point of it? Goodness hurt ten times as much as pain because at least pain was fucking honest).

“I’m a big boy, Harleen,” he smiled gently. “I can decide for myself what I want and what I don’t want.”

Don’t fucking cry, Harleen.

But it felt so good to feel for a moment that there might be good men out there. Because she craved men, she craved them with such ferocity that it frightened her. She needed their approval, and God, did she loathe herself for that.

“I’ll--think about it. Just--drive me back to school, please,” she replied--and he looked so utterly taken with her, his clear eyes so blue and so soft. Because he saw exactly what he wanted. Because every boy wanted a broken doll that only he could piece back together. Every man wanted a wilting princess in a tower.

There was nothing that a man hated more than a woman who was whole. He longed to be her missing piece, which meant that she had to have a tremendous emptiness in her life.

Men could smell daddy issues from a fucking mile away and it was like a dog with a bone.

And maybe the fact that she wanted him to scale her walls and save her meant that she absolutely loathed her own gender, but, well. Patriarchy. So.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

Oh God. Her fucking heart.

Fucking men.

“Yes, please,” she whispered, and his mouth fell on hers. And it was so soft.

There were lots of different ways to be fucked. And sometimes the fucks that hurt the most were the ones that were gentle.

And he pulled back and placed these devastating words on her mouth,

“I like you, Harleen.”

---

“I like you, Harleen.”

Harleen tried to hide that she tensed because she didn’t like to show that that kind of shit actually affected her.

“Thank you, Aaron,” she murmured with a “shy” smile. They were in the break room--and when he’d seen her eating her salad (fuck salad, God, she hated it, but she was still bloated as fuck from eating an entire large pizza on her own two nights before), he’d ducked his handsome head in.

“I’m just… a bit concerned,” he told her, his dark eyebrows furrowing. “Last session with him, you looked upset. And you threw coffee on him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. He was being disgusting.”

“I’ll come in with you today,” Aaron said immediately.

“No, thank you.”

Her voice cut. Aaron looked surprised--and Harleen had to take a break. Fuck. She hadn’t meant for that to be so sharp. After all, nobody likes a bitch.

And while she hated that word, she was well aware that she was a raging bitch.

“I appreciate the concern, Aaron, but that won’t be necessary. In fact, it would be incredibly disruptive to the process,” she continued, her voice smooth--and she smiled at him. “I understand your confusion with my methods, but I assure you, I am fully in control of every interaction with him.”

Well. That was a fucking lie. But she wasn’t about to let fucking Aaron Cash, wannabe knight in shining armor, to come in with her and fuck everything up. She may not have been in control of the situation, but it was her situation to lose control of and he could just directly fuck off as far as she was concerned.

“What did he say?” Aaron asked a bit anxiously. “To--get coffee in his face.”

“Probably what you’d expect,” she said easily.

“He’s harassing you. Being disgusting,” Aaron said, suddenly fierce.

Harleen turned that word over in her head. Disgusting. In order to be disgusting, the event or person in question needed to create a physical sensation of repulsion.

So that meant if something (or someone) was pulling you in, they were the opposite of disgusting. Alluring. A lure. A fucking fishing line.

The Joker was manipulating her. But, well, she could fucking manipulate him too.

She just had to decide what she wanted to lure him into doing.

She felt her clit pulse between her legs. No, fuck, that’d be too good, and bad girls like her didn’t get good things like that.

No, she hadn’t indulged like that in years. She’d probably fucking spiral. No. She was on her path to recovery with Greg and shit.

But God. God. Fuck.

Why did shit that was toxic have to taste so fucking good?

“He’s sick,” she said simply. “It’s a symptom. Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I can handle myself.”

Aaron looked uneasy. “Alright.”

And about twenty minutes later, they were standing in front of the obnoxious huge metal door. The Joker was behind it. As if something like this could keep him out of the world. She had a feeling the fucks at Arkham knew that he would always leak through.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” Aaron said to her before he opened the door for her.

I know what you want, Harley girl, and I know what you need.

She really was fucked, wasn’t she?

“Thank you, Aaron.”

There were a thousand different things she could do here--and there were a million more that she wanted to do. Her mind was a fucking mess as she stepped into his cell--or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe for the first time in her life, everything was so fucking unbelievably clear.

The Joker looked up at her. He smiled. She didn’t smile back. She sat across from him, setting down her cup of coffee on the table pointedly.

“It’s hot this time,” she informed him. He bounced his eyebrows once.

“I was counting on that,” he murmured.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” she said, crossing her legs in her skirt. Today, she wore a pink blouse and a black skirt. Her hair was loose around her neck.

“Oh? And what did you think?” the Joker smirked.

“I think you’re incredibly smart,” she told him honestly, reaching into her blouse to draw out her necklace so she could play with it. “And I think you’ve had a lot of trauma in your life that’s shaped you. And I think you let it define you.”

He was watching her fingers toying with that necklace.

“And I think you’ve finally come to the realization that you’ll never be better. Or at least that’s what you believe.” Even though he wasn’t looking at her face, she was looking at his. His gaze didn’t move. “You think you’ll never fit into normal society. So--you believe you have two choices. You either try to fake it and fit in, or you just say fuck it.”

His eyes didn’t move, but his head tilted to the side, as if something she had said had made her curious.

“And maybe for awhile, you decided you’d try to pretend,” she continued. She pulled the chain a little harder. It dug into the skin of her neck like it was a collar. “You married Jeannie. You had a normal job. You looked into the mirror every day and saw a stranger, but you knew that was better than looking into the mirror and seeing yourself. Because nobody would ever want you--the real you. And you know that from experience. The moment you show your true colors is the moment you get thrown away.”

His fingers twitched. She tugged on the necklace a little more--and then to the side. It cut her windpipe a little. His lips parted.

“And you tell yourself that you’ll get used to it, this constant lying. And maybe you even convince yourself that it isn’t lying. It’s moving on, it’s settling into society, and someday, someday it will feel normal and it won’t feel like ripping off your own face every day and sewing on a mask.”

Her voice was so soft now. She pulled on her necklace hard--so hard, she made a little sound. And he made the softest sympathetic noise back. His tongue touched his bottom lip.

“But every single fucking day, you want to die. Oh God, you want to just fucking die--but that’s not the right word for it, is it? Dying. Because you like pain. Pain feels so fucking good. No, this is numbness. This is nothing.” Her heart was fucking pounding, but she continued. “This isn’t the act of dying, this is just death. Nothingness. And you don’t feel anything bad but you don’t feel anything good either--which is right, because bad always felt good to you, and vice versa. Because good doesn’t exist. Good is just bad wearing a costume. But nobody sees it. Nobody but you. And you feel so fucking alone--like you’re lying at the bottom of you own grave, and you’re so fucking dead, every day of your life, you’re a walking corpse.”

He was on the edge of his seat. His eyes were black like a shark’s. Her predator. Fuck yes. She pulled hard on her necklace and he stood suddenly, leaning forward over the table like he would--

“Sit down,” she said softly.

“Harley,” he growled.

“Sit. Down.”

He slowly sank back down to his seat.

“And then… well, maybe you know what happens next,” she murmured once he was settled in. “Tell me what happens next, Mr. Joker.”

He wet his lips again.

“You give in,” he graveled.

“Yes,” she answered almost immediately. “You give in, don’t you? You surrender to the darkness. But it’s so much better when you go with someone else, don’t you think, Mr. J?”

She pulled her blonde hair away from her neck--and his eyes darkened to a whole other degree.

“What is that.”

She touched the dark bruise on her neck.

“This?”

“He do that to you?” he asked--and she saw the violence in his face and in his body.

“Who?” she asked innocently.

“You’re mine.”

She let her hair fall back over her neck.

“So you’re saying I understand you?” she asked softly. “What I said--that’s what happened to you? Right, Mr. J?”

“You’re mine,” he repeated, his eyes burning. “Don’t forget that for one second, Harley. You belong to me.”

She stood. She leaned across the table. She let him see down her blouse, her lacy black bra.

“I belong to the darkness, Mr. J,” she said softly.

“Baby girl, I am the fucking darkness,” he whispered in reply.

“You don’t fucking know how dark my heart is,” she whispered back. “You don’t even have the slightest fucking idea.”

“I’m going to find out,” the Joker murmured. “One way or another. I’m gonna sneak into your room in the middle of the night and fuck you while your boyfriend sleeps next to you.”

“As if I’d ever want a twisted fuck like you,” she hissed. His hand shot forward and he grabbed her wrist.

“Sweetheart, I’m the only medicine you’d ever need.”

And then. Cue the fucking trumpets.

Aaron Cash was in the room.

“It’s fine,” Harleen was saying, pulling her wrist away--and the Joker let her go.

“You know the rules,” Aaron snarled at the Joker. “You don’t touch your psychiatrists.”

“We were having a moment, Cashy,” the Joker grinned. “Don’t you want me to get better? Not my fault that she turns me on so much. And look at her--I think she likes it.”

Fuck.

Aaron Cash punched the Joker as hard as he could. Harleen backed immediately.

Fuck.

No, fuck, this wasn’t--

“Go home, Harleen,” Aaron Cash told her. “I’ll handle this.”

The Joker was laughing--his wild, raucous peals of joy slammed against the walls of his cell. And they woke Harleen up.

They woke her out of her lust drunk haze--out of her dark pit. And it all flooded back to her suddenly.

Lily. Greg. Her job. Her future. Fuck. Motherfuck. Mother fucking fuck what the fuck had she been doing.

“Don’t forget what I said, Harley!” the Joker laughed--and before she left, their eyes met.

And she knew him, but she didn’t. Because the darkness hadn’t swallowed her as deeply as it had swallowed him.

Little girls who play with fire sometimes get burned.

And little girls who throw themselves into wells sometimes don’t get rescued.

She had a panic attack in the elevator.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit, now everyone know what a disgusting little fuck you are.

Fucking fuck.

Chapter Text

“There are no good girls gone wrong - just bad girls found out.”
― Mae West

---

“I can’t believe you went to NYU!”

Lily’s eyes were bright as she reached to take off her seatbelt.

“What was it like? Were the people nice? Was it scary? Did it smell good?” Lily rambled, not getting out of the car, just turning to face Harleen.

And Harleen was smiling as she reflected on it. “Well, it was a pretty big room--and there were two women and one man. They were dressed really nice. And they just… asked me a few questions. Just stuff about school and my goals for my life and things like that. And… I told them about you. And me. And--all the stuff we’ve been through. Well. Some of it.”

There had been plenty of lies in that room. No way in hell Harleen was going to tell them that she still lived on her own with her little sister. No, she had pretended like her mother had gotten clean and had come back to take care of them. It was a fantasy she had lived so often, it almost felt true anyways. Almost.

“And--what did they say?” Lily asked eagerly.

“They said… they were really impressed with me.” Harleen couldn’t stop smiling. Fuck. It felt weird. She reached up and massaged her cheeks--and as she reached to do so, Lily flung her arms around her neck.

“You’re so cool!” she said happily, pulling back and beaming up at her. “I can’t believe you’re gonna go to NYU--everybody says that’s such an awesome school! You’re so smart!”

Harleen felt deeply embarrassed by this show of affection (seriously, they barely ever hugged--and definitely didn’t drown each other in compliments). And honestly, at the end of the day, that’s all it was. Compliments. And maybe Lily meant it, but Harleen knew that her deficiencies severely outweighed anything good she had going for her.

But she’d tricked the committee at NYU. And she remembered how beautiful Luke’s eyes had been after he’d kissed her. Maybe he believed she was a good girl too.

Fuck, she hadn’t given up that dream. Did any girl? That was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow--the ultimate crown that every girl longs for. The good girl. The pretty girl, the sweet girl. The one that everyone wants.

And Harleen had never been wanted before. No, not for her goodness. She’d been wanted for her body. Lily needed her to survive. But this, this was different. Fuck, this was so different.

A girl could get addicted to this cotton candy shit.

And there was something a little delicious about it too--something that fed the little dark pit in the center of her heart. This feeling of I’m a bad little piece of shit but you all think I’m something pretty, I really fooled you, didn’t I?

And maybe they’d figure her out someday. Or. Maybe not. Maybe someday, everyone would look at her the way that those three committee members had looked at her. The way Lily was looking at her now.

The way Luke had looked at her when he’d pulled back and licked his lips, like he just wanted to taste her one more time.

Fuck. Her heart clenched with longing and something deep inside of her, something that she had thought was dead, breathed please.

“Well, thanks,” Harleen answered Lily, grinning a little lopsided. “Jesus, if I’d known this was all it took to get you to like me, I’d have bought a fancy skirt a lot sooner.”

Lily giggled. “I can’t wait for next year--when you’re at school. And then, you’ll be a big psychiatrist and maybe we can go live in the city!”

“Okay, okay, cool it, shithead,” Harleen grinned, swatting her arm lightly. “Hey, how about this--go inside and get your jacket and we’ll got McDonald’s, okay?”

“Really?” Lily asked--and she was so bright, she was like the fucking sun. And Harleen swore to herself there that she would do anything she had to do to keep Lily looking like that forever, like every single dream she’d ever had lived on the surface of her skin, not buried deep inside of her. Not dreams deferred, but dreams burned.

And maybe, just fucking maybe, the ashes of a destroyed dream could be pieced together.

“Yeah,” Harleen huffed. “Go fast before I change my mind. I’m right behind you.”

Lily got out of the car and hurried up the steps of their shitty house. She threw a thrilled look over her shoulder, all pretty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. And for a moment, one remarkable moment, Harleen saw something she hadn’t seen for what felt like a fucking lifetime.

Oh my God, I fucking know you.

A girl with a young spirit and an unbattered heart. Oh God. Tell me I’m not dead, tell me there’s something left inside of me.

Her heart fucking hurt. God. But it was a good feeling. Sort of. Her brain couldn’t leave happiness alone, of course, it was always dissecting it, trying to find the little pieces of shit that were doubtlessly buried inside, but… she couldn’t find any. Not today.

She pulled out her phone (the shittiest, cheapest phone you could possibly imagine, and it was cracked to death, but whatever, at least she had it.)

Fucking Prick: You’re so beautiful. I can’t wait to see you again.

She smiled a little. She went into her phone and changed the contact name from Fucking Prick to Luke.

The door of their house slammed. She looked up, expecting to see Lily hopping happily down the crumbling concrete steps.

But no. It was Anthony.

Fucking Anthony.

The happiness dropped out of her like she was a boat with a leak. No, not a leak. Like she had a hole in her.

And that hole was fucking Anthony. And Jim. And David. And Tyler.

Her mother had a type.

She got out of the car, not looking at him, but he was looking at her. She felt his eyes slide over her body like her skin was oiled.

“New skirt,” he commented.

“Yep,” she said icily.

“Let me see it,” he hummed.

“You have eyes,” she muttered.

Before she could react, he had reached out and grabbed her wrist hard. She let out a whimper she didn’t want to make. He wasn’t drunk. Fuck, he wasn’t drunk--when he was drunk, he was slow and stupid, and when he wasn’t, he was fast and mean.

“Sorry,” she apologized quickly, trying to see if she could pull her wrist back--but he pulled her in close. So fucking close.

She closed her eyes and turned her head away. One time, she had listened to a self defense video, all amped up. Next time it happens, I’ll fight back. I’ll fight. I’ll make it stop.

The guy in the video had said “if he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already, so fight. Fight back as hard as you can. Because if you go with him and obey what he says, you’re dead anyways.”

But Jim, David, Tyler, and Anthony had no interest in killing her. Not in the traditional sense anyways.

It was so much easier to just let it happen. She fucking hated herself for thinking it and it wasn’t what she’d told Lily. She’d told Lily to fight and to scream and to tell someone, but that was because she knew Lily had something inside of her that was worth protecting. Something that could be taken or claimed or stolen.

But Harleen.

Well, fuck. You stick your hand in a blackhole and you might just lose the whole thing.

And she was dead anyways. That little flicker of a dream inside of her chest was bullshit. There were no stars to wish on when you were buried underground, not even the sun can pierce through six fucking feet of dirt.

“You don’t look sorry,” Anthony murmured.

“Sorry,” she tried again--and again, she lightly tugged her wrist, and now she was dragged in even closer.

“Look at me,” he said quietly.

And she looked at him.

“You’re not leaving this house,” he husked. “You belong to me.”

She kept looking at him. She felt absolutely fucking nothing.

“What?” he snapped. “What’s that fucking look on your face?”

She said nothing. Her mouth was a flat line.

“Did you hear what I said?” he demanded. “You little fucking slut, you hear me?”

A thousand miles away. She could almost taste the dirt, thick and iron-rich in her mouth.

And he hit her across the face because he was so fucking predictable. He didn’t get her jaw, not this time, thank God, she wouldn’t have to go to the ER. It was so fucking expensive.

He knocked her into the house and she hit the ground. It knocked the wind out of her, but she had a feeling he was just feeling a little bored and a little sadistic, so that was good at least. It’d be over soon.

“This is what happens when you don’t fucking listen, Lily.”

Harleen’s head snapped up. Lily was standing at the foot of the stairs with her pink jacket on. The one they’d found at Goodwill together, and Lily had smiled so big, so happy to own something that was pretty, and not just shabby.

Lily was staring at her.

“Remember this, Lily,” Anthony sneered--and he kicked Harleen right in the ribs.

No crack. Thank God.

But Lily had never seen her get hit before. It was a fucking miracle, but, well, apparently God had gotten tired of doing those.

Harleen got up with difficulty, rubbing where she’d been hit. Anthony had retreated to the kitchen. She heard him get a beer.

“Lily, let’s go,” Harleen said quietly. “I’ll get you an ice cream cone.”

Lily half hid behind the wall, her eyes full of tears.

“Lil, come on,” Harleen continued--and she felt a tightness in her throat too, but she wouldn’t cry. She tried to make herself feel nothing, but it was a lost cause because it was Lily.

“I’m not hungry.”

And Lily ran upstairs and slammed the door behind her.

She heard Anthony laugh from the kitchen. “Not so big and tough now, are you, Har?”

Harleen felt herself falling into a fucking pit, but she knew she’d never hit the bottom. She’d forever just be falling, the wind whistling in her ears.

Speaking of which, Anthony stepped close to her, his hand on the small of her back. And then, it was on her ass.

“See you tonight.”

And the world was a fucking black hole.

“Don’t play hard to get, Har,” he murmured. “We both know what’s going to happen eventually.”

---

“We both know what’s going to happen eventually.”

The email had come almost the minute she’d gotten home from work. There was only one thing on her schedule. A meeting with Jeremiah Arkham. Aaron Cash sat next to her. Harleen had worn her most professional attire, a crisp black pencil skirt with a matching blazer that she’d spent fucking hours ironing the night before.

”Just tell me what’s going on, baby,” Greg had begged her, touching her arm. She’d yanked it away so hard that her hand had brushed against the iron. Fuck, it had hurt.

“I’m fine,” she’d lied, but she always lied to him. Every single thing that that man loved about her was a goddamn lie, and everything he hated was the truth.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Dr. Arkham,” Harleen said calmly, folding one leg over the other.

She saw both of their eyes go to her legs and she felt like something unpleasant was cooking in her belly and she wanted to vomit it out onto both of them. She hated them, but they were not what she hated most in this room.

“Mr. Cash and I spoke before you arrive,” Jeremiah Arkham said patiently, folding his hands on top of his desk. He was a handsome man with dark hair combed neatly and a pair of thick rimmed black glasses. The kind of man who liked to do dirty shit in private. She knew his type well. And they always ended up being fucking disgusting pieces of garbage who liked to make girls cry. “I understand that your methods are somewhat… unorthodox.”

“You could say that,” she offered. Feel nothing, Harley. Let it fall out of you.

Fuck. Since when had she called herself Harley?

And she thought of him and despite everything, she felt her pulse thrum between her legs.

Baby girl, I am the fucking darkness.

Then swallow me whole, baby, she longed to whisper to him, right against his ear. You have no idea how fucking badly I want to feel nothing but darkness.

Because if he was the darkness--

“I must admit, this particular patient requires a unique approach,” Jeremy allowed, his eyes resolutely fixed on her face. Aaron kept glancing at her over and over again, searching her face, longing to heal her, she could see it. He thought she was the victim here. Maybe he’d fantasized about holding her trembling body in his arms.

She wanted to bite him.

“But Mr. Cash has unfortunately informed me that the Joker has developed a bit of a fixation with you,” Jeremiah continued.

“And that’s a bad thing,” Harleen confirmed, trying to keep the hatred out of her voice. Again, it wasn’t really hate that she felt for him (no, she was the bad girl, she was the filthy little piece of gutter trash from Brooklyn who had fucked and sucked for money), but he was a wonderful outlet at this point.

“It’s a sexual fixation,” Jeremiah said simply. “This puts you in danger.”

“He’s handcuffed,” Harleen huffed, unable to keep the disdain from flickering into her inflection. Jeremiah raised a single eyebrow. “Sorry, sir, just that--he couldn’t really do anything.”

“The way that you encourage his sexual fascination is not appropriate, Dr. Quinzel.”

Harleen felt her entire body go cold. She froze. She was six feet under the Earth in a grave that had been dug for her twelve years ago.

“Encourage,” she repeated blandly.

“Yes,” Jeremiah said simply.

“How am I encouraging him, Dr. Arkham?” Harleen asked very, very quietly.

“Your manner of dress,” Jeremiah said so plainly, it must have been a fact. Oh yes, she’d known men like that before. “The way you speak to him. Mr. Cash told me about the final conversation you had with him.”

“Which Aaron was listening to,” Harleen surmised.

“I know I told you I wouldn’t listen, but his body language--I was afraid he was going to attack you,” Aarron said nervously. “I’m sorry, Harleen, I--”

“Dr. Quinzel,” Harleen said loudly, not looking at him. She was still looking at Jeremiah.

“I am sorry, Dr. Quinzel, but you simply cannot convince me that you weren’t trying to sexually arouse the Joker with your comments,” Jeremiah said, his mouth in a flat line. “While this rather… radical strategy may seem like an innovate route, we at Arkham Asylum cannot promote such activity.”

There were so many things she wanted to say. There were so many things she wanted to do.

He had a letter opener on his desk.

She’d always wondered what it was like to cut a fucking neck. Would there be blood? Would it be hot?

She let herself be a thousand miles away, in a grave, maybe in the bottom of the fucking ocean with fish so ancient and blind and enormous, they were completely unknowable.

“The Joker has said he would like to see you again,” Jeremiah continued. “But we cannot let you back in the room with him without certain stipulations.”

“I will change my manner of dressing,” she said robotically. Because it was easy to be numb. It was so easy to be fucking numb.

It would be hard to cut his neck. It was easier to just die in her own skin. Greg loved her dead body in his bed.

There had only been one fucking person who had seen her rotten soul and had smiled. And he’d laughed.

But that was over now.

“Good,” Jeremiah said in a clipped voice. “Aaron will be in the room with you and I will be observing as well. You are hereby on probation.”

The floor opened up beneath Harleen. A black pit. No bottom. The wind forever in her ears.

“Alright,” she agreed.

“You are a very brilliant young woman, and very beautiful,” Jeremiah said--and there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

She switched her crossed legs. Both Aaron and Jeremiah looked down, hoping to see a glimpse of something.

Fuck this world, she thought with no heat behind it. After all, the world was burning. The ocean was on fire. Soon, the ozone would melt away completely and every star the pathetic creatures on the face of the Earth had wished on would burn them alive.

Then, they’d all be equals.

“We’ll work this out. Take the rest of the day off, Harleen. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harleen got up. She moved to the door. One foot in front of the other.

“Harleen, I’m sorry, I--”

“Dr. Quinzel,” someone said. Harleen realized it was her own voice. Well, how about that.

She went home. She went to bed. She didn’t sleep. She watched the ceiling fan swirling above her head.

Falling forever. Maybe someday, she’d hit the bottom and it would be over. But rock bottom wasn’t as low as you could go. You could fall into the center of the Earth and be burned to death.

She closed her eyes and she wept. Her body shook with it, but she wasn’t there. No, she was a thousand miles away.

Here lies Harleen Quinzel. She thought she was a good girl. How fucking sad is that?

Six feet under. Thank God they buried you that deep cuz the world might find a way to pull you out and fuck you again.

Chapter Text

"By propagating women's nature as non-violent they are discouraging women from becoming fighters in the struggle for their own liberation and that of society."
--Anuradha Ghandy

---

The following is a series of texts between Harleen Quinzel and Luke Parker. It is one day after Harleen has been kicked in the ribs by her mother’s piece of shit boyfriend, Anthony. Rated R for “this is such fucking sad bullshit, Jesus, what the fuck.”

LUKE (7:02 AM): Good morning :)

LUKE (7:20 AM): Happy Wednesday lol. Oxymoron, right?

LUKE (7:56 AM): You coming to school today?

HARLEEN (8:13 AM): N

LUKE (8:14 AM): Is that a no?

HARLEEN (8:32 AM): Y

LUKE (8:40 AM): You okay?

HARLEEN (8:46 AM): Not supposed to text in class Luke

LUKE (8:47 AM): I’m in the bathroom

HARLEEN (8:48 AM): 👍

LUKE (8:49 AM): How come you’re not at school?

HARLEEN (8:50 AM): Cuz I’m at home genius

LUKE (8:51 AM): Are you okay?

HARLEEN (8:55 AM): Yeah

LUKE (9:10 AM): Sorry had to change classes

LUKE (9:10 AM): What’s going on?

HARLEEN (9:20 AM): Just not coming to school

HARLEEN (9:36 AM): Sorry

LUKE (9:40 AM): For?

HARLEEN (9:45 AM): Being generally difficult

HARLEEN (9:47 AM): Some shit went down at home last night and I just didn’t feel up to it today I guess

LUKE (9:50 AM): You wanna tell me about it?

HARLEEN (9:51 AM): Not really

LUKE (9:51 AM): Can I come see you after school?

HARLEEN (10:01 AM): No not to my house

HARLEEN (10:01 AM): I’ll come meet you somewhere if you really want but Lily will be with us which I know will be kind of lame

LUKE (10:03 AM): That’s okay if you’re okay with it

LUKE (10:03 AM): I like Lily, she’s cool

LUKE (10:04 AM): Much cooler than you 😛

HARLEEN (10:05 AM): Ha tell me something I don’t know

LUKE (10:07 AM): Switching classes going to Mr Randall’s so I’ll be back. Don’t wanna get my phone taken ha ha

HARLEEN (10:07 AM): Okay

HARLEEN (10:10 AM): I wanna tell you something

HARLEEN (10:10 AM): That’s a lie I don’t want to tell you this but I feel like I should

HARLEEN (10:11 AM): I take care of Lily it’s just me and her

HARLEEN (10:12 AM): That’s why I have to do odd jobs and shut

HARLEEN (10:12 AM): Shit not shut

HARLEEN (10:13 AM): And by odd jobs I mean cock sucking

HARLEEN (10:14 AM): I’m not doing that any more though

HARLEEN (10:15 AM): I mean obviously at some point I’ll do that for you since we’re like dating or whatever

HARLEEN (10:17 AM): Duck are we dating?

HARLEEN (10:17 AM): Duck

HARLEEN (10:18 AM): F U C K

HARLEEN (10:20 AM): Well enjoy reading all these texts and seeing what a “ducking” psycho I am

HARLEEN (10:51 AM): Just forget everything I said

LUKE (11:01 AM): Lunch give me a sec

LUKE (11:11 AM): First of all, I didn’t know about you and your sister. I mean, people talk and say stuff but I assumed it was just rumors and whatever. I’m really, really sorry, Harleen, that really sucks, and again, I’m really sorry that I was part of that. I’m assuming that’s the reason why you’re not at school today. Are you working?

HARLEEN (11:14 AM): No not working

HARLEEN (11:16 AM): Oh my God why has your typing bubble been going for like ten minutes are you writing a Shakespearan monologue or something

LUKE (11:21 AM): And okay, I just want to say this and I have a feeling it’ll piss you off, but I’m gonna say it anyways. I hope that the fact that you have to take care of your sister doesn’t stop you from living your own life. You said it went really well at the NYU interview which is awesome, but you and I both know that if they catch word of you skipping classes, they probably won’t admit you. And I know that probably sucks to hear and I’m sure you have good reasons for not coming to class, but I just don’t want to see you throw your life away. You’re so smart and so beautiful and so amazing, I just want you to have everything. Even though I know your life has been really hard up to this point. There’s better out there and I just hope that you find it.

HARLEEN (11:30 AM): I’ll still be me at NYU

LUKE (11:32 AM): Good. I like you.

HARLEEN (11:33 AM): You don’t know me

LUKE (11:34 AM): I’d like to

HARLEEN (11:41 AM): You’re stupid

LUKE (11:42 AM): I know. Come to school. We’ve got Biology.

HARLEEN (11:50 AM): I don’t know

LUKE (11:51 AM): Sometimes when something is freaking me out, I just do it and then think about it later.

LUKE (12:01 PM): Harleen?

LUKE (12:05 PM): Look I’m sorry if I made you mad, I promise I’m not trying to.

LUKE (12:07 PM): If you want, we could go somewhere after school. Like Olive Garden or something. Lily can definitely come.

LUKE (12:09 PM): Biology is about to start, I’ll talk to you later.

HARLEEN (12:10 PM): Look up, dumbass

LUKE (12:15 PM): You look beautiful

HARLEEN (12:17 PM): You’re supposed to pay attention in class bro

LUKE (12:18 PM): That’s really hard when you’re in the room

HARLEEN (12:18 PM): Ew

LUKE (12:20 PM): 😚

HARLEEN (12:21 PM): Oh my God 😖

HARLEEN (4:21 PM): Lil and I are ready whenever you are

LUKE (4:22 PM): Finishing up football 1 sec

LUKE (8:21 PM): Hey, can I just say I’m really glad you came to school today?

