--3rd person POV--
"Come on, come on! Get on your knees people, you heard the man! We ain't got all day."
"You tell 'em, honey." Joker snickered, as he spun himself around in the comfortably large, office swivel chair. "God, I love it when you take control. It's so sexy."
From across the other side of the room, Harleen smiled at her lover dreamily, seemingly indifferent to the horrified looks adorning the faces of all those currently being held at gunpoint.
"You do? Awe, puddin'. You never told me that before."
"I didn't? I would've thought it was pretty damn obvious." Planting his feet down firmly on the floor to stop the chair from spinning, Joker gave her a flirtatious wink.
She giggled girlishly, almost completely forgetting herself and the job they were in the middle of. Meaning that her beau had to remind her...
"Hey hey, focus my little pumpkin pie, focus." He snapped his fingers at her. "You don't wanna make Mister J cross now, do you? You know how cranky he can get when things don't go according to plan."
"Don't worry Mister J, your Harley's got it covered." Turning her attention back to the people currently kneeling near her feet, she aimed the gun at the one closest to her. "Now don't try anything funny or these fancy carpets here are gonna need deep-cleaning, if you catch my drift. Mister J ain't in the mood for no funny business, and when you upset him you upset me, Harley Quinn!"
Just then a side door burst open, and Jack reentered the room, his clown mask safely hiding his face, followed by a handful of other fellow goons.
"We sure hit the jackpot here this time boss, look!"
Joker, who now sat at the recently vacated desk, his crossed ankles resting casually on the polished mahogany surface; displaying his white socks, turned his indolent gaze on his henchman almost disinterestedly. He was clasping an open box in his hand, a box which contained something excessively sparkly, and needless to say, expensive looking.
"The Wayne collection!" Jack exclaimed, excitedly. "Man, these diamonds are worth an absolute fortune!"
"Put them back."
Jack halted in his tracks, unsure if he'd heard the crime overlord correctly. "What's that, boss?"
Rising from the chair, Joker stood and stretched, his long, wiry limbs colourfully clad in his trademark red suit. That suit was as infamous as he himself now. Everyone in Gotham recognised it as the preferred attire of the Clown Prince of Crime; whether it be the youngest school child or eldest pensioner, everybody knew that suit.
Just like they knew the greasepaint and the slicked-back, stringy emerald curls.
"What are you deaf all of a sudden, Jack? You heard me. I said put them back." He repeated.
Harleen's eyes fleetingly met with Jacks' through the slits in the plastic mask, and she was clearly able to recognise his bewilderment and silent pleading.
Hastily she beckoned one of the other henchman over, handing him the gun so that she could take a closer look for herself.
"But puddin'..." She beamed, decorating herself with one of the necklaces, and a beautiful tiara. "Look at all the pretties! Can't we just--?"
"I said PUT THEM BACK!"
The ferocity of his deliverance caused everyone in the room to jump; hostages and henchmen alike.
"O-okay, Mister J." Jack stuttered, waiting for Harleen to reluctantly return the precious jewellery to its rightful place, and silently willing her to be quicker about it.
"And you've got...hm..what? I'd say about two minutes and then we're out of here." Joker remarked, glancing down at the watch on his wrist.
"Two minutes? But there's at least another four to go before the alarms are triggered, right Harley?" The loyal henchman enquired, then fell silent, gulping as Joker turned and gripped him forcefully by the front of his coat.
"Who's in charge here, Jack?" Joker pulled his face closer, close enough for Jack to be able to see the tiny gold filaments within his pale green irises. "Well? Is it me? Or is it Harley?"
"Y-you, Mister J, of course--"
"Then shut the fuck up, and stop arguing with me. Jesus Christ, Jack! You're making me look bad in front of my captive audience."
"And being called 'puddin' doesn't?"
Harleen felt an icy chill creep down her spine, as a tense silence settled over the room. It was almost palpable, reminding her of the pause between thunder and lightning, and she swallowed nervously on Jack's behalf.
