Authors Note:

Well... I'm back! And I'm here to write MORE!

So - just to share... I met our real life Joker! Jared Leto is quite amazing to meet. And when you meet him, it's a little intimidating as he focuses on just YOU. Those blue eyes did not disappoint. He stared straight into my soul lol He is incredibly sweet! And I can't wait to meet him again.

As for my chapter... this is the longest chapter I've done. And I want to warn you... this one is a little bit slow, as I'd like to remind, this is a Harley origin. And how Joker and her create that bond. So I must develop her character the best I can.

Also, my Penguin is none other than the Oswald from the TV series, Gotham!

Please note that there will probably be typos. This chapter was first written on paper, and I just wanted to get this typed out and posted asap. So I'll be fixing my mistakes later.

I also suggest re-reading this entire story over to refresh your memory. Because I will make this promise now... I will be posting a chapter at least once a month. More if work permits! Though, I do have some of the next chapter already written. So that will be posted sooner than you think!

Thank you for being loyal followers! And enjoy!

CHAPTER 17

The sound of the consistant typing and abnoxious generic phone rings woke Harley from her short slumber.

Harley slowly opened her dry eyes, rapidly blinking them to gain focus. Her back ached, and felt like a train hit her... twice. For a split second, she didn't know where she was. It was then when she shook her head and sat straight up, that it all came flooding into her already over-worked brain.

Her apartment. Joker. Batman. Nightwing. Poilce Department.

Police Department.

"Uggghhh." Harley let out a deep and ugly guttoral moan as she cupped her forehead in her palm. The cold metal bench that she briefly fell asleep on, had no mercy on her already bruised and scraped back.

Harley was at the GCPD in a holding cell - where she involuntarily spent the night. Thanks to Gotham's so-called heroes, Batman and Nightwing.

Harley was assured numerous times that she wasn't in any trouble - but simply needed to get the story set. Legally, the GCPD could hold her for up to twenty-four hours before they must charge her with a crime. At this point, being caught in the presence of Joker - she was a talked about suspect. So she could have the possibilty of being held for thirty-six hours.

Fantastic.

Harley already had a story to back her up. Joker broke in and caught her by surprise. End of story. It wasn't the first time that Joker went after his past Doctors when he was admitted to Arkham and broke free. The only problem... he would kill them. Hense why no other soul would dare to take on Joker's case. They would have to be brave indeed.

And here she is. Alive and... cranky. And that right there was the flaw in her claims. Doctor Harleen Quinzel lived to tell the story. And Joker didn't like his stories told. No matter how brief they were.

But... she wasn't fully lying anyway. That was the god honest truth! She just wouldn't mention the bond that she's developed for this dangerous man. But other than that - the truth. Easy peasy!

The three holding cells resided to the right side within the GCPD building - right next to all of the spontanious placed desks - where dozens of officers and receptionists continued to tirelessly work on the safty of Gotham City.

Harley stood up, and pressed her flushed face between the bars of her imprisionment.

"Heyyyyy!" She extended her arm out, trying to get ones attention. "Hey, you! Yeah, you! What's it gonna take for an innocent girl here ta getta shower? And did I mention..." Harley then squinted her eyes closed in agitation, and screeched as loud as she could, "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"

That caught more than ones attention, as Harley's voice echoed over the already noisey department. A few startled heads turned her way to see where the commotion came from. Including a taller and concerned looking man.

As this more prominent gentleman made his way towards Harley, she began to notice his simple, yet fluid movements that separated him from any other trained officer in the building.

She began to observe.

Definitely a cop. The sandy-colored hair mixed with a tinge of gray confirmed his experience. The way the staff acknowledged him with either a half salute or a head nod as he walked by - secured his rank. His thick mustache curled into a subtle smile, and his weary hazel eyes hid behind black wire-framed glasses. And man, oh, man - did those eyes have stories to tell. Dedication, warmth... secrets. Seemed like everyone in Gotham had some form of secret though. So nothing unexpected.

This man's voice seeped of authority - but nothing like Joker's. Joker's was controlled, sure of whatever came into context. But the man that stood before Harley, his instead was firm, yet unsure of the outcome.

"My name is Gordon." He kindly expressed. "And Miss Quinzel, we're going as fast as we can to get this resolved. Your safety is our primary concern."

"Ah." Harley playfully smirked. "The infamous Commissioner Gordon! It's certainly a pleasure to meetcha!"

For a split second, Gordon looked baffled, but quickly composed himself. This did not seem like the same Doctor Harleen Quinzel that was treating the Joker. She was a bit... too comfortable with the situation? Or maybe Doctor Quinzel just lives up to her newfound reputation - of being a strong and confident woman. Maybe that is why she's lived through the recent nightmares that have been cursed upon her.

"As you may know - the situation at Arkham is very serious. Many escaped through the practically destroyed historic building." Gordon continued as he pulled out a thick memo pad from his dark brown blazer pocket, as he read from it. "One known as Bradbury. George Harkness - also known as, Captain Boomerang. Christopher Weiss - also known as, Slipknot."

Harley pursed her lips and a faint lisp came from her lips. Gordon noticed this, stopped, and waited for her to respond - as that's what she was itching to do.

"Oh, Mistah Gordon - those inmates are practically harmless compared to most that are treated there. The last two weren't even supposed ta be there. Instead, they were just bein' seen by the Psychiatric hospital in the ward that we provide in Arkham. Since no one in the public medical field would accept any kinda criminal through their doors."

Gordon eyed Harley over - she was almost making excuses for these criminals. Gordon has mingled with some of the Doctors in Arkham in the past, and they were very passionate about their patients... could this possibly be the case with Doctor Quinzel? That she was just passionate? Gordon was having a hard time reading this woman, and his suspicions grew. But curiosity overplayed his anticipation, and decided to just go along with what Harley was saying. Hoping to coax something out of her that he could work with.

"I see, Doctor. That compared to even the Joker - that these inmates are not as intimidating or destructive as him. But... still pose a threat to my city." Gordon cleared his throat as he glanced at his memo pad once more. "Jonathan Crane." His voice stearner now. "Also known as, Scarecrow."

This name sent a spark through Harley. "Yes. I know Jonathan." Her demeanor finally relaxing. "I've had a few sessions with him in the past. He's a very brilliant man."

Harley's thoughts then driffted to one of the occasional encounters that she had shared with Jonathan Crane.

The Arkham cafeteria was as bland as the processed food that they served. The sterile light was enough to blend the blanch floors to the walls - and the walls to the celing. Rows of elongated beige tables with connecting benches stretched across the way.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel casually walked in, passing through the numerous guards posted in every enterance to the room. Employees weren't permitted to eat lunch with the inmates. Instead, there was a seperate employee lunch room. But Harleen was always the odd ball out of the entire staff - she liked getting to know her patients when not in a therapy room. A simple lunch was better patient and Doctor bonding than any therapy room where you were required to ask mostly bleak medical questions. And she had grown quite fond of Jonathan Crane's conversations. He wasn't even one of Harleen's main patients, but she would mostly fill in for Doctors that would come and go with treating Jonathan Crane. She almost felt bad for him at times, as most Doctors would simply deem Jonathan as insane with no possible recovery. Therefore, Doctor after Doctor would come and go with Jonathan's so-called treatments. He was still one of Harleen's favorites though - and sometimes made her work bearable on some days.