HARLEEN (8:22 PM): Yeah you can say that

LUKE (8:23 PM): She’s so magnanimous

HARLEEN (8:24 PM): Thanks by the way

LUKE (8:24 PM): For?

HARLEEN (8:25 PM): You know having faith in me or whatever

HARLEEN (8:26 PM): And also for the breadsticks

LUKE (8:26 PM): You’re welcome

LUKE (8:26 PM): And I’m still trying to figure out where the heck you fit four breadsticks in your body

HARLEEN (8:27 PM): It all goes straight to my brain I have a fat brain baby

LUKE (8:28 PM): Oh my God hot

HARLEEN (8:30 PM): Why is that hot

HARLEEN (8:31 PM): Literally never mind I don’t want to know

LUKE (8:32 PM): 😚

LUKE (9:26 PM): Good night Harleen

HARLEEN (9:28 PM): Good night Luke

HARLEEN (9:41 PM): I like you

HARLEEN (9:41 PM): One might even say I ducking like you

LUKE (9:42 PM): I ducking like you too. Also I just fist pumped when I read that.

HARLEEN (9:42 PM): Oh my God go to sleep you’re embarrassing me

LUKE (9:43 PM): 😚 🐤

HARLEEN (9:44 PM): See you tomorrow

LUKE (9:44 PM): Absolutely

---

“Absolutely.”

Harleen’s gaze was fixed on the elevator door.

“I’m not going to leave the entire time, I promise,” Aaron told her quietly. “Absolutely. You can count on me.”

Harleen didn’t say anything. She didn’t feel anything. It was fine because it had to be.

She was wearing a plain black pantsuit, her blouse buttoned as high as she could. Even still, her collarbone showed. And her wrists. She wondered if that would be a problem for Dr. Arkham. After all, men can lose control of their bodies at the mere presence of female flesh, bare or not.

There was one person who had never lost his control around her.

She’d told him to sit down, and he’d sat down.

She’d told Aaron Cash not to fucking listen to her sessions, and he’d ignored her.

So who was the real piece of shit in this scenario?

Harleen tried to gather together her anger, to bond it, to form it into the rage that felt so good when it spilled into her veins, but she couldn’t. She fucking couldn’t.

Because feeling anything would be inviting all feelings, including the fucking shame and grief and fear and anxiety and she couldn’t do that. Nope. Couldn’t fucking do it. No time for panic attacks, so disassociation it is.

“Thank you,” she heard herself say, and maybe she should have been mad for being grateful to him for fucking destroying her life, but well, she wasn’t really there so it didn’t fucking matter.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her. He looked just like Luke Parker. She felt nothing. “Are you ready?”

The elevator doors were open. She stared straight ahead.

“Yes,” she said and she moved forward. One foot in front of the other.

And then, the feelings started.

Because she was going to see him again and she didn’t want him to see her like this.

But maybe it was better this way. Because whatever the fuck they had between them, it was inevitable that it would end.

Fuck. Just--fuck.

She felt her throat start to close up. This was the shitty side of wanting something--the whole didn’t fucking happen bit.

Aaron Cash opened the door.

46. 84. 13. 98.

They hadn’t changed the combination, not that it mattered.

She stepped inside. She wasn’t wearing heels, just a drab, old pair of flats. She didn’t feel like a professional and she didn’t feel smart and she didn’t feel like anything.

He immediately sat up, his intelligent eyes on her face. His eyes darted over to Aaron. Harleen imagined that Aaron was giving him a my cock is bigger than your cock look (as if the size mattered at all, his dick probably fucking stank).

And then, his eyes found her face again--and he understood. He knew everything. How the fuck did he know?

Because just like she knew him--

“Dr. Quinzel,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come back or not.”

“I had to complete some training.” She said what Dr. Arkham had told her to say. She glanced back at Aaron, who folded his beefy arms. The Joker’s eyes cut over to Aaron as well. And she saw in his face for a moment true, deep, sincere hatred. And it was so fucking beautiful in its purity. Utterly unfiltered.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back, doc, in whatever capacity I can have you,” the Joker murmured. She heard Aaron move behind her. “Calm your overly muscled tits, Cash, I’m not doing anything. Surely I’m still allowed to talk to my psychiatrist, aren’t I?”

“Don’t be fucking disgusting,” Aaron spat.

“As if there’s a world in which I don’t disgust you, Aaron Cash,” the Joker sneered--and there it was again. That hatred. And there was a promise there. His eyes were black with desire--but it was the desire to destroy, and Harleen saw that that gaze could lay waste to an entire fucking city overnight.

Baby girl, I am the fucking darkness.

“Do your session,” Aaron snapped.

“With pleasure,” the Joker murmured--and his eyes found Harleen’s again. And there was a softness there that she had expected and she wanted to hate it because pity slid under her flesh and made her feel like she was a dirty little animal, but it wasn’t pity. No. It wasn’t pity.

“You once asked me to tell you about my dear wife, Jeannie,” the Joker hummed. “Would you like to hear about her now?”

Harleen was just looking at him. She nodded.

“Take out your notepad, doc,” he coached her softly.

Shit. Right.

She took it out and clicked her pen open. She looked at her notepad. She felt nothing. He hadn’t look at her with pity. She stored that away in the vast filing cabinet maze of her mind which was already stuffed to the brim with information and feelings that didn’t matter.

“Let me tell you about the moment I saw Jeannie, Dr. Quinzel. Are you listening?” the Joker said quietly.

Harleen nodded vaguely.

“Say it,” he murmured, and there was a sharpness to his voice--but it wasn’t anger. It was like a rope thrown into the pit. Like he knew she wasn’t there and he wanted to pull her back.

“I’m listening,” she said--and she realized that she hadn’t been, not really. She felt herself being slightly tugged into the present. The Joker. Wild green hair. Eyes. His eyes were blue, not black.

Blue. What the fuck.

“I’ll never forget it, Doc,” he said quietly--and he was looking at her, into her, deeper than she wanted him to go. She couldn’t look away. “The moment I saw her beautiful blue eyes. And she was lovely, yes, but not because of her perfect face and her perfect body. Though let me assure you, doc, her body was something to be worshiped.”

Her stomach didn’t hurt.

“No, she was beautiful because she was so broken,” the Joker murmured and she felt him fall deeper into her.

Don’t go there, she longed to say. Even I don’t know what you’ll find.

“And I wanted her. Not because I wanted to fix the cracks, but because her pain was so beautiful, so human, so real. She had been hurt so badly, she had seen things in this world that most people hadn’t, she understood so many things. And she had lost all hope in herself, yes, because she thought no one would ever love her.”

The floor opened beneath her. Tears stung her eyes.

“But I loved her. My God, doc, I loved her the moment that I saw her. God, doc, can’t even describe it. I would burn this fucking world to the ground for her.”

She was leaning forward in her chair. He didn’t lean forward. His eyes flicked to Cash.

Right.

“And nothing would stop me from having her,” the Joker whispered. “Heaven could fall on me, doc. The angels could fly down and strap me to the fucking ground, God himself could throw everything He had at me, but He wouldn’t fucking stop me. Nothing. And all I wanted to do was prove to her that I would move a fucking mountain just to show her that her soul wasn’t broken, no, her soul was mine. And she doesn’t have to worry about going to hell, because I’ll be her hell on Earth.”

I fucking know you.

“Write that down,” he encouraged her softly. She swallowed. “Go on, doc.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered instead.

“I would never lie to you, Dr. Quinzel,” the Joker swore--and it was like a fucking wedding vow. “I don’t fucking have it in me.”

“What’s going on?”

Aaron Cash’s fucking voice.

“What do you think is going on,” the Joker drawled, utterly bored.

“I don’t know,” Aaron said--and she could hear the hatred in his voice. It was a hatred that had been directed at her so many times. You’re so wrong and I hate looking at how fucking wrong you are. “But you’re doing something.”

“I’m talking with my psychiatrist, Cash,” the Joker murmured. “I’m getting better. Isn’t that what you want? Or--would you rather see me dead?”

“Of course I want you to get better,” Aaron snapped.

Harleen was writing. She didn’t know what she was writing.

“I sincerely fucking doubt that, darling,” the Joker purred, and there was that hate again. “I think you want me to fucking disappear because you want to get your hands on her.”

“Shut up.”

Harleen ripped off the piece of paper she’d written on.

“Got a joke for you, Cashy,” the Joker grinned. “Why was the buff, sexy, handsome security guard threatened by the smelly, stinky, skinny psychopathic clown?”

Harleen folded the piece of paper.

“I said shut up!”

“Come on, Cash, I’m waiting for you to deliver the punchline,” the Joker hooted, his eyes flashing with glee. “Or do you want me to finish the joke? I don’t really think I need to. I think your tiny little brain can put the pieces together.”

“If you know what’s good for you--”

“I know what would be good for me. Her pussy on my dick.”

That was what it took.

And her stomach didn’t hurt because she saw that comment for what it was.

Aaron surged across the room, but Harleen stood and shoved him back. She was across the table in a flash and she slapped the Joker so hard that her palm stung.
But he knew why. He was breathing hard. And then he smiled.

He reached up and grabbed her necklace and dragged her to down to him. She let out a choking sound. And he whispered in her ear,

“Mine.”

The necklace broke.

Aaron was across the room in a flash. The sound of fist against flesh over and over and over again. The Joker was laughing. He was laughing so hard.

And Harleen didn’t realize she was smiling until she was.

Only when she was in the elevator did she realize the little piece of paper was gone--and that she had put it in his pocket when he’d pulled her close. She could remember her fingers in his pants. Fuck, not his pocket, down the front of his pants. Where she knew he would look tonight.

And she remembered what she’d wrote.

46. 84. 13. 98.

She exhaled. Her back was against the wall. She could still hear him laughing.

Oh my God, I’m fucking alive. You’re alive, Harley.

She smiled and it wasn’t fucking rigor mortis.

Chapter Text

“It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away.”
― Roxane Gay

---

The envelope was thick. Oh my God.

It was a little fucked up because their mailbox was so small, but fuck. Fuck. It was heavy and full. She knew what that meant. She’d watched enough TV and movies (enough stories about somebody who gets all the things Harleen had always dreamed she might have, but knew she’d never get).

Fuck. Holy fucking fuck.

She’d put it in the middle of the room she shared with Lily. She had been staring at it for a solid twenty minutes with what could only be described as an odd mixture of lust and oh my God it’s a fucking spider kill it now.

“Open it,” Lily whined from on top of her bunk bed.

“Nope,” Harleen decided. “Gonna fucking burn it. Or eat it.”

“Eat it???” Lily repeated.

Lily had only just started to talk to Harleen again after the incident with Anthony (fuck Anthony). Olive Garden with Luke had definitely helped (a girl after her own heart, much more amenable when she’d been stuffed with pasta). It probably would have helped to actually, you know, talk it out, but that would have meant they were functional and they weren’t about that life.

No. But really. They would talk about it. Harleen had promised herself that.

But first--

“I’m gonna put it in the driveway and then I’m gonna drive over it with Herbert a thousand times until it’s a tire destroyed pancake.”

“Stooooop!” Lily huffed, one of her skinny legs kicking at Harleen who was sitting on her bottom bunk, her legs pulled into her chest (God she’d die if Luke knew that she had a fucking bunkbed, Jesus, but then again, she’d lived in places where she had no bed, and this was definitely preferable. At least Anthony was good for something).

“Can’t stop until I destroy all evidence of this piece of shit,” Harleen replied. “How small do they make nuclear bombs and do you think I can get one at Walmart?”

“You’re the worst,” Lily complained. “I never get mail and then you get the most beautiful envelope ever and you won’t even open it! Pleeeeeease? It looks so important and cool!”

It did look like both of those things. Harleen had never seen anything like it before. How pathetic.

LUKE (4:15 PM): Did you open it yet???

She’d texted him the minute she’d yanked it out of her mailbox.

HARLEEN (4:15 PM): Can’t. Broke all my fingers on purpose. Physically incapable.

LUKE (4:16 PM): Well we can open it together. I’m on my way.

HARLEEN (4:16 PM): Oh my God ask permission before just coming over

LUKE (4:17 PM): Can I come over? I have champagne and it’s actually the good kind

HARLEEN (4:17 PM): Bold of you to assume I’d know the different between the good kind and the Walmart brand shit

HARLEEN (4:17 PM): And yeah you can come over but Lil is probably gonna expect food out of you so feed her or she’ll turn feral

“I know, I just… look. I’ll open it in a bit. Luke’s gonna come over,” Harleen said, tucking her phone under her thigh.

Lily was quiet. She let out a quiet whine.

“Oh my God, what do you want? Luke’s gonna bring you food, you gremlin.” Harleen reached up and grabbed her ankle, tugging on it. Lily pulled her ankle sharply away.

Hmm.

Harleen leaned out of her bunk and tried to squint up at Lily.

“What’s gotten into you, shithead?” she asked, but her voice was soft like it always was when she could tell Lily wasn’t just being a brat (and she really never was a brat, the Quinzel girls had grown up learning how to be as sweet and agreeable as possible. Lily’s training in this area had stuck, not so much for Harleen).

“I just… thought we could open it together. Just the two of us,” Lily mumbled, tugging her skinny legs up into her chest. “I thought it could be something just for us.”

“It will be. Us and Luke.” Harleen stood up and reached to tap the top of Lily’s knee. “What’s going on, booger? You’re being weird.”

“Can you just open it before he gets here? Please? We never do anything together just us anymore and I miss it,” Lily said, dropping her knees and looking at Harleen fully now. And she had tears in her eyes.

Fuck. Harleen’s stomach hurt.

“Of course,” she said quickly, suddenly forgetting about her own fears because it was just stupid NYU after all. This was her fucking sister, her entire life. “Sisters before misters, after all.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Eeew.”

“Yeah, I know, come on down here, squirt.”

HARLEEN (4:20 PM): Don’t come in yet Lil and I are doing something.

LUKE (4:20 PM): Okay. I’ll be outside, let me know when I can come up.

This boy who actually respected her and did what she asked. Fuck. She could get used to this (and maybe somewhere in the back of her head she knew that she was kind of losing her shit over basic human decency, but when it was so fucking rare in men, she felt like it was cause to celebrate [with expensive champagne, apparently]).

Lily slid down onto the ground, picking up the envelope and bringing it to her. She sat next to Harleen and rested her cheek against Harleen’s arm. Harleen’s heart twisted in the most crippling melancholy way, because she loved it when Lily did that but she was now extremely aware that Lily hadn’t done it in years.

Harleen slid her finger under the flap of the envelope. Her lungs hurt. She realized she wasn’t really breathing. “You ready?” she asked Lily because she herself would never be ready, no matter what the hell was in the envelope (unless it was just a massive poster that said Harleen Quinzel is a poor slut.)

Lily nodded, smiling up at Harleen.

“Okay. Here we go, shithead.”

Harleen’s finger ripped through the paper and--

“Ah! Fuck!” She immediately shoved her index finger in her mouth. “Fucking papercut. Oh my God, it fucking attacked me, Lil. You’re my witness--the fucking envelope went feral and bit me.”

Lily whined loudly, shoving Harleen’s shoulder. “Open it!!! Pleeeeeeease!”

“Too wounded. I need to go to the ER,” Harleen lamented, handing her the envelope. “Guess you’ll have to do it.”

Lily held the envelope as if it was made of priceless breakable crystal. She gave Harleen a nervous look--one Harleen knew so well. I’m a dirty little piece of shit who doesn’t deserve nice things.

“I--” Lily said anxiously, turning it over in her hands.

“Open it,” Harleen said gently. She took her finger out of her mouth and leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “I want you to do it. Okay?”

Lily swallowed. She reached into the envelope and drew out a beautiful folder. It was purple with the slightest sheen to it. Harleen had never seen something so precious in her life. It’s mine she thought because she knew they didn’t send folders to people who got fucking rejected.

She tasted salt. Oh my God, she was crying.

Lily was reading and she was crying too, fat tears sliding down her still round cheeks. “Harleen,” she whispered. “Harleen, you--they--it says they’re gonna pay everything.”

That had been the last piece. Harleen’s throat tightened around any words she might have said. All she could do was shake her head. No, that wasn’t fucking possible, that wasn’t--

”I am writing to you personally, Ms. Quinzel, to inform you that I have never received such a highly qualified candidate in all my years of serving as this school’s president. Your application was brought specifically to me. Not only are your academic achievements remarkable, but your story is both moving and inspiring,” Lily read, her voice breaking. Harleen grabbed the folder from her and pulled Lily in close, holding the folder so they could both read together.

She read through a blur of tears.

We are pleased to offer you a full scholarship to New York University for the fall of 20--

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any more.”

Luke was in the doorway of their room. Lily slid away from her.

Harleen looked up at him and the tears overflowed.

“You got in?” Luke breathed--and he had tears in his eyes too (what the fuck, this boy).

“I--” she choked out and then she nodded, running to him and flinging her arms and legs around him. She felt his strong arms wrap around her so tightly.

“I’m so proud of you,” he was whispering against her neck. “Oh my God, Harleen, I’m so proud of you. So fucking proud of you.”

I did it. Oh my God. I did it. I fucking did it. I fucking did it.

And with a heart full of fucking happiness, Harleen thought to herself,

No matter what fucking happens to me, I’ll always have this.

“Ah--okay--okay, I’m gonna--here, I’ll go get us some cups. I brought sparkling apple juice too,” Luke chuckled, patting Harleen’s back and setting her down.

She leaned up and kissed him, hard and sweet. “I love you,” she whispered impulsively against his lips and she wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but she’d always believed that love was a feeling and she felt it then, not just a love for him, but a love for this beautiful world where things like this could happen to a girl like her.

Luke’s lips parted--and then he smiled. “I love you too, Harleen Quinzel,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go get us cups, okay?”

He turned to go downstairs--and then he looked back at her over his shoulder with a boyish smile. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

This boy. This man. And even though she had only thought of herself as capable of loving Lily, she felt it. Oh my God, she felt it.

When he headed downstairs, she turned back to Lily, beaming, but--

Lily was sitting in the corner of Harleen’s bunk, her knees pulled up to her chest. Harleen’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up with you, shithead? Aren’t you happy for me?” Harleen asked, crawling onto the bed and putting her hand on top of Lily’s knee. Lily jerked it away.

And then, she said it very, very quietly,

“He makes my stomach hurt.”

Lily was staring at where Luke had gone.

And Harleen felt her happiness quite suddenly collapse inside of her.

“You…”

---

“You…”

Harleen was standing in her bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a bun and she was back in her pantsuit. She hadn’t put on any make up--and somehow, she knew Dr. Arkham would still have a problem with that (he’d probably say some shit like you look tired) but fuck if she cared.

And she was tired because she’d watched the news all night. She pretended like she didn’t know what she was watching for, but. Well.

“You shouldn’t come into work today, Dr. Quinzel,” Dr. Arkham finally said.

Harleen felt her stomach drop through the floor. She couldn’t even make her mouth form the words. She’d had a lot of shit happen to her, but she’d never been fucking fired.

“You still have your job,” he assured her--and she didn’t hear that alarming tone of worry that had been in his voice earlier. “But I don’t believe it would be safe for you here today.”

Wait.

“I--what do you mean?” But she had a feeling. Fuck, did she have a feeling.

“I can’t provide you with too many details, Dr. Quinzel,” Jeremiah said apologetically. “We are currently dealing with a situation here that should be resolved soon. I would like to send over some protection just in case.”

“Just in case--???”

“Just in case. Again, I cannot provide any more information at this given time,” Jeremiah said smoothly, completely and totally interrupting her as if whatever she had to say was of absolutely no consequence. “I understand your boyfriend is currently out of town.”

“Yes, he’s--what’s going on?” Harleen sputtered, and there was that edge back in her voice that she couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

There was the slightest pause. Displeasure lived in that silence and it leaked into her head along with the unspoken don’t be a little bitch to me.

“I will repeat myself,” Jeremiah said coldly, “I cannot provide any more information. Aaron Cash will be at your apartment in ten minutes.”

“Wh--Aaron--?”

“Goodbye, Dr. Quinzel. You have nothing to worry about.”

A dial tone in her ear.

Motherfucker.

She ran to the TV and snapped it on.

”And here’s another picture of Bruce Wayne at McDonald’s--I’m starting to think Gotham’s favorite playboy might have a bit of a McFlurry addiction!”

No. No way they’d be talking about that fucking rich twat if he had--

But Dr. Arkham had said--

Ten minutes.

If he was--

Her mind left. It was something else driving her forward. She didn’t know what. But whatever it was, it completely took over.

She took off her pantsuit. She put on a blue dress that was pretty and tight around her torso and flowed around her thighs. She put on make up--as much as she had time for. She brushed out her blonde hair.

Harleen, what the fuck.

There was a knock at her door. Whatever was in control of her went to go answer it.

Aaron Cash stood there with two cups of coffee and a paper bag. His eyes flicked down her body--and then to her face. He smiled quickly. He blushed. Oh my God, he blushed as if he was a good ol’ boy.

He had a black eye. For one strange fucking moment, she wanted to lick it.

Lick it. Jesus, the fuck.

“Hey Harleen--ah, sorry, I know I’m kind of barging in here, but Dr. Arkham just wanted me to stay with you today. If… that’s okay.”

Bite. She wanted to bite. Bite. Bite.

She half hid behind the door and smiled at him shyly. She watched him melt like he was fucking low calorie frozen yogurt on the sidewalk.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re here, I was really…”

She swallowed, looking down. He reached forward and touched her arm--and when she didn’t push his hand back, he smoothed his hand over her skin. He did it very slowly, like it was something he had thought about for a long time. Like he was savoring the moment and downloading the memory. Like she was spankbank fodder for him.

Bite.

“It’s alright,” he told her softly. “I won’t let him get you.”

Oh my fucking God. The room flooded with light and color and it was like someone had slammed a defibrillator on her empty chest.

Whew. Breathe, Harley.

“Him?” she repeated meekly, and her eyes found his--and they were filled with tears which worked perfectly and she wasn’t crying because she was scared, she was crying because she was so--

But I loved her. My God, doc, I loved her the moment that I saw her.

“Yes,” Aaron breathed, stepping in and suddenly, his big body was incredibly close to hers.

Fucking bite.

“But it’s okay,” he assured her. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And nothing would stop me from having her.

She had replayed his words over and over and over in her head all night, unable to even masturbate because his words alone had put her on the fucking brink, her pulse slamming between her legs so hard she hadn’t been able to sleep.

So fucking fitting, since Aaron Cash was nothing. Fucking waste of organic matter. Not even worth her hatred, and yet--

Bite.

“Oh, and--” Aaron reached into his pocket and withdrew a small plastic bag. He handed it to her. “I got that fix. I’m really sorry that he--God, you must have been so scared.”

She looked at her necklace. She turned it over in fingers.

She’d had a heart pendant, not a locket. This was a locket.

This was a locket.

Oh fuck.

“Can I come in?” Aaron asked, dipping his head and smiling at her in that same shy boyish way. She wondered idly if it was possible to bite someone’s fucking lips off. She wanted to find out. “Just--standing in your door like a weirdo.”

Boys like him always asked permission for the things they shouldn’t, and never asked it for the things they should.

Can I come in? Sure, who gives a fuck.

Can I ruin your fucking career, baby girl? Huh? Huh, fucking can I?

Can I take your little sister and--

“Of course,” she murmured, stepping to the side. Her knuckles were tightly around the necklace. Not her necklace. Not hers.

His.

Mine, he’d said.

“I brought you coffee,” he told her, setting it down on her beautiful marble counter. “I hope you like yours. Mine tastes a little burnt or something, but, ah, I didn’t want to make a scene.” He gave her a smile.

“I gotta shit,” she said very suddenly and very loudly.

Ope. Well. Guess her little fuckable Barbie routine could only go so far when she wanted to taste his blood.

She saw disapproval flicker over his features. And she knew if they were a little more familiar and he thought that he owned her pussy, he would say gently I don’t really like it when you talk like that, baby.

Oh, I’m sorry, baby, she wanted to simper. Do you know what a Cleveland Steamer is, baby?

“Okay,” he said, forcing a smile on his handsome face.

You see, Dr. Quinzel, you only need to make a few incisions to a lovely face and then it isn’t so lovely any more.

She felt hungry. Not physical. Something deeper. Her body was shaking.

“See you in a bit then.”

She disappeared into the bathroom. Her fingers were fumbling with the plastic bag. One of the sharp edges cut her finger, almost in the exact same spot that the envelope had cut her five years ago--the moment when she’d thought she was holding her future in her hands in the shape of a beautiful purple folder, but now she knew what her future was shaped like, fucking, she knew, and her hands were shaking, and her body was--fuck, her body was so--

And she was so fucking alive and--

The volume of her TV turned on.

”Breaking news--we have just received a report that the danger psychopath who calls himself the--

She dug her fingernail into the little gap of the locket and wrenched it open. It hurt. Yes. Fuck. Hurt me. Hurt me.

There was a tiny piece of paper inside. There was a tiny fucking piece of paper inside the locket that wasn’t hers.

There was a loud sound. A body falling.

Her fingers were shaking. She got her blood on the little note, but she read it, tiny perfect handwriting.

Coming.

And she felt a jolt between her legs, and fuck, she was--she felt like she would, just from reading that word--

And then, the softest knock at her bathroom door. And a voice.

“Harley.”

Fuck, isn’t the world such a beautiful place? was the only thought she had as she gripped her bathroom sink and came.

Chapter Text

“A gentleman holds my hand. A man pulls my hair. A soulmate will do both.”
— Alessandra Torre

---

The night Harleen got into NYU, she went out into her backyard and laid down on the grass.

She held her purple folder against her chest and she closed her eyes as tightly as she could. She didn’t know why, but she knew it was the only thing she could do in that moment.

When she opened her eyes and looked up, there were so many stars. Fuck. It seemed impossible with the city lights, but there they were--a thousand little pinpricks of light. So many little twinkling shapes to pin her wishes on.

But she only had one. And she whispered it very softly into the night air,

“Please let it be okay.”

She told herself she didn’t know it was. It could have meant a lot of things. Her time at NYU. Whatever the hell was going on with Lily’s fear of Luke. Luke himself. Anthony. Her mother.

But really. Really.

She was wishing that no matter what, things would end up okay for everyone but her. She didn’t give a shit about herself.

Because at the end of the day, she just wanted them all to be happy because they had a chance. Lily, Luke, Anthony, her mother, Ms. Pierce, everyone. And she was always running around and trying to find ways to make them happy while fuckng protecting herself and keeping them from getting too close. Because the truth was, she didn’t want to go to NYU. She didn’t want to date Luke. She didn’t want to fuck Anthony. She didn’t want her mother to come home.

She didn’t want to take care of Lily.

She didn’t want anything at all.

And she whispered it very softly only to the stars,

“I want to die.”

Because she could keep spinning her wheels forever, but she knew the only thing in life that was worth having was happiness--and she knew she’d never be happy. She knew she’d never be whole.

And all she could think was I was so close.

I was so fucking close.

Close to what?

Believing that the world was a place where good things could happen?

Believing that she could be happy?

Believing that she could make a way for Lily?

Believing that she could have something with Luke?

Believing that it wasn’t just all fucking over before it even started?

Believing in what? Love?

She didn’t know.

Maybe she realized in that moment that she’d never really known anything. And maybe she didn’t care.

And as she looked up at the stars, she made herself a very, very small promise that she held as close to her heart as she possibly could.

I will never want anything for myself ever again.

What was that quote? Right, Albert Einstein.

“Only a life lived in the service of others is worth living.”

Well, Albert, she thought with angry tears in her eyes. You helped build the fucking atom bomb, so maybe you should just shut the fuck up.

Harleen heard the backdoor creak shut. She assumed it was fucking Anthony because, well. That’d be about right.

But she heard Lily gently settle into the grass next to her. Her shampoo smelled like watermelon. Harleen pushed herself to sit up, wiping furiously at her cheeks.

“Hey, shithead, I’m coming inside, just--”

Lily wrapped her arms tightly around Harleen’s middle. Harleen couldn’t remember the last time Lily had hugged her this hard. Not since she was a tiny little girl, clinging to Harleen’s knobby knees and crying for a mother who had no intention of coming back.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered hoarsely. “I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t,” Harleen told her, stroking her blonde hair back.

“I--I didn’t mean it. I was just jealous because you--spend so much time with Luke now,” Lily hiccuped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Harleen had sent Luke coldly home. He had looked so hurt. She didn’t know why she cared. He was just a boy.

“Don’t apologize for what you feel,” Harleen shushed her gently. “I won’t see him any more, okay? It’ll just be us.”

“No, you can--it’s okay,” Lily mumbled, swallowing. “I’m sorry. I want you to be happy.”

Harleen looked up at the stars. How fucking pathetic was it that a man had been the only hope she had for herself? Men were exploding stars, thousands of lightyears away. The idea of them was so beautiful, but they were dead. Their souls were fucking dead. And she would never tether her heart to another one again as long as she lived because they would pull her into the fucking black hole they left in their wake.

No, she would use them to make constellations in the sky so that those she loved could see when it was dark.

Because fuck men.

Fuck men.

Fuck every man she had ever met. All molded out of the same fucking stuff. All white knight antics and smiles and I’m the thing that can fix you and I hate you for being so broken, but it gets me so hard at the same time.

“It’s okay, Lily,” Harleen whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Please let it be okay.

“Okay,” Lily whispered, sitting up and wiping her cheeks clean. The Quinzel girls had spent a lot of time crying over men, Harleen realized. She reached up to wipe some forgotten tears off of Lily’s cheeks.

“I’m gonna make a good life for us,” she promised Lily. She pressed a kiss to her forehead.

And nobody would ever make her feel anything ever, ever again. She would be a fucking monument to a dead girl. Because she knew in her heart that no one could ever, ever love her.

But this, this could be enough.

She brushed Lily’s hair back and said very softly, “I love you. You’re my girl.”

