Tears of a Clown

She remembered the instant her life had ended. She remembered every detail of it so clearly that it seemed as if time had slowed down just so she could notice everything. She remembered her life up until that point, the feeling of certainty, of security, that same feeling of happiness and reassurance that made her smile as she stood outside the movie theater, gazing proudly at the writing in big letters on the marquee Joker: The Immortal. No one could put on a show like her puddin'. Bat-brain was in there with him now, and they were probably having one of their battles, with Mr. J soliloquizing and joking, running the show as usual, and the Bat as the supporting act, who would jump and dance on cue, like a trained monkey. Mr. J had set all this up – well, not that he had intended to get sick, of course. But once he realized he was, he immediately began making plans, plans that would not only save him from this terrible disease, but also make him into a man who would never be able to die. Yes, the past several months had been so stressful, so horrible, so uncertain, but they were all over now. The Bat had found the cure, and Mr. J was going to get it, and everything would go back to normal. And Mr. J would live forever, and never leave her. Not ever.

She smiled at the thought. The door to the movie theater opened at that instant, and a figure stepped forward, cradling another figure in its arms. Harley saw who it was, and time suddenly stopped. Her life stopped. She died in that instant, that moment of realization, that the figure Batman was carrying gently in his arms was her puddin', her Mr. J. And he wasn't immortal. He was dead.

She couldn't react. She felt as if she had died too, frozen to the spot, hands held over her mouth, clasped in a kind of prayer, as if begging whatever god could hear her for this not to be true. Batman didn't look at her as he carried Joker's body over to a police car, laying it down on the hood. He didn't speak as he turned away and strode off. For a moment, everything was still. And then the pain sliced through her, sudden and agonizing and overwhelming.

She shrieked, throwing herself forward and embracing the body tightly. "No!" she screamed in agony. "No, no, no! No, no, please, oh God, please, no, Mr. J!" she gasped, shaking him gently. "C'mon puddin', wake up! Oh God, please, please wake up! You can't die, baby, you can't, you promised…you promised you wouldn't leave me, puddin'! Oh please, Mr. J, this ain't funny! This ain't funny, puddin'! Oh God, no! Please, please no! Mr. J!"

She felt herself being dragged away from him, although she fought and struggled desperately to cling on. "Mr. J!" she screamed. "You can't leave me, puddin'! You can't leave me alone! Mr. J! Please don't do this, puddin'! Please don't…oh God, Mr. J!"

She didn't remember anything after that, for the agony ripped apart her mind and all she could remember was pain. Sharp, stinging, burning, freezing, choking, agonizing pain, flooding out her vision and her voice, drowing her in red. She dimly remembered a cell, probably some psychiatric ward, because the next thing she remembered was a voice calling a name. A name unfamiliar to her.

"Dr. Quinzel? Dr. Quinzel? Harleen? Can you hear me?"

"Call me Harley," she murmured. "Everyone does."

A sigh of relief. "She's conscious, at least. And responsive. Dr. Quinzel, you can hear me, can't you? Respond if you can."

"Harley Quinn," she whispered. "My name is Harley Quinn."

Silence. "Dr. Quinzel, you've had a terrible shock, but you're better now," said the voice, quietly. "You need to try to relax…"

"Puddin'," she breathed suddenly, sitting up with a start in the hospital bed. "Where's Mr. J? Where is he? What have you done with him? He's fine, isn't he? It was all a gag, right? Had to be, of course it was! Mr. J couldn't be…couldn't really be…"

Silence again. "Dr. Quinzel, the Joker is dead," murmured the voice, quietly. "His body is currently housed in the hospital morgue. But I don't recommend that you think about…"

"He ain't dead!" she shrieked. "He can't be dead, he promised me he'd be ok! This is just a joke, but it's not funny, and he needs to cut it out right now! He ain't…"

She choked on a sob. "Dr. Quinzel…"

"It's Harley!" she shrieked. "Harley Quinn! You get it?! The Joker's Harley Quinn! And I don't believe he's dead! You're lying, you're all lying, just like doctors always do! I don't believe it! I won't!"

"Harley…"

"I wanna see him! Now! I won't believe you until I see him! My puddin' ain't dead! He can't be dead! He's gonna live forever! He's gonna be Joker, the Immortal, and then you'll be sorry for saying crap like that about him! He'll make you pay! He'll make you all pay!"

The doctor who sat by her bedside shared a look with the two guards also standing by, and nodded. "I think it would be best if she confronts the truth. The sooner she accepts it, the sooner she can begin her recovery. Right this way, Dr. Quinzel."

There was a guard on either side of her, following the doctor, as he led her down the hospital corridors and into the morgue in the basement. Opening the door, she smelled death. She was used to that smell – Mr. J often killed henchmen randomly for no reason, and sometimes she just left the bodies there for a few days because she had better things to do with her time than clean up after him. The other smell was worse, the smell of formaldehyde, of sterile chemicals which seemed so out of place and insulting in the very natural process of death. It scared Harley, and she paused on the threshold.

The guards shoved her inside, and the doctor gestured to a slab in the center of the room. There he lay, the Clown Prince of Crime, with an eternal smile on his still, lifeless face.

Harley stared at him, completely numb. Then the pain came on again, overwhelming and agonizing, as if someone was stabbing her repeatedly in the heart. She fell backward with a sob, and a guard seized either arm.