Was he trying to get himself killed?
Perhaps being Joker's most loyal right-hand man had instilled in him a false sense of security, wrongfully assuming this position made him immune somehow to his boss' wrath.
But in truth, no one was immune.
Not even her, not even Joker himself.
Which sounded crazy but had become a sad, disturbing fact.
A sickening crack broke the heavy silence, wrenching Harleen from her thoughts with a jolt. She looked up to see Jack's head snap back violently, clasping a hand over his mouth; blood and several teeth now littering the floor around their feet.
The man groaned in pain, but thankfully said nothing further.
He was lucky he hadn't been shot. Indeed Joker had apparently used the butt of his gun to hit him with, but at least he hadn't just shot him outright, like he did so many of his goons.
Pixie Al was still sporting the bandage, from Joker having shattered his nose only the previous week, when he'd been foolish enough to insinuate that his boss was going soft. Like Jack, the goon was immensely thankful that it hadn't been a bullet in the head, and he had vowed never to speak ill of their great leader again.
"You know what, Jack...? You're right. There's no need to rush. I'm being neurotic aren't I? Can you imagine that? Me? Neurotic?" He let out a fake, maniacal cackle. The kind that prompted all of his men into joining in out of fear.
Jack eyed Joker dubiously, but was unable to speak due to the pain caused by just having had several teeth knocked out with such blunt force aggression.
"Take those back down to the vault. Falco's still down there anyway." Joker continued, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Off you go."
Nodding leadenly, Jack disappeared with the diamonds, leaving Joker to round-up the rest of his goons, bizarrely instructing them to leave all the money they had been busy collecting, behind.
"But Mister J, what's the point of robbing the bank if we're not actually robbing it?" Harleen asked, her small brow furrowing in confusion. "It's all a waste of time isn't it, if we're not taking the money!"
As she retrieved her trusty baseball bat from where she'd left it propped beside the desk, Joker wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and began walking her towards the door.
"Oh Harley, baby...who needs money?"
"That's easy for you to say when you've got so much of it!" A sudden, angered voice cried out. "You've robbed all the banks in Gotham, you evil, murderous freak! Why storm in here and hold us at gunpoint if you're not even going to rob the place? Why put us through this, huh? You sick fuck!"
The pair spun around to see an enraged hostage; one of the bank tellers to be exact, attempting to stand.
"Hey! Shut the fuck up, jackass! Nobody talks to the Joker like that!" Harleen spat, fury coursing through her as a result of the random man's audacity.
Beside her, Joker chuckled. Her temper always amused him, having the ability to go from placid and amiable to raging sociopath in less than a split second.
But it was always on his behalf.
Only he, or rather her love for him, had that affect on her.
"I'm gonna smash your stupid face in! D'you hear me? I'm smashing it right the fuck in!"
"Hang on, Harley-girl." Joker reached out and caught hold of her arm, pulling her back just as she was about to march over and unleash her fury on the cocky hostage. "There's no need for any face-smashing. Don't waste your energy, pumpkin."
She blinked, watching as he pulled his trusty gun out from his waistband. "Can I do the honours then, puddin?" She cooed.
Ordinarily, Joker had no qualms in letting her kill whoever dared oppose him, but today he surprised her by shaking his head, no.
"Ha ha, don't look so disappointed. My beautiful, bloodthirsty baby." He laughed, lowering his face so he could press a limb-melting kiss to her ruby-red lips. "Damn, it kinda turns me on. If you start killing people, well, I'm afraid you're going to make me hard--"
"Puddin'!" She laughed gleefully, making him chuckle too. "Stop! You're teasing me."
The sound of his beautiful laughter always filled her heart with pure, unrivalled joy.
Gazing up into his handsome face she felt suddenly overcome with emotion -- as she was so inclined to often do -- and she swooped-up, catching his mouth with hers once more. She enjoyed taking him by surprise, and used the element of surprise to her advantage, enjoying how tactile and overtly sexual he was being today.