---

“You’re my girl.”

Harleen was bent over the sink in her bathroom, panting through an unbelievable orgasm--one she’d achieved just from the sound of his voice. She felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room--like there wasn’t enough in the universe.

He was on the other side of the door.

The Joker was on the other side of the door.

No handcuffs. Nothing holding him back.

Fuck. She felt numb. She felt so fucking numb because any time her body tried to feel this much, she just--fuck, she just--

“Doc.”

His soft voice. His growl. She whimpered before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers going to her lips.

“Come open the door, sweetheart.”

Her calves hit the edge of the bathtub. She hadn’t known that she was stepping away until she was nearly on the other end of the room, still clutching the locket. Her panties were a mess. Her entire body was thrumming with her pulse.

“Harleen,” he murmured, and his voice was so intimate--she felt like it was a hook directly in her heart, dragging her forward, dragging her to him, like he was the world’s most powerful fucking magnet. “Come here, baby girl.”

She wanted to. Fuck, she wanted to.

But every time she’d ever truly wanted a man in her life--

She’d never wanted Greg. Not really. He’d never made her burn. And there had been hundreds of other men, those useless mannequins who smiled at her and fucked her on her back and pulled a face when she asked them to go harder.

Her ass hit the edge of the bathtub. She’d sat down hard. It knocked tears out of her.

She didn’t want to want this. Fuck. She didn’t want to want anything. Call it post nut clarity. Fuck. Fuck, the shame. She felt like it was strangling her, suffocating her. Killing her, but she’d never die, not really.

Was she really going to throw everything in her life away? There was no going back from this. Letting a fucking filthy psychopath fuck her in her beautiful apartment. And even if no one ever found out, the stink of it would follow her around for the rest of her life. Such a fucking whore. Such a dirty little slut.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit, now everyone know what a disgusting little fuck you are.

“Are you scared, baby girl?”

Her throat constricted. Tears were sloppily spilling down her face now, too hard and fast and hot for her to catch. Shame. Fuck. Harleen had cried so many ashamed tears in her life.

And she was crying because she knew, she knew without a fucking doubt that at the end of this, she’d just be destroyed. Fucking laid to waste. And this would be the thing that would snap her once and for all.

And then, she would feel everything--everything she’d spent her entire life trying not to feel. A grief that might swallow her alive.

But she also might, for the first time in her life, feel like she was--

“Are you listening, Harley?”

That name did something to her brain.

She nodded stupidly. He couldn’t see, because there was a door (Jesus her brain was being strangled by her heart and pussy).

“Say yes,” the Joker coached her softly, just like he’d done in their session. He knew when she was spiraling. Fuck, he knew so well.

I fuckng know you.

“Yes,” she obeyed immediately.

“I need you to come close to the door, baby. You don’t have to open it yet, just come nice and close for Mr. J, okay?”

Like a fucking magnet. Like gravity.

Like he was a black hole and she was fucking space debris.

She stepped forward and pressed her forehead against the door.

“I know you think I’m going to hurt you just like everybody else has,” he growled softly, and her heart pounded so hard in her chest it physically hurt. “They’ve hurt you real bad, haven’t they, baby girl? Those fucks. Damaging perfection.”

She swallowed hard. Perfection.

“And sweetheart, I will hurt you, but only in the way that you crave,” he ground out--and she gasped softly, helplessly.

She pressed her body against the door. She was breathing so hard. Crying, aroused, fuck, what a combination--what a whirl of feelings when she’d been so full of novacaine, she thought she’d never come out from being under.

“Open the door, Harley, baby,” he purred, his voice low and throaty. “I fucking need you. I’m dying for you.”

“You just want to fuck me,” she whispered brokenly.

“Yes,” he said immediately with so much heat and hunger that she felt a dangerous throb stab her clit. “I want to fuck you so fucking hard you can’t fucking move. I want to mark every inch of that gorgeous body, baby doll, because you’re mine. But remember what I said about sex, baby. It’s not just about pleasure.”

She slid a hand between her legs, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“It’s about power. And I’m going to make you feel like the fucking goddess you are. Fuck, you consume me, baby, my every waking thought, fuck, let me have you. Open the door. You’re killing me.”

No, he was killing her--he was fucking destroying her. He was going to lay waste to her soul.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “End me. Please. Fucking end me.”

“Oh no, baby girl,” he purred, and he was smiling. “This is just the beginning.”

She opened the door.

He was standing there, green hair slicked back and his make up on. He wore a button up and slacks--he’d probably stolen them from Arkham before he left, but what the hell was she thinking about that for? She didn’t fucking care. She didn’t fucking care.

He stepped close to her. So close. Her breasts brushed against his chest. She shivered helplessly, suddenly realizing she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He turned and kept moving forward until her back met the bathroom wall. He was unhurried. He was so unhurried. Like he was savoring the moment.

He reached for her wrist and pinned it against the wall. His head dipped into her neck and she felt the brush of teeth and lips and tongue and fuck she let out the most pathetic sobbing sound, her body nearly completely giving way against his.

“Oh Harley,” he growled, his voice vibrating against her chest. “Oh, baby girl, you are so badly in need, aren’t you? Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He brushed his teeth against her neck roughly again. She fucking sprang to life--one arm around his neck, another buried in his greasy hair. She let out a gasping sound like she’d been under water and now she was surging up for air. Air. God. He was air.

“Oh, shh, shh, shh, baby, I got you now, I got you,” he murmured lovingly to her and she pressed her face into his hair.

“Bite me,” she whispered hoarsely. “Hurt me. Hurt me.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the sound coursing into her body. “Ask me like a good girl, like my good girl, come on, baby doll, come on.”

“Please,” she whimpered.

And he bit her. Fuck. He bit her so hard.

Nobody had ever bit her as hard as she wanted.

She let out a cry, a sob, a terrified noise. His teeth tightened for a second--and then they released. She reached up to touch her neck where he’d bit her--where it still fucking stung. He was wiping his lip. Blood. Her blood.

“Face the wall,” he whispered, and she had never seen anything so dark and beautiful in her entire life.

“I--” she whispered, touching the bite, not sure what she was going to say.

“Face the wall.” His voice was harsher now. Those shark black eyes. “I told you I’d be your hell on Earth, didn’t I, baby?”

He moved back to her, one arm bracing itself on the wall next to her head. She turned her head away, loving that she was free to feel so scared and so fucking safe all in the same breath--and he wasn’t afraid of her fear and her grief and her terror and her out of control desire and she was so fucking scared and she wanted him so fucking bad fuck fuck fuck fuck--

“I’m gonna take you to hell, Harleen,” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing there softly. “Turn. And face. The fucking. Wall.”

Her eyes snapped up to his face, her chin up.

“Make me,” she hissed, and not because she didn’t want it. But because she wanted to get what she wanted.

He grinned.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A hand on her hip. He roughly dragged her off of the wall and shoved his body against hers, his breath hot against her neck. He was so hard against her ass, fuck, he was so hard, she shuddered, she whimpered, she groaned--

“Shh,” he purred, his hand sliding up her thigh so slowly, fingernails raking so lightly. Her entire body broke out in goosebumps and she shuddered against the wall in the most delicious mix of disgust and lust.

His index finger slid into the strap of her panties, by her thigh. His finger moved in.

“I fucking hate you,” she spat.

“Oh, I know, baby girl,” he murmured. “But you want me. You want me so--nnnn.”

His finger had slid between her lips. She whimpered and he groaned. Call and response.

“Just from my voice,” he whispered against her neck, teeth grazing. “Oh, baby girl. We are gonna have so much fun.”

And for awhile, he just teased her. His finger slid through her wetness, not penetrating, not teasing her clit, just there. She was sobbing into the wall, struggling occasionally against him, making choked little noises--frustrated, anguished. After one particularly rough struggle, he smacked her ass with his free hand.

“You’re intent on being difficult, hmm?” the Joker smirked. “Good. I love games, baby.”

And then, his finger was swirling around her clit. She gasped, her mouth opening wide. He kissed her chin, her jaw.

“Mmm, I wanna tell you a joke, Harley girl,” the Joker purred against her jaw. “Are you listening like a good girl?”

Harleen choked. She nodded.

“Answer,” he demanded, giving her clit a ruthless flick. She gasped so hard it hurt.

“Yes, Mr. J,” she whimpered.

“Good,” he groaned. He pushed three fingers into her roughly, making her cry out against the wall. He was grinding against her ass, that steady pressure, shoving her into the wall. His palm ground against her clit. “Why did the gorgeous, delicious, brilliant psychiatrist give herself to the piece of shit psychopath?”

He was so fucking rough with his fingers. Each push went in as far as he could and he raked his fingers against her g-spot. His palm rubbed her clit. His hand was in her fucking panties. Aaron Cash was in the next room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her heart was pounding so fucking hard. She’d fucked a thousand times, but she’d never--

“You’re not listening.” He bit her neck again. Same spot. She cried out loudly, slamming her hand against the bathroom wall--and he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t act out,” he told her roughly, pinning her wrist behind her back. “It’s your turn.”

“I--I don’t--I don’t fucking know,” she ground out--and he shoved his fingers roughly, wiggling them inside of her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

He kissed her lower lip, biting it softly.

“But you do, Harley,” he purred. “You do, don’t you? Tell me and I’ll let you come.”

His hand was still. Fuck. His hand was so still.

“Because I want you to kill me,” she whispered.

He let go of her wrist and smacked her ass. It made his fingers move inside of her. She let out a strangled, sobbing sound that she’d never heard herself make before.

“Liar,” he spat. “Don’t lie to me. Never fucking lie to me, Harleen Quinzel.”

Harleen tucked her chin. If she told him, she knew she’d lose something. She’d lose her fucking soul.

Or maybe, she’d fucking find it.

And maybe that would be worse, to find it after all these years.

“Tell me,” he whispered lovingly, licking her neck--and then her cheek. She didn’t even realize she was crying until his tongue brushed her tear away. “Tell me, Harley, Harleen, Harlequin, my angel, my devil, my goddess, tell me, fucking tell me now or I’ll rip your insides out.”

His fingers curled in her. She felt his nails.

“Because I know you,” she whimpered out miserably. “You’re--like me. You’re--just like me.”

“Yes,” he exhaled, his hips starting to steadily grind against her ass in a rhythm now. “Oh yes, sweet girl--”

“And I just--I need you--I need you,” she breathed.

“I know, baby girl. You’re mine--you’re mine for fucking ever. Your soul belongs to me.”

Thank God. He could have it.

And he raked his fingers down her g-spot and his thumb flicked her clit hard.

“Come, my Harley girl.”

And she fucking came and fell into the fucking black hole that lived in the center of him.

And she’d never hit the bottom. Oh, God, she’d never hit the bottom.

And oh my God. Oh my God, she fucking believed in love.

Well.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

“Every broken heart has screamed at one time or another: Why can't you see who I truly am?”
― Shannon L. Alder

---

“Leave me alone.”

She slammed her locker shut and started to walk down the hallway. He followed after her because of course he did.

“Harleen, I--”

“Luke, I told you, I don’t want to talk to you any more,” Harleen said flatly, turning to face him. “I’ve got to get to class.”

“We’re going to the same one,” Luke said and he looked so confused. It was written all over his handsome face. Because despite everything she knew about him (or rather thought she knew about him because she’d always told Lily to trust herself and she would trust Lily over any man any day). “Can we just--walk together?”

“No,” Harleen snapped, turning to go, but he caught her arm. She flinched a little, but she didn’t pull it away. It was instinctual. Pulling her arm away when a man grabbed her usually got her slapped.

It was sort of built into her brain now. Avoid pain.

“Look--just talk to me, please? Please?”

God, he looked so hurt. She hated that she cared.

His eyes were so blue. Up close, she could see that they had little flecks of gold in them.

Even boys with pretty eyes can be fucks, Harleen, don’t be deceived.

“There’s nothing to say,” she said, emptying her voice of everything. “I don’t want to be with you any more.”

“Why not?” he persisted, searching her face.

“Because I don’t and it’s a free country and I can fucking do what I want,” she spat back, trying to turn away, but he held onto her arm. His grip tightened a little bit.

She felt fear, but she also felt something else.

“Harleen, please--just--let’s go talk for a second, okay? I want to talk to you,” he continued and his voice was so soft and he looked so utterly harmless and all she could think was--

My stomach doesn’t hurt.

She gave him a hard look. She pulled her arm away, jerking her head as if to say come with me.

They’d get in trouble for skipping class, but then again, it was Luke and he never got in trouble for anything. The teachers all trusted him. Everyone trusted him. And everyone was so worried about him--all the time he’d been spending with Harleen. She saw it in their eyes as they watched them together. They hated that he was with her. They thought that she was going to ruin him. He’d had a lapse in judgment when he’d paid her for sex, but now, well, now, it wasn’t ending.

A man could ruin his life with a girl like her.

Forget about how the girl feels about the whole fucking thing.

She sat down on the steps in front of the school, digging out her pack of cigarettes from her backpack. She stuck one between her lips and lit it.

He was quiet, slowly sitting down next to her as if he was afraid she might run away.

She pulled the cigarette away from her mouth and expelled a cloud of smoke, staring at him as if to say well?

“You just--kicked me out last night,” Luke said, and God, he still looked so hurt. “Harleen, I don’t even know what I did.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to do anything for me to end it. I can do whatever I want,” Harleen replied, sliding her cigarette between her lips again, not looking at him because she couldn’t stand that fucking look on his face.

“Harleen, come on,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face and letting out a soft grunt. “I just--I really care about you. I want to be with you. Just--tell me what I did wrong and I promise I won’t do it again.”

She didn’t want to explain it to him.

My little sister thinks you’re a fucking creep.

She could say it, but she couldn’t get it out of her head that she couldn’t feel it. God, she could always feel it around men. When Anthony was near her, she felt like she was going to fucking throw up.

But when she was with Luke, she felt so peaceful. Even now, she just want to--

Fuck.

No. Think of Lily.

“Harleen,” he said even more quietly--and she made the mistake of looking at him. Clear blue eyes. And he looked every bit the good boy he was. And maybe he’d been rude to her when he’d been paying her to fuck, but he’d never been like that again. That wasn’t him. No. He was the boy who bought her a skirt from Target without expecting anything in return. He was the boy who insisted that he didn’t want a blowjob.

God, why did absolutely everything in her life have to go to shit every single time?

Every time her fingers brushed against anything that might be good or beautiful. Any time she fucking hoped, someone was there to rip the rug out from beneath her.

And she found herself--fuck.

Was she fucking angry with Lily?

Fuck.

“Look, Harleen.” She hadn’t realized she was crying until he brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb tenderly--which only made her cry more because despite everything, despite her fear, in spite of her belief in Lily, and even though she was in a constant state of believing that the entire world was just centimeters away from falling on her goddamn head at all times like some kind of self-righteous Chicken Little, she wanted this.

She wanted him. The life she thought he could offer.

One where he knew all of her broken parts and wanted her anyways.

One where someone who was fucking worth something actually treasured her.

A world where maybe, once and for all, she wouldn’t think she was fucking worthless.

She had never wanted to be worthless. She had only wanted to die because she had thought it didn’t matter.

But in that moment, she mattered to him. And maybe he was lying, but everyone was lying all the time anyways--maybe he believed his own lies. And maybe that made them true.

“I want to be with you,” Luke told her gently, and she felt him kiss away a tear. She sucked in a raspy breath, her hands pushing on his chest, but he just pulled her in more closely. She hated and loved him for doing that. “Please. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m really sorry.”

God. No.

But her stomach didn’t hurt. Or maybe she was too blind and numbed by him to feel anything at all except hope. Hope, which was a son of a bitch and had never done a good thing for her, but maybe.

The sun is a star. Yes, the sun is a star. The only one that isn’t dead.

Her arms slid around Luke’s neck. Her fingers buried in the back of his thick hair.

This boy who everyone loved wanted her. Maybe she wasn’t so fucking worthless after all.

She looked at the sun. It hurt.

I want to be a real girl.

Not a lifeless puppet hanging from a wall somewhere.

Please let this make me a real girl.

“I’m here, Harleen, it’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to her tenderly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Please let it be okay.

He kissed her temple and he whispered something to her that no one had ever whispered before:

“I got you.”

---

“I got you,” the Joker whispered against her ear. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

She was still panting through her orgasm. She felt his arm wind around her waist.

“Turn around, Harley girl, we’re going to bed,” he murmured almost lovingly.

She turned obediently and her arms slid around his neck. She felt his hands hook under her thighs and he picked her up. He carried her through her apartment like he knew it (and he probably did, she imagined he’d done his homework ahead of time, just to find her, fuck, just to find me.) She buried her head in his shoulder, peeking only to see Cash on the ground, passed out.

“Drugged his coffee,” the Joker purred, taking her to her bedroom. “And he drank the whole thing. What a stupid fuck.”

“I don’t want to,” she said--and she didn’t know what the fuck she was even talking about. Her head was still buried in his shoulder. He didn’t smell fucking awful. She’d always thought he would. He didn’t smell clean, but he smelled like him. His distinct scent. Oh my God.

Despite her words, her fingers slid into the back of his hair.

“Don’t want to what?” he murmured, laying her down on her ridiculous fucking bed (seriously, it was so fucking obnoxiously big, and even with how huge it was, Greg still managed to hog all the covers).

Fuck. Greg.

“I have a boyfriend,” she told him stupidly, weakly.

“I don’t give a fuck, baby girl, and I don’t think you do either.”

He chuckled. He was unbuttoning his shirt. He was pale all the way down. Fuck, how was that possible? He had so many scars. Tattoos. He was lean and wild. She’d never fucked a man like him. She had always wanted to. She fucking loved ugly men. God, she loved them, but she had an image to keep up.

And beyond that, he wasn’t ugly. No. He wasn’t fucking ugly at all.

The ugliest person she’d ever met in her life was Luke Parker, and the Joker was no Luke Parker.

The Joker had blue eyes.

Harleen sat up and tugged her skirt down, giving him a defiant look. “So--what the fuck is your plan here? You just--come in and fuck the shit out of me and then just… you’re on your way?”

He chuckled again, low and dark. His body surged over hers slowly, pinning her to the bed. Her arms went around his neck again almost like she couldn’t help it (and she couldn’t, oh my God, he was like fucking gravity, the sun, my God).

“I’m gonna show you how much I fucking love you and then you’re gonna come with me,” he purred against her ear.

Her nails dug into his back as hard as she could. She felt his skin break and his blood seeped beneath her fingernails. He let out a hiss of pain--and pleasure.

“You don’t fucking love me,” she snarled at him with so much hate and vitriol, she almost couldn’t even recognize her own voice.

He pulled back to look at her. He was in her bed--he was in her fucking bed and the entire world was breaking apart, a thousand atoms spinning through the air. Albert Einstein’s nuclear warhead had landed and the entire planet was splintering.

His hand slid up her thigh, dragging her skirt up, but that wasn’t his intention. His hand kept moving up, over her stomach, over her sternum, up to her neck. His fingers cradled her jaw, his palm against her windpipe.

“Harleen Quinzel,” he murmured, but there was a heat in his voice and his eyes were black like the sun had fucking gone out. “I’ll let you have that one for free, but never ever presume to fucking tell me how I feel.”

“You don’t love me,” she repeated--and she didn’t care if he killed her. Her own light had gone out so many years ago and she had never rekindled it. Not even for a second. Only sparks against wet wood. “Nobody loves me. Nobody--knows me and nobody loves me.”

His thumb slid against her jaw. His eyes softened.

Oh my God. He was so beautiful.

She knew why people wrote love songs.

The most beautiful, broken thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“I know you,” he whispered--and he leaned towards her. Her eyes closed. She felt his cracked lips brush against hers. She exhaled and kissed him back. It was so soft. She felt like her body was on fire--like there was a sun inside of her chest that was exploding. “My God, you beautiful, broken girl, I know you. And you know me. Tell me how you feel about me, Harley.”

“That’s not my name,” she whispered back, but he was sliding the zipper of her dress down and she wanted to fall into him forever.

“Tell me,” he breathed, sliding the straps of her dress off of her shoulders. He didn’t expose her breasts yet--he just took in her exposed skin. She had his bite mark on her neck--and on the other side was a yellowing bruise from Greg (one that she’d had to beg to get, but she’d never have to beg again if she gave herself over, no, she’d only beg because they both liked it).

“I… don’t know,” she mumbled, squirming a little under him. He leaned down and his mouth brushed her collarbone. Lips, tongue. Teeth. And then, he was sucking at her skin, wanting to mark--wanting to claim.

“I told you not to lie to me,” the Joker purred before he moved to make another bruise right next to the one he had finished.

“I--please,” she whispered, and she didn’t know what she was asking him for. The only thing that she’d ever thought she truly wanted--to be a real girl, a good girl, one who everyone admired and loved and wanted--was fading. Maybe it had been fading for a long time because she was realizing she didn’t care what Jeremiah Arkham or Aaron Cash or Luke Parker or even Greg Lindell thought of her. She was realizing that she had never really cared even one tiny fucking bit.

She felt the Joker slide her dress the rest of the way down. He palmed one of her breasts roughly, possessively, squeezing and twisting her nipple hard. She let out a choked, sobbing sound.

“Oh, baby girl, I can’t hold back anymore,” the Joker groaned. He slid down her body, his tongue trailing, taking a moment to swirl his tongue around her belly button piercing with a growl of appreciation, before he came to her panties. His teeth gripped the top of them and he started to drag them down.

Her hips arched to let him. Oh my God, I want this, she realized with absolute utter and complete blinding clarity, like the sun had exploded right in front of her fucking eyes. I want this.

Not because she thought she should or because someone else wanted it or because the world was shoving her face in the dirt and telling her to eat it.

But because pain had always felt like love to her. Always.

And he knew pain.

Oh my God, he knew pain. He was pain.

He moved back up her body, undoing his belt. His eyes were on hers, not on her body.

“God, your eyes are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered. “So broken. So hurt. So lost. So mine.”

“I have nothing to give you,” she whimpered, her head falling to the side. She sniffled and realized that she was fucking crying again.

“Yes, you do,” he argued softly, sliding his pants down his hips. His cock was long and crooked and white. She’d never had a cock like that in her. She could never pretend after this--the stink of this fuck would follow her around for the rest of her life. She should be so ashamed. She should scream. She should hit him and bite him and tell him to fuck off.

“No, I don’t,” she whispered and tears ran down her temples and fell into her ears.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered--and she felt his cock start to saw against her gently, rubbing, sliding between her lips. She sobbed--and he caught the sound in his mouth, swallowing it, consuming her pain and grief and demanding more. “Yes, you do, yes, you fucking do, yes, Harley, beautiful girl, yes--”

“Please,” she moaned hoarsely into his lips, her nails dragging down his bare arms.

“Please what,” he breathed into her mouth--and she felt his oxygen fill her lungs and she realized that she’d been drowning or burning or being consumed by something. This dead fucking world had nearly turned her into dust. Atom bomb.

“Please fuck me,” she sobbed miserably, one hand sliding into the back of his hair again.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he murmured patiently--and his hands carefully took each one of her wrists, holding them in his hand and pinning them above her head. She felt the head of his dick tease her opening. “Not until you give it to me.”

“I don’t have anything!” she choked out--and his free hand was on her throat again, his thumb touching her lower lip. He was so close. His face was centimeters away from her.

“Give me your soul,” he whispered, “and I’ll give you my cock.”

“I don’t have a soul,” she breathed into his mouth.

His hand squeezed around her throat for one moment. What did it matter, he had all her air anyways.

“Then you’ll have no fucking problem parting with it,” he growled. “Give me. Your fucking. Soul.”

It was just words.

And he was right, if she didn’t think she had one--

But she had always thought maybe she did have something left. That little fire burning in her chest. The longing to be a good girl, to be wanted, to be loved.

She was crying again. He slowly licked her tears away, savoring them.

“Take care of it,” she barely whispered.

He pulled back. His eyes found hers. And there was no humor to him in that moment--no mocking, no teasing, no trying to get a foothold. He was a man who had lived through the fucking fires of hell and who hadn’t survived it. He was dead--but he wasn’t.

“Always,” he whispered to her--and in that moment, she knew he loved her. She knew it--and she realized she’d never known anything in her life. Nothing.

“You can have it,” she whispered. “You can have it--please. Take it. Please. I hate it, take it.”

And he smiled. He was so fucking beautiful she thought she might die.

“Gladly,” he growled.

She would have thought he would have shoved his way home--the way they all had before when they were breaking her soul into a thousand pieces. Anthony, Jim, Tyler, David. Luke. Greg. Aaron wanted to.

But he moved in so slowly. So fucking slowly.

She tried to arch her back, but he held her still, pinning her with his body, making her feel every delicious inch. Only when he was nearly fully in her did he thrust in roughly.

And then, he fucked her.

No. It wasn't fucking. She’d been fucked.

Being fucked was being used. It was existing, but not really. It was lying on a bed and staring at the ceiling and thinking about how vast the galaxy was and how the whole thing could fucking blow and it wouldn’t matter. She would never matter as long as she lived.

No, he made love to her.

Careful. Rough, yes. His hips would snap and he would growl in her ear. But this was what it was like.

This was what it was like to be loved.

Eventually, he let go of her wrists, and she wrapped herself around him. She clung to him like she was in the middle of the ocean and he was driftwood. She held him like he was the only thing keeping her from being sucked into the endless void of space. She clutched him as if the moment she let go, she would die.

And she thought she would.

Eventually, he reached down to tease her clit. She didn’t know if she came first or him--or how many times she came. She didn’t care.

The atom bomb had gone away. The world reassembled itself. A fucking miracle.

You exist, she thought and she was crying again, her tears dripping onto his neck. I thought I prayed to you and you didn’t care, but you let me have this. I’ve never had anything in my entire life and now I have everything.

When he was finished, he kissed her. And she wasn’t a thing. She belonged to him.

“Tell me how you feel,” he whispered into her mouth, the soft voice of a lover.

“I love you,” she whispered back.

And everything in the world suddenly and so remarkably fell into place.

Chapter Text

“Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.”
—Dorothy Parker

---

“Okay, okay, hang on--sorry, look, I told you, this is going longer than I thought it would--alright, just--hang on, okay?”

Harleen gave her admissions counselor the prettiest smile she could offer. The man smiled back kindly, but there were lines of impatience spidering around his eyes. And Harleen felt the pressure that she usually did--this little knot in the back of her stomach that whispered don’t waste my goddamned time, you’re not worth it.

“Sorry, give me a moment,” Harleen said in her sweetest voice, covering the receiving end of her phone (and she knew she probably wasn’t following him with the saccharine act, but it was worth a try). She stepped outside.

“Oh my God, Lily, can you please fucking calm down?” she hissed the moment she was sure that she couldn’t be heard.

“You need to come pick me up!” Lily whined. “School let out an hour ago! My teacher is starting to get mad! She said I need to call somebody and get picked up in fifteen minutes and--”

“Look, I know, okay?” Harleen snarled, trying (and failing) to keep her frustration out of her voice. “I told you I had this appointment at NYU today and I have to--”

“Harleen! I can’t stay here any more!” Lily interrupted her shrilly. And Harleen felt really fucking bad because Lily never acted like this. She was always so docile, so agreeable, and she asked for so little, but--

“I can’t leave,” Harleen snapped. “I don’t have a solution here, okay?”

“Can’t you order me an Uber or something?” Lily asked miserably.

“I don’t have forty dollars, Lily. Do you?”

Harleen shoved a hand through her hair. God, she was shaking. A woman in a neat business suit walked by and glanced at her. Harleen froze. She wondered if this was what going to NYU would be like--constantly living in fear of being caught and exposed for the fraud that she was. Fuck.

She ducked into a corner behind a door and tried not to hyperventilate.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit--

“You don’t seem to appreciate that I’m stuck in an impossible position here, Lily,” Harleen snapped and she hated herself but she was sure her counselor already knew that she didn’t belong and he was waiting and if she didn’t get her ass back in there, fuck, she didn’t know. They’d at least all know that she was trash.

“So am I!” Lily whined and her voice was fucking unbearable. Harleen felt a moment of complete and total blind rage. People always talked about seeing red, but she fucking saw white. “You need to come pick me up now, please, Harleen, please--”

“I can’t!” Harleen snarled.

“Then send someone to pick me up!” Lily demanded, nearly hysterical at this point, and Harleen tried to access some compassion for her because she knew in her heart that Lily was just as scared of being found out as Harleen was and she knew that Lily could probably feel her teacher’s eyes pressing into the back of her head with the same damp, hot feelings of impatience and dislike that Harleen felt her around every single day but at the same time, at the same fucking time--

“Who exactly am I supposed to send? You want me to fucking call Mom? She’s probably halfway across the country with a dick in her mouth or she’s dead in a gutter somewhere!” Harleen hissed furiously.

“Just send somebody, please--” Lily’s voice softened like she was aware of someone watching her. And Harleen could nearly feel this observer’s pity and hatred seep through the phone--because no matter what people said, pity and hate go hand in hand. Best friends, skipping down the fucking lane together.

“Fine, I’ll send Luke,” Harleen snapped.

The line went quiet. And something deep inside of Harleen twisted.

He doesn’t make my stomach hurt, she thought angrily because maybe it was the most selfish fucking thing in the world, but Lily claimed over and over again that she wanted the best for Harleen, but the moment she got something good like NYU or Luke, Lily had to take a shit all over it.

“Isn’t there anybody else?” Lily asked meekly.

“I could send Anthony,” Harleen offered in a voice that was so fucking mean and horrible she didn’t even recognize it.

Because some part of her hated Lily, she realized, and she felt the entire world unglue around her.

No. That wasn’t--that couldn’t be--

She wouldn’t even put fucking words to that thought. She didn’t hate Lily. She didn’t fucking hate Lily, she wasn’t the kind of person who--

I was so close.

I was so fucking close.

