His Har Har Lee
by blacksilkrose123 ©2008
Disclaimer: only own Lee. rest belongs to DC comics. my Joker's played none other by the alluring Heath. RIP.
It all started with a bang.
He never was one for joking around when it came to her. After all, what was his was hers, and her? Well, she was his. He'd never owned a damn thing in his life till that little strumpet waltzed in, and he realized he wanted one, needed one, to doll up his life. So he did what only seemed natural.
He took her.
And now, six years, eighty-two days, and 54—make that 55—seconds later, she couldn't shake that feeling of those black, painted eyes on her possessively, her skin practically itching against her will just to feel that green cotton, and be held by those biting, purple leather gloves. He'd always handled his toys with care.
But she was no toy. She had the scars and fractured bones to prove that.
"Where is that damn remote?" Lee muttered under her breath, fingers groping under the bed for it. She glanced once more at the television, a live cast of Harvey Dent's memorial service. But had no interest for it. She knew what he'd done to him. What Dent had become once their paths were crossed.
Her fingers snatched at the control stick, but froze. The screen had changed to him. He never could stand not being in the spot light for too long.
"The mastermind serial killer, the Joker, was recently apprehended at West Side Gotham three nights ago. Police are now in pursuit of his supposed accomplice, Batman, after Commissioner Jim Gordon issued a search warrant—"
Lee snorted. "Bull. Shit."
The room was suddenly submerged in darkness. Her eyes widened in shock.
"Okay, geeze. I swear I won't curse ag—shit!" A loud thump! echoed from somewhere downstairs.
Lee stood up and flew to her closet, hands feeling around until they surrounded a familiar baseball bat. Not good. Not good. Another thump, followed by a sick metal scraping. Definitely not good.
She crept toward her bedroom door, shutting and locking it with a soft click. Sighing, she steered herself back towards the bed, grip slacking.
Lee winced. Someone was knocking at her front door. Well, more like pounding.
The phone rang.
Lee stared at the stupid thing screaming at her from the corner of her eye. She waited on bated breath until five rings had passed, when it should have gone straight to her answering machine. But it didn't. As unpredictable as him, it kept ringing off the hook, high and pitched.
Lee stared at it full-on for a moment before launching herself across the space between the bed and her night stand. She grappled for the phone, picked it up, then slammed it back down on the cradle.
She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, as if she were being watched. The stillness seemed even more frightening.
Then the phone rang again.
This time, she answered.
"What the hell do you want?" she whispered sharply, shoving the receiver against her ear.
It just breathed back at her. Like it was waiting for some kind of signal from the other wielder. Lee held still.
Then," Tsk, tsk." A tongue clucked admonishingly. And the line went dead.
Lee was gripping the phone so hard she'd lost feeling in her ear. She was shivering with dread, knowing exactly what was on the other end, but refusing to acknowledge it.
Getting up, she exhaled shakily and crossed the room to the window. She dropped the phone on the carpet, freeing her fingers to jerk the pane open. It refused. Growing furious, Lee snatched the phone up from the ground and swung. But just before contact, it started ringing again.
And like the ignorant she was, she pressed the green button and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Hee, hee, whoo…oh, uh, hee, wooo, ha, ha…hee, ha. Aha, har, har, HAR, HARLEY!" She slammed the cackling voice into the window. It shattered, sparks of glass exploding at her. Lee glared at it madly, ignoring the pangs in her feet as she gingerly climbed onto the sill, peering out.
She shuddered. No one had called her that since him.
Oh, and how that name held memories.
Lee blinked a few times before realizing the insanity of leaping from a two-story window. He'd taught her insanity at its finest, and he would have leaped with flying colors. That's exactly what he wanted her to do.
So, biting her lip with a naïve stubbornness, she pulled herself from the sill, back over the now-crimson glass, and regained her weapon.
There was a clambering up the stairs, followed by that sick, all-too-familiar laughter. "Oh, ha, ha, Harley, honey, uh baby, I'm…home."
Lee flung open the door.
A/N: Short, I know. But so are most beginnings. I promise there's much more Joker to come…if I get some reviews. You know the drill. You know you wanna click that iddy biddy lil' box in the bottom corner. Go on. It'll make you smile. And I'll laugh, and we'll go on with all the seriousness.