It was just like the old days. How it had always been, for the first few years of their seven year relationship.
They broke from the kiss, and Joker cleared his throat softly. "Seriously though, there's no need to shoot him." He explained calmly, as he stood by the open exit, his gun still pointed in the general direction of the hostages.
"There isn't?"
"Nope. Not today...Okay come on guys, hurry it up. Time to make like a banana...and split!"
Obediently, his gang of goons all headed outside; returning to their numerous getaway cars, that were parked a strangely absurd distance away up the street from Gotham National Bank.
Harleen could tell that they were all equally mystified and disgruntled at having to leave their bounty behind, and she could understand, but they weren't about to question the Joker's reasoning. To do that would prove fatal.
"Right, now listen up you bunch of ass-kissing pen-pushers....you wait in here until you count to a hundred, you got that? Not 98, or 99, 'cause I swear to fuckin' God two of my boys will be waiting right outside this door, and will blow your fuckin' heads off, if you try to leave this building before you've counted to a hundred. You got it?"
Satisfied that his scare tactic would work, as it had so many times before, Joker stepped outside, Harleen following close behind.
He pulled a cigarette from his gold cigarette case; engraved with the initials J H.
The case was a gift from Harleen, given to him on their one year anniversary of being an item. Their anniversary being that fateful night when he'd arrived at her trailer, having searched her out with bloody vengeance in mind.
Instead she'd explained everything to him, her reasons for not having been able to make contact with him, and then she'd sworn loyalty to him.
It was a memorable night indeed, which had culminated in Joker ravishing her like a feral beast.
He was a feral beast, but sadly not so much in the bedroom -- or any other room for that matter -- these days.
Their relationship had blossomed, much like they themselves had evolved.
For the first few years they'd been inseparable. She was the Bonnie to his Clyde, and he the peanut butter to her jelly.
They'd made love whenever and wherever they got the opportunity, and the sex had been wildly fantastic. Passionate, spontaneous, kinky and sometimes a little weird, but always fantastic.
However these days Joker was more busy than ever, and his constant plotting and scheming often meant he was too distracted by work to engage in mere carnal pursuits.
Now sex was more of a weekly thing, rather than a daily occurrence.
Hell, sometimes it had occurred three or four times a day, so the change was admittedly taking some adjusting to.
But Harleen had adjusted.
Joker was the centre of her universe. She'd do anything for him.
She'd walk a million miles for one of his smiles.
He'd been true to his word.
He did want her. Perhaps even needed her.
But he still hadn't ever said that he loved her, which broke her heart more than just a little, but what could she do?
He'd been brutally honest from the start and told her he couldn't love her.
He couldn't love anyone.
Still, she found comfort in the little things.
The way he'd kept the cigarette case for instance; which was now slightly beaten-up from years of excessive use, and all the scrapes he'd gotten into with it.
But still he kept it, which must mean something, she figured.
Or at least, she hoped.
The initials were his and hers, seeing as she knew better than to have his old initials, A F engraved onto it.
He'd told her he loved it, having their initials on the case instead of it being done the conventional way.
So if he loved that...then surely he could love her someday?
"D'you need a light, puddin'?" She offered, searching the pockets of her teasingly short shorts for a spare cigarette lighter.
He shook his head, a twisted smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "It's okay, baby. I'll have one in a few seconds."
She frowned but still continued to smile, as he laced an arm around her waist. "A few seconds?"
"Aha, in fact..." Glancing down at his watch once more, he suddenly broke into a run, urging her onwards. "Any second...now."
Hurrying to keep up with the pace he'd set, she ran alongside him, just managing to make it to their awaiting car, before a deafening, thunderous boom almost perforated her eardrums.
She gave a startled squeal, momentarily too shocked to comprehend what could have possibly just happened.
The bank had gone up in flames. Well, what was left of the bank.
It appeared that a devastating explosion had reduced the Victorian building to little more than a burning pile of crumbling bricks and debris.