It was right there. The life of a real girl. A beautiful boyfriend, a college education, and the one thing holding her back was--

And she silenced her mind as fast as she could because if she thought any more, she would never forgive herself. Lily was the only good thing she’d ever fucking done in her entire life. She loved her. She loved her so much. Lily had a chance that Harleen had never had.

No, Harleen had never had a chance.

Until--

“You can send Luke,” Lily said--and her voice sounded so small, like she was trying to disappear. It was a feeling Harleen had prayed that Lily would never have to know. And regret smashed into her, waves and fucking waves of it until her lungs were full of salt and dead fish.

“Lily,” Harleen whispered--and she felt stupid tears sting her eyes. Fuck, she’d cried so much lately, and what had tears ever done for her? Had Anthony ever given a shit about her tears? Had her mother ever brushed them away? “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay,” Lily answered, and her voice was all warmth and maturity beyond her age--and that maturity wasn’t admirable because Harleen knew it had only been created because of a necessity, a need to grow up before it was appropriate.

“I never should have said that to you,” Harleen continued and she fought back her tears with every bit of her self control because what fucking right did she have to cry in this scenario?

What the hell are you crying about, Harleen? You’ve got everything you want.

A pretty boyfriend who says he loves you. A fully funded college education. A little sister who does whatever the hell you tell her to.

And remember, Luke doesn’t make your stomach hurt. He’s safe. If you really think he won’t do anything, then what are you so scared of?

What the fuck are you so scared of, Harleen?

Everything, she realized very quietly. Especially all the things she didn’t know, which were more numerous than all the fucking stars in the sky that ignored your wishes and exploded.

Black holes. You never saw them until you were in one.

“I’ll send Luke over. He’ll be there soon,” Harleen told her quietly.

“Okay.”

Lily’s voice was tiny and scared. Oh my God.

It’ll be fine. He doesn’t make my stomach hurt. I’ve been around bad men. I know bad men. She only feels that way because I scared her. She probably feels that way about every man.

She frantically wove her tapestry of self deceit until her fingers bled.

“I love you,” Harleen told her with every bit of herself she could muster. Every tiny broken piece forced together in the most hideous arts and crafts project that would make even a five year old cringe.

But she knew those were only words. Love is action. Love is trust.

But how long will I light myself on fire to keep her warm?

She had always thought the answer was until I burn out completely.

But Harleen was realizing some pieces of her skin weren’t ash. And she didn’t want to burn up completely.

I don’t want to die.

Even the sun will burn out someday and then everything will die, but it wouldn’t happen today. Not today.

The sun is a star.

And she’d always thought that Lily was bright like the sun, but she couldn’t pin all her wishes on her any more. Harleen wanted to be in the sky too.

“I love you too,” Lily whispered back, and Harleen knew she didn’t meant it. She knew it with gut grinding certainty--like someone had hooked her insides and pulled them out of her mouth.

She’d never done anything for herself in her entire life.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll be home soon,” Harleen said quietly.

Please let it be okay.

“Okay,” Lily said quietly.

Harleen hung up.

He doesn’t make my stomach hurt. I love him.

But maybe she was in so much pain that everything was hurt. And maybe hurt felt like love.

HARLEEN (4:02 PM): Can you pick up Lily? She’s been waiting at school for a long time.

HARLEEN (4:03 PM): Bring her to nyu it should be fine for her to just stay here and wait a bit

LUKE (4:04 PM): Definitely. See you soon. Love you 😚 🐤

That text made her smile. And for a moment, she felt like everything would be okay.

And that was the last time she’d feel like for a very, very long time.

HARLEEN (4:04 PM): Love you.

---

“Love you.”

Harleen was lying on her back, watching the ceiling fan spin around her. The Joker was on his side, looking at her, tracing his fingers lightly over her collarbone. Her nipples were responding. It felt good. She could recognize that distantly.

“It’s polite to say it back, Harley,” the Joker hummed, leaning down and flicking her nipple with his tongue. She felt goosebumps slither their way over every inch of her skin.

“I already said it,” she said quietly in response.

And she had said it. A thousand fucking times, like it was a prayer she was repeating over and over again against his neck. And she realized that she’d only ever said it and meant it towards one person before. Lily.

But Lily was gone now. And that was for the best.

“Say it again,” he growled. “Look at me.”

She didn’t obey. Her eyes were on the ceiling fan. Around and around.

“Harleen,” he murmured, impatient. “Tell me you’re listening.”

He was trying to pull her out of the dark place. He recognized it. He said he was the darkness--and he was--but there was another darkness and this one pressed against her eyes until she was completely deaf, blind, and dumb and there was nothing good.

“I am,” Harleen replied quietly.

“You’re not obeying. Tell me you’re listening,” he repeated, and there was that dissatisfaction in his voice.

She didn’t answer. The ceiling was so far away.

Everything in her life that she’d ever wanted was so far away.

She felt him grab her chin and force her face towards his. She looked at him because that was what he wanted.

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re thinking. I know,” he murmured, almost thoughtful. His thumb traced over her lower lip.

Her eyes went back to the fan.

“You think you’ve fucked it all up,” he said quietly. He was still there, but everything felt different now. “You think you’ve ruined your life, don’t you?”

The ceiling fan kept spinning. An endless cycle.

“You’ve convinced yourself that you want this life. The job, the boyfriend, the family. The admiration from everyone who knows you,” he continued in that soft, low voice. “You think you’ve lost it all.”

Harleen was a thousand miles away. That was the only place that was safe right now.

“But I felt you in my arms,” the Joker said quietly. “I felt the way your body responded to mine.”

“It was just sex,” Harleen said distantly, and she could hear herself, but it wasn’t her. She didn’t know who she was. She’d never fucking known, not really. Was she the craven slut or the beautiful therapist? Neither, please. Neither.

“You don’t believe that.” And she had expected there to be anger in his voice, but there wasn’t. He sounded so assured, as if he knew something that she didn’t know.

She was a hundred miles away so she’d never have to be on fire ever again. Because passion and self loathing were both burning buildings and she didn’t want to die.

I don’t want to die.

“Tell yourself whatever you want, Harley, baby girl, but you know the truth.”

She had expected him to mock her--to humiliate her, to repeat over and over again you liked it, you liked it, you liked it. To rub it in her face that she’d caved, that she’d given into him, that he held her soul in the palm of his hand--and that he could squeeze and shatter it.

He didn’t.

“You’re lying,” she said quietly. “You’re manipulating me. You got what you wanted.”

The only thing that men ever wanted.

He huffed softly. “You lie to yourself so much, darling. It’s amazing there’s any bit of truth left in you.”

The tapestry of her self deceit was miles long. Her body hurt from sustaining it.

“So what now?” she asked, and she was so tired, she realized--but she was still fighting. Silencing whatever stupid little voice inside of her kept whispering go with him. And then what?

When had that little voice ever done anything good for her?

It had made her trust in men who just fucking shattered her. Who took the things she loved and flung them to the ground, delighting in the way they broke apart. And every time she thought she was fully gone, she realized that survival is a bitch and there are always pieces left that you can destroy more.

“I’m leaving now,” the Joker told her--and she’d known that was coming, but she still felt a pang of her hurt somewhere in the back of her heart. “But I want you to come to me in a week. I need to settle some matters before you can join me.”

“Fine,” she said vaguely.

The ceiling fan was always spinning. Spiraling.

“Tell me you’ll come to me,” he coached quietly the way he had done so many times before. “After all, I have something that belongs to you.”

“And I told you you can keep it,” she said and her voice was so distant. Because she’d never had a goddamn use for it anyways.

“Harleen,” he growled--and now there was heat in his voice. She sat up and looked at him, tugging the covers around her body.

She wondered when the switch had happened--when she had gone from clinging to him and whispering how much she loved him and needed him, when the world had felt like it suddenly made sense and she felt like her fingers were brushing against the outstretched fingers of the heaven (or hell) that he promised.

“You say you love me.” And she felt herself start to inhabit her body again--heat flooding her veins. “But a psychopath can’t love. They’re incapable of it.”

He looked at her quietly. He was so ugly. She tried to make herself read his features as disgusting, but she was incapable of it. He was so heavily scarred and he wore them on top of his skin instead of beneath it.

“You got out,” she said coldly. “You’re fucking welcome for that. You fucked me. And now you can go and destroy Gotham or do whatever the fuck you want to do for whatever reason you want to do it. I don’t give a fuck.”

He wasn’t saying anything.

“Why the fuck do men always lie?” she suddenly raged--and before she knew what she was doing, she had ripped her hand back and smacked him as hard as she could across the cheek, the same way that Anthony David Jim Tyler had hit her so many times before. “I don’t fucking want you fucking love. You think I’m so easily fucking fooled? I don’t want your fucking lies. And you caught me in a moment of fucking weakness, but that wasn’t--that wasn’t me. That was--your fucking manipulation dragging something out of me. That wasn’t me. That wasn’t fucking me and I sure as shit don’t love you. So you can have my fucking soul because I’ve never given a shit about it anyways, but I’m not fucking coming to you. I’m never coming to you.”

He worked his jaw, his head turning back to her. His eyes were black, again, the great white circling below the surface. Her stomach didn’t hurt, but that didn’t matter. Her body had given up warning her against men. They were all shit--and a stomach could only hurt so much until it broke.

And there was so much in those black and blue eyes. Heat--but it wasn’t lust. What the fuck was it?

“What do you want?” she finally just asked, and she felt her broken edges extending towards him, trying to cut him, trying to wound him the way she was wounded (even though she knew a hurt soul when she saw one, but men never nursed their wounds, they were always inflicting). “Do you want to fuck me? You can fuck me. I don’t care. I’ll come to you, I’ll fuck you.”

And she was eighteen years old in the car with Luke Parker, telling him she’d suck his dick for the beautiful skirt he’d bought her.

“You can hurt me. You can tell everyone what I am, I don’t care anymore,” she said--and that was what made the tears finally come and pushed them angrily off of her cheeks because all she ever did was fucking cry and some different it made.

“You do care,” he said softly. “You want them to love you.”

“They do love me,” she told him fiercely. “Greg. He loves me.”

The Joker said nothing. He licked at his bleeding lip.

“You believe I want to cage you,” he murmured softly. “And there are a hundred things I could say right now to shatter you. And baby girl, part of me wants to do it. Part of me wants to see what there is left in you to break. I can’t lie to you--I would never lie to you.”

She looked at him. She shoved tears away.

“But you will come to me when you realize it,” he continued. “When you let yourself feel it.”

“I can’t feel anything,” she whispered--and it was the only honest thing she’d said to him since she’d told him that she loved him.

“I know, beautiful,” he said, and his voice was so soft. “I know. Remember? You’re just like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” she spat back as fast as she could.

And he could have mocked her because less than an hour ago, she had contradicted herself. But he didn’t.

He stood and started to pull his clothes back on, unrushed.

“It makes a great deal of sense if you think about it, doc,” the Joker murmured, buttoning up his shirt. “Why you can’t tell me you love me. Why you are trying to so hard to hate me.”

“Get out,” she whispered, summoning up every piece of herself she had left.

“We are so much alike, we are nearly one in the same,” he hummed, finishing buttoning his shirt. “So of course you can’t love me, you broken little self-loathing doll.”

She wanted to kill him.

I want to die.

“You will come to me in a week,” he said very quietly. “Don’t forget what I have.”

“Take it and destroy it,” she said hoarsely. “End it. Just fucking end it.”

He turned towards the door, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to tell Cash he went to sleep, baby girl. I’ll pull him onto the couch for you.”

She felt utterly numb. Good.

“And Harley?”

His eyes were midnight. Black hole.

“I can’t wait to see how beautiful you are when you’re finally free.”

He walked out, humming to himself.

And she laid on her back, watching the ceiling fan turning. Spinning. Pushing all the air out away from itself.

The sun is a star, but someday it will be a black hole and it will swallow every wish with its death.

Let it happen now.

Because there was a life with the Joker, and there was life with Greg and Jeremiah Arkham and Aaron Cash. And one of those choices was death.

And the other choice was a life she couldn’t imagine or let herself want.

I will stand in the middle of the road until the sun burns me into ash.

Chapter Text

“One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.”
― Shannon L. Alder

---

“It’s a bit of an intense course load,” her advisor was saying, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

Harleen’s fingers dug into her seat for multiple reasons, and she would only allow her mind to give words to one of them.

“I can handle it,” she told him because she could, even though he doubted her. Just like most people did.

Harleen had once wondered why people doubted her. And then she’d realized that it all depends on what’s between your legs. Some fucking world.

She needed to get out of here.

“If you’re sure,” he said, concerned. “Perhaps we should schedule a meeting during the first month of September just to make sure you’re not too overwhelmed. Let me check my calendar.”

Harleen’s knuckles whitened.

“Can you--email me a date? Sorry, I’m just--running a bit late for something.”

She couldn’t stop herself--she had to look. She turned her head and saw the time--

5:12.

Jesus.

Lily had been with Luke for over an hour and--

“Oh, my, it is quite late!” the man said with an infuriating amusement about the whole thing. “So terribly sorry, I lost track of time. I will certainly send you an email, Ms. Quinzel. Hope I haven’t inconvenienced you too much.”

Harleen was afraid if they had to shake hands, she might dig her fingernails into the back of his hand and rip.

She was so afraid of herself sometimes.

“It’s alright,” she smiled, standing up and slinging her mini backpack over her shoulder. “Thank you for your time--and I look forward to your email. Have a nice day.”

Before he could even respond, she was out the door with a swish of long blonde hair.

She dug her phone out of her purse.

LUKE (4:32 PM): We’re here. We got ice cream 🍦

LUKE (4:40 PM): Are you gonna be done soon?

Her heart was beating uncomfortably hard.

It’s fine, she told herself angrily. It’s fucking fine. Trust yourself for once.

But her body was screaming at her that it wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fucking fine.

HARLEEN (5:13 PM): Where are you

She forced herself to stop moving. Fuck, she couldn’t even stand living in her own skin. She wanted to claw it all off. She wanted to bite herself. She didn’t know. Fuck. She just wanted something to happen--she wanted something to exist outside of the swirling fucking images that were passing through her mind, each worse than the last and--

LUKE (5:14 PM): Out by the fountain

She didn’t even put her phone away. She was walking so fast that her lungs screamed in protest. All that smoking--all that destroying her own body, which didn’t matter, because her body had never belonged to her anyways.

The sound of her feet slamming against the pavement was deafening. And she realized she was running. Why the fuck was she running? She looked crazy. She felt crazy. She felt like she wasn’t herself--she felt like she was living somewhere else, and she had disassociated on purpose, but this was different, this was when things were particularly bad with Anthony and she couldn’t exist in the moment even if she tried and--

She saw them by the fountain. They were sitting by each other.

She jogged up to them and just--stared. She knew her face was flushed and her breathing was hard and she just stood there. And she kind of fucking felt like she should take cover because maybe the world was about to fucking end.

Lily and Luke were angled away from each other. Lily had her knees pulled up to her chest.

Little armadillo.

Luke was holding his hand close to his body. He looked up at Harleen and cast an angry glance at Lily. He stood, his handsome jaw set.

God, she hated pretty men, she realized.

What the fuck, Harleen, he’s your boyfriend.

Right?

“Harleen, can I talk to you?” he asked, his voice sharp with displeasure. She hadn’t heard him sound like that--not since he’d talked to her when she’d still been his dirty little whore.

God, how could she have just fucking forgotten that so easily? The way he cheated on his girlfriend, the way he called her disgusting.

She was gripping her phone tightly in her sweaty hand. She looked away from him and to Lily.

Lily was hugging her knees tighter into her chest now.

“No,” Harleen decided, her angry gaze cutting to Luke because when she looked at Lily, she herself was eleven years old again and trying to hide in a fucking closet while her mother’s drunk boyfriend David had stumbled around the house, looking for her.

Fuck, she was right back there and she felt every bit of fear from that moment. When she was so small and no one gave a fuck about her.

“Lily, let’s go,” she said and she grabbed Lily’s hand and started to drag her away. Lily made a panicked little voice.

“Your little sister bit me!”

Harleen stopped. She just fucking stopped dead in her tracks.

“Harleen, you’re hurting my arm,” Lily whined somewhere in the background.

Harleen had bit them all. David Tyler Jim.

She never bit Anthony because he’d kill her.

And she only ever bit for one reason.

“My arm,” Lily sobbed, trying to pull her arm out of Harleen’s death grip.

The way Harleen had clung to the knob on the inside of the closet, pulling with every bit of waning strength she had, even as her skinny arms had trembled.

This is what you get for--

“Go to Herbert,” Harleen snapped. She dug her keys out of her purse and thrust them in the direction of Lily.

“Harleen,” Lily whispered.

Lily was rubbing her arm. It had a large red mark on it now. Harleen almost lost her damn mind thinking Luke had done that until she realized it had been her own hand inflicting that pain on her little sister.

What a fucking metaphor that was.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered, and there was so much pain in her voice--pain that Harleen had spent her entire life trying to prevent. And she’d made one promise to herself that she had told herself she would keep no matter what.

I don’t give a fuck about me, I just want her to be happy.

What a fucking crock Harleen was. No better than her goddamned mother.

Harleen took a deep breath. She knelt in front of Lily and forced herself to be calm. She was in a closet, making herself stretch out her ragged, gasping breaths.

“Lily, I’m not mad at you,” she said very quietly.

“Harleen, did you hear me?” Luke was demanding in the background.

Harleen didn’t see red. She didn’t see white either.

She saw black.

The desire to fucking hurt.

“I need you to go to Herbert right now,” Harleen said--and she was amazed at how unbelievably calm her voice was. She was so fucking livid, she had actually crossed over--and she felt quite peaceful.

It was kind of nice to know for certain that the world was fucking burning. At least you could pull the fire alarm without a guilty conscience.

“Harleen--” Lily whispered, her eyes full of tears. “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me, I shouldn’t have--he--was telling me I was pretty and he reached for my arm and I just--I got scared, I kept thinking about how you said that men can hurt you so I just--I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you like him, but--Harleen, I’m so sorry, I’m--”

“Don’t apologize again,” Harleen said simply. “Go to the car.”

Harleen stood up. She felt nothing. She didn’t feel a damn thing. God, so fucking blissful. Maybe she should lose her mind more often.

The look Lily gave her was terrified, Harleen distantly recognized, but she went. And that was all that Harleen really cared about.

She turned and walked back to Luke. She looked at him very, very fucking calmly.

“She bit me!” he repeated, showing her the mark on his hand. “She just--I was just telling her that I thought she looked nice and she--”

“What the fuck were you doing with my little sister?” Harleen said very patiently.

“What was I--?” Luke repeated, his eyes wild with self-righteous rage. “I just told you, I wasn’t doing anything--I picked her up because you asked me to, I was doing something nice for the two of you and she bit me!”

“Lily wouldn’t just bite someone,” Harleen persisted and her voice was so damn even, you could set a level on it and the bubble would stay forever in the middle. “You said she was pretty and you reached for her arm. What were you going to do with my little sister?”

“Oh my God, I was fucking being nice,” Luke spat. “I wasn’t doing anything, don’t be so disgusting, Harleen.”

I’ll show you disgusting.

Harleen spat in his face.

A big, thick, mucous heavy wad of spit.

He immediately put his hands over his face with a yelp and groan. Like he was an animal. And ugly, stupid animal.

Not so fucking pretty now, are you?

“What the fuck, Harleen?” Luke yelled, but she was already walking away. “You’re fucking--oh my God, you’re so fucking--you’re a fucking crazy bitch!”

Yell yourself hoarse, good boy. I’ll never let one of you get the fucking leg up on me again.

She kept walking.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he was raging--and his true colors were bleeding through. No white knight, but rather one covered in mud and pus. “What have I ever done to you to make you--?”

She swung back around.

“Do your worst to me, Parker,” she snarled. “You fucking rapist. But don’t you dare do anything to my little sister.”

He stared at her. He looked gutted, but she wasn’t stupid. These kind of boys tried to play the victim when they had always claimed to be heroes.

“Harleen,” he said quietly. “Please. Don’t--I didn’t--”

And he wasn’t begging for her sake. He was begging for his. She’d seen the panic in his eyes when she’d called him what he either was or he would be some day.

Rapist.

Because there were lots of different ways a man could rape you.

They could hijack your body--or they could hijack your soul.

“Goodbye, Luke.”

And Harleen went to her car and she told herself she’d never feel a damn thing again. She would roll herself into a tight, armored ball. Everything was for Lily now.

Everything for Lily.

“Come on,” she said quietly when she got in the car. Lily sniffled. Harleen felt nothing. “Let’s go home. You’re safe.”

---

“You’re safe.”

Harleen was looking at Jeremiah Arkham, Aaron Cash, and Greg. They were all filling her kitchen. Seriously, the sheer bravado from the three nearly suffocated the room. They all wore it so differently--and so unbearably, with such ridiculous showmanship as if someone might forget about the size of their dick.

Greg was handsome with his sleeves pushed up on his button up. He was tan. His business trip had been to Hawaii. “Business trip.” Harleen wondered not for the first time if he was fucking someone else. Good for him, if he was. She was an advocate for getting what you needed.

“Oh, baby girl, you are so badly in need, aren’t you? Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

She felt a memory of a shiver down her spine, but she shook it away.

No, Harleen.

She wondered if the apartment still smelled like sex. She’d opened the windows. Maybe they’d just thought she was flicking the bean because she was bored being trapped in her apartment.

The Joker had left three hours before. No, two hours and fifty-six minutes.

And the bonehead brigade had showed up about a half hour ago.

“I am sure you can understand just how delicate this situation is, Harleen,” Jeremiah said, his long, wrinkled fingers folded over each other. His face was disturbingly smooth and waxen, his cheekbones too large and full. She wondered if he looked in the mirror and saw the hideous mask of a man clinging to youth that Harleen (and probably everyone else) saw. “Due to the… bond you forged with the Joker, you are in danger.”

The way his voice dripped with utter disdain. Men just couldn’t leave it alone, could they? They always, always had to blame the woman. Because apparently having the audacity to own tits near a man was reason enough to be punished.

She could still feel the Joker’s mouth on her breasts and--

He’s just a fucking man, Harleen. Remember. You promised you’d never let them get the leg up on you.

If the Joker lifted his leg around her, she’d fucking punch him in the balls.

She could still hear his voice.

”I love you.”

You can love a dead girl all you want, but she’ll never come back to life.

You’re not Jesus, no matter how many times you made me call out to him.

“But you’ll be safe here,” Cash repeated. “I’m going to stay with you. And we have a plan to make sure he doesn’t get near you.”

Harleen turned and looked out the window. She watched a group of pigeons fly by. Rats with wings everyone called them and they hated them for being so dirty. As if something could help whether or not it was born clean.

And suddenly, Greg was crouching next to her, looking at her with soft brown eyes.

(She purposefully stayed away from men with blue eyes. Usually.)

Greg had always been quite gentle with her. Once upon a time, she had even fantasized that he might, you know. Fix her. But she wasn’t going to do that again.

”And I wanted her. Not because I wanted to fix the cracks, but because her pain was so beautiful, so human, so real.”

Jesus. The Joker needed to get the fuck out of her head.

“Are you okay?” Greg asked her gently, stroking the skin of her wrist. “Dr. Arkaham and Aaron told me the plan. It’s really, really good. You’re going to be safe. And I’m already looking into moving--I thought we could start looking at some houses.”

They had talked about getting a house. Harleen wanted a dog. Greg wanted babies. Harleen didn’t ever want to be a mother again, but Greg didn’t seem to notice what she wanted. Ever.

“Okay,” she said distantly because fine. Who cared? She could carry his children and take them to school and what the fuck ever. At least she knew she wouldn’t be the worst mother of all time (that honor went to her own mommy dearest, or rather, mommy absent).

The thought of holding a chubby little girl’s hand made her stomach curdle though.

If it’s a girl, I’ll just fucking abort.

But she was getting ahead of herself.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, her eyes going to Aaron, who had already apologized over and over again for “falling asleep.” If only he’d known that she’d gotten railed right under his sleeping nose. It might be worth telling him just to see the way his handsome face would melt in shock and disgust and humiliation.

“We understand that we have a unique opportunity to subdue the Joker before he does any harm,” Dr. Arkham said smoothly. “So we’ve brought in something of a Joker expert.”

Interest flickered in the back of Harleen’s mind despite herself.

“Who?” she asked--and her voice wasn’t so distant any more.

“He should be here soon,” Dr. Arkham replied as if she wasn’t even there. “We will speak with him and come up with something that will work for all parties involved.”

“He’ll probably want to meet on the balcony,” Aaron said, crossing his beefy arms. “Greg, if you want, you can come and--”

“Hang on one second.”

Harleen’s voice cut through theirs. All eyes went to her because she suddenly didn’t sound so pretty and agreeable.

She licked her lips. She tasted the Joker.

“So the plan is--what? To use me as bait?”

“Nobody said that,” Greg jumped in, reaching for her wrist again. She yanked it away, her eyes fixed on Jeremiah’s. His eyes were a milky blue. God, she fucking hated him. She wanted to tear the false fatness out of his cheeks.

“Nobody had to say that,” Harleen said flatly. “And if we’re involving who I think we’re involving, I want to talk to him alone.”

“Alone?” Dr. Arkham raised an unnaturally high eyebrow. “Harleen, we are as much a part of this plan as you are.”

“No, you’re not,” Harleen replied sharply. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Dr. Quinzel, Jeremiah.”

“Harleen.”

She knew Greg thought he was centering her by saying her name so softly. But there was only one person who could pull her out of the dark place.

Harleen didn’t back down. She did shut up, though, because if Greg said her name like that again, she might just fucking slap him.

But Dr. Arkham was taking her in quietly. She knew that look--that you’ve finally shown your colors, bitch look.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit--

“So broken. So hurt. So lost. So mine.”

His words kept overriding hers. What the fuck.

She thought she’d given him her soul, not her mind.

Fuck.

This was bad.

“Dr. Quinzel has a point,” Jeremiah said quietly. “Let’s allow her to speak to him first, and then we can come up with a plan together.”

“Good,” Harleen said, clipped. She stood up, smoothing down her blonde hair. “You said he’d be on the balcony?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to--” Greg started and Aaron was moving towards her too and they both looked so fucking concerned as if she were a delicate piece of china and she might break any second.

I’m already broken, you fucking halfwits.

“I’ll be fine,” was her answer--and she stepped out onto the balcony alone, because truth was, she’d always wanted to meet him.

The only man actually capable of saving people.

And he was already there, massive and shrouded in darkness. He lifted his cowled head. His eyes were just white, but everything else was black.

“Baby girl, I am the fucking darkness.”

“Hey, Mr. Batman,” she said casually, pushing herself to sit up on the railing of the balcony, the skirt on her dress riding up a little. “Nice night, huh?”

After all. He was the night, right?

Chapter Text

“As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.”
― Virginia Woolf

---

The days after Harleen had spat on Luke slipped through her fingers unnoticed.

She went to school. She avoided Luke. She hoped that nobody at NYU had seen her, but even if they had, well. They would have figured her out eventually.

Lily was quiet. Anthony was home, but he mostly drank and slept. It was like she had an aura around her--and usually Harleen projected don’t fuck with me, but somehow it was different this time.

It was if you touch me, I’m gonna fucking snap.

And maybe it was rich to think that she hadn’t snapped already, but Harleen knew she hadn’t. There were threads still holding everything in place.

One thread, really.

“I got you poptarts,” Harleen told Lily, setting the box down on the counter. Lily looked at it, tugging on the end of her blonde ponytail a little nervously.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.

“I haven’t seen you eat anything in two days,” Harleen said simply. “Take one.”

“I eat at school,” Lily said quietly, looking at the ground.

And Harleen knew what she’d done--somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that yet again, Harleen Quinzel had fucked everything up, possibly forever. She knew that she’d shown Lily that she had a massive fucking hairtrigger and if it was pulled, it would not only detonate Harleen herself, but it would destroy everything around her. And Lily would get pieces of shrapnel embedded in her.

So now Lily said nothing at all. Evolution at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

It was the kind of eggshell stepping ballet that Harleen had once been so good at doing around her mother. And while Harleen tried to hate that Lily had to do it for her, she couldn’t summon it. She couldn’t summon much of anything anymore.

She just kept thinking about NYU. She’d go there next year and everything would be better. She’d get her degree and get a fucking job and then Lily could have money and a life and all the things that she fucking deserved.

And then Harleen would just…

Well, Harleen could just…

Weel, Harleen couldn’t see that far ahead. It was like there was something in the way, blocking her view. But honestly, she didn’t really give a fuck. She didn’t think about the future any more so what did it matter if the Great Wall of fucking China itself was in the way?

“I love you, shithead,” Harleen said--and she knew how empty her voice sounded, she could hear it, but she couldn’t do anything about it and she didn’t really want to do anything about it. Because there wasn’t anything to do. So.

Lily kept pulling at her ponytail. Harleen had noticed this habit lately--Lily would actually pull her hair out, and not just a few pieces, but alarming clumps of it. It was anxiety, Harleen knew, but she didn’t fucking have a clue what to do about it except lie awake at night and stare at the ceiling and think about how she’d fucked it all up, which was honestly a pretty boring endeavor at the end of the day (literally, at the end of the day, when she was trying to sleep which she hadn’t done for the past three days).

“Harleen,” Lily whispered, and her voice was hoarse. “I fucked it all up.”

“Don’t use that word,” Harleen replied, setting a foil pack of poptarts down on the counter. “Come on. Strawberry.”

“Harleen, please!” Lily whimpered desperately. “I know I ruined everything and--I’m sorry!”

“Lily, I told you to stop apologizing,” Harleen said, and she tried to keep her voice from being so painfully flat.

Everything for Lily.

Harleen knelt in front of Lily. Even though she was growing at a scary fast rate, she was still so small for her age--which Harleen realized was probably her fault. Malnutrition and all that (because apparently poptarts are only part of this balanced breakfast).