Harleen looked around the room, her white lab coat hung loosey over her black pencil skirt, and maroon button-up shirt. Hair tied back, she pushed her glasses upon the bridge of her nose as she scanned the room of the the mumbling patients.

There sat Jonathan Crane. At the farthest corner of the room, and as distant from any human lifeform as possible - Jonathan sat before his tray of uneaten slop with his eyes glued to the out-of-date television that hung above him.

As Harleen's black heels clicked beneath her, always giving away of her arrival - she approached Jonathan from behind; carrying her own tray of fresh pasta and salad. So without a glance, Jonathan expressed his enthusiasm as much as he were capable of. "Oh. Harleen. Always such a pleasure to be in your presence."

His voice was cool, flat, and lacked any pitch other than a stable monotone that would put anyone to sleep if he were to talk long enough.

But Harleen found his conversation entertaining. And even though Jonathan wouldn't express it directly, she knew that he enjoyed hers as well.

A slender man, with calm green eyes that off-set his thick deep-brown hair that spontaneously laid in his face - was definitely not a physical manifestation that would scream murderer.

Harleen let a light laugh slip as she circled around to the other side of the table, and sat her tray down in front of Jonathan.

"Your rapture is so boggling. I'm honored!" Harleen purposely over exaggerated.

Jonathan slowly inhaled as he gently pulled down the sleeves of his dark blue Arkham sweater. "You're blocking my view, woman."

"Oops! Sorry!" As Harleen plopped more than necessary onto the stiff bench, she pushed her tray towards Jonathan. A once in a while ritual of theirs, as she knew that the patient food was absolutely terrible.

Jonathan picked at the salad with his plastic spork. "And I would greatly welcome the Rapture palooza - because then that means, I would be free to roam Hell on Earth."

"You are just full of charm, Jonathan. I always enjoy it." Harleen smiled.

Jonathan raised his eyebrow. "Do you always draw white lies to set the mood, Harleen?"

Harleen held her head high, as if his words were a praise. "The truly intelligent person is one who can pretend to be a fool, in front of a fool, who pretends to be intelligent."

Jonathan finally locked eyes with Harleen, and a frail smile graced his face. "This is why I like you, Harleen. You should go into Politics. You'd fit right in."

Harleen chuckled as Jonathan continued, "People wonder whether the glass is half empty or half full are missing the point. The glass is REFILLABLE. And you, Harleen - I know likes a refill."

"Yup." Harleen chirped. "With a nice glass of a fine red wine."

Jonathan scrunched his nose. "Try some fine aged Brandy. Oh, how I miss the smooth taste of that stimulating liquid as I chose my next subject to bestow my toxin. So many fearful subjects I had to cure."

"Such beautiful inspiration. You should really see a shrink." Harleen joked.

Jonathan looked over at her with judging eyes.

"But hey!" Harley continued as she reached into her lab coat to pull out a worn-looking book who has seen better days. "I may not have Brandy, but I did find that novel that you asked for. Had to dig deep in my storage."

Jonathan took the book graciously and flipped through the pages, clearly satisfied.

"Anyway," Harleen exclaimed as she stood up, "I must be going. Doctor Flimmel has a new patient for me today. Apparently it's a special case - as he expressed that he wasn't inclined to even give me a name yet."

"You should be my primary Doctor, Harleen." Jonathan mumbled with his nose still baried within his new book. "Then I wouldn't be slowly dying of boredom. The lack of intellect within these walls are depressing."

"I'll work towards it." Harleen then gave a genuine smile, patted Jonathan on the shoulder, and proceeded to her office.

"Miss Quinzel?"

Harley shook her head as Gordon's voice broke through her haze of memories.

"So please, Doctor. I know you've already provided your statement, but can you tell me exactly what happened last night? I'd like to hear it, if you don't mind."

Harley knew that if she wanted to get out of here, she needed to play her Doctor part.

Deeply inhaling, Harley put on her professional mask. "As I had told ya, Mistah Gordon. Joker and his goons broke inta my apartment. We exchanged a few words - of course, as I was trying to textbook my way to safety. And that's when Batman and his pansy sidekick trashed my place! I had it calmly under control until our vigilante showed up."

Gordon pierced his lips, and wondered if this woman had a death wish, or she was just overly confident. "No one ever has the Joker under control. What did he say to you?"

Harley pushed her lips to the side as her mind quickly brewed up a fabrication. "Only that he wanted to talk. I assume he was just lonely." UGH! Harley mentally bashed herself for that lame excuse. Was that really the best that she could come up with? He was lonely? Ha!

"Any idea of his whereabouts now?" Gordon pushed.

"Nope. Batman surely made certain to ruin that chance."

"Any indication you might think that the Joker would try to contact you again?"

"Not ah chance."

"Why do you think that?"

"Blame Batman. Who would want to come back after some guy tried to feed ya a mouthful of steel rubber?"

"So why didn't the Joker kill you? That's a little out of his element. Don't you think, Doctor?"

'He's prying. Testing me.' Harley thought.

"Sir. I've been his Doctor for months. That is the most anyone could ever say about Joker. And I can give my honest and professional opinion... He is not coming back after last nights incident. This was a spontaneous visit from a deranged man." Harley's own words stung as she lied. "And after what he did to me in Arkham, I'd rather not experience another visit."

Gordon eyed Harley through the dull chrome jail bars, "After everything he did inflict upon you, Doctor... I wouldn't want to see that man after such torture either. He is definitely not looking out for your well being. I also wouldn't want to go looking for him either. That is... to try to 'talk' to an apparently lonely individual as you observed. From a Doctor's point of view towards her patient, that is."

Harley's body went slightly ridged. And the fire in her eyes dulled to nothing more than smoke now.

Her jaw protruded. 'He suspected something.' Harley's thoughts spun around.

Gordon had no evidence. It was her word against his. Absolutely no one knew exactly what happened that night. No one but her, Joker, and his loyal army.

"In that case, Miss Quinzel." Gordon then opened the cell door to her freedom. "You're lucky to have good friends in high places. Especially those whom I respect dearly. And Doctor..."

Harley stopped and turned to face Gordon.

"Please be careful. This pattern is not the usual for the Joker. He comes back to finish the job." Concern washed over his face. "You're a good Doctor. A good person. One of the few left in Gotham. And I'd hate to see you make the wrong choices."

And just like that, Gordon had disappeared in the messy chaos within the station.

Harley just stood there, absorbing Gordon's words. They had caught her off guard. His words spoke to her in a way that she was not used to. Someone who apparently treated her with respect, was apart of the law and order, and didn't once insult or antagonize her. Though Harley felt that Gordon didn't fully trust her - she could feel his genuine concern for her. It was refreshing.

'But stupid on his bahalf' She thought.

Suddenly, Harley's trance was broken with a familiar voice. "Harleen! Oh, thank goodness you're okay!"

Dick materialized from the crowded work stations.

"Was it you?" Harley huffed. "Did you get me out?"

"Well... yes, of course! You didn't do anything wrong!" Dick exclaimed. "Uh... did you?"

Harley - without thinking, launched herself at Dick to embrace him in a full hug.

And yet another man that was good to her. Harley thought the world must be burning over - because this was definitely the Twilight Zone.

"Oh! Thank you, Mistah Grayson! I owe ya one!" Even though Harley did not particularly like the fact about owing anyone, but she was desperate to escape the foul stench of the GCPD.

Dick chuckled, "That you do!"

Harley instantly retorted from her embrace. "Whoops! Sorry! It's been over twenty-four hours since I've hadda shower!"

