One Shots: Harley and Joker

Escape

"Harley Quinn." She nodded, "I remember when you were just a young girl, trying to cure the Joker. Look where you are now, I suppose in your mind you succeeded right?"

Harley frowned, and shook her head, "He's incurable, when will you figure that out. Did you read none of my notes, Dr Arkham?"

His eye twitched, she knew he himself was on the brink of madness, he had suffered through a lot, and having his home turn asylum become the personal playground for the Joker obviously wasn't helping.

"Yah look terrible, by the way, are yah gettin' enough sleep? Somethin' keepin' yah up?" Harley emphasised her Brooklyn twang, which she knew got on his nerves, it got on everyone's nerves, added to the higher pitch of her voice and it was enough to give someone a migraine for life.

Joker was too far gone to notice much of that.

Dr Arkham sighed, "Unlike your partner, Miss Quinzel, we believe that you can be 'fixed', and we will do anything we can in order to do so. If that means ECT, then that means ECT." He took his glasses off, "I believe that there will be quite a few doctors vouching for that particular method."

Harley gulped. She was waiting, waiting for her Mista J to break down the door, blow open the wall, anything. But she also knew he wasn't coming any time soon, not after what she did.

"Guards will take you back to your cell, I will discuss treatment plans with my coworkers." He stood and left, Harley remembered when she was the one allowed to leave, allowed to go home and laugh with her roommates, or just sit on the sofa and eat while watching shitty reality TV.

She longed for those days again, she longed to adjust her own glasses and check her notes, and start her shitty car and drive home. To walk down the street without people jeering at her, or cowering in fear.

Harley could have very easily fought against her guards, and ran away, but she was too depressed to try anything, she regretted her choices, and the voices whispering in the silence of her cold cell strengthened her regret tenfold.

~*~

Joker hadn't seen Bats for a while, Gotham city was quiet, almost unusually so. He also hadn't seen Harley, but he didn't worry, she always came back to him.

He supposed that he had been too harsh on her, she had only been trying to help after all. That's all she ever did, help, even if it ended up getting in the way.

She had ran, fast as she could, which wasn't particularly speedy seeing as Joker had taken her own mallet to her, but it was still fast enough to get out of their hideout and onto the street without him dragging her back and beating her senseless.

He thought she had gone straight to the Bat, apparently not, Joker would have wound back in Arkham had that happened, so he had to think of something, or someone else.

Poison Ivy or Catwoman were the only other possibilities, although Selina wouldn't take an injured Harley in, especially after the pair had brutally killed the last Boy Wonder.

Ivy was the only other person, but Joker had to rule her out as well, when she turned up at his doorstep, demanding where Harley was.

The media was clever, they didn't let anything about Harley Quinn slip, apart from one news article, stating the effectiveness of electro convulsive therapy.

They listed names of patients who were cured, then they mentioned the former psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel, who turned into Harley Quinn. She was yet another patient who had been cured by the intense therapy.

Joker was furious, his Harley was in Arkham, having her brains churned into pudding, by some doctor who thinks that she was curable, Joker had to laugh, there was no other option.

~*~

Harleen sat in her cell, flicking through a magazine one of the doctors had given her, she had a headache, and her muscles were sore and tired from the extensive bouts of ECT she was put through.

But the voices were fading, and so was her attraction to the Joker, which the doctors took as a good sign, then they signed her on for more ECT.

"It'll never end." She said to herself, "Maybe they'll give me an actually blanket though."

Harleen had fully prepared herself to live in Arkham for the rest of her short life, she planned on either starving herself to death after a while, or convincing them to give her a blanket, which she would tie into a noose.

None of the doctors had to know what she thought about life, the only person who knew was herself, and she was going to keep it that way.

She could hear the guards yelling about something, faintly, it was probably about one of the other patients. No one ever spoke about her, it was the classic hear no evil, speak no evil shit, except they sure as hell heard and spoke evil about other patients.

The door to her cell was kicked open, an act which required more than just brute force, but a practiced technique. A flash of green hair entered Harleen's vision, matched with a long purple jacket, his favourite, and bare feet.

His smile was rictus, intense, like his personality. Harleen backed away, cowering against the wall like anyone else would, they no longer shared their connection, but Joker didn't care, he was going to get his Harley back, by force or not.

He didn't admit that it shocked him to see her hide from him, rather than run to him, instead he danced over to her, picking up the magazine and flicking through it quickly, before tossing it back down on her pitiful excuse for a bed.

"Why- Why are you here? I haven't done anything wrong." She said from the corner she was crouched in, Joker tutted and squatted in front of her, lifting her chin to look at her.

"Of course you haven't, Pooh, but it's time to come home. It's been a while, and it's getting lonely without you." He tilted his head, exuding complete and utter confidence in himself, he didn't care that Harley was now Harleen, because he knew his Harley would be back before long, and they would be back on track.

Harleen tried to shake her head, but the fingers that gripped her chin restricted her. Instead she closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her face, she remembered lying awake at night, listening to his almost silent snores, and feeling his cool breath fan over her face. It felt like years ago.

Harleen wanted his arms to wrap around her, she wanted him to hold her. But she couldn't allow herself to fall into that trap again, she wanted her own life, she needed to be her own person.

"No." She whispered, he chuckled darkly.

"I know what you want, you want me to just hold you, don't you? But then you also don't want to fall back into that addiction." He began to rub her back gently, "It's okay, the addiction is fine, we all have one."

"People who do insane things don't want to do them alone." Harleen whispered, her voice soft against his harsh one.

"You've always had an attraction to criminal behaviour, look at how much fun we had." He said, she knew he was agreeing with her, in his sick way, but she chose to ignore it.

"I'm so close to recovery."

"You're closer to suicide."

Harleen didn't respond, instead she let him pull her up, and followed him out of the asylum and into the car which was waiting for them outside the gates.