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Harleen said, reaching up and taking Lily’s hand away from her hair. “Lily, look at me.”

Lily wouldn’t look at her. She was staring at the ground, tears dripping down her cheeks. Her face was dirty. God, she looked so pathetic--Harleen’s stomach twisted. Feeling jolted back into her body, inhabiting her like it was a fucking demon possession.

“Hey,” Harleen murmured, reaching up to wipe a tear away with her thumb. “You felt something and you followed that instinct. You gotta trust that, okay?”

“But what if I was wrong?” Lily asked mournfully. “How do you ever know for sure?”

Harleen tried not to pause too long because the real answer was hovering far too quickly behind her lips--

Sometimes you don’t know until it’s too fucking late, cupcake.

“You don’t,” Harleen said quietly. “And that’s a good thing. Because you never have to find out if you were right.”

“I’m so scared of boys,” Lily whispered. “I’m scared all the time. When you talk about them hurting you, is it--is it the way that Anthony hurts you?”

Harleen felt all of her blood exit her body--it just seeped out through her skin and bubbled into the atmosphere. The most horrible feeling overtook her--one of being inside of a dead body, but with a screaming brain. Sleep paralysis had nothing on waking nightmares.

Not many people have to live inside of their greatest fears coming true.

Because Harleen didn’t fear supervillains or car accidents or nuclear bombs. No, Harleen was afraid of--

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit--

“How does Anthony hurt me?” she asked quietly and carefully.

“I saw him kick you,” Lily said, her eyes still on the ground.

Harleen felt true relief--like a high washing over her entire body, muscles retracting. “That’s one way that--”

“And I saw you… with him.”

The opposite of hope is dread.

And dread is a demon with no name and no face. And it is not lying in a grave immobile. No, it is being buried in a coffin alive and you scratch at the inside of it and shriek into the void and no one ever hears you and no one will ever understand or know how it felt to be you, to be left for dead when your soul was shrieking in your chest.

I wish I was dead.

Harleen wet her lips absently, but there was no place her mind could go that was far enough away.

“You saw--?”

“Did you… want to do that?” Lily whispered.

The fact that she would even ask that question.

Harleen had to force her jaw open to make known her final, clear, serious response,

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Lily was shaking. Harleen wasn’t. She couldn’t feel her extremities. Numb, but not. A sentient zombie.

“I’m afraid of that,” Lily continued hoarsely.

“I will protect you,” Harleen vowed--and she said it too loudly, too forcefully. Lily drew away, her terrified eyes finding Lily’s face. “That will never, ever, ever fucking happen to you Lily, I swear to God, and if it ever does, I will do so much more than spit in that man’s fucking face. I will rip his skin off. Do you understand me?”

And Harleen watched it happen in Lily’s eyes. Lily was so terrified, but something shifted. It was no longer fear of this unknown, faceless man who could steal something away from her that she was too young to understand.

No, Lily was scared of Harleen.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Harleen snapped before she could stop herself. “And--you need to tell me if anything like this happens again. Okay?”

“What?” Lily blurted, tears escaping her eyes. “So you can act like a crazy monster again?”

Like a pile of mud with a brain. Like a breathing broken branch.

“I am trying to protect you,” Harleen whispered.

“You scare me,” Lily whimpered. “Harleen, I’m--so scared of you when you’re like this.”

And Harleen knew. She herself was afraid of so many things in this world, too many to name, but the most awful thing of all was what lived inside of her dry, cracked chest.

Because she didn’t have a fucking soul, and there was nothing more horrible than seeing a person lose their humanity and turn into an animal.

That’s what they don’t tell you about having to survive. You lose everything you are and you turn into a mass of fangs and fur. And you look in the mirror and you see a lovely blonde girl, but you know something they don’t know.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit--

And you can’t hide it. Not really.

Harleen opened her mouth to respond and say something she didn’t mean. She told Lily not to lie, but her entire life was a lie--one right after another, falling impossibly neatly into place, though maybe it wasn’t so neat any more. Maybe it was just a pile of deceit, a web that only she could discern, one that she was thickly snared in, one that was suffocating her, but her lungs didn’t work any more anyways so what did it fucking matter?

But she didn’t reply. No, she never got the chance to.

There was a knock at the door.

“Harleen,” Lily repeated quietly.

Harleen would never know what she was going to say next. She thought about it all the time.

Harleen got up and answered the door. And there was a beautiful groomed woman with a clipboard that read CPS.

It truly is a rare fucking privilege to live in your nightmares.

Harleen would not recommend it.

---

Harleen would not recommend it.

It being having Batman on your balcony. He was a hell of a lot bigger than she’d thought he would be--just an absolute brick wall of muscle and rubber. A little excessive, if you asked her, but boys and their muscles.

"Good evening, Dr. Quinzel,” Batman said in that rough voice (and she honestly wondered if his throat hurt after a long night of growling at criminals). “I was planning on speaking with Dr. Arkham and Mr. Cash.”

“Oh?” she said innocently. “Does the Joker want to fuck them too?”

Batman went silent. He was looking at her--and even with the cowl, she could tell how excellent he was at schooling his expressions. Honestly, she admired it--she knew how fucking hard that was to master.

“I’m kidding,” Harleen hummed. “I mean, I’m assuming the Joker wouldn’t say no, especially to Cash. He’s a good looking guy.”

“I think that you have been misinformed about the outline of our plan, Dr. Quinzel--” Batman murmured gruffly.

“Harleen is fine,” she said breezily, flipping blonde hair off of her shoulder. She wondered if Batman was as impervious to the charms of women as he acted like he was--or if he was truly a flesh and blood man under all of that. One who could be swayed by shapely thighs in a short skirt and the whole whimpering damsel in distress act that Harleen had so perfectly mastered.

(Well, maybe not perfectly, but it sure as hell had fooled Greg and Aaron).

Part of her wanted to see if she could fuck Batman. Was that as fucked up as it sounded?

Yes. And beyond that, that sounded like something the other girl would do.

Harley, that is.

Whatever the fuck she was.

"And I don’t think I’m that far off the mark,” Harleen hummed, crossing her legs. His eyes didn’t dart down to his credit (though that didn’t take as much self control as some men thought it did, seriously, how fucking hard was it to look at a person’s face instead of their body?) “Dr. Arkham talked about the bond I have with the Joker--and how they have a unique opportunity. But, interestingly enough, Aaron mentioned that the plan will keep the Joker from getting too close to me. So--what exactly is this big, exciting plan that you’ve cooked up, Mr. Batman? I’m aching to know.”

He really was just a boy under all that fucking rubber. And Harleen knew boys inside and fucking out. They were all the goddamn same.

Except for--

But he wasn’t a man. He was a monster. Right?

And it was likely that his lies were twice as dangerous.

“You lie to yourself so much, darling. It’s amazing there’s any bit of truth left in you.”

Fuck. He had done so much more than just penetrate her pussy, that clown fuck had penetrated her mind. She seriously didn’t fucking like that.

Or maybe he’d just awoken something in her.

Someone.

“The term bait implies that you will be in danger,” Batman said, and beneath the rough texture of his voice there was a smoothness, a polish. He almost sounded like a politician. Harleen felt a pang of hate deep in her gut because there was nothing worse than a boy who lied and thought he could get away with it because of the way he’d lubricated his deceit. “You will not be in danger, Dr. Quinzel.”

“Harley,” she said without thinking.

For a moment, the collectedness of his expression shifted.

“Harley?” he repeated.

“Harleen,” she said quickly and with an air of impatience as if he was the one who had misheard.

Fuck. Why had she said Harley?

Best not to the think about that too much.

He paused for a moment, taking her in--trying to read her. Fuck, she hated it when people did that.

She showed him just how good she was at carefully controlling her features.

You aren’t gonna get shit out of me, bat boy.

Though she had to admit, for as much as she loathed and resented him, he was fucking fascinating. He was like the next level of Greg. He not only wanted to be seen as a hero, but he fucking demanded it. He believed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner. He thought he knew fucking best about everyone and everything.

And the fact that he hid in the darkness only made him that much more interesting.

He was likely a narcissist, she decided, but there was more to it than that.

And in that moment, she understood why the Joker kept going to Arkham over this man--this symbol over and over again.

God, she just wanted to destroy him. To bite him and spit into the open wound.

Fuck. She didn’t feel numb at all any more.

“As I said, you won’t be in danger, Harleen.” She liked her name in that false voice of his. She wondered if he would fuck in the suit. “I will have someone with you at all times.”

She huffed. “Who? Robin? Excuse me if I don’t feel safe at the hands of a twelve year old.”

“Robin is very capable,” Batman said, and there was the oil of a politician again. She wanted to bite or lick or suck him, anything that she could do to throw him off his game and arouse him and scare the shit out of him. She loved making noises during sex with Greg that caused him to stop and ask her you okay, baby?

What? You don’t like my scared noises? Bullshit. Every man gets hard when a woman is terrified and crazy.

And Mr. Noble Batman, Mr. Black Knight.

I could end your fucking world, good boy. I could make you into a fucking wasteland. I could eat you alive and spit out your bones.

Fuck. No, she wasn’t fucking numb at all.

"You will be safe, Harleen, I can promise that,” Batman assured her, and his voice was quite gentle. “I am sure you’ve been afraid, but you don’t need to be any more.”

If the Joker were here right now, she’d drop to her knees for him just to prove to Batman how little she feared him.

Something was pushing against the seams of her brain--like something aching to burst through.

Someone.

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t her voice that said it, somehow. Not Harleen’s. It was a soft, sweet voice--tender and girlish. She was playing with the edge of her skirt as she looked at him shyly.

She didn’t know what the fuck was happening, but fuck did it feel good.

“You’re welcome, Harleen,” Batman murmured, and his voice was so soft. So he was still a man after all.

“But Mr. Batman,” she persisted, “I wanna help more than that. I can help. Dr. Arkham is right, I did form a special bond with the Joker. I can get real close to him. He won’t hurt me.”

If Batman was bothered at all by this sudden change in her personality--in the coyness and the sweetness and the fluttering eyelashes, he didn’t show it. Maybe he was glad that she was finally being a good girl for him.

She imagined what it would feel like to shove her fingers into the eye holes of his mask and dig.

But rage was impotent. It was like she had found something else inside of her--like the person who had claimed her soul was pulling her strings.

Or, rather, that he’d fucking cut them once and for all.

And she heard something that he’d never said, but something that he’d shown her flutter by her ear,

You can be yourself and I will still love you.

Now that was some empowering shit.

“It’s my life, Mr. Batman,” Harleen continued. “And for the good of the city, I’m willing to take a risk. If I get close to him, you’ll have the upperhand.”

"I don’t like the idea of you getting caught in the crosshairs,” Batman murmured.

“Bring Cash,” Harleen suggested. “He can help pull me out when the time comes.”

Batman was quiet. He studied her again. And she made herself look like everything he wanted her to be--broken, beautiful, scared, but oh so brave.

Truth was, this fucker knew nothing about what brave looked like. Brave was looking at yourself in the mirror every day and wanting to claw your own face off, but going out the door anyways.

Brave was knowing you had nothing to live for and continuing to do it anyways.

Brave wasn’t hiding in the dark and punching the mentally ill. Brave was emerging from the darkness and letting them see you.

Find me out. I’m a piece of shit. I don’t give a fuck any more.

Her body flooded with pleasure.

“Alright,” Batman murmured. “You are very brave, Harleen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Batman,” she said softly, brushing blonde hair behind her ear. “You make a girl feel brave.”

And call me Harley, bitch.

Chapter Text

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”
― Laurell K. Hamilton

---

“Good afternoon,” the woman said, looking up from her clipboard with expectant and sharp green eyes. “May I please speak to Sharon Quinzel?”

No. This wasn’t fucking happening.

This couldn’t be fucking happening.

More than that, Harleen wasn’t going to let it happen.

“She’s not here right now,” Harleen said and it wasn’t a lie--because their worthless mother was not here. The little white lie implication that Sharon was occasionally present was forgivable. Harleen’s face didn’t move. She wouldn’t let it.

I’m not going to let this fucking happen.

“Alright,” the woman continued. “May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“I’m Harleen Quinzel,” Harleen answered.

This was going to be a game. Harleen would have to study every fucking thing she said under a microscope to make sure it couldn’t be twisted. Alright, bring it the fuck on, Harleen was the smartest person she’d ever met. She could play this game and she would win.

What can I say that will fuck me over?

Or rather. Fuck Lily over.

And why the hell was this woman here now? She and Lily had dodged CPS for--well, Lily’s entire life. They’d avoided it so well Harleen had never coached her on what to say if the fuckers had showed up.

I’ll be fucking damned if they take her away from me.

Her hand formed into a fist at her side.

“My name is Mary Morris,” the woman said, peering around Harleen. “And is this Lily?”

Lily had slid next to Harleen, tucking herself against her side. It made Harleen’s heart ache. Lily was eleven, but she still acted so much like a little girl at times.

Harleen put an arm around Lily, her hand firmly settled on her shoulder.

You will not take my little sister away from me, you bitch.

Stay calm, Harleen. Stay as fucking calm as you can.

And for the love of God, don’t spit again.

“Hi, Lily,” the woman said--and she was so much more warm when she was talking to Lily. As if Harleen didn’t fucking know why. Talk about being transparent. It was fine. Harleen was used to being hated before anyone knew a damn thing about her. “How are you?”

Lily looked up at Harleen as if she was asking her what to say back to this woman. Mary caught that because of course she did--this woman was on a mission to get what she wanted. She made a note on her fucking clipboard. Harleen could imagine it,

Child seems frightened, looking to older sister for cues on how to respond to simple questions.

“Tell her how you are,” Harleen said--and she knew her voice was too harsh and too flat.

Holy shit, calm the fuck down, Harleen. This is the most important goddamn thing you’ve ever done in your life. For once, don’t fuck everything up.

Every moment she’d spent practicing being a good girl had been for this moment. Opening night. Performance time.

“It’s okay,” Harleen said gently to Lily. She smiled at Mary. “Sorry, she gets a little nervous around strangers.”

Lily tucked herself further into Harleen’s side. “I’m okay,” she told Mary.

“As I told your sister, my name is Mary Morris,” Mary said in that gentle, nearly cooing voice. She’s not fucking three, Harleen wanted to rage, but she was putting every bit of energy she had into not freaking the fuck out and screaming and throwing things. “I was wondering if we could go somewhere and talk.”

Lily glanced up at Harleen again. Fuck.

Lily, stop fucking doing that.

“It’s okay, Lils,” Harleen murmured. She looked up at Mary again with that same smile, “Like I said. Nervous around strangers.”

You’re fucking overexplaining, shut the fuck up, Harleen.

“I can see that,” said Mary in a clipped voice. “Can we go to your room, Lily?”

“Okay,” Lily agreed. She reached up to grip Harleen’s hand. Mary’s eyes locked in on that movement.

I’m not controlling her, you cunt, Harleen shrieked internally, every bit of her blood boiling painfully in her veins. She fucking needs me. There’s a goddamned difference.

She stepped aside to let Mary in, gently tugging Lily with her (Mary’s eyes were tracking that movement too, and she made another fucking note on her clipboard and all Harleen wanted to do was rip that paper off and shove it in her mouth and make her fucking swallow because she had no fucking clue, not a single fucking clue what their lives had been like and what their lives would be like if they were forced to be apart).

And Harleen wouldn’t let Lily die in her own skin like she herself had done. No fucking way.

Mary was looking around their apartment, still taking notes furiously. She only paused to push her glasses up her nose. Harleen vaguely noticed that she was young--and she had a big beautiful engagement ring on her left hand.

Harleen didn’t know why that made her hate her even more than she already did, but it licked at her stomach like liquid fire.

There was nothing she hated more than good boys and the fucking good girls who enabled them. You know, the kind that cooked every fucking night and brought their mister a beer and claimed bullshit like I’m not really a feminist, you know? I think everyone deserves rights!

A lot of assumptions, but Harleen’s nose had become accustomed to their judgemental stink. Just like she knew they could sniff out a piece of shit like her.

You’ve been found out now, you dirty little piece of shit--

“Do you mind if I look around a little?” Mary said over her shoulder, not actually looking at Harleen.

“Sure,” Harleen said as if she didn’t fucking care.

Mary immediately opened the fridge. All of Anthony’s fucking alcohol stared back at her. Mary let out a little sniff.

Lily’s hand tightened around Harleen’s.

“My stomach hurts,” Lily barely whispered.

Harleen’s own twisted itself into an unrecognizable knot--and not just because she wanted to blow Mary Morris’ fucking brains out. No, because Lily was scared.

If she could absorb every bad feeling Lily had ever felt for the rest of time, she would fucking do it.

Everything for Lily.

And if she didn’t find a way to fucking fix this, soon, there’d be nothing for Lily.

Mary closed the fridge. She didn’t look at anything else. She didn’t need any more ammunition, Harleen realized with a terrified jolt.

She just needed to put the bullet in the chamber.

“Can I--talk to you?” Harleen suddenly blurted and she didn’t know what she was doing, but all she understood was that if she didn’t throw a fucking hail Mary right now (ha, the irony), she was going to lose everything.

Mary blinked behind her trendy glasses and pointed to herself with the end of her pen. “Me?” she confirmed.

“Yes, I--Lily, go upstairs,” Harleen said and she knew it probably looked awful that she was giving Lily commands, but she was focused. She could do this. She could fix this.

“Harleen,” Lily whimpered.

Harleen squeezed her hand--and Jesus, she felt like a fucking fortune teller because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this would be the last time she would hold her little sister’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Harleen replied, and that was the biggest lie she’d told since Mary Morris had walked into their lives with the intention to destroy it completely.

And Lily didn’t believe her, but Lily did trust her. So Lily went upstairs and Harleen watched her every step and she thought of telling her that she loved her, but she didn’t want this to feel like goodbye. Even if it was.

Harleen turned back to Mary, who was looking at her with such utterly thinly veiled disgust. No, who the hell was she kidding, there was no veil at all.

“Ms. Morris, I--” Harleen started.

“This environment is incredibly dangerous for that little girl,” Mary said, and her voice was very patient and calm. Harleen was sure she had been trained for this. Talk in an even voice, deescalate the situation. “We have received two reports in the past seventy-two hours of suspected neglect and abuse.”

Harleen felt the floor open up like it always seemed to do. Rock bottom just kept getting lower and lower.

“Abuse?” she repeated, trying to empty her voice of the rage that longed to hijack it.

“You have been violent around Lily,” Mary said in that same gentle voice.

“When have I been fu--when have I been violent?”

Harleen still thought maybe she could save this. Fuck, she had to believe it.

“Lily was left at school for nearly two hours alone,” Mary said as if she hadn’t heard Harleen (and to be honest, she probably hadn’t, her own narrative was too damn loud). “Sharon Quinzel does not live here. Anthony Smith does, however, with his multiple DUIs and sexual assault charges.”

How fucking rich that none of those assault charges had come from Harleen herself.

“No one has laid a finger on Lily,” Harleen said as evenly as she could.

“Oh? Are you sure?”

Now Mary’s voice was sharp.

And Harleen opened her mouth to lie.

“No,” Mary answered for her. “You are not sure. No one can ever be sure of that. And beyond all of this, two days ago, you yourself assaulted someone.”

Harleen was very, very, very fucking still.

The word hatred was far too goddamn small. She needed a thousand more fucking syllables.

“A little spit never hurt anyone,” she heard herself say because now she knew it was fucking over. It was fucking over. It was fucking over.

Everything was fucking over.

Because Mary just looked at her like she was the piece of shit she knew she was.

You’ve been found out now.

And Harleen dropped the good girl facade because she was sure she’d never fooled anyone in her fucking life.

“I raised that little girl,” she said in a calm voice because sometimes you get so fucking angry you can’t even express it with your tone. You flip all the way around the color wheel and find some goddamn inner peace. How’s that for zen? “I raised her since she was a baby.”

“What a terrible burden for a young woman. You were only seven, right?” Mary was trying to sound compassionate, but Harleen knew that this woman didn’t have a fucking heart.

“It was never a fucking burden!” Harleen screeched (so much for zen) and it was a lie and they both knew it but fuck her. “I love her more than my own goddamn life, you cannot fucking take her from me!”

“She is not safe here,” Mary replied and she stayed infuriatingly quiet and calm. “I know you know this, Harleen.”

“She is safe!” The lies poured hot and angry from Harleen’s lips, but she didn’t care any more, this couldn’t fucking happen, if this happened, she might as well be fucking dead. “She has me and I would die before I let anything happen to her!”

“You would die,” Mary said sharply, “but you would rather risk her safety than lose her.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Harleen screamed. “I will fucking kill you! If you put your hands on her, I will fucking kill you!”

And she screamed it into the world, not just at Mary Morris, but as a warning to every person without a fucking soul that if they so much as got near Lily, the only pure and good thing in the world, she would fucking kill them.

“Harleen!”

Lily’s voice from the top of the stairs. The same place Lily had watched Harleen get the shit kicked out of her by Anthony.

And Harleen knew. She knew what was fucking best, but she herself didn’t want to die.

Because when Lily left (when, inevitability stuffed itself into the empty cathedral of her dry mouth), Harleen Quinzel would die.

But Lily looked so absolutely terrified. And Lily had been nothing but terrified for the last few months with Anthony and Luke and Harleen knew, she knew that that was the only thing her life could offer Lily. Fear and danger and the kind of death when you’re in your body, but you’re gone.

“If you let us take her,” Mary said quietly, “we won’t file charges against you. You can go to NYU. There will be no official report against you.”

If you let her go, you can have that life you always wanted, you piece of shit. You can hide a little longer.

And Lily was going to be gone anyways.

Harleen was so, so fucking tired.

“Don’t let her take me,” Lily whispered, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Harleen, I want to stay here with you.”

Because the only thing you’ve ever known is death, sweetheart. You don’t know that you can have a chance.

And Harleen could see the way her parasitic tentacles had wrapped around her little sister, forever drinking from her, never full.

And there was a bottom line. A very, very fucking thick bottom line.

I left her in a car alone with fucking Luke Parker.

Harleen climbed up the stairs. She knelt in front of Lily.

“You gotta go, shithead,” she said very quietly.

“No,” Lily whispered, tears streaking her face. “I won’t.”

“You will,” Harleen said quietly. “You gotta go have a really good life for me.”

“No!” Lily shrieked--and Harleen realized there would be no going gentle in that good night for her little sister. “No, I won’t go! I won’t fucking go!”

“We’re gonna need back up,” Mary was saying into a walkie talkie.

“You have to go,” Harleen said and she kept repeating it. And she wrapped her arms around Lily. And Lily screamed and Lily bit and Lily hit and Lily punched and Lily kicked.

Harleen set her down outside the door. Mary followed out. Harleen shut the door and locked it. Harleen slid down the door.

Harleen could hear Lily screaming.

”I hate you!” shrieked Lily. And Lily had said it to Harleen a hundred times before, but she’d never meant it, not until that moment.

And Harleen sobbed and it was real, true fucking grief because she had just fucking died.

She had just fucking died.

Everything for Lily. Nothing for Harleen.

Nothing for Harleen.

Nothing for Harleen.

Nothing for Harleen.

And the world was the darkest place that Harleen had ever known.

Nothing for Harleen.

---

“Nothing for Harleen, thanks, Aaron.”

Man, fuck Greg.

About two years ago, Harleen had said she didn’t want anything from McDonald’s when Greg had stopped by to pick up breakfast. The reason she’d said she didn’t want anything was because she had fucking gorged herself at IHOP before Greg had come to pick her up for their hiking date. After that, Greg had decided that Harleen didn’t like breakfast. He talked about it all the fucking time.

Wow, Harleen, it’s so weird to me that you don’t like breakfast.

Yeah, Harleen hates breakfast, isn’t that weird?

Nothing for Harleen, thanks, Aaron.

The truth was Harleen fucking loved breakfast. Oh my God. She ate pancakes like it was her one true passion in life and bacon? I mean, Jesus, a good piece of bacon could change a person’s life.

But fucking Greg.

Fucking Greg.

Before everything with the Joker, Harleen had thought she didn’t hate him. He was fine, she told herself. She could handle being married to him someday. She could have his little hellspawn. And then he’d die and she’d be sad. Yeah, she loved him. Who wouldn’t? Handsome and sweet and sexy. He ate pussy like a pro (he didn’t do the way she liked, but when had she ever expected a man to satisfy her in bed?) He was a catch.

And just like you do with a catch, Harley wanted to gut him.

But maybe that would come later.

They were sitting around their kitchen table--her, Jeremiah, Greg, and Batman. Aaron had been sent on a breakfast run like he was a little bitch (she’d loved the way his ears had turned red with embarrassment).

Harleen’s phone sat in the middle of the table.

This was going to be quite the fucking operation.

“We gave your number to him,” Greg said, gently stroking the skin of her wrist as if that was calming to her and not just fucking aggravating. And also, if the Joker really was a fucking psycho who wanted to rape her, what kind of fucking idea was it to give him her number??

Jesus, it was so clear none of these men had ever been women before. Or had even had a meaningful empathetic experience regarding one.

“Its all he’s been asking for,” Jeremiah Arkham sighed. “Not to frighten you, Dr. Quinzel, but the Joker badly wants to communicate with you.”

As of this day, it had been a week and a day since the Joker had quite literally fucked her brains. The Good Boy Brigade moved very fucking slowly.

But it had given Harley a lot of time to think.

And for once, it hadn’t been so bad being alone with her thoughts.

“He should be calling any--” Batman said gruffly (and oh my God he was so aggressively big in their kitchen, it was infuriating and so obnoxious and did he really need that fucking cape??? Why?????)

Before Batman could finish his sentence, her phone rang.

Blocked number.

This was going to take some very, very fucking careful handling. But Harley was up for it.

Too bad she needed Harleen to get this job done. That stuffy bitch.

Because over the past eight days, Harleen had come to realize that the only moments she was actually proud of in her life had been the work of Harley. The moments she’d stood up for herself. The second she’d spat in Luke Parker’s face.

The way she’d sweet talked Batman.

And Harleen was still there, worried and pacing and frightened and needing Greg and Jeremiah and Batman to save her, but Harley wasn’t afraid of the dark.

Baby girl, I am the fucking darkness.

“You can do this, baby,” Greg whispered.

And Harley made sure to look scared, just like Greg wanted her to be. Just the way he’d always liked her, terrified and small.

I will gut you, prince charming.

Harley hit answer call icon. She turned it on speaker.

And for a moment, everyone was very, very still.

She heard him breathing. She crossed her legs because that sound alone, fuck, that sound alone--

“Harley,” he growled softly. “Baby girl. Tell me you’re there.”

Be very, very fucking careful, Harley. Don’t let your pussy in the driver’s seat.

“Joker,” she said quietly, and she silently prayed he was as smart as she knew he was. “You said you’d never lie to me. And I hope you know I wouldn’t lie to you either. Unless I had to.”

Dr. Arkham looked at her, frowning a little. Greg looked back at him--and Harley saw his expression and what it meant. Trust her.

Yeah, trust me, you dumb fucks. That’ll make it more fun.

The Joker just breathed for a moment.

“Baby girl, I--”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about the last time we saw each other. That last session in Arkham. When you ripped off my necklace--which I still want back, by the way.”

He didn’t respond. She could almost hear him thinking on the other end of the phone.

“I want to see you again,” she said--and she made sure she was fully Harleen, not even the tiniest trace of the wild woman who he’d made love to until she’d been a moaning, clinging mess. “Please, Mr. Joker. I want to see you again so bad.”

And, well. She couldn’t help it. A little bit of that sexual need eased into her voice--and she did it because she wanted to scare the boys. Jeremiah wrinkled his nose. Greg frowned. Batman looked away.

Men are so terrified of a wet pussy.

“I knew you’d come around,” the Joker murmured, but his voice wasn’t the same. Her heart leaped with excitement.

Mr. J, you’re so fucking brilliant, I want you so bad.

“I’ll give you back your necklace when I see you again, but that’s the only thing I’ll give back,” the Joker hummed.

Harley felt a jolt between her legs.

“Tomorrow. Eleven PM. The old abandoned Wayne factory downtown,” she offered, and her heart was pounding so hard.

“Can’t wait, Dr. Quinzel,” the Joker said--and she could hear the smirk. “Wear something pretty for Mr. J, okay, baby girl?”

The disgust in the room was a physical feeling. Harley loved it so fucking much.

“Alright,” she said, and she played the scared girl--and it wasn’t hard. She’d been scared ever since she was a child.

But she wasn’t scared of Mr. J.

The phone line went dead.

Jeremiah and Greg couldn’t look at her. But Batman did, to his infinitesimal credit.

“That must have been very difficult, Harleen,” Batman said quietly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said in a small voice.

And she thought of how she’d be free at eleven o’clock the next day.

A rebirth, if you will.

Yes, fucking yes.

Everything for Harley.

Chapter Text

“That was the way with grief: it left you alone for months together until you thought that you were cured, and then without warning it blotted out the sunlight.”
― Josephine Tey

---

Harleen finished her undergraduate studies in two years.

She’d flown through her program at an alarmingly fast rate. She wrote papers with a voracity that startled her. She’d never been focused or driven in her entire life and it was kind of fucking scary to realize just how smart you actually are.

Brilliant.

Incredible work.

Excellent.

You are exceptional

Those words dashed in red pen on top of her every paper she read, every assignment she turned in, every oral exam she completed. By God, they were all so utterly impressed with her, which was a little fucking insulting if she thought about it too long (“Can you believe that this Elle Woods wannabe actually has a brain???”)

But she didn’t care. She didn’t have it in her to be angry.

She was doing this for one single fucking reason.

And she’d told herself that she wouldn’t do anything until she’d completed her PhD, but she couldn’t wait any more.

When Lily had been taken, she had disappeared--and Harleen had let her go.

It had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her entire fucking life.