"Yeah..." Dick cringed his nose, "I wasn't going to say anything."

Harley playfully smacked his arm. "Ya better not, ya ooff!"

"Let's get you home."

Dick gave Harley a ride home. His car was even more luxurious and exotic than the one Bruce Wayne had shown her at the Gala party that one night. But of course it was - rich men and their drivable machinery. Even Joker was known to have an especially noticable purple Lamborghini that wrecked havoc on the streets. Harley rolled her eyes to herself
as she sat on the white plush seats of the confining sports car. But now, her new soul began to appreciate the power
behind these glamorous vehicles. The damage you could do, the speeds you were capable of - it was exhilarating just thinking about the thrill.

The ride with Dick was somewhat annoying to Harley though. He mostly asked the same questions as Gordon, and she gave the same answers. But she owed him at least that much for rescuing her from a possibly even longer interrogation at the GCPD.

"So..." Dick continued as he drove. "What's Batman like? I've never crossed paths with our vigilante hero."

"He's clumsy. Trashed my whole apartment!" Harley threw her arms up in exaggeration. "I mean, was his destructive entrance that necessary? I mean, really! I don't even know how I'm gonna fix everything. Do ya know if Batman has insurance?"

"Yeah, I heard of the ruin of your residence on the news. But I'm here taking you to pack a few bags from your place so
we can take you to a safe house. I've got a crew to fix your apartment. Until then, and the authorities deem you safe,
you will be some place secure. Now... what was Nightwing like?"

"Wait!" Harley shot. "What do ya mean I'm goin to a safe house? And you paid for my place to be fixed?"

"Yeah." Dick said, almost dismissive. "Now, about Nightwing..."

"Thank you, Mistah Grayson! Now I definitely owe ya!"

"I'll remember that." Dick winked.

Harley snorted. "An Nightwing is a tard."

Dick slightly swerved the car, but quickly corrected himself. "Well that is an interesting choice of words. Why? What did he do?"

"He forced me into a bathroom after I hit him with a bat?"

"Why did you do that?!"

"He helped Batman trash my place! And who knows? If those damn Waffle-Heads didn't barge in, I coulda gotten some useful info outta Mistah J."

Dick laughed as he imitated Harley's accent, "Mistah J?"

Harley's eyes flashed as she quickly corrected her mistake. "That's what I called him in the Asylum. I've just gotten used to it."

"Regardless, Harleen. You shouldn't be hitting masked heroes with bats." Dick chuckled. "They're the good guys, you know."

Harley's instincts sharpened as she glanced at Dick. His last sentence stirred Dejavu, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Getting visits from Crime Lords, hitting vigilantes with bats... what am I going to do with you?" Dick mused.

Harley chimed in with Dicks amusement.

"Really though," He continued. "Nightwing didn't deserve that. I only assume he was trying to protect you."

"Perhaps."

"I heard he's a handsome fellow. What do you think?"

"Are ya gay or somethin? Because I wouldn't mind havin a shopping partner."

"What?! No. Nooo... Just trying to make conversation. Don't women like to talk about handsome and mysterious men
in masks and stuff?"

"You're some Nightwing fan, ya?"

Dick whispered, "Maybe."

Harley chuckled like a hyena, "Well, Mistah Grayson! I didn't see that coming!"

"Don't judge me." Dick pouted his lips.

Harley really did enjoy Dick's company at times. But there was still something about him that prodded at her trust.

Harley rounded up a few suitcases so she may gather what she needed at her apartment. With Dick's help, they were
fairly quick about it - as even he seemed to be uncomfortable being in the area. But Harley couldn't help but to pause
every few minutes to take in her now trashed sanctuary that she had worked so hard for.

Police tape plastered in every square foot, blankets of shards of glass glistened just as brightly as the city lights outside,
pieces of furniture that even Harley couldn't tell what it used to be...

With a deep but short huff of the chilly air that came through the broken and taped up windows - Harley grabbed her needed belongings, and headed out the door.

Their destination to this 'safe house' was actually quite the drive. It was just outside of Gotham, in the middle of nowhere. Harley might have spotted a gas station that looked as if the rusted pumps were from the 1960's. A run-down diner that would be the classic location for a horror movie. And a small market with a ghostly-looking antique rocking chair sitting on the front portch of the place - as if 'Billy-Bob' would suddenly materialize in it - creepily rocking back and forth with a shotgun in hand.

'What kind of torture was this?!' Harley thought. She was even more willing for another electroshock session with Joker over this. Self-inflicted for more entertainment! Harley would go nuts here.

The place she were to stay at was incredible though.

A fully black-gated, four bedroom, and three bathroom luscious house. It was practically a mansion in her eyes.

Anyone would need a punch-code to enter the eight-foot tall spiked gate that surrounded the two acre property. And even after that, there were two security box offices on each side of the property - occupied by an officer in each one.

'This is absolutely ridiculous.' Harley thought to herself. Though this would be considered a vacation to some, Harley frowned through the dark tinted windows as Dick parked the car. Harley was a city girl at heart. Hopefully this wouldn't be a long stay.

Harley still wanted to find Joker. She still didn't want to believe that she was abandoned. And eventually, she wanted to
be by his side. Harley had already made up her mind - and she was not going to go back on it. She was done being the good girl. She wanted more excitement. She wanted to break the rules. The same rules that were supposed to keep her safe. To not have robbed of her child-hood. To not have been sexually harassed and pushed around throughout her life. She wanted Gotham at her knees. She wanted... him. And apart of her knew that he wanted her.

But for now, she would suck it up. A moment of patience in a moment of anger - saves a thousand moments of regret. Harley needed to throw the authorities off guard for now. Especially the Bat and his Chickenwing. Because Harley couldn't properly look for the Clown Prince of Gotham with the GCPD and a couple of vigilantes breathing down her back.

And then... it dawned on her. Harley could probably make good use of this time.

"Hey, Mistah Grayson." Harley beamed.

As Dick came in through the front door of the house with Harley's bags, he acknowledged her with a head nod.

"Am I a prisoner here or what?"

"You may come and go as you please." Dick responded - but the tone of his voice hinted that there was definitely a catch. "That is... with the permission to do so. Oh, and a chaperone if you do." Dick flashed Harley a toothy smile as she rolled her eyes.

She thought as much.

"So..." Harley insisted, "Can I have someone here to teach me self-defense? I'm also wanting some lessons in gymnastics. Could kill some time ya know. Especially since I am in fact, prisoner here."

"Actually..." Dick mused as he rubbed his chin in thought, "That is a brilliant idea. I know of a certain self-defense art that mixes with gymnastics. I'll make some calls."

"Are you like... my protector now or what?" Harley poked. "Shouldn't the police be going though this routine with me?"

Dick laughed, "Only a handful of authorites know of your location. And since I'm a trusted comrade," Dick expressed as he stretched his arms out as if he were acknowledging his divine existence, "I took the honor to escort you to your castle, m'lady."

Harley inhaled a warm puff of air as her voice lowered to a more serious and sincere tone. "Why are you doing so much for me, Mistah Grayson? I haven't done nothin for ya to deserve such hospitality." Her voice drowned in doubt.

'He's a good guy.' Harley thought, 'But I still barely know him.'

'You barley know Mistah J.' It was as if her subconscious manifested another voice in her head. And she instinctively responded in a faint whisper, "Oh, shut up."

"What?" Dick asked confused.

"No. Not you. Just a lot on my mind."

