Disclaimer: I don't own Joker or Harley. That would just make my day.
Author's Note: This thought just popped into my head a few days ago, and I thought it would be a cute little ficlet to write. I hope everyone enjoys it. Also, a special thank- you goes out to my wonderful reviewers from my past fanfics, including persian85033, rainpixi117, and The Magician ( Joseph. I'm a newcomer to fanfiction, so any critique helps. In honor of your awesomeness, this story is dedicated to you guys.
Harley's Woes, Joker Sews
Harley was fed up. Plain and simple. No more Miss Nice Clown, and all that jazz. Sure, she could take a few beatings. She could deal with the bruises dotting her body. Hell, she'd even forgiven him for throwing her out of that window that time! And all of these things she could handle. But this…this was the last straw!
"You're mine, clown."
"Don't you 'Now, Harley' me! I slave all day to make life easier for you, cleaning your socks and washing the dishes and making you sandwiches and feeding the babies so they won't eat you and ironing your shirts and laying out the whoopee cushions and scrubbing the blood off the floor and…CLEANING THE TOILET!!"
"Now…uh, I mean…there, there Harley. You've had a rough day. Why don't you sit down and…"
"No! I've had it! If you want to go around killing people and setting off bombs and frightening small children, that's one thing. But when you mess up not one, not two, but THREE jackets in ONE DAY, then you're gonna be the one to FIX them!!"
"And DON'T call me POOH!!"
Harley stomped out of the room in a huff, the tips of her jester's cap jingling violently with each step. The Joker stood in the middle of the room, completely perplexed. Harley had yelled at him. His Harley, the little nincompoop who adored him. He couldn't understand it. Sure, he'd seen her upset before, but this was just plain lunacy. Since when did she care about his clothes so much?
Before he could think any more on it, Harley came stomping, though less forcefully than before, back into the room, her hand clutching something small and shiny in one hand and what looked like a spool in the other.
"Okay, Mistah J, if you're gonna keep ruining your jackets, then I'm not gonna keep fixing 'em. So here, take this needle and thread, and I'll show you how to sew them yourself."
"Myself? Have you gone off your cracker? I can't fix them myself. That's crazy."
"Well, I always fix them by myself."
"Well, you are crazy."
"What was that, Mistah J?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing, Pooh." The Joker waited for another outburst, but Harley acted as if he hadn't said anything. At least she's not angry anymore, he thought. Maybe now all of this madness can stop. Choosing his words carefully, he began to speak.
"Yeah, Puddin'?" Harley was busy threading a needle, her eyes cast downward in concentration.
"Well, I was thinking, since you do such a good job of patching up my suits anyway…"
"Well, why waste all the time and energy on trying to teach me? After all, Harl, I am so busy all the time. Who would make up the plans to get rid of Batman?"
The Joker looked over at Harley for a reaction, but when she said nothing, he continued. "Besides, I wouldn't be nearly as good at it as you, so my suits would look just terrible. Gotham needs their Clown Prince of Crime to be at his best, and how can I be at my best if I'm wearing sloppy-looking clothes?" The Joker put on his most charming smile and looked carefully at Harley, who, unfortunately, was still slumped over the needle, which she finally seemed to have threaded. She looked up at The Joker, his grin, if possible, even wider than usual.
"So, Pooh, what do you think?"
"Well, Mistah J, I think that that was a very nice speech of yours…but you're not getting out of this. Sit down."
"Aww, but Harl…"
"Listen, PUDDIN', if you don't learn how to do this, then I'm not gonna fix your suits anymore, got it?"
"Good gravy, Harl, you're acting like Two-Face. One minute you're happy, and the next you're like an angry squirrel who's just had his nuts taken away. It's as if…" The Joker's eyes lit up, a thought popping into his head. Jiminy Christmas, what day is it? How could I have been so stupid?
"Oh, Harl…why didn't you just tell me?"
"Huh?" Harley's brow wrinkled slightly in confusion.
"You should have just said something. Aww, I know what you need." The Joker got up and drew Harley into his arms. A small squeak popped out of Harley's mouth as the Joker held her. He leaned in, his lips inches away from Harley's, but just as she leaned in to seal the kiss, he turned his head and whispered in her ear.
"The Midol's on the top shelf in the bathroom, Pooh."
Four hours later, The Joker woke up on the bedroom floor, his jaw aching and his head pounding. God, what did that woman hit me with, a mallet? …Well, then again…Looking down, he noticed a small, white note attached to the lapels of his still-ripped jacket with a small, silver needle. Unfastening the note, The Joker read the loopy little script.
Went to Red's for a few days. Sorry I didn't fix your jacket, but there's plenty more in the closet. Love ya lots, Puddin'.
P.S. - Don't forget to feed the babies.
The Joker grumbled to himself. Oh well. At least I have enough in the closet to last me a while. The Joker got off the floor and walked to the closet, his head still pounding. Unfortunately, his head didn't feel any better at what he saw. There, inside his closet, were all of his suit jackets, lined up in a perfect row.
And every single one of them had been dyed a bright, bubble-gum pink.