Lily had been sent to a foster family (part of the Wayne program for orphans. The foster system had improved a lot since Harleen had been coughed out of it when she was six). They’d pulled her from Harleen’s school. Harleen didn’t know where she was. She thought about her fucking constantly, just an endless loop of Lily and Lily’s smile and Lily’s laugh and Lily’s bruises and Lily’s happiness.

The world was a very, very different color without Lily in it.

In fact, there were no colors at all. There was no sun, there was no light, there was nothing that she wanted. Nothing hurt Harleen, but nothing made her happy either. In fact, she felt nothing at all.

She was numb.

It was something she had dreamed of her entire life, but now that she’d unwrapped this unexpected Christmas gift, she wanted to shove it back up Santa’s ass.

You did the right thing, Mary Morris had told her over the phone (that absolute piece of shit bitch, Harleen thought dully with no fire behind it). This is the best way to give Lily the life that she deserves.

The morning of her graduation, Harleen stared at herself in the mirror.

She’d saved up enough money to get an apartment in the city. It was an absolute piece of shit little studio apartment, but it was hers. She got up. She ate breakfast (sometimes). She went to school. She ate lunch (sometimes). She went to school. She worked. She ate dinner (sometimes). She worked. She did her homework. She slept (sometimes).

But nobody noticed that she was falling apart. Nobody wanted to see, so nobody did.

And Harleen was used to being invisible and oh my God, it was so easy.

And she went home at the end of the day and there was no one to talk to and no one to hear her and no one to cuddle with her when she cried.

There was a boy who liked her. His name was Greg. He had sandy brown hair and brown eyes and his muscles were large. Harleen watched all the girls in class stare at him as he walked by, but he always stopped to talk to her and to smile at her and to give her cups of expensive coffee that she hated.

She fucked him because she could. Because she was bored.

Sometimes she imagined he was Luke Parker and she bit him so hard that he cried out. He’d had a “talk” with her about that (there had only been one person talking and spoiler, it wasn’t Harleen).

Cuz every man wants to stick his dick in crazy and then act like a pearl-clutching granny when some of the insanity leaks through.

You like it, Harleen had wanted to sneer, reaching under the table and squeezing his upper thigh so hard he’d squeak. The same way Anthony had done to her. Harleen wanted to find out how you made a big boy like that feel small.

Instead, she nodded and sniffled and he comforted her and ate her out and she stared at the ceiling, moaning like some of kind overpriced and slightly defective sex doll and waited for it to be over.

There was one thing on the horizon. The only thing that kept her nerve endings from dying completely.

It was the sun, rising in the sky after a long night of warming other countries.

The sun is a star.

And there was only one person that Harleen had ever orbited in her entire life (because she sure as shit wasn’t about to put her soulless piece of shit self at the center of the universe, dear God, that was like asking for a galaxy to get wiped out).

It had always been Lily.

Harleen didn’t go to her graduation. Instead, she got into sturdy old Herbert and she’d started to drive.

GREG (9:02 AM): Where are you?

GREG (9:03 AM): Ceremony starting

His incessant texts were interrupting the heavy death metal she’d been blasting (she liked the way it sounded when people screamed).

She impatiently grabbed her phone and thumbed out a text dangerously while driving (you can really embrace #YOLO when you don’t really care that life is a one time thing).

HARLEEN (9:03 AM): Feeling sick 😷

HARLEEN (9:04 AM): Tell your parents I’m sorry I’m heading to the doctor we can go out later this week if I’m feeling better

HARLEEN (9:06 AM): I’m really sorry I love you you know how much I was looking forward to today

Oh my God, she lied to him so much. She just pulled lies out of her sleeves like she was a discount magician flinging scarves and doves all over the place. She didn’t even bother to keep her stories straight because he wasn’t listening 90% of the time. And if he ever caught her in a lie, she just laughed and acted like she was the stupidest fucking person alive which he apparently found attractive. One time she’d accidentally showed him her GPA and he’d sulked for a week (“I’m just tired,” he’d told her and she’d given him a backrub and smoothed his hair down and kissed his stupid tiny ears because she didn’t want him to break up with her, he was part of her image and if she kept her image up people would leave her alone. Also having a boyfriend meant she had to deal less with fucking creeps. Especially having a possessive overly muscled probably roid-brained boyfriend who had no issue walking up next to her in a bar, wrapping his beefy arm around her waist and growling, “We have a problem here?”)

Thank God for barely internalized misogyny. It really came in handy sometimes.

Especially when you’re trying to sneak around and do something that you absolutely should not be doing.

And when Harleen parked in front of the adorable little house, she felt for the first time in two years.

All of a sudden, her heart obnoxiously jerked to life inside of her chest and she gasped like she hadn’t been breathing. She clutched the steering wheel. And it just played over and over and over and over and over and over in her head.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

Lily’s voice had cracked when she’d said the word hate. Her voice had sounded so young, so desperate, so terrified. Harleen had remembered when she’d had the innocence and the soul to scream like that.

God, she could still hear it so clearly. She just let it play.

I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

Who the hell needs anything to be recorded when you have good ol’ PTSD to replay shit for you on demand?

Harleen’s hands tightened on her steering wheel. She stared at the door of the house.

So, what exactly is the plan here?

Great fucking question.

What, was she just gonna walk up to the front door and be like Hey so my name is Harleen and I let my little sister practically get abused for the first eleven years of my life can I have her back now?

She didn’t know what she was going to do. She didn’t know what she was going to say--she hadn’t thought that through. Harleen had once planned her life down to the fucking milisecond, but that had been in a different time period. DL--during Lily. Now she was living in AL (After Lily) and now she didn’t think far enough ahead to realize she didn’t have any food in the house. The future was a vast expanse of who gives a shit.

It’s hard to care about what shoes you’re gonna fucking wear when the sun has burned out.

So, what exactly is the plan here?

Harleen didn’t fucking know. All she knew was that she had been dying for two years and she didn’t want to die any more. And life was so fucking empty and she just needed--she just fucking needed--

And then, the door opened.

An older teenage girl with curly dark hair and beautiful brown skin. She hopped down the steps of the house, calling over her shoulder and laughing. She had a bright red frisbee in her hand.

And then.

And then.

And fucking then.

She was so much taller.

That was the first thing Harleen noticed. She was tall. Her legs were so long and still skinny as fuck, but she’d grown so much.

Her long blonde hair was so shiny and beautiful and it floated around her shoulders. She was wearing a little mascara. She had braces.

She was a young woman now, and she was so fucking beautiful.

Harleen’s throat squeezed shut.

She was laughing. Harleen could hear it from here--a big, happy, belly laugh. Harleen had never, ever heard her laugh like that before. Not even fucking once.

Not even once had Lily ever been that happy with her.

She watched as the older teenage girl pulled Lily into a hug. And Lily hugged her tightly back, talking happily and still laughing.

Sisters. Just sisters.

Not a mother and a daughter. Not a master and a slave.

Not a parasite and a source.

Not a dead planet and a sun.

Tears dripped into Harleen’s lap. She felt them land, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Because what kind of selfish fucking piece of shit would--

What kind of absolutely soulless fucking monster would--

And Harleen had thought she’d died that day when Lily had been taken away, but survival is one hell of a fucking scrappy little bitch, isn’t it? And did you know you can die a fucking infinite amount of times in your skin and your body just fucking zombies around your lifeless corpse?

And you smile. And you laugh. And you let the cute boy fuck you. And you do your homework. And you don’t eat and you don’t sleep and you never say anything that you feel and would you believe that that’s one of the only good things about your life? Is that nothing matters?

And Harleen forced her hands on the steering wheel. She forced her eyes away from Lily and her sister (her real sister, because blood doesn’t make you real family).

Everything for Lily.

But she just wanted to--

Everything for Lily, you fucking soulless bitch, if you don’t leave right now, I will fucking kill you.

Harleen stepped on the gas so hard her tires shrieked.

Lily looked up.

Their eyes met.

Lily’s mouth fell open.

Harleen sped away.

And she didn’t cry. Well, she did, but it was just water. There was nothing behind it. Like it was a physical response to something she couldn’t feel.

And she made it back in time to have dinner with Greg and his parents. And they laughed and talked and Greg’s dad kept staring at her tits and wasn’t it the fucking funniest thing in the world that no one seemed to notice that an atom bomb had dropped right on top of Harleen Quinzel’s head?

But maybe she was so destroyed it didn’t matter. Nobody cares if a column chips at Pompeii. Have you seen the fossilized people?

“You’re amazing, Harleen,” Greg had grinned at her that night. He’d pulled her close and kissed her. “I’m so proud of you.”

And Harleen felt nothing at all. And it was so safe. Greg didn’t know she’d shoved him into a bomb shelter.

Yes. Harleen felt nothing.

---

Yes. Harley felt everything.

She was sitting in the back of Aaron Cash’s car. She was wearing the prettiest little blue sundress she owned. She wore a heart-shaped locket around her throat.

Aaron kept glancing at her in his rearview mirror like he was a little boy with a crush. And she felt a sudden fondness for him.

I want to peel off your skin and wear it.

Harley nearly arched her back at the pleasure of this thought.

She had never had justice in her life.

That was what Batman talked about, wasn’t it? Justice. Justice served with a theatrical swish of the cape and a batarang in the heart of the mentally ill.

But where was the justice for a little girl who was terrified of the man her mother loved?

Where was the justice for the little girl forced to raise her baby sister?

Where was the fucking justice for the girl who spat on the face of an evil boy and was punished for it?

Where was the motherfucking justice for a girl who was fucked by the world every single day and nobody cared and nobody wanted to know and when she screamed for help, nobody fucking came?

Because it’s not exciting to fix the little things that make the world hell. No, it’s so much easier to punish those who have no choice but to try to fight back.

I will never fit into your world, Harley thought, and her body flooded with delight. Oh God, I’m so fucking happy about that.

And even though it was impolite to play with your food, well.

Well.

God, she fucking hated Aaron Cash so much, maybe she could just have a nibble.

“Aaron,” she said very softly in her sweetest voice, twisting her necklace through her fingers.

His eyes found hers in the rearview mirror. And he looked so worried about her--and so aroused. Every man gets so hard when they get to be a White Knight, it’s amazing they can get the armor on over their swollen dicks.

“Harleen?” he said quietly, turning to look at her.

He was so handsome. She wanted to spit in his face. God, it had felt so fucking delicious to do that to Luke. To win, for once.

And now if there were consequences, she didn’t fucking care.

I got nothing to lose, baby boy. Fall into me and I’ll eat you alive.

Not that Aaron could ever pleasure her. But his pain and humiliation would be so fucking sweet.

“I’m scared,” she told him softly, glancing at the warehouse. Two minutes until the Joker came. Two minutes until she was reunited with her soul.

“I know,” he answered softly--and the son of a bitch actually reached up to touch her cheek. This fucking guy. “But I won’t let anything happen to you, Harleen. I promise.”

She leaned her cheek against his palm and watched him melt.

She would have rather seen his skin melt off of his fucking face, but this wasn’t a bad way to start.

And it was so fucking rich because a million things had already happened to her and now he was so eager to pick up her broken pieces and use them to rub one out.

“Oh Aaron,” she said intimately. “You are so inappropriate with me and you always have been.”

Aaron blinked.

“I--what did you--?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to enunciate?”

She leaned forward until her face was fucking inches from his. He was so scared of her. Oh my God, she wanted to eat his fear with a spoon.

She’d spent her whole life being terrified of men, but they were so fucking tiny.

“You are so unbelievably fucking inappropriate with me and you always fucking have been,” Harleen said very, very, very fucking clearly.

“I--I don’t--” Aaron stuttered.

“Don’t worry, baby, you’ve always been exactly what I expected,” she murmured. “But I think my boyfriend would kill you if he knew the way you talked to me and look at me.”

And when she thought of her boyfriend, she didn’t think of Greg.

Aaron’s face flooded with color.

“I didn’t--I didn’t even fucking do anything!” he spat angrily. “I just--looked out for you! You were the one playing--little fuck me games with that psychopath!!”

“Did that feel good to say?” Harley purred, reaching up and dragging his lower lip down with her thumb. Aaron didn’t pull away. In fact, he moved closer. “Did you enjoy blaming the girl who was doing her job? Who’s fault would it have been if he’d raped me?”

“Wh--he didn’t--”

“Tell me,” Harley murmured--and she reached down and she grabbed his dick and squeezed. He gasped, his eyes widening. “Tell me, baby, who’s fault would it have been if he’d raped me? I need to hear you say it, please, baby, please.”

“I--you’re crazy--” Aaron panted, but he hardened in her hand.

“Say it,” she growled sharply and squeezed.

“I--don’t know,” Aaron gasped out. “His?” he tried.

“Mmmmm, made me so wet to hear you say that,” Harley purred and she leaned for, kissing him wetly and hungrily, biting his lips and licking his teeth. He moaned into it and kissed her back.

And when he surged forward to try to touch her more, she slapped his dick. He let out a howl.

“Later,” she promised. “I’ll break up with him and I can be all yours.”

“Okay,” he breathed.

And she got out of the car and fixed her skirt.

And maybe she should have felt bad because there was a stereotype that women played fucking mind games with good boys.

But she’d been powerless with men so fucking long.

No more and never again.

She tugged her blonde hair out of her bun and went into the warehouse. She glanced up and saw Batman hidden on the roof.

I will eat every single one of you up and spit out your fucking bones.

And soon, the sun would rise on Arkham and the sun is a star and she’d make her last and only fucking wish.

I am in control of my life and I always fucking will be.

No black holes. Only light.

Fuck, it felt good to be alive again.

Chapter Text

“I am stronger than I am broken.”
― Roxane Gay

---

It’s a hell of a thing when your dreams come true.

When Harleen was six years old, she’d sat in front of the saddest fucking birthday cake you could possibly imagine. You know how people say something tastes good when it’s made with love? Turns out that stuff can taste like shit because it’s made by someone who is shit.

And it was kind of a double whammy since her bitch of a mother and David had made it together.

Anthony had been the worst for sure, but David had been fucking foul. Something about him--his glasses, his patient smile. He wasn’t violent, he was a filthy predator.

Her mother and David had smiled at her as she had stared at the burning candles. Six of them, flickering pathetically. And she remembered feeling like there should only be two because her stomach constantly hurt and she didn’t know why. All she knew was that when it hurt like that, she sure as hell didn’t feel alive

She still had five more years before the world would officially fall on her head (David had been the first), but there had been so much building up to that. Little crumbs of dirt falling on top of her until she was fully buried alive.

(It was too dark to think about or talk about. In her psychology classes, they were always telling them to open up and be honest and deal with their own trauma, but something she’d learned very, very fucking quickly was that people didn’t want to know. Not really. And sometimes you couldn’t be fixed so there was no point in fucking regaling the world with the tales of your disgusting life).

But when Harleen had stared at that cake, she had wished something very small and very stupid.

I want to be a real girl some day.

A girl with a life.

Beautiful and smart and successful and she’d have a job and a boyfriend and an expensive apartment and life would be one completed checklist that she could hang up on her mirror and she’d look at herself and she’d smile and she’d think I fucking made it.

And for the next three years, Harleen got every damn thing she had ever dreamed of.

She got the degree. She got the man. She got the job. She got the money and the beautiful clothes and she was so fucking gorgeous men would physically stop in the streets and turn their heads, watching her as she walked by. And they would follow her wherever she went. One time, some disgusting old fuck had followed her through Target for a half an hour. Another girl would have been scared, but, well, Harleen had been there and done that and she didn’t really fucking care any more.

It’s a hell of a thing when every star you ever wished on looks down, shrugs, and says sure.

But.

But.

But.

They don’t fucking tell you that you don’t climb out of the pit, rather, you put it on your back and you take it with you.

And it’s really a motherfucking hell of a thing to realize that nothing changes.

And your rotten skin tumbles off, but you’re still fucking you. Only you’re always hiding, but it’s not really just hiding. It’s being totally fucking completely alone. Forever.

And you know someday you’re gonna slip and they’ll all leave. Because that’s all people do. They love you for your lies and all the ways you pretend to be good and run away at the first sign of something ugly. They give up so fucking quickly. They are the thing devoid of hope in this world.

And you are a rotten fucking corpse and sometimes you can hardly stand your own stench.

And you get so fucking restless in your good girl skin.

So you play little games. You try to see how hard you can push Greg. You bite him and ask if you can fuck his ass. He pulls a face. God, it feels so good to see that disgust and realize that you truly don’t care if he hates you because he could never hate you as much as you hate yourself.

And you hate everything, but only because it came into contact with you and you hate everything related to yourself.

And sometimes you think about just saying fuck it. And you want to bite Greg’s ear off or slam your stiletto into the Target stalker’s balls or you just want to take off all your clothes and stand in the middle of the sidewalk and just shriek until they put you away for good. Because fuck you just want to reclaim that scream--the one that was ripped out of your mouth without your consent and you were a terrified animal and no one cared. Maybe you wanted to see if you could get anyone to care, even for a fucking second.

But you don’t. Because. Well.

Why don’t you?

You ask yourself this as you lie on your back and Greg is lying next to you and he’s watching Big Bang Theory for the eight thousandth fucking time in a row and is laughing his stupid ass off at all the unfunny jokes. And you know he only likes that show because he feels so fucking intellectually superior to the neurodivergent little boys on the screen. Because being different is so fucking funny, isn’t it?

God you fucking loathe him so much you want to spit on him. You like spitting on boys, you realize. But you want to do more.

Why don’t I just fucking kill him right now?

You could bludgeon him with the lamp. You could smother him with the pillow.

You could strangle him with your own bare hands.

And it wouldn’t bring you any joy or satisfaction, but hell, you might finally feel something.

And you realize that after all this fucking time, there’s still something written on your stupid, foul, rotten, broken heart that’s been so fucking mutilated it barely even works half the time.

Everything for Lily.

Because some part of your stupid ass still thinks that maybe--

Lily is gone now, you fucking idiot. And she’s the better for it. What the hell did you ever do for her?

Nothing, you realize.

But she did everything for me.

Mosquitoes are thirsty motherfuckers, after all, and you’re the queen of the damn bloodsuckers.

And so you keep it up. And it fucking kills you, but you’re dead already. Just keep it up. Each day is closer to the end.

Or maybe. Each day is closer to Lily.

And the sun rises and the sun sets and time passes, which is a hell of a thing.

Truly, it’s a hell of a thing.

---

It’s a hell of a thing, being free.

Especially after you’ve been fucking chained up for so long.

And Harley hadn’t known just how tight the fucking shackles had been--and she hadn’t ever let herself even dream about what she would do when she was free.

The possibilities were so fucking endless and so delicious.

She felt a shiver of excitement roll down her spine as she opened the door of the warehouse and she thought, my God, my life is in here, my whole fucking life.

Because little girls don’t know what to wish for when they are presented with a birthday cake. They only know the sour taste of frosting that comes along with a horrible expectation.

But big girls learn, don’t they, Harley?

Oh yes. They fucking learn.

Harley glanced over her shoulder. The sun was setting, and don’t forget--the sun is a fucking star.

She stared into it, loving the way that it made her eyes burn and water.

I wish for everything I want right now and everything I don’t even know that I want.

And then, she turned and shoved the door of the warehouse open and well--

She should have expected it.

He’d decorated. And was it so fucking stupid that a little part of her heart clenched with excitement? No, she was done wondering whether or not the things she did was stupid--< i>her heart clenched with excitement and that was fucking it.

There were streamers hanging all around (and it wasn’t done very well, but Harley liked to think it had been done with love). Green and purple--but also red and black.

Fuck, Harley loved red and black.

And there were balloons all over the place, same colors. Some of them looked like they might have something inside of them. Oh God, he was so fucking brilliant.

And speaking of him.

There he was, her clown prince of darkness, sitting in an oversized, ridiculously ornate chair. It looked like a throne. She vaguely wondered where the hell he’d gotten it from, but all of that was overridden by her nearly out-of-control desire to just--

I mean, she was fucking wet already.

And so scared, which was the most delicious feeling in the entire world. Scared and aroused, she swished them around inside of her and sipped it like it was her favorite cocktail. She could live drunk on those feelings forever.

He had one long leg draped over the arm of the chair, lazily watching her--and his lips curved into a smile.

“Harley,” he growled--and she realized that they were about to play a fucking game.

And not like the ones she played with Greg that she always lost (don’t bite me so hard, baby, I don’t like it rough like that, baby, blah blah blah fucking blah, baby). This was a game she was going to win over and over and over again until her legs turned into liquid and the entire world exploded directly above her head and she drank up all of its debauched destruction.

“I told you I’d come--they said you were asking for me,” she said--and she used a pretty, trembling voice, but it was all such a game. When Harleen had really been scared, she had frozen or screamed. She’d never whispered in this sexy little voice.

What a fucking relevation to be able to own her own fear.

“Yes,” the Joker murmured, standing. “I’ve been aching for you, doc. Not very nice of you to try to fix me and then give up halfway through the job. I thought I’d let you finish your good work.”

She looked into his eyes and she thought, this is what love is. And he wasn’t afraid of the way her hands shook and she could bite him and scratch at him and scream but only because she liked it, not because there would be any pain that she didn’t want. This was trust. This was knowing that he would always, always fucking please her in ways she had never dreamed were possible.

Every fantasy I’ve ever--

“I told you I’d do my best,” Harley replied, tucking her chin and looking away as if she was nervous, but it was all just a fucking game and she couldn’t wait to scare the motherfucking shit out of Jeremiah, Aaron, Greg, Batman. She wanted their fucking stomaches to fall out of them. “I promised you that--and I did. I did everything I could.”

“You didn’t do everything you could,” the Joker purred. “Come here.”

She took a step forward.

“No,” the Joker murmured--and then he drawled, ”crawl.”

Her entire body groaned with arousal. And he must have seen the color that slipped in her cheeks, her neck, her chest and the way her lips parted, like her whole body went a little slack, like the weight of her lust was just too fucking heavy for her to bear.

She never broke eye contact with him for a fucking second as she slowly lowered herself to her knees. She placed her hands on the ground and she crawled to him.

“Yes,” he growled and she could see how hard he was in his pants already, just from that, and she wanted the fucking proof of it in her hands, but she had to wait (and honestly, fuck waiting, fuck it so hard). He didn’t hide the fact that he was looking down her dress and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She never wanted to wear a fucking bra again.

When she was at his feet, he slipped his index finger under her chin and tilted it up. And she jerked her chin away, but it was all part of their little game. He gripped it and forced it back to him--and his eyes were so dark with desire and he was the center of her universe, a black hole, and she would fall forever and it would be the most beautiful thing she’d ever experienced or would ever want to experience. Just endless falling and no bottom.

“You said you’d do your best, didn’t you, doc?” the Joker murmured.

And for a moment, only a moment, did Harley realize that they were letting this happen. Jeremiah, Aaron, Batman, Greg.

And she let out a little sniffle--like she was really terrified, like she was broken, like she thought she might lose something precious.

And the room was just as still as it had been the moment before. Only the sound of the breathing of the only true man in the room.

They all thought he was such a fucking devil, but he would never, ever, ever let her be scared like this. She knew that with her entire heart and soul.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Harley whispered--and she thought of all the bullshit she thought she’d wanted, and how none of it had ever even gotten close to making her feel the way she did right then and there.

The Joker fingers tangled in her necklace, playing with the pendant. He pulled her in close, jerking her between his knees. His face buried into her neck and she had to fight the desire to bury her fingers in the back of his hair and draw him in closer and breathe Mine, mine forever.

“I think you do,” he growled, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. She let out a whimper, and it sounded scared, but he knew better.

“Oh my God,” she breathed out, squirming against him, and his other hand slid around her lower back, jerking her forward.

“Sit in my lap and I’ll tell you,” he breathed. “Come on, doc, I know you want to make me better, I need you, baby girl.”

She slid into his lap, straddling him, and she was breathing hard--and she knew she sounded scared, she sounded fucking terrified, because she’d breathed like this before. He leaned up and pressed his mouth against her ear.

“I want to fuck you,” he breathed into her mouth and she shuddered and let out an animal sound like she wanted to fucking die. This game, oh my God, this game. “I want to own your body, every inch of it, I want to bite you and suck your tits and slide my tongue through your sweet cunt, pretty girl, I want to fucking ruin you.”

She was shuddering in his arms and he would know it was with longing, but no one else would. The invisible boys.

“How many times should I have you?” he murmured. “Tell me, baby, tell me--one, two, three, four times?”

And he nipped at her ear and squeezed her thigh--and she understood instantly, they weren’t talking about sex. He pressed his thumb roughly into her thigh.

“Four,” she breathed.

Four fucking goons.

“Mmmm,” the Joker hummed, pleased. His hand slid up under her dress. “I can’t decide if I should take you hard and fast or if I should… take my time.”

She wet her lips, her back arching.

“Take your time,” she breathed.

Their plan is to draw you out, to take their time, they don’t want to fight unless it’s necessary.

He moaned softly. And his mouth was back right by her ear.

“I love you so much, beautiful girl,” he growled. “Don’t forget that for one fucking second. You’re mine and you are never going to leave my fucking sight again.”

She arched her back and tried to pass it off as squirming. She was so fucking wet. His drew circles on her inner thighs.

“Do you want me to kill them?” the Joker purred. “I’ll take their heads off and give them to you. What do you want, baby girl?”

The thought was so fucking tempting, but--

“There are a lot of people I want to kill,” she whispered to him so sweetly, the voice of a woman in love. “I want to do it with you. Help me kill them, but always let me finish the job.”

“Your wish is my command,” the Joker chuckled.

Stars are dead when they twinkle. You’re really wishing on a black hole.

And he was her darkness.

“And, Harley girl.” Now the Joker spoke loud enough to be heard. His fingers were tickling along the back of her thighs. “What should I do with the Bat Boy who’s hiding up in the rafters, spying on us? Nobody likes a peeping Bats.”

He nodded to her right and up. She glanced over her shoulder--and there he was, emerging from the shadows.

“I think you should show him what real darkness looks like,” Harley told him very softly--just for him.

“Scream nice and loud for Mr. J,” the Joker smirked.

God, it felt so good to be afraid.

And Harley was immediately in character--and she was terrified Harleen and this had gone too far for her and she still had a soul to protect. She screamed and she struggled.

She reclaimed her fucking scream.

Mine. I own my fucking fear.

And the Joker dragged her in for a wet, biting kiss.

She heard a swish of an overly dramatic fucking cape and she knew he was coming.

You think you’re the dark knight, but you have no fucking idea.

I’ll show you real darkness, Bats. I’ll show you.

This was going to be so fucking fun.

Jesus, it felt good to be a real girl.

It really was a hell of a thing.

Chapter Text

“Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”
― Mae West

---

Who the hell wants to live in the past any more?

That’s it. That’s the whole flashback.

Fuck the past.

Harley just wanted to get fucked in the future.

Don’t forget, sex isn’t pleasure, it’s power.

And power is really the only thing in this world.

---

“Power is really the only thing in this world, isn’t it, Batsy?”

The Joker had his hand around her throat and he was squeezing and it hurt so fucking good. It was hard to breathe, but that wasn’t anything new for Harleen.

Breathing was new for Harley. Existing was new too.

And she couldn’t wait to explore just what finally being fucking alive meant.

No more rolling yourself into a tightly armored ball. No more biting and then cowering. No more losing at every single fucking turn.

What a fucking relevation, the idea that she could play this game and come out on top.

How fucking marvelous when your priorities change.

I always wanted to be a good girl, but now, I just want to be the fucking baddest, scariest cunt you’ve ever met in your life.

“Let her go,” Batman said quietly. He was looking right through her, directly at the Joker, as if she wasn’t even there.

Because honestly, to him, she wasn’t there.

I want to be the most fucking visible thing you’ve ever seen in your life. You can’t ignore someone who keeps trying to kick your balls inside of you. I have spent my whole life trying to be small, but I will be so massive that I will fill the entire space until I have a monopoly on every particle of oxygen in the air.

“Oooh,” the Joker giggled, squeezing her throat. Harleen made a terrified gasping sound and it was so ugly, God, she loved making ugly sounds in bed. She loved groaning and yelling and growling. Greg had hated it so much. You sound like an animal in heat, baby.

I am a fucking animal, baby, and I fail to see how it’s my fault that you can’t figure out if you want to kill me or fuck me so you do a little bit of both.

“So let me get this straight, Bats,” the Joker purred, mouthing a disgusting kiss on her neck, all teeth and tongue, and she shuddered and her pussy throbbed, “you expect me to whet my appetite and then not gorge?”

She whimpered and he squeezed her throat even tighter, making soft little tsking sounds.

“She’s not the one you want,” Batman said quietly. “She’s not part of this.”

It was a good fucking thing that the Joker had her air cut off, because she couldn’t have held back at this point.

And besides, she knew that the Joker would advocate for her, because he was twice the fucking man Batman would ever.

I’ve never had someone look out for me before, she realized very, very quietly, and good girl Harleen curled up around that knowledge.

“Oh, but she is,” the Joker sneered. “You think everyone sees women the same way that you do, Batman, don’t you? You think that the world revolves around your rubber ass? She is exactly what I want, and she belongs to me.”

Harley’s heart was pounding, and it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Rather, it had taken up residence between her thighs.

“Some fucking hero you are, Bats,” the Joker said in a soft, nearly musical voice. “You lead the lamb to slaughter and then act so fucking shocked when the butcher does his job. What exactly was your plan here? Tell me, I’m ever so curious.”

A batarang flew at them. The Joker jerked to the side, his reflexes much faster than she had thought they would be.

It missed her by inches. Not the Joker. It missed her.

The Joker burst into utterly delighted laughter, long strings of cackles and glee. He released Harley for a moment, letting her get a breath before he squeezed her throat shut again.

She’d had men tell her to shut up so many times. She felt their hands pressing over her mouth with the insinuation of baby, I got this.

But he had her soul so he knew what she wanted to say.