"No, let her go," said the doctor. "Let her confront the truth. It will be painful, but pain is the only way to grow stonger, and overcoming the pain is essential for any hope of recovery. Look, Dr. Quinzel. The Joker is dead. Your mind need no longer be enslaved to him. He is gone, and you are free."

Harley couldn't respond – she couldn't take her eyes off his body. The doctor gently lay a hand on her shoulder. "I know you were a victim of his, Dr. Quinzel, like so many others. You convinced yourself that you were in love with him, but that is not true. You were being manipulated by a very clever and evil man, but he is dead now. It is over. You need no longer be Harley Quinn. You can return to Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a confident, strong, independent young woman with a life, a good life, a productive life, a normal life. There is no reason to be dominated by madness anymore."

Harley turned to him and smiled. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes, you're right, Doctor. How could I not have seen it before? My entire life has been a delusion, my love just a figment of my imagination. I could never have realized it without your wisdom and insight. Thank you for freeing me from the grip of insanity. How can I ever repay you?" she asked, hugging him.

"That's not necessary, Dr. Quinzel," he replied. "It's just a pleasure to know we were right about your rehabilitation. It's one of the many wonderful things that has come from the Joker's demise. If only it had happened a long time ago, many innocent lives could have been spared."

"Oh, there must be something I can do," murmured Harley. "It's not every doctor who's as astute and insightful as you. How'd you get to be so smart, Doc? Bet you got an awful lot of brains up there. Let's see, shall we?"

And without warning, she seized the doctor by the hair and slammed his face down onto the slab, beating it repeatedly into the metal as the blood flew everywhere. The guards rushed to pull her away, but she dodged them, leaping up to kick one in the face and punching the other. She seized one of their knives and threw it into the throat of the nearest guard, then slammed the other's head back with her foot, delighting in the satisfying crack as his neck broke. Then she ripped the doctor's head up again. "Who's the victim now, Doc?" she hissed into his ear. "Feel stronger now, do you? You deserve this, you all deserve this, for letting him die! You think I'm crazy now – you just wait. Mr. J's gonna be real proud of me. This is for you, my love," she whispered.

And she slammed his head down again, breaking his face on the metal. She tossed the body away, and turned once again to face the corpse of the Joker. She suddenly started laughing hysterically. "That was just smashing, huh, Mr. J?" she laughed.

She stopped laughing just as suddenly as she had started. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not funny," she murmured. "Not like you, puddin'. Always joking, always smiling, always making me laugh, what am I gonna do now? I don't think I'll ever laugh again. You wouldn't want that, would you, puddin'? You wouldn't want me to ever stop smiling, would you, baby? But see, the thing is, Mr. J, it just hurts so much. Not like when you hurt me, puddin', that kinda hurt I enjoy, but this is real bad. I think it will probably kill me in the end. You wouldn't want that, would you, puddin'? You wouldn't want me to die, not when I have…not when I have…your baby inside me, Mr. J," she murmured.

She knelt down next to the slab. "See, I know I gotta live, Mr. J," she murmured, stroking back his hair. "I gotta live for little J.J.'s sake, and for your sake. Gotta get revenge on the doctors, the cops, the Bat, all of them, for you. But the thing is, puddin', I don't know if I can. I don't know if I'm strong enough to survive without you. And I don't just mean emotionally, although I don't know about that either. But I mean…I mean physically strong enough to survive…see, the truth is…the truth is…I'm scared, puddin'," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

"I was never scared with you, baby," she murmured. "When I was with you, I was safe and sound. You looked after me, puddin', and protected me. But now that you're gone, the guys…the guys don't respect me, puddin'. They never respected me, 'cause they were never really afraid of me, not like they were of you. They think I'm just your dumb blonde floozy. I've heard them talking, when they thought I wasn't listening. They think I'm crazy. No, worse, they think I'm stupid. Just like everyone else. They think I'm…"

She sobbed. "You were the only one, Mr. J," she whispered. "The only one who never thought I was stupid. You were the only one who understood me, and respected me, and trusted me enough to depend on me. I'm so sorry I let you down, baby. I didn't mean to…if there was anything I could have done…I…but there wasn't, baby. I couldn't help you, I couldn't save you, not from this," she whispered, touching his face. And her eyes narrowed suddenly.

"But I can help you now. I can be strong. I can avenge you. I will, puddin', I swear it. For your sake, I'll find the strength to live. For your sake, and your baby's sake, I'll live the rest of my life. But I'll always be yours, puddin'. The Joker's Harley Quinn, now and forever. And I won't fail this time, baby. You can trust your Harley girl."

She climbed up onto the slab and lay down next to the corpse. She gently put one of his arms over her, and cuddled into the still, cold, lifeless body, burying her face in his chest. It was terrible not to hear a heartbeat, not to feel his breath, to not be clasped gently by a living, breathing, warm person but rather to be weighed down by a heavy, ice cold corpse. But there was his smiling face, still and peaceful, as it always had been in sleep. His eyes shut, his red lips turned up in a grin, as beautiful as ever. Harley kissed his cold lips tenderly, then snuggled into his chest as she tried to ignore the icy coldness that surrounded and penetrated her body. "Goodnight, puddin'," she whispered, shutting her eyes.