Dick eyed Harley warily. "I do all of this because I like you, Harleen. Since the first day I ran into you and spilled your latte because you wern't watching where you were going."

Both of them chuckled.

"I was deep in thought!" Harley playfully retorted as she whacked Dick on his shoulder. But she soon realized that Dick legitimately liked her. Maybe a little too much for comfort on her behalf.

As the light laughter slowly faded from the both of them, Dick pursed his lips as he continued, "You're a good person. I knew it from the start. And I just don't want to see you hurt. And with the clown loose, he seems to have taken a weird and unpredictable interest in you. That's no secret."

And for once, Dick had dropped all sarcastic jokes aside in that short moment. And a vulnerability that Harley had never seen in Dick's demeanor sprouted before her. And in that moment - Harley got to know just a little bit more about this mystery man.

Harley lowered her head in a sulking manner. If she had a dollar every time someone has mentioned to her being a good person today...

"What if I'm not the good person that everyone perceives me to be?"

Dick looked baffled. "What do you mean, Harleen? Is there something you want to tell me?"

'DON'T DO IT!' Harley's defenses screamed within her.

'Do it. Then it'll give you a reason to kill him. He'd be a good one to pop your cherry.' Harley silently hummed in delight, and for a split second she wondered if she was capable of taking a life.

'Wait! No!' She mentally told the other voice. 'Not Mistah Grayson! I kinda like em.'

Dick waited for Harley to answer - only to notice her deep in tought, which worried him a little.

"You can tell me anything, Harleen."

"HA! Nothing. Just doubting my good deeds."

Harley then forced a cough.

"And ya know what? I'm not feeling too well. Long day. Barely slept. I think I'll rest now. And thank you, Mistah Grayson. For everything. I truly mean it. I don't know how I'll ever repay your kindness - but I will."

Dick smiled, "I'll be in touch. And let's get you started with those self-defense classes! Would certainly make me feel better knowing that you can properly defend yourself."

Harley beamed - and Dick took that as a great satisfactory.

As soon as Dick left, Harley didn't fully realize just how tired she really was.

Making her way blindly through the spacious house to a bedroom - once her head hit the comfort of a pillow - she instantly fell into a deep dream state of endless possibilities to find her Puddin.

Harley would be ready to show Joker what she was truly capable of after her training. IF he didn't find her first. And if he did... she wouldn't mind at the least.

And she hoped for it.

GOTHAM

The florescent lights were blinding, and bounced off the already white walls. The room was quaint. All but a marble table, a sterile sink, and a few chairs that occupied the small area.

Joker sat shirtless in one of the square chairs in front of the cold hard table. His skin - almost blending in with the already bright atmosphere. The only thing separating his defined physique from the pale walls, were the tattoos that danced along every crevice of his body.

His expression was stern. Concerned. Unpredictable. Almost as if he were living out another life deep inside of his endless mind. He stared straight ahead; paying absolutely no attention to the little man standing beside him - pulling and tugging at his flesh with a pair of medical tweezers.

Jonny Frost stood at the entrance, keeping a watchful eye on the situation. Joker's second pair of eyes.

"There you go, Sir Joker." The man announced as he pulled the third bronze bullet from Joker's arm.

"Next time," The man continued, "you might want to teach your men to aim. Hit the Bat, NOT you."

Joker cureled his crimson lip upward, as a low but noticeable growl rumbled in his chest.

The man instantly realized his mistake and tried to retract his statement, "Sir! I really didn't mean to-"

"Cut his hand off." Joker sneered, as he incoherently flexed his fingers towards Frost.

The man panicked, "No, no, no. Please, sir! I'm one of your trusted Doctors! I work with my hands!"

Joker grunted and lifted his palm to stop Frost.

The Doctor exhaled in relief.

Joker, eyes still glazed with an unknown distraction, bared his metal grill. "Cut off his toes."

Frost roughly grabbed the panic-stricken Doctor by the shoulders and began to drag him away.

"On second thought," Joker's tone was icy, "Take the whole foot!"

Joker squinted his eyes and his mouth opened wide with pleasure. He looked wild, more feral than usual. Showing off his metal teeth as a cracked laugh escaped his blood-stained lips. "HA-HA!"

As Frost dragged the yelling Doctor from the room, Joker had already reeled in his temporary joke of the Doctor losing a
foot. The Clown barely moved an inch. Still entangled in the void of his mind, he slightly swayed from left to right - almost as if watching something else unfold behind is own eye sockets.

The stiff cracking of bones echoed just behind the door, as ear piercing screams of agony could be heard throughout the building.

Almost as if Joker was traveling back and forth to reality, the crying of the man brought him to for a split second. "Oh, come on, Doc-tor!" Joker mocked, "Pain is only subjective!"

Joker still sat his seat, now absorbing the blood-curling cries. Frost returned to his post at the door - as his white collared shirt now stained with spots of red.

The muffled yelps of pain still trailed behind the door as Joker was muttering low incomprehensible nonsense.

Frost then reached into his blazer pocket, and retrieved a universal remote that controlled just about every device in the
building.

'Mozart: Requiem In D Minor, K 626'

One of the few things that Frost knew Boss took comfort in.

The music softly invaded Jokers ears. The combination of painful cries and Mozart blended so well together.

Joker carelessly leaned back in his chair, his foot gently placed under the table before him to keep from toppling completely backwards.

He leaned as far back as his leg would allow him. While tilting his head back, eyes closed, only to lose himself in a complete chaotic symphony.

'The police would have taken her.' Joker thought. 'Possibly in custody, closely watched, a safe house maybe.'

He didn't know why he was letting Harley distract him. Joker had plans that he needed to put into action already.

Maybe this was the blessing he had been hoping for. Harley was gone. And Joker wouldn't be able to get near her any time soon.

NO more distractions.
NO more mistakes.
NO more Harley Quinn.

And yet - here he was. Distracted.

Harley was nowhere in sight, and yet he was still distracted by that beautiful and yet degrading creature.

Joker fought the feelings that attempted to come to surface. He didn't need her. and he had work to do.

Suddenly, Joker abruptly pulled himself back, shot up from his seat, and jumped onto the table.

Sure that he buried his mixed feelings for a petty girl, he casually walked across the marble table barefoot. Joker's face was feral. A silver smile stretched from one ear to the other.

"Come on, Jonny Boy." Joker urged. "Let's have some fun."

7 MONTHS LATER

Time. Time could be a blessing or a curse. In Harley's case, it was both.

Joker never came looking for her. At least that's what Harley thought. And this both saddened and angered her. She became so angry that she started to train with her self-defense teacher seven days a week; eight hours a day. Just to distract her from the mental pain that she drowned in.

Harley became so committed, that after three months of being in the safe house and deemed okay to go back to her apartment... she declined.

Instead, Harley made a deal with Commissioner Gordon to help aide in the capture of Joker when the time came. And in return... Harley got to stay in the safe house rent free, a decent salary, and officer protection. Though the deal could possibly cost her life... it was not a bad deal in her eyes. Because she knew that she wouldn't fully follow through. But Harley missed Gotham dearly. And after 7 months of being away - she was insanely homesick and ready to come back.

Gordon hadn't asked of Harley's assistance yet... but when he did, she didn't know what her next move would be. She decided to just go with the flow when the time came.

Harley had become almost a pro in her self-defense training. Conditioning her body to her will, the teachings of Krav Maga helped redirect her out of control feelings.