She stared open-mouthed, her palms pressed against the cool glass of the passenger side window, as the car sped away from the scene.
Laughter, genuine and unrestrained, filled the interior of the small vehicle. She slowly turned her head to see her beloved cracking up, as he ran numerous red stop signs in order to get away from the carnage he'd caused, as quickly as possible.
"See, I told you there was no point shooting that guy." He laughed uncontrollably, tears of malicious mirth rolling down his cheeks, smudging his greasepaint.
"Yeah why waste bullets, huh?" She chuckled, making him laugh harder. "But you couldn't have got a light off that. It would've melted your makeup clean off. Here..." having found the lighter, she reached across and slipped the cigarette from his mouth. "Allow me."
"Aw, thank you my little pumpkin pie."
She lit the cigarette, took a long drag on it, then leaned back over and carefully placed it between his devilish red lips.
"But..puddin'....Jack was still in there. And that new guy, what's his name? Falcon."
"Falco." He corrected, grinning impishly. "I took him on 'cause he was an explosives expert. He did a pretty good job don't ya think?"
She nodded, giggling again. "He sure did, and I guess he was only needed for the one job, right?"
"Right."
Her smile wavered then, as the startling realisation began to dawn on her. The severity of the situation.
"But Jack....he'd been with you for so long. Right from the start. Didn't he find the circus when you were looking for me?"
Joker huffed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah so? Look at it this way...I've saved him a trip to the dentist. I've always considered it to be a fate worse than death."
He glanced over at his lady, but she was no longer laughing. Hadn't even cracked a smile, at his attempt at a bad joke.
"Godammit, don't give me that look!"
"What look?"
"You know the look. The one that reminds me of Bambi watching his mother get shot!"
"This isn't about Bambi's mom though, puddin'. This is Jack we're talking about. He was...he was your friend. And you didn't shoot him, you blew him up! Which is a bit harsh don't ya think?"
She jumped as he aggressively slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
"He disrespected me, Harley. You heard what he said. He made a mockery of me in front of everybody. He's an idiot! He should've known better."
In spite of his seething anger, a noticeable lone tear streaked its way down over the high-arch of his cheekbone; causing the blue point that was painted around his eye to become further elongated.
"A-Arthur--"
"Don't ever call me that!" He snapped, furiously. His velvety voice hardening like barbed wire. "Don't you dare call me that...(y/n)!"
He fought the impulse to back-hand her across the mouth. He didn't want to hurt her but his rage often clouded his judgment, and made him lose his already slack grip on his fiery temper. He had slapped her once before, and he wasn't proud of it. On the contrary he had been deeply ashamed, ashamed enough to want to punish himself, and his left wrist still bore the small, round mark of a self-inflicted cigarette burn.
But in the midst of his blinding rage, he wasn't in his right mind; not that he'd ever been in it, but the point was he was less so lately, than ever before.
It unsettled him knowing that her beautiful (e/c) eyes staring back at him innocently were the only thing in that moment which saved her infuriatingly pretty lips from connecting with his knuckles.
"See, how do you like it?" He ground the words out, like a petulant toddler throwing a tantrum. "You don't like being called (y/n), do you."
Harleen flinched. She shouldn't have dead-named him in such a way, but she always knew when she saw that one, single, lonely teardrop, that that was Arthur, or what was left of Arthur, clawing his way out. Trying to fight his way back up to the surface, where Joker would then push him back down, every time.
There was no doubt that Harleen loved Joker.
But she had also loved Arthur.
Or rather at least, (y/n) had been in love with Arthur.
And sometimes she truly missed him.
He was the small part which kept Joker as humane as possible, but he was also that part of him which allowed him to feel.
And as Joker became more powerful, more volatile, and violent, he perceived Arthur as a threat. The weak link which could break the lucrative chain of his command, his dominance, over the city and his clown army, and even Harleen.
Being feared brought Joker respect, the kind of which Arthur could never dare hope to have. And with respect and fear, came power.