“Tell me, Batman,” the Joker ground out, suddenly dead fucking serious, and she could feel the heat of his utter rage burning into her back. “You lead this beautiful woman into danger, you let a psychopath toy with her and fuck her, and if I hurt her, well, all for the greater good, right?”

“Let go of her,” Batman said, and there was a darkness that settled around him--and it wasn’t just a good boy pretending to be crusading for the cause. It was a deeply insidious darkness--the same that had lived inside of Luke. The blackness of entitlement--a white man not getting his way. I decide how the world fucking works, not women and not the mentally ill, me, me, me, me fucking me.

Demons lived inside of good boys.

Angels lived inside of evil men.

“You throw away real goodness to find justice. They aren’t the same fucking thing, you imbecile,” the Joker spat, and there was no humor in his voice now. “You would let me strip every bit of humanity away from this woman just so you could get your fucking way. How fucking noble of you, Batman, what a fucking hero you are. Your hard on for me drives away any real sense of fucking justice because tell me, how just would it be if I fucking raped her right here and now? Is that justice for you, Batman? Because then look, you have another poor, dead soul to avenge. And don’t you feel so fortunate to fix the problems of others.”

His tongue slipped over his lips. He gave her another breath--and she moaned when he let her throat go. His free hand cupped her breast. There was nothing sexual about it.

Power.

Because she had been attacked in fucking private for so many years and no one had ever fucking said a thing. Everyone had known, but no one had said anything. Because your pain somehow becomes a burden for other people.

And nobody wants to know. Not really.

Bring me into the light and I’ll show you darkness.

A darkness so deep and so horrible and so vast that even the light can’t penetrate it.

A black hole is a place where gravity is so strong that nothing can survive it.

I am fucking gravity. I am the center of the fucking universe.

The sun is a star.

And she would make a wish upon her fucking self for once.

“And tell me something, big boy,” the Joker purred, and his tongue traced her ear and it was so disgusting and it went against every bit of her good girl sensibilities that she nearly fucking came right then and there and she wanted to eat the look of horror on Batman’s face, that little flicker in his eyes so fast, but she was so used to finding those little moments, catching them, and trying to iron them away. “Does it get you hard to see something so pretty be ruined? It makes you feel so strong and so noble. Everyone loves to avenge, don’t they? But nobody thinks about what exactly they are avenging. Because that’s what she is to you. A what, not a who.”

Batman wasn’t moving. The Joker’s hand slid down and slipped under her skirt.

“Stop it,” Batman snapped.

“Let me tell you something about this beautiful, beautiful fucking girl, Batman,” the Joker murmured. “She is so fucking broken, but I want to cut my tongue on all of her jagged edges until my mouth is full of blood.”

Harley squirmed against him, forgetting that she was supposed to be scared.

“Shhh, shh,” the Joker hummed against her ear. “Almost. Almost.”

He knew what she wanted. He always knew.

“And she knows something you don’t know, Bats,” the Joker purred. “That you don’t have to be perfect to earn love.”

“What are you talking about, you disgusting psycho?” Batman spat, seeming to lose that perfect veneer just for a moment.

“Oh, baby boy,” the Joker chuckled. “I’ll show you disgusting.”

His hand surged up her skirt to find her underwear and pull it down.

She made the most horrible noise she possibly could--a gutted, groaning, terrified noise, and it wasn’t the first time she’d fucking made it, but it was the first time she’d seen someone care that she’d made it.

That finally got Batman to move, which was exactly what they had both wanted, but evidently for different reasons.

You see, those balloons didn’t just look like they had something inside of them.

The sound of the bombs going off was deafening, and a helpless noise escaped her lips. She heard Batman coughing--he’d gotten the brunt of it.

“Hold on, baby, I got you,” the Joker whispered against her ear.

He reached into the cushion of his throne and drew out a grappling gun. He shot it into the ceiling--and glass rained on them.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and then, they were going up.

“Scream,” he breathed. “Give Mr. J that beautiful scream.”

And she screamed again and it shredded her lungs and fuck, fuck, she’d never felt anything so good in her life.

They were on the roof and he was running, having no issue holding onto her while moving at the same time. He was so strong, she realized, and then she belatedly understood that she had always known that.

“Climb down the fire escape, Harley girl,” he purred. He still had her panties--and he twirled them around one finger.

“Give me my panties,” she told him in a soft, husky voice--a voice she’d never fucking used ever because she realized it was a voice she would only use with a man she’d loved, and she’d never loved a damn man in her life.

He tutted quietly, but moved to hand them to her.

She shook her head, pushing them back with her hand. She opened her mouth.

He chuckled darkly, reaching up to take her chin and drag this thumb along her teeth.

“My perfect fucking queen,” he murmured before he put her panties in her mouth.

She growled softly because she was going to sit on the throne of his dick all fucking night.

Climbing down the fire escape without underwear was fine. Kind of nice, actually. Breezy. Refreshing.

“Look away, you fucking piece of shit,” the Joker snarled at the masked man who was waiting outside of a sleek black car, staring up her skirt like a fucking stereotype of epic proportions. “I’ll fucking kill you if you look at her like that again.”

That alone made Harley moan into her panties. Because she knew if she asked, the Joker would let her do the honors of killing this man and putting the world out of its misery of having to house such a piece of shit.

Once they were on the ground, the Joker opened the back door of the car.

“Get in the fucking car before I can’t control myself any more,” he growled, his eyes black with lust.

Harley stepped close to him, her body flush up against his. She took her panties out of her mouth and ground her hips against his, her lips just a breath away from his as she whispered,

“How about you fucking make me, clown boy?”

It was one thing to be a victim of violence.

It was another thing to invite it to go to bed with you.

The Joker snarled and grabbed her wrist, shoving her in the back of his car. He climbed in impatiently after her.

“Drive,” he snapped.

“Boss, I--” the masked man started.

“Fucking drive and put the divider up, I’m busy, and don’t you dare fucking listen or I’ll cut your fucking ears off and feed them to you,” the Joker snarled and the Harley had never seen something so beautiful in her life.

The masked man put the divider up and drove without another word.

She tried to surge up to push her hands against his chest, but he caught her wrists and pinned them over her head, squeezing so tightly she let out a little sound of pain.

“You make me so fucking wild,” he growled. “You’re so fucking perfect, goddamnit, Harley.”

“Fuck off, I’m not perfect,” she spat back--because she hadn’t lost her taste for that game they’d been playing earlier.

The one where she’d reclaimed her terror and her pain and her scream.

“You are,” he snarled. “And I think you know it, baby girl, you know just how perfect you fucking are.”

He let her wrists go and his fingers were at the buttons of her dress. She tried to push them off.

“Who says you get to fuck me,” she growled.

His knee shoved between her legs, grinding against her pussy. A sharp gasp left her lips and the force of his knee pushed her up against the side of the car.

He caught her jaw between his thumb and his index finger and forced her to look at him.

My monster, my black hole, my goddamn life.

“I say I get to fuck you,” he murmured. “Because your wet cunt is telling me how much you want me.”

“A hot wet place to put your dick,” she sneered. “Get a fleshlight, you piece of shit.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m not gonna put my dick in you, Harley.”

Why not? she longed to whimper.

“Then what the fuck--”

His arm went around the small of her back and dragged her body against his, slamming them together. He whispered directly in her ear, like he was speaking directly into the folds of her brain and her entire body burned like she might just fucking die then and there,

“I’m going to eat your wet cunt until I fucking erase every other man who has ever dared to put a finger on your body.”

Holy fucking shit.

She let out a stuttering noise--a strange sound she’d never made before. And she found herself shoving against his chest.

“No,” she whimpered.

“Yes,” he growled back immediately. “Because you’re gonna fucking like it.”

She’d never liked sex in her life. Only once.

Only once.

And to like it with him was to give him power over her and she’d never needed a man in her entire life.

He was kissing down her body. He was opening her dress the rest of the way. His tongue was tracing over her hard, aching nipples, his teeth brushing them.

If she gave herself to him, she might not be fucking free any more.

“I don’t need it,” she told him, struggling beneath him, and the windows were already all fogged up.

“I know,” the Joker huffed, and she loved how much he used his tongue, the way it flicked the tips of her nipples like it was a promise. “But you want it, baby, and I want you to want me.”

“I do,” she sobbed miserably. “So you don’t need to--”

“Need’s got nothing to fucking do with it,” he snapped, biting her nipple and making her cry out. “You’re gonna fucking take it and you’re gonna like it, Harley.”

And he shoved her up further against the door, grasping her thighs and settling them on his shoulders.

And then his mouth was on her and holy fucking fuck.

She’d gotten head before. Every guy thought they were such a fucking Messiah for giving head, like she should be so grateful.

But she’d never believed a single one of them enjoyed it. Not until now.

His mouth was so hot and wet. His tongue explored her thoroughly--and he growled and moaned against her and the vibrations made her more swollen and aching than she had thought was ever even fucking possible.

She reached up and gripped at the panic bar, her other hand digging into his hair. And she had never loved and hated something so much in her entire life.

Her hips bucked helplessly when his tongue flicked her clit. And then, she felt his teeth.

Something she had always wanted, but had never asked for because good girls don’t--

He sucked her clit into her mouth and his teeth grazed her clit. She let out a choking, sobbing, terrified sound, but it was only because she was so scared of herself in that moment and frightened by her unfamiliar arousal that she was wearing without the smallest flicker of guilt or shame or embarrassment.

You’ve been found out now.

He chuckled against her and pushed two fingers into her deeply. His free hand gripped her ass and dragged her towards his mouth like he couldn’t possibly get enough.

You’ve been found out now, you fucking goddess.

“I love you,” she choked out, her entire body shaking uncontrollably, her thighs quivering around his head.

“I know,” he breathed into her--and then he sucked her clit so hard, the world exploded around her.

And now everyone knows that you’re the queen of the fucking universe.

His fingers fucked into her, messy and quick. And then, they rubbed against her g-spot ruthlessly.

I am the queen of the fucking universe. Make a wish on me, I’m the fucking sun.

And she came so hard, she wondered if she had actually fucking died. But she had learned a long time ago that it was easy to mistake death for life.

He pulled his head up, licking lips, wiping her wetness off of his chin and sucking his fingers.

“Let’s get you back to my place,” he purred. “I want to give Bats a thousand reasons to enact his justice.”

“And then we kill him,” she whispered hoarsely.

“And then,” the Joker murmured, sucking his fingers that had been inside of her. They each left his mouth with a soft pop. “We kill him.”

And like she was gravity, his mouth was on her again.

Oh yes. Being the queen of the universe definitely had its perks.

Chapter Text

“Love unlocks doors and opens windows that weren't even there before.”
― Mignon McLaughlin

---

Happiness wasn’t something Harleen had often brushed with her fingers, but she could summon a few memories of what it was like.

And realistically, she knew that she’d been happy when she’d found out about NYU. She knew she’d had wonderful times with Lily. Shit, she’d been so fucking overjoyed to be with Luke. Even sometimes she’d thought she had been happy with Greg.

But it all soured in retrospect. Milk forgotten in the back of the fridge.

Sometimes, though, she could still summon that ridiculous, far off feeling.

One beautiful day in June, she remembered, Greg had surprised her by taking the day off. She woke up to the smell of grilled cheese (because, remember, she didn’t like breakfast, or at least that was what Greg had loudly assumed for years). She’d sat on one of their beautiful, hand carved kitchen chairs and he’d told her he’d rented a boat for the day.

“A boat??” she had repeated, her mouth full of cheese and bread and butter.

“Is that okay?” he asked, his handsome brow furrowing.

“Oh my God, yeah!” Harleen replied after she had swallowed (because she had found she could never fully forget her manners around him, but she didn’t care about that in the moment because:) “I’ve never been on a boat before!”

“Oh--really?”

And for a moment, she felt very small and very poor which was something Greg made her feel often without trying. Or maybe he did try.

But happiness and excitement had overridden that sour feeling.

What a fucking concept.

They’d spent the afternoon on the beautiful little boat he’d rented. It had been sunny, but with a cool breeze. She’d worn the smallest pink bikini she owned and he’d looked beautiful in a simple white t-shirt that contrasted with his gorgeous, tan skin. And she had sat in his lap and they had made out like a couple of horny teenagers.

And that night, they’d gone to a gorgeous, exclusive, expensive Italian restaurant. They’d had two bottles of wine between them. They’d gone home in an Uber, giggling and kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes.

And when they’d gotten home, she’d jumped his fucking bones, drunk on expensive wine and happiness because the whole day she just kept thinking the same little thought over and over again, one she usually told to shut the fuck up--

He likes me. This beautiful man likes me.

Because who the hell wouldn’t want someone like Greg? Handsome and clean and kind and rich and charming and when he talked to you, he made you feel like you were the only person in the entire world. Men and women stared at him wherever he went, either wanting to be him or to fuck him.

He was such a fucking prize.

And if he loved her, maybe that meant that she wasn’t as broken and ruined as she felt every day of her life.

Maybe his love could erase it all--being poor, getting raped, losing her little sister. Maybe he could fix her broken heart--and maybe it wouldn’t be perfect, but at least it would tidy it up enough so it could keep beating in her chest and she wouldn’t feel so absolutely fucking dead every day of her life.

But when they’d hit the bed, he had leaned up and whispered in her ear something that had fucking changed everything--

“Do you want to have anal sex?”

And at first, she felt a thrill of excitement because Harleen loved anything in bed that was dirty and taboo and fucked up because it made her feel like herself, but then.

Well, then she fucking figured it out.

Making her lunch. Taking her on a boat. The nice dinner. The glass after glass after fucking glass of wine. The way he’d grabbed her ass all day.

It was like he’d read a fucking article called How to Get Her to Let You Fuck Her Ass.

And oh my God, it was so unbelievably fucking rich because if he’d just asked, she would have been so fucking down. He didn’t need to do all this shit for her like she was a--

Fuck.

Fuck.

So this was who he thought she was. A girl who needed to be coaxed, manipulated, eased into it. A girl who needed to be convinced to be bad.

He loved a good girl.

He loved a girl who didn’t exist.

Well.

Wasn’t that just fucking something.

“Sure,” she’d replied easily. “I love getting my ass fucked.”

And she would never forget the look on his face. So thinly veiled. There were no Academy Awards in Greg’s future.

Or maybe Harleen was just really, really fucking good at noticing disgust.

And she made it very, very fucking obvious that she knew what she was doing. And she made sure he understood. She gave herself an enema, she made him lube her ass, she made up a story about how she’d accidentally shit on a guy one time. She’d laughed about it, big and bawdy and disgusting.

It was a test, and he failed. Or maybe he passed.

They didn’t have anal sex that night. He couldn’t get it up. So fucking typical.

And she had laid on her back that night and thumbed through every spark of happiness she’d felt that day and she threw them in the fucking incinerator.

And she cried that night. My God, she wept. Tears slid down her temples into her ears, into her hair, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want him to wake up. She hadn’t realized just how fucking fragile this was.

She hadn’t realized that she still had to hide.

And she had prayed that one day, she wouldn’t have to any more.

Because God, she so longed to step into the light.

---

“Step into the light.”

The Joker’s place was exactly where she’d thought it would be. An abandoned room in a forgotten, crumbling warehouse.

But it hadn’t looked the way she’d thought it would.

No, he’d clearly been cleaning it up. There was furniture--a little table, chairs. There was an actual bed (and yeah, it was a twin, but it had sheets and covers and it wasn’t just a mattress on the floor). He had art on the walls--swirling colors of purple and green that didn’t really seem to mean anything, but were important enough for him to hang up. Maybe he’d made them himself. It was dark and it was still dingy, but she’d stayed in worse.

No, that wasn’t fair. The worst place she’d ever lived was Luke’s apartment. She couldn’t have cared less about furnishings and decorations and what the hell ever. She knew that you could live in the most beautiful home and it could still be a fucking morgue.

He’d lit candles.

He’d lit fucking candles.

And stupidly, absurdly, she wanted to run. I mean, she didn’t, but--

Everything had seemed so wonderful with Luke at first. And Greg. And there were some traumas that she feared more than others.

He was lying on the bed, taking her in. She stood apart from him, fiddling with her blue dress, knowing she looked disheveled as hell, her hair all over the fucking place and her dress only half buttoned.

And she was afraid that Harleen had risen to the surface--that scared little girl who hid behind the beautiful veneer she had so carefully cultivated. She waited for wild, uninhibited, frightening, dangerous Harley to come to the surface and set her free.

But she realized she was Harley in that moment.

Because Harley wasn’t just strength and power. She was honesty. She was a real girl.

“Step into the light, Harley,” the Joker purred softly, half sitting up. “Come on, baby girl, let me see you.”

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She kept twisting the fabric of her dress in her hands, looking down at the ground. She was that quivering girl again who hadn’t wanted to part with her soul, because while she’d told him she’d given it to him again, well--

Harley couldn’t trust happiness. She’d never been able to. And even five orgasms in the car couldn’t change that (though Jesus, her body was still shivering with the after effects of that.)

He hummed softly, a low growling sound. “Even though I can taste you on my tongue, you still fear me.”

Because after all this time, after all this hate that she had summoned up for men, yes, yes she absolutely fucking feared them.

You could hate a lion all you wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that they could still rip you apart.

“I can’t do it again,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Come closer,” the Joker murmured. “Come to me, Harley.”

She kept her eyes on the ground, twisting, twisting, wringing that fabric through her hands. It was a way she had taught herself to keep from ripping her own hair out, which had been the coping mechanism of both Quinzel girls.

She felt the heat of his body before she noticed he’d moved.

He had come to her.

Her whole life she’d been told to come to men.

Come here, baby. Come on, sweetheart. Let me have you. Come on. Come here. I want you.

And she had always gone to them because she had understood that really, she had no choice.

But he came to her.

The Joker dipped into the dark pit of her mind. And he wasn’t afraid.

He tilted her chin up like he’d done so many times before.

“I don’t think of myself as a tender man, Harley,” the Joker said softly. “In fact, I don’t think of myself as a man at all. Or at least, I didn’t.”

He leaned down and licked her tears off her cheeks. She turned her head away and gasped, but he reached around her to tug her close.

“But my God, Harley, the moment I saw you, it was like I remembered I was made of flesh and blood,” he breathed against her ear and her entire body trembled against his. “I am many things, but as I’ve told you a thousand fucking times, I don’t lie. And I will never fucking lie to you.”

“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t want?” he murmured, and he was licking and sucking bruises on her neck and it hurt so much, but she never wanted him to stop.

“Don’t tell me you love me again,” she moaned miserably.

“You cannot run from my love,” he growled against her neck. “I won’t let you. I won’t let you be anyone but your fucking beautiful self when you’re in my presence.”

She was so tired of running and fighting who she was.

“What are you so afraid of?” he murmured, sliding his hands under her thighs and picking her up, taking her to his small bed and settling her in his lap. His jagged fingernails lightly trailed over her skin.

She considered the question, consulting her broken heart. She thought of how Lily had whispered how scared she was of men. She thought of how Aaron had been so worried that the Joker would attack her and hurt her. She’d seen the fear in Batman’s eyes when the Joker had ripped her underwear off.

There was only one thing the world valued a woman for.

“I’m not good,” she whispered brokenly. “And--I don’t want you to love me for that. I’m not good, I’m--I’ve been fucked and ruined and hurt and I’m not good, I’m dirty, I’m bad. I’m a bad girl.”

He considered her words, his hands stilling on her body. She hid her face in his neck.

“They told you that,” he murmured. “They told you to hate yourself for the things others had done to you. They told you it was your cross to bear and they forced you to break your back under it.”

She didn’t say anything. Her fingers slid into the back of his hair.

“I’m gonna tell you something and you’re gonna ride me while I do it so it really sinks in,” the Joker purred. “Can you do that for me, baby girl? Are you still wet?”

You can’t come five times without getting wet.

“Yeah,” she whispered, because it was more than the incredible oral experience she’d had in the car, she was always wet around him. Helplessly--and she hoped it would always be like this.

He undid his pants--and he was hard too, even though she’d been crying and whimpering and generally acting so fucking pathetic. He eased her down onto him, sucking in a hiss of pleasure as he did so.

“Mmm, your perfect cunt is very distracting, Harley,” he growled. “But I need you to listen to me right now, you got that, baby?”

Harley nodded, gasping as she sunk all the way down on him. God, he felt so perfectly inside of her, like he’d been made for her. Like the world had always intended for them to fuck each other just like this.

“Who the fuck said--that you’re only worth anything if you’re good?” he hummed, a hand on her hips as he bounced her in his lap. He took control, even though she was on top, and it made her so fucking hot. “You listen to them--even though you know they’re lying--you know what’s true--don’t you? You feel it when you’re--with me--”

She ground down into his lap--and sobbed at the way it felt on her clit.

“Yes,” he growled. “We will hurt every--man--who ever--hurt you--we will teach them--that you can’t break beautiful things--”

“I’m broken,” she whimpered. “I’m worthless.”

He growled--and for the first time, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes directed at her. Or rather, not her, but the voices in her head.

He rolled them over so he was on top. His pace was punishing and rough and it felt so fucking good. He hauled one of her legs up on his shoulder. The stretch was so tight and delicious.

“Fuck them,” he spat. “Fuck--anyone--who ever made you feel--like you weren’t so fucking goddamn stunning--the way you are--so hurt--so powerful--stronger than anyone should ever be--”

She was crying out--those ugly, loud, animal-like sounds left her lips. Harleen was asleep deep inside of her, but she didn’t have to hate Harleen. It wasn’t Harleen’s fault that she had put on that mask every day. She had just been trying to survive.

“And we’re gonna show them,” he snarled out, “we’re gonna show them--what happens--when we bite back--”

He sunk his teeth into her leg as he fucked her.

“Yes,” she moaned out. “Yes--I want to--I want to fight back--I want to--make them hurt--”

“And we will, gorgeous,” the Joker smirked. “Just as soon as I’m done giving Batman motivation.” He let go of her leg. “Roll over. Hands and knees.”

She obeyed, which was something she was planning on doing for him for the rest of her life with the full knowledge that he would obey her too.

He was so punishing in bed. She’d been roughly fucked before, but she’d never been a participant (it was a fucking strange thing how a man could fuck someone who wasn’t even there). But she was there, fully inhabiting her body, and she was moaning and sobbing and crying out and he was growling and snarling and chuckling and his cock felt absolutely utterly fucking incredible inside of her.

And when they were both exhausted and sweating and satisfied (somewhat, not really, because she could fuck him all night and it would never be enough), he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered her one.

“Let me tell you my plan, Harley girl,” the Joker murmured, lighting the cigarette that dangled from her lips. “It involves you being a sneaky, sinister little slut for Mr. J.”

She’d once told him angrily not to use that word, but fuck, she loved it. Slut. Dirty little whore, yes, she was Mr. J’s salacious little slut. She was her own slut, never fully satisfied, her body aching and moaning for more.

“Mmm,” she hummed, pleased at the thought, pulling the cigarette away from her lips and watching the smoke curl towards his ceiling. “Do I get to fuck with Batman?”

“Oh yes,” the Joker chuckled. “And you get to fuck with all those boys. But you’ve gotta be Harleen for me for a little bit longer. Can you do that, kitten?”

She had once hated Harleen so much, but not any more. That bitch had balls--to get out of bed every day was a fucking marvel. Nobody could exist with that kind of self hatred roiling around inside of them and not be worthy of admiration. It was like being on fire constantly.

“Yeah,” Harley grinned, rolling onto her stomach.

“Cuz you know what they think I’m doing to you?” the Joker purred, his eyes dark with mischief.

A shiver of pleasure rolled down her spine.

“Well, they’re right, aren’t they?” she smirked. “Fucking me senseless.”

He growled out a low, amused laugh. He tugged her body on top of her, sliding a hand down her back to her ass.

“They all want to see a broken, fucked up little Barbie doll,” she purred. “They want to protect me from the bad, bad man.”

“So go let them protect you.” The Joker smacked his hand roughly against her ass. “And then you get to show them who you really are.”

She squirmed with pleasure at the thought. “And you’ll help me?”

“It’s your revenge, Harley, baby doll, and I’ll help you fuck them any way I can,” the Joker chuckled. “But before I let you go, I’m gonna have that ass.”

And Harley felt real, true happiness spill through her veins.

---

“He said you’re not ready!”

She tugged the zipper up impatiently, ignoring him.

“Don’t pretend like you can’t hear me,” he snapped. “You’re being an idiot.”

“Shut up, Jason,” she snarled back, pulling her cowl over her head. “I can’t just stand by.”

“He told you he’d handle, he’d--”

She’d never trusted men, not one fucking bit. And even as Jason stared at her now, her stomach hurt.

She’d never met a man who didn’t make her angry and afraid in the same breath.

She headed towards the window, fitting the grappling hook to her waist. She felt her cape flare out behind her. It felt incredible--and she felt powerful.

And happy.

God, she never felt happy, not really. But she was trying.

“I’m going to tell him,” Jason Todd said angrily, his cheeks flushing.

“Go ahead,” she replied. “But I’m not gonna let this happen to my sister.”

Not again.

And Lily Quinzel leaped out of the third floor of the Wayne Manor and she felt the wind whistling in her ears. She deployed her grappling hook.

Everything for Harleen.

Chapter Text

“There were once two sisters
who were not afraid of the dark
because the dark was full of the other's voice
across the room,
because even when the night was thick
and starless
they walked home together from the river
seeing who could last the longest
without turning on her flashlight,
not afraid
because sometimes in the pitch of night
they'd lie on their backs
in the middle of the path
and look up until the stars came back
and when they did,
they'd reach their arms up to touch them
and did.”
― Jandy Nelson

---

”Stop!””

“Fuck off, Jason!”

“Don’t use that word!”

“Oh my God, you use that word all the fucking time, shut up and stop following me.”

Lily swung around on the rooftop, her long blonde hair which she’d pulled back in a tight ponytail whipping around with the motion. Her eyes narrowed beneath her cowl and her hands settled on her slim hips.

“You’re stupid,” Jason growled, as mean as he always was. He’d been a bear since the moment she’d moved into the Wayne Manor two years previously. But he was all bark and no bite--and she privately thought he was more of a teddy bear than a flesh and blood grizzly.

“Oooh, good one, Jason,” Lily snorted. “Go away.”

“Well, if you’re going to be such a stubborn asshole about it, at least let me help,” Jason persisted, his nostril flaring with annoyance.

“Ugh, no. You’re flashier than a traffic cone in that hideous outfit,” Lily smirked, gesturing to the red, yellow and green monstrosity that was his costume. Jason had at least petitioned to get rid of the awkward underwear that had left Dick Grayson’s legs bare and exposed. The tight-fitting pants weren’t much better. Let’s just say that the Robin costume was far from attractive, and Jason was well aware of it.

He flushed beneath his mask, irritated. “Oh my God, shut the fuck up, Lily.”

“Don’t use that word,” Lily parroted back, pleased with herself. But then she remembered.

She’s out there. She’s alone. She’s scared.

“I’m going,” Lily informed him, heading towards the edge of the roof.

“It’s a trap!” Jason persisted, hurrying after her and grabbing her arm. “You know that. That’s why he hasn’t gone in yet. He’s trying to figure everything out and make sure that nobody gets--”

“That nobody gets hurt?” Lily finished, furious. “Guess what, Jason? Somebody already got hurt. Probably a bunch of times.”

Her throat tightened like someone had pulled a drawstring on it. She’d seen Harleen get hurt like that, and Anthony had been disgusting, but the Joker--

Well, the Joker would be a thousand fucking times worse.

Tears stung at her eyes.

She turned sharply and stepped up onto the ledge of the building.

“You’re clouded by emotion,” Jason snapped, reaching for her again, but she yanked her arm away, resisting the urge to bite him.

(She had bitten him before. Not because he made her stomach hurt, but just because she liked to bite. Look, she had never claimed to be fucking normal.)

“Oh my God, don’t fucking quote him,” Lily snarled. “As if he’s never been clouded by emotion. Remember when the Joker had Catwoman? He lost his mind. And if he can’t practice what he preaches, then I’m not gonna do it either. And this is my sister, not just a random fuck buddy in spandex.”

Jason was quiet, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“Look, I get it, okay, just--” he started, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

“Spit it out, Jason, we’re wasting time,” Lily snapped.

“Okay!” Jason growled, irritated. “I want to come with you--and you can’t stop me.”

“I could punch you in the nuts again,” Lily smirked, her dimples flashing. He glared at her and gave her shoulder a shove.

“You’re such an asshole,” he muttered. “Just let me help you.”

Lily looked at him. And then, she swung her fist down like she might smack him in the nuts. He flinched and angled away from her with an indignant squawk.

“Just fucking with you,” she grinned. “Come on, Robin, let’s go.”

And when Lily launched herself off the building, she felt her heart pound with giddiness because she had spent so much of her life feeling trapped by her miserable circumstances and she’d always felt so fucking powerless. Harleen had looked out for her the best she could, but you can only be protected from so much.

And now, Lily was going to save her--and everything would come full circle.

“You heard what the Joker said,” Lily yelled to Jason as they made their way from rooftop to rooftop. They were both fit and fast and strong--Mr. Wayne had been training them carefully. They were prepared (or rather, as prepared as two teenagers could be against a murderous terrorist).

Harleen had been gone for six hours. Two hours ago, the Joker had hijacked all the television stations (and even though it had been four AM, most of the city had been up all night, worrying about the beautiful blonde psychiatrist who was at the mercy of the violent clown).

”When the sun rises,” he had purred, his teeth yellow and his eyes black like a shark’s, “I will be with Doctor Quinzel at the Gotham Clock Tower. I think you all know who I want. And if that hero happens to come, I might just let her live. I’ll at least consider it.”

And he’d swung the shaky camera onto her face. Harleen.

Bound and gagged, a cloth wrapped around her head, cutting into her mouth. She screamed. It was the most horrible sound Lily had ever heard in her entire life.