Harley's teacher was quite impressed with her progress. As Krav Maga was not for the faint of heart. Designed to quickly neutralize threats, Krav Maga's style was created by a world renowned wrestler, boxer, and gymnast. So it was a perfect fit for Harley. And she had Dick to thank for that, as he chose the style of combat for her. Harley even took down her teacher - whom was a very big Israeli man. He was a built and trained professional.

Dick would stop in every so often. But that's about it. Angie would continually ask about Harley and where she was... but Dick wasn't at liberty to tell her.

Halrey would keep tabs on Joker solely from the media. A spotting here and there. A bank heist there. A murder... or two... or eight! Joker was certainly making his rounds... all except to see his Harley. But Joker's recent crimes over the past few months were so sporadic, (even more than usual), and frequent - that the media claimed him trying to keep busy. Trying to distract himself possibly?

Packing only a few of her bags, Harley still wanted to keep the safe house. She wanted a backup just in case. Because with what malice she had in store... having the safe house would definitely come in handy.

Harley expressed to Commissioner Gordon that she wanted to keep the safe house for safety reasons. Which... was mostly right. Since their 'deal' was still in tact, he gladly agreed. Though - a place that Joker, the GCPD, or even Dick didn't know about would be an even smarter move as well. Harley would have to keep a look out for such a place then.

The snow came early for Gotham this year - and it cloaked the city in a pearl white blanket. It was beautiful. As the sun started to set, Harley arrived at her apartment carrying her two suitcases.

Opening her door, the apartment was spotless. The smell of fresh paint invaded her nostrils, as this place has been closed up for months. So the fresh scent of chemicals flowed freely.

It was freezing, but Harley opened a window, and her sliding glass door in an attempt to lessen the eye-watering smells.

After a shower, some pajamas, and warm coco - Harley took one last peek outside her ten story window.

To her disappointment - no suspicious vehicles parked outside.

And with a deep and disappointed huff - Harley wrapped herself in the thick and fluffy blankets of her bed. And drifted off into a deep and much needed slumber.

Because tomorrow... she was going to make sure Joker knew she was back.

The next morning's sun stared to raise high above the few clouds that were already slowly starting to fade. The beaming rays glistened over the settled snow, so it created the illusion of mini rainbows that danced around the city of Gotham. Though it was still below freezing, it was truly a sight.

Forgetting to close her open windows and sliding glass door through the night - Harley was rudely awakened by the piercing cold that stung her lungs.

Still half asleep, she clumsily staggered out of bed to close them, and switching the heater on in return.

After flopping back into bed like a dying fish, it took Harley just a few minutes of realization that she was back in Gotham.

Flipping over on her back, Harley started to silently giggle. The undertone then turned into a light chuckle. Then she suddenly erupted into a fit of high-pitched screeches of laughter. Her legs started to kick up and down as the covers on the bed flipped and whirled to the floor.

Tonight was going to be Harley's first night of constructed mayhem. She wanted to play her cards smart. Yes, she wanted to find Joker more than anything - but the pain of him not coming to find her clawed at her insides. She wanted to cause him pain, trouble... she wanted him to notice her. And to do that... was going to take some wit, corruption... style.

She had passed all of his tests. All of his games. She deserved him.

First thing first... style. Harley needed a new wardrobe. The only 'playful' piece of clothing she owned was the little black dress that she wore to the Jester Kane. It was cute, but could get boring quickly.

Harley's hair had grown to an exceptionally drastic length within the last 7 months. Well to her waist, she began to tie it back into a higher ponytail. Black jeans, black knee-high combat boots, and a dark purple turtle neck clung tightly to her every curve.

Harley's clothes have gotten just a tad tooo tight for her, as she's built some muscle under her still slim figure. More defined, more toned, more deadly.

Her training in Krav Maga has made her into a weapon.

"Never use your newfound talents unless really threatened. You've gained such skill so lethal, that I've not witness such in decades."

The wise words of Harley's self-defense teacher. He even offered her an opportunity to train in the Israeli military because she perfected the art of destruction so well. Promised a rank as well. And at that moment, Harley questioned where Dick exactly found this now known mercenary. Or if Dick even knew of her instructor's obvious hidden agendas.

As illegal, and yet fun as it sounded - she kindly declined. And most definitely... she wouldn't be taking his advice.

Harley couldn't wait to see what she was capable of.

Dekkard Town Center was a massive structure compared even to the City Hall. The four-story shopping center was almost abstract in comparison to the rest of the Metropolis.

Harley walked with a spark in her strut; enjoying being back in her city. Pushing her typical black wire-framed glasses further up her nose, Harley took note to possibly look into contact lenses. Because Krav Maga just didn't mix well with someone who wore glasses.

'Gosh, Mistah J.' Harley thought. 'Couldn't electrocute my eye sight back, could ya?'

She giggled to herself. It was almost like her, herself, was her only source of comfort these days. The only one who truly understood her. Besides her mother - rest her soul.

'Mistah J understands me.' Harley continued her private conversation with herself. 'He knew what laid dormant in me. Why on earth would he have given that advice in the bank those years ago? Why would he take the time to have others follow me? Give me gifts? Kiss me... abandon me?'

'Now there goes your over thinking! Stop it, Harley!'

"You stop it!"

Harley stopped and instinctively put her hand over her mouth when she spoke out loud to her own self. A faint chuckle escaped through her fingers. Suddenly, a quick 'THUD' slightly pushed her forward as a young man bumped into her from behind... and was that a pinch on her butt?!

"Sorry, Miss!" The guy laughed as he leaned into Harley's personal bubble. "So, hey."

Harley curled her lip in distaste as this young man's ego was being fed through the three other male peasants giggling like school girls. The three of them stood nearby, watching as their friend continued this poor excuse of a performance.

"Want to spend the night at my place, sexy?" He smiled. "The couch doesn't pull out, but I do."

"OOHHHHHHH!" His three other friends cried out in triumph as this rude young man went galloping towards them with his hand in the air for a childish high-five of false victory.

Harley raised her eyebrows in total confusion. 'Is this really how men pick up women nowadays? Does it really work? Welcome back to Gotham.'

"So..." The young man winked at Harley as he invaded her space yet again. "What do you say?"

Harley rolled her eyes and deeply sighed as she inched closer to the man's ear and whispered, "I'd say..."

And with a burst of blinding speed, she took hold of the man's wrist, spun him around, and pinned his arm in an awkward position to the point of instant pain.

He then tried to whip his other arm around with an instinctive balled-up fist, only for Harley to be quicker and more skillful than his slow attempt.

She grabbed his fist and twisted it behind him in the same fashion as the other.

"I'd say to go fuck yourself." Harley hissed.

"Dude!" One of his buddies yelled out as the other three ran to their friend's aide.

Harley pulled upward HARD on the guy she held hostage - therefore, surely ripping his tendons and then releasing him.

He won't be coming back for round two.

Swiftly reaching into her pocket, Harley grabbed a pink pair of brass knuckles. The second guy came rushing into her. Harley's violent thrust of her brass fist came crushing into the man's face, sending her glasses to the ground and knocking him out cold.

Then one kick to a shin, and a flat hand to a throat - the other two fell to the ground.

Harley fought dirty. But not dirty enough to kick a man in the groin.

Never kick a man in the dick, was Harley's moto. Unless it's a life or death situation. Or... if he cheats on you. Then you cut it off.