Power and control.
Harleen understood this, but had called him Arthur regardless, as if hoping to appeal to that softer, calmer, gentler side to his tempestuous nature.
Despite knowing that it would incense him, she couldn't help feeling racked with guilt.
"I-I'm sorry Mister J, it's just....Jack only mocked you in the first place because of me." She said in a small voice, timid eyes traversing his face as he stared, unblinking, at the road ahead.
"I was going to shoot him in the face."
"I did expect you to, to be honest--"
"Maybe I should've just shot you instead." He interrupted, coldly.
His harsh words pierced her heart like a well-aimed arrow, making her crumple slightly in her seat.
"P-puddin'! You...you don't mean that."
"Don't I?" He briefly turned his scathing gaze on her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "If you don't wanna find out for sure....then don't call me puddin' again in public. Have you got that, dumbass?"
"Y-yeah, I got it." She agreed, sadly.
He'd never threatened her outright like this before, and it chilled her to the bone, and made her heart ache profusely. Tears threatened to spring forth from her eyes, but she fought the need to cry, not wanting to dare get on his very last nerve.
A heavy silence enveloped the car, holding them within it's tightening grasp; making Harleen feel stiflingly trapped, almost suffocated, as if the steel contraption was closing in around her.
That was until Joker burst into a shrill, bone-chilling laugh.
"Hey, come on Harley-girl. Why so serious?" He used his free hand to gently tug one of her pigtails, playfully. "We just blew up a shitload of money and priceless diamonds just for the fun of it."
She nodded, a weak smile parting her lips. "You did it because you could, right Mister J?"
"Exactly. Because I could."
His large hand dropped to her thigh, suggestively running up and along its length; caressing her skin in a way which lit a fire in her belly, sending out waves of pleasure to every nerve-ending and muscle.
"Wanna go someplace and....celebrate?" His seductive drawl made her shiver, and she squealed with unabashed delight.
Perhaps the good old days weren't over.
"Ooh, puddin'. What have you got in mind?"
"Whatever you like, baby. It'll do us good to take some time off. Maybe go away for a couple' days, get away from this shithole, spend all night making love."
Making love. He always said making love, when really he ought to have said fucking, because as she couldn't help remembering, he didn't love her.
But....she wasn't about to throw that in his face right now. Not after he'd only just calmed down, and besides his offer was way too good to refuse.
"Really? You mean it?" Her face lit up. "But what about work?"
"Christ, Harley. Anyone would think you don't wanna go--!"
"Oh no, I definitely do!" She exclaimed, excitedly, and without thinking manoeuvred herself onto his lap, and began showering his face with kisses.
"Harley for fucks sake! Are you trying to get us both killed before we even reach the freeway!"
Ignoring his protests and profanities, as the car swerved haphazardly from lane to lane, her tinkling laughter tickled his ears.
Man, it was a good thing he adored her.
"Fuck you, asshat! The Joker and his lady are coming through!" She yelled through the open window at a driver who'd honked his horn in disapproval.
Joker erupted into another fit of hysterical laughter, as he rearranged himself so that he could see over Harleen's shoulder.
"You're crazy, Harley-girl."
"Which is why you love me...that is, if you did love me, that's what makes me so lovable." She quickly corrected herself.
"I'm sure you're right, honey."
Pulling into a gas station to refuel the car, Joker paused before alighting the vehicle, so that he could kiss her deeply.
"Please don't make me mad at you again. I hate getting mad at you, pumpkin pie." His eyes slid shut as he rested his forehead against hers. The gesture so disarmingly sweet, so tender, so surprisingly intimate.
Threading her arms around his neck, Harleen revelled in the sweet delicacy of the perfect moment. Of it being just the two of them, here together, to the exclusion of all else. No work, no goons, no problems, no worries.
"Okay puddin'. I promise I'll try not to."
"Atta girl."
"I love you so much."
"I know you do, baby. I know you do."