“We have until sunrise,” Lily told Jason--and they both paused on top of the rooftop, looking at the Clock Tower.

The skyline was turning a glowing pink.

Lily’s heart was slamming violently in her chest. She closed her eyes.

Please let it be okay.

Because she didn’t care about herself. Not any more.

“Hey,” Jason said quietly, his hand nudging hers. “It’s okay. We’re gonna get her out.”

Lily’s eyes flashed open and she swallowed as hard as she could. And she pushed it all down--every bit of fear that had flooded her veins ever since her sister had told her that boys could hurt you in ways you could never, ever recover from.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Because if Harleen wasn’t saved, there would be nothing in the world.

So really, she couldn’t fail.

And she wouldn’t. She fucking wouldn’t.

She took a very, very deep breath, fighting against the tightness in her lungs. It hurt a little, but she didn’t mind. Pain felt like home to her.

“Let’s go.”

---

“Let’s go,” the Joker purred softly into Harleen’s ear.

She was sore--God, she was so deliciously sore from their fucking. She squirmed into it, a ragged exhale leaving her lips that were stained with his lipstick.

“Remember the plan, Harley girl,” the Joker murmured, his hands sliding lovingly down her arms. Her wrists were bound together with zip ties and they already hurt so much. They were standing on the edge of the clocktower--God, they must have been hundreds of feet in the air. She had never liked heights, but she didn’t mind being scared--especially when she knew she could wear her fear freely without ever truly being in danger.

“The whole city is so worried about you,” the Joker hummed and the cool air of the early, early morning blew her blonde hair off of her bruised neck. “You’ve made quite a stir, baby. How does it feel?”

She considered her reply carefully. He was standing behind her, his body so impossibly warm--and she felt him lean down, kissing her shoulders wetly. Teeth, tongue--when he used his mouth, he used every part of it. Her soul sang inside of his chest because it truly fucking belonged to him.

“They don’t understand,” she said very quietly. “They’ve never fucking understood, and they never will.”

“I know,” the Joker murmured. “But we’re going to show them, aren’t we, Harley? Tell me we are.”

His hips were grinding against her ass. She let out a strangled moan because her entire body bore his marks and if she concentrated hard enough, she felt like she could still feel his cock inside of her.

“We are,” Harley whispered.

“God, I want to fuck you here,” the Joker growled, his teeth scraping against a dark purple bruise on her neck. She gasped helplessly. “Just bend you over and fuck you in front of the entire city. Prove to them how much I love you.”

He said it so freely. She never had to ask for it. God, she never, ever had to ask for it--and she’d never have to ask again.

“We’ve got shit to do, Mr. J,” Harley hummed in reply, rubbing her ass against his cock--and she was so fucking astonished that he got hard again. The man was nearly as insatiable as she was, or maybe he was just experiencing what she had been--finally getting an itch scratched after what felt like a hundred years of nothing ever quite hitting the spot. “Gag me.”

The Joker groaned at her words, but he obeyed, taking out the purple strip of cloth and pulling it between her lips, tying it behind her head.

“Seeing you like this gets me so fucking hard,” he smirked.

“You’ll have to wait,” Harley purred back. “But don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I know you will,” he replied with a huff of pleasure. “Now make some tears for Mr. J, baby girl, the sun is rising.”

And it was.

Once upon a time, Harleen and Lily Quinzel had sat on the roof of their shitty house. Lily had leaned her little blonde head against Harleen’s arm, trying to stay awake. Harleen had settled her arm around her little sister’s small shoulders and everything had felt right in the world.

But it hadn’t been real. And the things she had wished for on the biggest star of all had been lies--and none of those hopeless little wishes had ever come true anyways.

Now, she finally saw the world as she had always seen it--and now, she and the Joker would rule it.

And they would all pay.

And they would all be so sorry, but it would be too fucking late.

And they would all be so--

“Well, well, fucking well,” the Joker murmured.

And Harley immediately plunged herself in character.

A ragged sob tore from her mouth and her body crumpled into itself. There was no performance about it--in fact, summoning these feelings in her body was so fucking easy. It had been real to her so many times. She’d lived through this--and living through it again was fucking catharsis at its finest.

And tears? Well, once she’d cracked through Harleen’s stony veneer, she’d found those were usually right on the surface anyways.

They felt so good running down her face. And fuck, there was something so delicious about looking as pathetic as she had felt her entire life.

“This is just so utterly typical,” the Joker growled--and there was a tone of irritation to his voice that caught her attention.

“That’s enough, Joker.”

It was not Batman’s voice.

Harley’s head shot up.

He was a boy. A teenager, maybe, but still. She’d never seen him before in person--and he was so, so young. His brown hair was messy and stuck up all over the place, like his mother had forgotten to comb it in place.

Absolute revulsion filled her body, and not for this boy. This--child.

“Leave it to Bats to send one of his child soldiers in first,” the Joker sneered. “As if I have any reservations about hurting a little boy.”

Harley watched his face turn blotchy and red beneath his mask, his scowl deepening.

He didn’t have a single line on his face.

He was just a boy.

Her stomach twisted, but she steeled herself. Because Luke Parker had just been a boy too. A man was a man, and they all wanted to build this world off of the broken backs of those they abused and hurt.

“Then come fight me!” the boy snarled, and he shifted into a carefully trained fighter’s pose--and he was all bravado and no goddamn brains.

They were all the fucking same.

I will never feel pity and tenderness for a man again as long as I live. Only Mr. J.

She glanced at the sun and made a quiet wish to get her heart to shut the fuck up.

Everything for Mr. J.

“Alright, Robin boy, come take your best shot, come on, I’d love to see you try,” the Joker chuckled. “Why, it’d make my fucking morning after what proved to be a very productive night.”

And then, quite suddenly, Harley was flying towards the ground face first.

Her chin slammed into the concrete. She bit her tongue and felt blood spurt into her mouth. The groan that she let out was not a performance--and shortly after hitting the ground, she felt the Joker’s body land on hers. He let out a quiet oof.

And then, he was laughing. Big, delighted, awful peals of laughter. She loved this man, but maybe she had enough Harleen left in her body to still be able to shiver at that sound.

“Well, would you look at that!” he laughed, giddy with delight. “A little Bat Bitch. Because the Bat army was missing a little girl in its ranks!”

Green boots appeared in front of Harley’s face. One of them swung back--and she heard a loud crack. Mr. J groaned, and then he continued laughing weakly, wetly--because you don’t get kicked in the face without losing a few teeth.

“Help me get him off--we gotta--come on, Robin--”

That voice.

That fucking--

“Be careful, he’s still--” Robin was saying above her, but she didn’t give a fuck about him. There was someone else there.

There was someone else fucking there.

There was someone fucking else--

“Harleen.”

Harley didn’t have a drop of blood left in her entire body. Every last one of her organs failed her completely.

And the sun was not rising. No, the sun would never rise again. Never in a thousand fucking years. Because she didn’t want it to rise.

She didn’t fucking want the sun to rise.

Someone was untying the gag from around her mouth. No, not just someone--not just any ordinary person.

Harley was rolled over carefully. She squinted up.

A sob of grief tore from her mouth. And there was no thinking, there was only feeling.

“Harleen, it’s okay, I’m here--I’m here, we’re going to--” Lily was saying because it was fucking Lily, no mask could obscure the fact that it was her and it was her face and her eyes and her blonde hair and Harleen could still remember those blue eyes peering up at her from inside her crib and she could remember that chubby little handy sticky from too many fruitsnacks gripping hers and she could still hear that sweet little voice sobbing I hate you as Harleen sat against the door and watched every single hope and dream she’d ever had for her life slip away like water through gapped fingers.

A white hand closed itself around Lily’s throat.

The Joker was dragging Lily away from Harleen.

Lily let out a strangled sound. Harleen could hear Robin yelling something in the background.

I love you, the Joker had whispered to her thousands of times that night.

Harley felt something scream inside of her body that she had thought was dead.

Mary Morris was taking Lily from her arms and Harleen Quinzel was screeching at the top of her lungs.

”THAT’S MY FUCKING SISTER!”

Harley launched herself at the Joker and Lily. Her hands were zip-tied together, but it didn’t matter. She raked her nails down his face, leaving long bloody scratches behind.

She saw the Joker’s eyes widen in shock. There had been a plan, and this was not part of it.

And Harley’s eyes focused long enough to watch Lily sink her teeth into the Joker’s arm. And then, Robin was flying into the three of them.

And it was Robin who accidentally smashed into Harley. And, well, keeping your balance when your hands are ziptied together is very, very fucking difficult.

She staggered. She stumbled.

And then, she was falling.

The wind was whistling in her ears. Screaming, really. And she was screaming too.

And every part of her body was wailing and sobbing and she loved him she loved him she loved him but Lily Lily Lily and it didn’t matter because the end was coming the bottom was coming and she had wished to die so many times but she loved him and Lily and she loved him and Lily and him and Lily and the Joker and Lily and the Joker and Lily and the Joker and Lily and--

Arms around her body. Solid. Rubbery armor. A man with more muscles than he needed. A grapple hook singing in the dawn’s early light.

And she curled herself against the body of Batman and let him carry her to what he surely assumed was safety. But if Lily or the Joker died, she’d kill himself.

She’d kill Batman her fucking self.

Because the two halves of her heart were still on top of the Clock Tower.

So this was what was at the bottom of her pit. Not a reason to die, but rather, a horrible reason to live.

And Harleen closed her eyes and tried to go somewhere very, very, very far away because this moment was very fucking impossible.

Because if even one of them was gone.

Everything for nothing.

Everything for fucking nothing.

Chapter Text

“When a woman is assaulted, one of the first questions people ask is, Did you say no? This question assumes that the answer was always yes, and that it is her job to revoke the agreement. To defuse the bomb she was given. But why are they allowed to touch us until we physically fight them off? Why is the door open until we have to slam it shut?”
― Chanel Miller

---

There is no past, no present, and no future.

The sun rises, but it doesn’t touch you.

Really, there’s nothing in the entire world. Not a goddamned thing.

The Joker is the darkness. Lily is the sun. And Harleen and Harley are buried in the fucking dirt because you can’t have night and day exist at the same time. Light chases the darkness away. Darkness demands the light’s silence.

And once, she had wished on the sun. Then, she had fallen into the darkness. But she had always longed to live somewhere directly in the middle. But dawn is day, and twilight is night. There is no middle.

There is only the past and the future. The present is too temporary to even comprehend. The moment you recognize the present, it becomes the past--and the moment your fingers grope for the future, you are burned by the fact that nothing is ever certain.

Only the sun rising and the sun setting. And even then, the sun will burn out someday and the Earth will turn into ash and there will be no one alive to tell the stories of its revolutions.

Harleen. Harley. Harleen. Harley.

There is no middle ground.

Make a choice or you’ll suffocate in the great vacuum of space--the only place where light and darkness touch.

Your choice.

---

“Your choice.”

Harleen was tired and the fact that Greg was trying to make her pick what to have for dinner when it couldn’t have fucking mattered one iota less was maybe the single cruelest thing he’d ever done to her.

She had hidden in bed the entire day. It worked well with her character, but she was too fucking lost to lie. In order to lie, you had to have at least some idea of what the truth was and she didn’t know.

She didn’t fucking know.

I don’t fucking know what to do.

When Batman had landed with her battered body in his arms, they’d immediately been overtaken by an ocean of reporters. Every news station in town had eaten this story with the insatiable gluttony that she and the Joker had planned on.

(Even thinking his name made her entire body ache, and not just in the places where he had claimed her.)

Microphones in her face. Cameras flashing.

She’d shoved her way out of Batman’s arms, staggering away from him. And then she’d thrown up loudly and spectacularly in front of all those greedy cameras.

The more pain she was in, the more clicks they’d get on their stupid fucking articles with their stupid fucking advertisements for bullshit that nobody needed and nobody wanted.

She wanted to be angry because this agony that she was play acting through had once been real for her, but she’d been very small and dirty and no one had given a fuck. She had thought she would feel fucking triumphant. That had been the plan.

That had been the motherfucking plan.

And then. And then. And fucking then.

The minute the door of the Batmobile had slid shut, Harleen had swung around on Batman, her eyes wild with rage.

“You sent fucking children to fight him!” she screamed. He flinched away from her, but his expression didn’t change. Her hand had slammed pointlessly against his arm--and because he didn’t react, she hit him again, twice as hard, and then again and again and again and he didn’t feel it because he never felt it and people like her didn’t fucking exist to him. “They are still fucking up there! They are still up there, go get them, you fucker, go get them, I swear to God I’ll kill you--”

“Doctor Quinzel, Robin and Batgirl are alright,” Batman had quietly assured her.

Batgirl.

She is not your fucking Batgirl, she is my fucking sister.

She wanted to scream it. She wanted to tear her fingernails through his face.

She’d done that to The Joker. She still had his skin under her fingernails. His blood.

I love you, he’d told her a thousand fucking times. He’d made love to her--and sex had always been nothing, just absolutely fucking nothing to her, but the night before, she’d understood why people wrote song after poem after story about it.

He’d been right. It wasn’t about pleasure.

Power.

But now, she felt nothing at all. Harley felt nothing. And all that freedom she had brushed with her fingers evaporated, but she couldn’t want it any more. She did, but she couldn’t.

But Harleen? Harleen felt everything.

Everything for Harleen.

Because Harleen had not been Greg’s little fucktoy. Harleen hadn’t been the cause of Aaron Cash’s swollen dick. Harleen hadn’t been the sexy little psychiatrist playing fuck me games with her sick patients, as Aaron had so eloquently put it.

Harleen Quinzel was Lily Quinzel’s fucking sister.

“How do you know?” she snarled, using the anger while she still had it, before it disappeared from her because she was exhausted and terrified and she wanted to kill him but she also wanted to bury herself in the ground and stuff her mouth full of dirt and never fucking see the sun ever again.

“They reported in a few minutes ago,” Batman replied, looking at her (the car drove for him, what pointless and disgusting opulence when half the city starved, but it hardly registered with Harleen). “The Joker got away, but he’s significantly hurt.”

Harley’s entire body went rigid.

Significantly hurt.

Harley begged her to ask about the Joker. My love, my heart, my life, please, please, please be okay baby please be okay please be please please please--

Harleen had become a master at slamming the door in Harley’s face and locking it.

“Batman,” she said very, very quietly. “I know who your fucking--Batgirl is.”

Batman’s eyes turned back to the road which he didn’t need to watch because his fucking car was driving itself. He only did it because he didn’t want to look at her, he didn’t want to face what he’d fucking done. He refused to accept responsibility.

“I told her not to interfere,” Batman said very softly.

Harleen slammed her fist against his arm again.

“You motherfucker!” she snarled. “She’s a fucking child! She’s a fucking child and she could have died up there!”

“Doctor Quinzel, you’ve had a horrible twenty-four hours and you’re not thinking clearly,” Batman said, his voice remaining infuriatingly even. Not because he was good at keeping his emotions under control, Harley realized.

It was because he didn’t actually fucking care.

And you could rage at an inanimate object all you want, but it’ll never give a fuck.

Her rage and hatred turned ice cold in her veins.

“You’re right,” she said, and her voice was just as level as his was. “I’ve been raped more times than you can count.”

Not that night. Before. When no one had cared and there had been no cameras and she had vomited in her bathroom alone.

“But the worst fucking moment of my life was when I saw my little sister on that Clock Twoer, Mr. Batman,” she continued.

“This is Lily’s choice,” Batman said quietly.

Her blood froze entirely.

Choice.

Make a choice.

She wet her lips.

“There are so many fucking things I could say to you right now,” she said, and anger wasn’t the right word for what she felt. No. This was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. When Luke had tried to hurt Lily, she’d seen black. Right now, she was seeing every color that had ever been dreamed. She saw everything, but somehow she felt none of it at all. Nothing. And her gaze had been narrowed so tightly that her words burned in her mouth, sliding past her lips like they were cutting holes in her tongue. “But you’d never hear a single one.”

Batman’s eyes were on the road. His expression didn’t change.

“I want you to know this, and I want you to hear it from me,” Harley continued. Her hand slid to his leg, his knee. His gaze flashed to her for a moment--and she knew how she looked, disheveled and bruised and broken, just like he liked them. Just like every man liked a woman. Broken beyond repair, waiting for the glue of his magical come to piece her back together.

She leaned closer now. Her lips brushed his cheek as she spoke. It was rough like sandpaper.

“If anything happens to her, I’m going to kill you.”

This was not part of the plan. Maybe she was fucking everything up.

Maybe she didn’t care any more.

“Sit back in your seat, Doctor, we’re almost home,” Batman replied quietly.

And she obeyed him. And she pinned him with her gaze the rest of the ride--because she knew he didn’t believe her. She knew he thought she was grieving and she was stupid and she was hysterical.

Here’s the thing about Harleen Quinzel, though. She’s a driven bitch.

And when he pulled up to her apartment, he didn’t look at her. Just like he didn’t look at every flaw in his pathetic heroic exterior that held a stupid, weak boy in the center of it.

And when the car stopped, she transformed. She let him watch her do it because she knew she was in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you so much for saving me, Mr. Batman,” she said so softly, so sweetly, and she twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger. “You’re so noble and brave and strong.”

“Doctor,” he warned.

“Let me thank you, Mr. Batman,” she murmured. “It’s what you deserve. A big, amazing, perfect hero like you. Gotham is so lucky to have you. Can you imagine what they’d do without you?”

Her door slid open. She moved to get out. She opened her legs wide in her skirt. He looked. She wasn’t wearing panties.

She got out of the car and leaned in, her finger tracing his jaw.

“And don’t forget what I told you, Mr. Batman,” she murmured and she couldn’t fucking help herself. She licked his cheek.

Cuz she loved putting spit on the faces of good boys.

He leaned away, but he nodded. Because she was grieving and she could do whatever she wanted. Being raped makes a girl fucking nuts, don’t you know.

And Greg was waiting for her in the lobby. And he gathered her up in his arms and he squeezed her so tight and he hurt her bruises but she didn’t say anything and he didn’t ask and he didn’t care.

And as they went up to their apartment (rather, his apartment, no part of Harleen or Harley lived there any more), he kept going on and on and on and on. I was so worried about you. I was so scared. I thought you were gone.

I I I I I I me me me me me me fucking me

“Greg,” she finally said after enduring twenty minutes of it. “I’m really fucking tired and I want to sleep.”

He stared at her, his mouth parting slightly. That good boy oh of shock. That perpetual I didn’t even do anything.

“Oh, right, okay, of course,” Greg said gently, touching her arm (and she saw his eyes flash with possessiveness as he took in a bruise there, which was rich because he’d never ever in his fucking life own even an ounce of her flesh). “I’ll get us something for dinner. Your choice.”

She stopped in the doorway of his bedroom. Her nails dug into the wood. It hurt so much and for a moment, she inhabited her body in the present, which was as horrible as any nightmare she had ever lived.

“I don’t fucking care, Greg,” she said, and there was no hate in her voice, because he was an inanimate object and nothing he said or did mattered to her in the fucking slightest. “Get whatever you fucking want.”

She saw his mouth form into an oh again before she slammed the door in his stupid fucking handsome face.

She unbuttoned her dress, standing in front of her mirror. Harley wanted to admire the bruises that Mr. J had so carefully marked out on her body like he was making a map for himself of all the places he loved, but she couldn’t.

She looked down at the phone she had duct taped to her body, a ring of the silvery sticky stuff wrapped around her ribs. The burner phone.

She tore the duct tape off without any care for her skin. She threw the tape and the phone on her bed.

She pulled on a robe and stepped out onto her balcony because even after all these years, she knew when Lily was near.

And sure enough, there was her sister, sitting on the railing of her balcony, wearing that ridiculous bullshit, looking like the person she hated more than she could even begin to put into words.

It was the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen in her life. The thing she loved all gussied up like the thing she wanted to burn from the fucking Earth.

Lily gasped and hopped off the balcony the moment she saw Harleen and she hugged her. And Lily smelled the same. And Harleen had dreamed of this day for so fucking long, for years and years when she’d been nothing but a corpse in the bottom of a grave watching the sun disappear behind the clouds.

But now.

Now.

Well, now everything was very fucking different, wasn’t it?

“Are you okay?” Lily breathed tearfully. “Oh my God, Harleen, when I heard he had you, I had to make sure you were okay and as I was looking for you I just keep thinking please let her be okay, please let her be okay--”

Please let it be okay--

The only thing she’d ever prayed for.

“Lily,” Harleen said and how was it possible to feel so much and to be unable to project any of it? Fuck, it should have been impossible. “Why are you doing this?”

Lily pulled back, looking up at Harleen’s face. And Lily’s cheeks were tear streaked and her eyes were full of love and Harleen had thought the moment Lily looked at her like that again, the world would gently click into place like the simplest puzzle you could possibly imagine.

“What do you mean?” Lily asked, wiping her own cheeks.

“Why are you… Batgirl?”

It sounded so fucking ridiculous and stupid to say out loud, but she made herself grind it out.

The world felt very fucking cold.

“Well, he chooses some of the kids in the foster system to come work with him, and he only picks the best,” Lily said eagerly, but there was worry in her eyes because Lily had learned that she had to recognize Harleen’s emotions because Harleen had a fucking hairtrigger that caused her to spit in boy’s faces and fuck everything up.

“Lily, you’re going to go out there and get yourself fucking killed,” Harleen said very, very fucking evenly.

“What?” Lily said, her mouth falling open, and there was hurt there and once upon a time there had lived a broken girl named Harleen who had lived her entire life trying to protect a sweet little girl named Lily but Harleen had fucked it all up because she’d trusted a stupid white knight boy who had made her believe that there was good in the world.

“You are not a soldier, you’re a child,” Harleen continued. “Why are you doing this?”

Lily’s face crumpled in pain. The kind you could only dole out to the people you loved.

“Because--I want to… help people,” Lily said weakly, her lips trembling. “Monsters like the Joker would destroy everything if they could. I want people to be safe--like we weren’t when we had to… you know. Live with Anthony. And you had to… do things.”

Harleen swallowed what felt like a mouthful of needles.

“I don’t want that to happen to anyone else,” Lily continued desperately, and she reached for Harleen’s hands. “And it won’t happen to you again, Harleen. You’re safe.”

And there was a feeling inside of Harleen. A physical sensation. Almost a click.

So that was what snapping felt like.

Harleen and Harley completely severed from each other.

“Lily,” she whispered, and she could hear the darkness in her own voice, like she had turned into a black hole and she was swallowing every bit of light she could find and she didn’t care where it came from, “I have never been safe in my entire fucking life.”

Lily stepped away from her, releasing her hands. She was pale.

“I spent my entire life trying to protect you,” she continued very quietly. “But there is no good in this world, Lily. Not for girls.”

“Harleen,” Lily whispered.

“Lily,” Harley snapped, and she knew her eyes were black like a fucking shark’s. “I fucked up and I destroyed your life once, and I will never forgive myself for that. Never fucking ever. And I don’t give a shit about forgiving myself. It doesn’t fucking matter how I feel about me. But I’m telling you this right now, if you keep working for that vainglorious fuck, you are going to end up fucking dead or worse than dead.”

Lily’s lips were shaking and she was crying.

“Don’t say that, Harleen,” she managed out, and her voice was so broken and Harleen screamed inside of the cage of Harley’s ribs.

“Look me in my fucking eye and tell me that that piece of shit monster Batman doesn’t make you stomach hurt,” Harley snarled.

Lily looked at her. And then, Lily looked away.

Harleen shrieked in Harley’s head.

“Alright,” Harley said quietly. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

“Harleen.”

Lily’s voice was shattered. And it was Harleen who turned her head and looked at her--and it was Harleen who felt tears slide down her cheeks. Because Harleen wasn’t dead. She couldn’t die. She’d never been able to before.

“What are you going to do now?” Lily whispered hoarsely.

Harley tilted her chin up and wiped tears off of her cheeks.

“I’m going to make my choice,” she said very, very fucking calmly. “So go ahead and make yours.”

She went back into her room and slammed the door behind her.

Lily was weeping on her balcony. Lily was knocking, Lily was begging her. Lily Lily Lily Lily Lily Lily Lily

And Harleen crawled into bed and dragged her pillow over her fucking ears. And she died again, just like the day Mary Morris and CPS had executed her.

Eventually, Lily left. And the Lily sized hole in her heart gaped, huge and bloody. God, please.

Please, please fucking let her be okay.

After what felt like a thousand years, she reached for the burner phone. She turned it over. It lit up.

UNKNOWN (6:12 AM): I didn’t know she was your sister.

Harleen pictured Lily dressed in that fucking outfit, spouting that fucking Bat bastard’s words.

HARLEY (7:01 AM): I know.

And it was Harleen’s tears that ran down her cheeks, but they were Harley’s too because Harley knew what it felt like to lose your soul.

She forced her fingers on the fucking letters and forced herself to hit send.

HARLEY (7:03 AM): She isn’t my sister any more.

The world fell away around her. And she was fully in the present because the past didn’t matter.

There was only one future that mattered.

HARLEY (7:06 AM): I’m going to kill Batman.

She wasn’t breathing, at least not in any way she could feel.

UNKNOWN (7:08 AM): I love you, baby girl. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.

Make your choice.

And Harley fell into the darkness.

Chapter Text

“How wrong is it for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself?”
― Anais Nin

Somewhere in the city of Gotham, a teenage girl was crying.

Five years before, it had been Harleen Quinzel with her knees dragged into her chest and her face buried in her knees. And she had mourned the nothing she’d always had and the everything that she’d lost. She’d cried until tears had no more meaning, until she’d found that they leaked pointlessly out of her eyes at random moments throughout the day. As if her grief sat directly on the surface of the shallow lake of her soul and the slightest pebble tossed in would disturb it completely.

And she trained the grief and she locked it away because no woman can swim in a moat of her own tears forever. The world won’t allow it. The world being men, who’ve never had a use for a woman’s tears unless he can dry them up completely, swallowing them in the desert of his soul.

Tonight, it was Lily Quinzel.

And she sat on the rooftop of the Wayne Manor. And for awhile, Jason Todd sat next to her quietly. He didn’t understand because he’d never had family, but he tried. He was kind.

Lily wished on stars, not the sun.

She’d had dreams that had come true. It was all Harleen had ever wanted for her.

Now, she wished for something for Harleen.

Please let her be happy.

Because Lily had bigger dreams than please let her be okay. Lily lived in a world where beneath the thin shimmer of sadness, there is a world of hopes and dreams.

So, if you think about it, Harleen got what she wanted with Lily. Lily had a life. Lily was a real girl.

But Harleen knew the cost. Lily didn’t.

And it stirred a dangerous unrest in Lily’s soul.

When Lily looked at the stars, she did something that Harleen had never done. She connected them. She saw shapes in them. A thousand opportunities and constellations and beautiful lines and swirls. She didn’t look directly into the sun and burn her eyes.

“I’m going to save her,” Lily whispered to Jason. And he looked at her, and she saw how little faith he had in the world (and maybe that was why she wanted to be so close to him, because he had Harleen’s eyes). But he nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly, reaching to squeeze her hand. “I’ll help you.”

Lily closed her eyes and her head rested on his shoulder. And she told herself very quietly something that maybe she knew was a tiny lie, but as long as a lie is very small, it can’t really hurt anyone. It twinkles harmlessly in the sky and it’s so incredibly far away, you couldn’t brush it with your fingers even if you stretched your body out as far as you could, until every bit of you ached with the effort. No one ever has to know that you tell lies to yourself.

No one ever has to see behind the mask.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

---

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Greg had told her that.

He came to bed with her. He didn’t ask her if he could, he just did. And she let him because she honestly didn’t fucking care.

She’d crushed up a sleeping pill in his water. An ambien that a doctor had once given her, as if sleep could have helped her.

He passed out. She got out of bed.

“I want to tell you something.”

The Joker and her had agreed they wouldn’t meet until the plan was complete, but circumstances had changed. She needed to see him.
He met her in an alley. He had three cuts across his face from her fingernails. He had a bite on his arm from Lily’s teeth. And it looked like Robin had maybe broken his arm. He held it against his side, but he didn’t mention it. It was never about his pain.

“Harley,’ he’d whispered when he’d seen her.

“I want to tell you something,” she’d said instead of greeting him.

And she was dressed differently than she’d ever dressed in public before. She wore a small pair of shorts, a cropped t-shirt, combat boots. Her hair was in pigtails.

He took her in quietly. When she was close enough, he reached out and gently ran his fingers down her arm--from where her t-shirt started all the way down to her wrists. Where the bruises from the zipties still were.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

“Don’t--fucking laugh,” she mumbled, moving closer to him. And he took her cue, his hand sliding around her waist and pulling her in close to him. His fingers went to the skin of her lower back.

“That’s a promise I’d only make to you, Harley girl,” he said quietly.

She inhaled. She breathed him in. She felt him do the same to her.

Oh my God, I fucking know you.

And then, she began to sing very, very softly. And she knew her voice was shit, but she sang anyways,

”You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away”

And as she sang, his weight began to shift side to side. And before she knew it, they were dancing together.

When she was done, she felt his lips meet hers so softly. And her heart was beating in her chest so hard, she couldn’t believe she’d ever thought it was dead.

“Look up,” he whispered against her ear.

She titled her head towards the sky. He pointed at a star, the brightest one.

“Make a wish,” he murmured.

She looked away from the sky. There was nothing up there for her any more.

And how beautiful it was to no longer need to long for a world that was forever out of reach.

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t need to.”

He huffed softly and tugged her close, kissing her again.

And though it was night, she felt like the world was suddenly full of so much light.

Maybe the sun doesn’t exist in the sky.

And maybe Lily wasn’t the sun.

And when, the Joker kissed her, she had one very, very small thought, and filled her mind like it was beautiful music,

My God. Maybe I’m the sun after all.

And Harley found her place at the center of the universe.