Pocketing her bubble-gum pink brass knuckles, Harley smiled. "That was great boys!" She chuckled, as she stepped over two of them grunting in pain. "Thanks for the practice! I needed a warm up!"

Harley then spotted her thankfully unbroken glasses and picked them up with a sigh. 'Glasses and Krav Maga didn't mix well. Contacts." She reminded herself as she made a mental shopping list.

And with a light pat on the head of the one poor brave sap whom tried to get a cheap lay... Harley strut off. Even slowing down to almost pose for the on-lookers who had already taken out their phones and no doubt, filming.

GOTHAM
6:48PM

A pin board, stretching a possible twelve feet in length - was covered in blueprints. a green highlighter traced the way through each and every print - looking only like pointless scribbles to one who didn't know what they were looking at. And off to the side of the long pin board, was a list labeled: Cocktail. With the following underneath:

Strychnine
Hydrogen Cyanide H-C=N
Methamphetamine
MDMA
Nitrous Oxide N=N-O

A list of chemicals that no one questioned.

The room was spacious. A warehouse of a room solely for work, lounge, and secrecy. Eighteen stories high, the large windows loomed over Gotham. The massive rectangular business building rented out each floor - typically to power hungry organizations who usually conducted illegal activities within their businesses. Except for the top floor which was always occupied by only one.

The massive pin board stood over the black-tiled flooring and celling. The deep velvet-red chairs littered the place, an extended full service bar, and an arsenal that would arm a small army.

The owner of this luxurious war-zone sat on the black satin couch that rounded in shape.

Joker.

Joker sat back with his legs spread slightly apart - gawking at the pin board. The HVAC System blue prints consumed his attention, as he focused on the green highlighter - memorizing every twist and turn that was drawn.

His black slacks, as per usual, fit loose yet snug in just the right places. His maroon dress shirt was half way unbuttoned so that the white toned flesh glowed every time he would make even the faintest of movements.

The numerous gold rings that littered his fingers gripped onto a brilliant purple cane that balanced in front of him. The diamonds that graced the handle would make even the Queen of England blush.

The massive flat screen television behind him, echoed throughout the place. A few of Joker's men sat quietly near it, taking in the news.

A few more indulged at the bar, others cleaning weaponry, and dozens on guard.

On the far side of the quarters, a part was sectioned off - as a handful of men and women in white lab coats eagerly focused on blending chemicals, entering in computer data, and scribbling their findings.

Jonny Frost, in his typical generic black suit, stood obediently behind Joker - always scanning his surroundings.

One of Joker's goons carelessly then stepped in front of Joker's view of the HVAC blueprints whilst popping peanuts into his mouth. Turning to face the pin board, the clueless goon turned his back on his Boss, and inspected the board.

'Ya know, Mister Joker." The guy continued as he tossed a handful of peanuts in his mouth, "I dunno what you got planned, but that sure is a work of art."

Frost took two steps back and away from Joker, as he knew the Clown Prince very well - and the inevitable was about to unfold.

And within a bat of an eye, Joker dropped his cane and upholstered his pistol as he swiftly stood up. His eager finger gently squeezed the trigger and hit the man directly in the head.

Thankfully, the blueprints only suffered a few tiny droplets of red as they were far enough away and safe from the damaging blood splatter.

The instant corpse limply fell to the hard floor. The thick blood pumped out of the fatal wound and blended with the black-tiled floor.

Frost took his place once again next to Joker.

"The new guy, Sir." Frost blandly explained. Not that there was any excuse for the dead man's actions.

Joker bared his silver teeth in agitation, and his voice came out more of a growl. "I thought I hired mostly ex military and mercenaries. What the fuck is this?"

Joker rotated his wrist in circle, gun still in hand. He tilted his head to the side, and ran his hand along the side of his head - as if to slick back his already groomed emerald hair.

His movements were slow and steady - as if Joker had trouble concentrating on reality.

Frost noticed this. It was as if Joker had finally blended the line of genius and insanity. Ever since Boss had come back from Arkham. Ever since the last escapade with Doctor Harleen Quinzel in her apartment months ago. Boss was still distracted. He was different at times too. Though it would come and go, not anyone noticed it... but Frost did. And for the first time ever in Jonny Frost's long years of being Joker's loyal henchman - this was a battle he could not help him with.

Joker rolled his neck and took his seat once again. Motioning with his gun hand to a few much more experienced men, he snarled, "Clean this up."

Joker had no time to bask in bloodshed just yet. His glorious plan was just about finished and he was eager to put it into action. One of his biggest games yet.

Devices that only Joker knew how to operate were already planted around the city, thanks to the blueprints. And a certain cocktail recipe was just about done.

'This is Channel Four Gotham City News. Only reporting the best to our city. In todays report-'

The television echoed throughout the area and caused Joker to lift his irritated eyes towards Frost. Most of the time, Frost didn't need any spoken words from Joker.

Frost turned around and walked to the flat screen television so he could turn it down a notch. But when the volume didn't change, Joker felt himself starting to lose his grip on his already short temper.

"Um, Boss." Frost exclaimed. "You might want to take a look at this."

The news reporter continued, 'Witnesses say that this woman defended herself from a sexual advancement. Though the video we're about to show you was filmed with a cell phone - It is difficult to identify the woman. Some claim that it could be the very same Doctor Harleen Quinzel who suffered two known attacks from the infamous Joker because she was treating him 7 months ago.'

The name - Harleen Quinzel, pierced through Jokers ears and all the way through his cold soul.

His pain was untold, and the darkness of his obsession pushed through his veins.

He slowly turned toward the television and stood. His predatory gaze now on the video of a gorgeous blonde woman fluidly beating four men down - as if it were a well designed choreography.

She was beautiful. And Joker's jaw hung unhinged as his crystal blue eyes dilated until they were almost black.

He knew that hair, that body, the shape of her face very well. It was his Harley Quinn - and she's grown into a fine work of destructive art. My oh, my, what has she been up to all this time? The one question that Joker was dying to have answered.

Joker couldn't control his shallow breaths. His bare white chest heaved every time he inhaled, as his tattoos danced in the same fashion.

A surge of feelings erupted from within him. Joker could feel the attraction that he felt for this woman break free of the mental box that he worked so hard to put away. This array of mixed feelings were still very alien to him - and he still didn't want them to emerge.

But simply seeing Harley on just a television screen, confirmed that his attraction was never boxed up in the first place... but only lay dormant. His attempts of constant murder, rampages, and robberies were all a failure of distraction. And with no known way to express his silent battle, he found himself smiling in an unholy manner. And his vocal cords came alive as he squinted his now black eyes and filled every ear in the massive room with his infamous and sinister slow laugh.

"HA-HA-HA-HAAAAA."

Joker's voice cracked with a grunting purr. Frost hadn't heard that particular laugh in a while. It was the laugh of complete chaos. The laugh of the Clown Prince of Crime. And as most wouldn't dare want to hear such a sound, Frost welcomed it in comparison to the last seven months of complete blurred nonsense from his Boss. Joker's laugh was clarity to Frost. His signature.

Joker hung his mouth open as he took in the last few seconds of the grainy cell phone video of Harley. She had turned towards the camera, smiled, and... did she wink?

She was leaving sugar trails for him. But he didn't want to give in to his sweet tooth just yet.

Even though Joker was still fighting his odd obsession with this woman - seeing where she was, and confirming that she was in fact okay - gave him some kind of resolution. Yet the itch to be in her presence - to dominate her still clawed at his insides.

Joker would be lying to himself if he were to say that he didn't think of Harley in the past seven months. In fact, he did try looking for her. But after even visiting Harley's apartment on multiple occasions in just a few weeks after the encounter with the Batman and Nightwing to see if she was there... he took the opportunity of her disappearance as a blessing for his sanity. Because what a poor and risky decision on his behalf to appear at her apartment so soon after such incidents with Gotham's vigilantes.

Joker could've been caught. Unintentionally this time, and thrown into Arkham. What a pain in the ass that would have been.

But... what if they brought his Doctor back to 'treat' him? He would then know where she was. And simply being around her was always intoxicating.

And right there - is why Joker didn't continue his search for Harley. His Harley Quinn. His distraction. But he had always had a gut feeling that she would come back. But after months went by, Joker started to question Harley's loyalty that she showed in Arkham. A foolish thing to think - as he brushed away his own insecurity. Joker never had any insecure feelings as far as he could remember... until Harley entered his life.

It was frustrating. How he had let this little minx sink her claws deep within his tainted flesh.

"Should we send someone after her, Boss?" Frost finally asked as he noticed Joker's face now twisting in a complex manner.

Joker's growl was deep and rich. "No. Not yet. I'll let my Harley-Girl make her rounds. Let's see if she can perform."

And that was one of Joker's first mistakes.

GOTHAM
7:42PM

Harley Quinn. The image of a flesh and blood goddess. She stood abnormally still in front of the blue neon sign. The letters in a bold font read: Iceberg Lounge.

The faint blue glow gave Harley's fair skin a tinge of inhuman characteristics. Her long blonde hair hung to her waist, her black eye shadow complimenting her striking aqua eyes that were even brighter than the sign before her. The cold air didn't phase Harley as her brilliant form fitting gold sequin dress sparkled in comparison to the snow covered streets.

Walking towards the entrance of the lounge, Harley's dress swayed with her every step. The way it loosely hung mid-thigh, the back exposed, and the draping front exposed more than any would dare on a freezing night such as this.

Glancing at the line of people to get in, Harley remembered the extra special treatment that she received when her and Angie went to the Jester Kane. Harley wondered if her reputation has kept up. Even though she dared tread on another gangster's territory - Harley knew that Joker did more business than creating trouble with the infamous Penguin.

Harley approached the burly door man and graced him with a dazzling smile. Though the door man was bewitched by Harley's beauty, he kept his professionalism.

"Miss Quinzel." He acknowledged as he opened the door for her.

"Harley Quinn, Love." Harley chuckled, as she playfully tapped his nose with her index finger. "And don'tchya forget."

The vast openness of the lounge was quite stunning. The atmosphere cooed with a light jazz from the live band that occupied a stage near the back. The walls glowed the same faint blue as the exterior - only for them to be covered in realistic icebergs. The center of the club was occupied by a massive iceberg structure that caught Harley's attention as she made her way towards it. She gently extended her hand to touch it, only to quickly retract it by surprise.

A real iceberg. Carved in the finest of details. The ice put off a divine illumination as the vaporing fog danced around the sculpture.

"You like my work of art, Miss Quinn?"

A raspy voice came from beside Harley as she didn't even hear anyone approach her. Only Harley's eyes moved toward the voice as she smiled in delight.

"Mistah Oswald Cobblepot." She mused.

The slender man's lips thinned as he grinned in delight. He leaned most of his weight on a black and gold cane in the shape of an umbrella. His overly shiny black pointy shoes, looking a tad too big for his size, pointed to the outside in an awkward manner. His jet black hair was styled just as oddly as one would expect. Styled half up, and half in his face - it brought out the deep green eyes that closely studied Harley carefully.

"And it's finally a pleasure to meet the one woman brave enough to endure a mad man and live to tell the tale." Oswald beamed, as if testing the waters with Harley.

Harley only giggled, "What a cute little Penguin ya are!"

Oswald's smile faded, only unsure of such a woman who associated with the Clown. But... you always want to keep your enemies close. Now only to decide... was Harley friend or foe?

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Miss Harley Quinn?" Oswald's tone turned a little bit stern, but resumed his thin smile.

"I'm here to collect Mistah J's business transaction."

Harley knew nothing of any business transactions, but only seeing if Oswald would take the bait.

Oswald snickered. "Joker has told me nothing of coming to collect today. And when he does," Oswald continued as he leaned further into his cane, "it's usually his most trusted henchmen. And I know each and every one of them by name. Or himself. Especially for the big collections... which in this case..." Oswald tilted his head slightly forward so that his pointy nose more resembled that of a bird's beak, "it should be him standing here."

'I'm on to something!' Harley thought excitedly.

Harley's eyes flickered ruthlessly. And as she came in closer to Oswald, it was no secret that he could feel the power radiating from her aura. It was both fascinating and unnerving to him. What an interesting woman he thought. Oswald could see why anyone would be drawn to this woman - especially the Joker.

"Oh, Mistah Cobblepot! Why would I get all dressed up and come all the way out here for nothin'? Eh?"

Oswald backed away from her advances, raised his eyebrows, and shook his head from side to side. "My, dear. Maybe because you're just as crazy as he is."

Harley beamed.

Not satisfied with her response, Oswald cringed his lips together. "And where is your protection, Miss Quinn? For such a hefty amount that you want to collect, surely the Clown wouldn't send just one silly girl."

Oswald then smiled as he finally got the deflated look from the stunning blonde before him.

"And besides," he continued, "How do I even know that you work for him? You were his Doctor in Arkham. Maybe I should give him a call..."

As Oswald pulled his phone from his dark purple blazer, Harley quickly snatched the device and dangled it teasingly in front of him. As quick as she was, Oswald's men were just as fast. Two pistols were aimed at Harley - and Oswald smiled in triumph. But his winnings were cut short as Harley started to cackle uncontrollably and playfully shoved a finger in one of the pistol's barrels.

Oswald's brows formed a deep V, and soon wondered if Harley was one to collide with. She was absolutely fearless. And he didn't want a scene in his lounge... or trouble with the Joker for that matter. But a brilliant and manipulative thought came to surface for Oswald. Even if Harley didn't work for Joker, Oswald knew that the Clown didn't particularly have any interest in money. What business that they did conduct, was solely over power trips. And as much as Oswald did favor his green paper - Joker thought it entertaining to make such high demands. So... here is Oswald's chance to clown the Clown.

Though the situation was unclear, it was no secret in Gotham's Underworld of Joker being tangled with a Doctor Quinzel. So if this woman is now claiming to be under Joker's demands, then so be it. Oswald had his suspicions that Harley was probably not working under Joker, but he liked the fact that a beautiful and witty woman such as this had the guts to fuck with the Clown Prince. Because no one in their right mind would even think of doing such a thing.

"Right this way, Miss Quinn. I have it in cash." Oswald smiled as Harley dropped his phone into his open palm. "And you know what, young lady? If you live through this, which Joker may in fact have a heart if you do, you should come and do some dealings with me."

"I'll keep that in mind, Ozzy." Harley winked.

"You do realize what you're doing, Doctor? We're all monsters here. And there's no going back."

Harley's face, for once, turned serious. "Our hearts are monsters, Mistah Cobblepot. That's why our ribs are cages."

And as Harley walked away with half a million dollars - Oswald Cobblepot raised a glass of fizzy champagne in farewell and hopefully, some sweet entertainment. Because... he kind of liked the girl.

Driving in her black Mercedes, Harley was in hysterics! Costing Joker a half a million dollars felt amazing. The money sat safely in a briefcase on her backseat. She pocketed some cash as the night was still young. What else could she do to Joker?

Accelerating to unsafe speeds, it was still not fast enough to satisfy her cravings for a thrill.

"Piece of crap." Harley muttered as she slapped the steering wheel.

And then another escapade shone through Harley's excitement. She knew of a fast car. A famous car that was always spotted in the streets of Gotham. Oswald would surely let Joker know of their transaction immediately. And as short tempered as Mistah J was... he'd definitely show up at the lounge in that fancy and beautiful purple Lamborghini.

The message was brief. Unexpected. Careless.

The purple Lamborghini came to an abrupt stop; followed by three other black SUVs. Joker arrived at the Iceberg Lounge after he was notified of his half a million dollar due was already paid.

Did someone steal from him? If they did... they were a walking corpse. As well as their family. Joker had no remorse for such an act towards him. Though... this was somewhat entertaining. What kind of crazy moron wanted such a death wish? There was only one known pest that dared defy the Clown Prince. And he wore tights and a cape. Not even Nightwing has attempted to pursuit Joker on his own. So whoever this was... wanted to die. Slowly.

The Iceberg Lounge buzzed with life as Joker made his way into the building. Every single person about ran out of his way, and clearing an easy path for him. Even Penguin's men let him by with no questions asked.

Guests of the Lounge stole a glance here and there of the Clown who was flanked by a dozen of his own heavily armed henchmen. Including Frost - whom kept a close watch on every pair of curious eyes that bore in their direction.

Joker was always a fascinating eye candy to the citizens of Gotham. His name held power within the walls of every building he would enter and beyond. Joker's iconic long purple snake skin coat hugged his shirtless chest. Numerous gold chains caressed against his neck, and his black slacks fit snug around his physique and black boots. Definitely a sight for the guests of the Lounge.

A surge of temper flooded over Joker's already penetrating gaze as he caught sight of Oswald approaching with a grin.

Joker snarled, but kept walking straight past Oswald and headed to the private lounge which was located in the back.

The room was small, a private bar, a massive big screen television, a small dance floor, and a quaint throne where Oswald sat to conduct his business meetings and such related dealings.

As soon as Joker pushed his way through and casually sat in Oswald's velvet throne - everyone else in the room, including the bartender, made a hasty exit.

Joker liked sitting in Oswald's chair. It was to mock him. A silent warning to Oswald that Joker was capable and not to mess with. It was dominance in his eyes.

But Oswald didn't care at the moment, as he strode into the room using his umbrella cane to balance his limping pace. He couldn't help the smile that blossomed even bigger across his face. The entertainment was not a disappointment so far. A costly entertainment, but worth it.

"You're so unpredictable." Oswald mused. "But at least your business is stable."

Joker swallowed back the hot anger. "Who."

It wasn't a question, but a demand.

"A woman came through. Claimed that she worked for you."

Joker's chest tightened. He hadn't expected that answer, and his suspicion of such a woman was probably correct.

"HA!" Joker impulsively reacted. "Annnnnnnnd you just... handed over $500,000 to a woman who claimed to work for me?"

"She threatened me with intelligence. What a beautiful creature. She may even have you beat, Sir Joker."

Joker's body reacted quicker than his mind. Drawing his pistol and thrusting himself forward to come face to face with Oswald. He pointed the purple and gold pistol under Cobblepot's chin.

Every armed henchman in the room, including Oswald's, drew their weapons. Ready for an old fashioned shoot out to erupt.

Joker's breaths were shallow, his gaze never wavering from Oswald's now concerned face. Joker's aggressive demeanor was not hard to mistake. These were dangerous grounds that Oswald was currently prancing on, and he'd better take it down a notch. Even though he knew that this wasn't a war that even the Clown wanted to start - Oswald knew that Joker would eventually have victory if such a battle did break out. Solely because of the Clown's fearlessness, genius capabilities, and power that he possessed.

A bead of sweat rolled down Oswald's face. "She was very persistent. Almost like she knew you." Oswald stammered.

Joker curled his red lips, "And what did this so-called woman look like?"

"Well her nam-..." Oswald trailed off as his attention was soon redirected to the massive big screen television. Oswald lifted a shaking finger and pointed to the LIVE news feed on the screen. "She looked like that."

As Joker turned around to face the screen, Oswald snorted abruptly. He couldn't contain his raspy laugh of pure delight.

There on the news - it was LIVE - Joker's purple Lamborghini that was supposed to be parked just outside was racing at top speeds on a highway. After what seemed like hours, but only minutes passed, Joker didn't move an inch from the television. He then witnessed his exotic vehicle come to a crawl into the heart of Gotham's downtown. Then... a blonde woman with a stunning gold dress leaned out of the driver's side window.

But what was more noticeable than her stunning figure, was the bright white cream makeup that covered her face. Her black eye shadow was smeared across her eyes, and brilliant red lipstick was drawn over her lips and went from ear to ear in a clownish smile.

She was mocking the Joker.

But before Joker could react to her daring makeup decision - suddenly - handfuls of cash were being thrown out of the car. The streets were suddenly littered with cash. Mobs of people started to run into the streets grabbing what they could of the free money.

The car was then surprisingly lost within the growing crowd.

Jonny Frost was the first one to notice Joker's ridged stance. For once, the Clown Prince of Gotham was utterly speechless.

Joker wanted to shoot Oswald. Just to create some form of violence. Maybe a war would distract him from Harley. Joker was trying so hard to keep his foreign feelings in check. But Harley was going to make sure that didn't happen.

Without a word, Joker headed for the door - only to whip his pistol to the side and completely knock out one of Oswald's men. Joker's own men flanked the back, instinctively raised their weapons in response. Just in case Oswald dared to challenge Joker's actions.

"Dammit! Clown!" Oswald spat as he forcefully hit his cane to the floor. But then he looked at the LIVE news feed once again, and started to lightly giggle. It seems like the Joker had a problem on his hands, and that brought joy to Oswald's life.

He really did like this Harley Quinn.

Joker had taken the driver's seat in the black SUV, as Frost sat in the passenger's side gripping the door lever tightly.

Joker, fueled by rage, flew as fast as the bulky SUV would go. The other two black vehicles filled with his other men followed - trying to keep up with Joker's road rage the best they could.

Arriving at Harley's apartment, Joker took no care to his surroundings, as he practically jumped from the still moving vehicle.

Frost trailed close; scanning the area for any possible threats.

This would be the second time that Joker would kick Harley's door off of its hinges. A second time too many. This had to stop.

The apartment was dark, and it didn't look like anyone was there. Joker slowly scanned the living room as Frost started to switch on light after light. The rest of his men caught up, and helped look around the different parts of the small apartment.

Joker than made his way to Harley's bedroom, his eyes wild and searching for his adoring creation. Her bedsheets were sprawled to the floor.

'She's been here.' Joker thought.

But he didn't want to linger - as the last time ended up attracting an unwanted crowd.

Joker's tendons popped out against his pale skin. The air was suffocating and full of tension. Grinding his grill, Joker raised a finger and gestured to his men.

Knowing what queue was given, the heavily armed men unloaded their weapons - spraying damaging bullets in every corner of the newly renovated apartment.

Joker closed his eyes, leaned slightly back, and cupped his hands beside his ears. As if to welcome the sharp destructive sounds of the weaponry, and destroying everything in their path.