Something awoke Harley from her sleep. A sound; no, it was more of a presence. Goosebumps formed on Harley's flesh, something was wrong. Someone was here in the apartment. She thought quickly and as quietly as she could, trying to remember what she did with her gun. The weapon the Joker had given her. It was not loaded, but she had intimidated guards with a toy gun before this. She simply had to make her intruder believe this was the real thing.

She remembered the mirror and carefully made her way to the bathroom to retrieve it from the sink.

The blond crept through the doorway leading from her bedroom to her living and kitchen area. Despite the darkness of the night Harley could tell someone other than herself was about.

At that moment a number of actions to take ran through her head. Running was one of them; after all she was close enough to the front door. Yet her feet stayed fixed to the floor. She stood motionless in the black apartment, the darkness making her recall the last night she had spent with him. Obviously those memories were not happy ones.

Slowly Harley ran her hand up the wall in search of the light switch. As it did she entertained the thought that maybe she was hearing things. She would have gladly accepted the insanity of hearing voices as opposed to this. Her hand reached the switch. Maybe this was all a dream, she began to think. Harley thought that perhaps she'd flip on the light and then find herself waking up in bed. There was only one way to find out though.

One... two... three.

The lights came on, the darkness disappeared and there he was; the Joker. Purple trench coat, freshly dyed hair and his scars caked with blood red make up.

Harley's breath quickened at the sight of him, waiting across the room. Images of that last night came flooding back. She could almost hear the sounds of furniture snapping, as well as bones. The smell of blood filled her senses, her own blood, she remembered it well. Harley recalled exactly how it felt as it ran pit of her severed veins and down her chin.

"You're supposed to be in Arkham," she practically whispered.

"Looks like they let me out," he shrugged, "Said I'm just as uh "cured" as you, precious,"

'Precious' aimed her gun toward the clown, nearly forgetting that it was there for a moment, "Don't call me that," Harley said, beginning to find her voice again.

And it was full of unexpected hatred, to herself and the Joker.

"Easy Harley," Joker raised is gloved hands in the air, "I'm not here to hurt chya… I just wanna visit. Ya know I missed you,"

"You missed gettin' laid," Harley spat, "You don't give a rats ass about me,"

"Now Harley, you don't know that. Maybe my little uh, stay in Arkham changed me, hm?"

"Look, I dunno what you want but ya ain't gettin' anything from me, so why don't chya just leave,"

"Harley, baby," Joker took a step towards her.

"No! Don't give me that," Harley's gun shook from the tremors in her hand, "Now get outa my apartment before I – I hafta shoot ya," she threatened.

Joker raised an eyebrow, "Shoot me? With what? Uh, there's no bullets in that gun of yours toots,"

He was smart; Harley had to give him that. Slowly and somewhat embarrassed she lowered her weapon.

"If you're so scared," Joker began as he removed his trench coat, "I'll prove ta you that I'm not here to uh, finish what I started, huh?"

He tossed the coat aside with a metallic clang of the knives and guns that filled it. He removed his vest, emptied his pockets of their knives and tossed the contents aside with his coat.

"See, if ya don't trust me your welcome to uh, frisk me, darling," he smirked.

"No thanks," Harley crossed her arms, feeling a little braver since the knives were gone, but only a little, "Well ya saw me. Ya got ta see all the damage ya done. How much longer is this visit gonna last?"

"Damage?" Joker came towards her again, Harley tensed as he began to circle her in a predatory fashion, "I believe I bare the same little uh, imm-peeeer-fections as you," he raised a finger to touch one of Harley faded wounds before she flinched away.

Next he let his hands linger towards her curvy waist, unable to resist touching.

Harley jerked away and whirled around to face him, "You treat them like they're something to be proud of," she cried, speaking of the scars, "They're not,"

"I think they are, after all Haaarley," he sang her name, "You and I are the only two people I know of to have lived through 'em. Certainly none of my victims have, besides you. You survived Harley… don't ya get it? This is who you aaarrre," Joker cocked his head to one side.

"You're wrong. I had a great job and a good life. I was respected and making my parents proud until I meant you," Harley's voice quaked with anger, "I'm sick of your fairy tales your- your lies!" she yelled.

"They're not lies!" Joker growled and grabbed Harley's shirt collar, "Look at us we're fucking monsters,"

"No," tears trailed down her face, "You make things up," Harley's blue eyes narrowed as she dared to say another word, "I bet ya don't even know where ya got those scars," she hissed.

Joker hit her hard in the mouth. Harley slipped it the floor with a dark streak of blood running out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin. She looked up at the clown once again. She knew she was dancing with death here, but for some strange reason she did not care. Everything inside her, every emotion, every thought that hand been dissolved into a drug induced haze was coming out all at once.

Her heart pounded heavily and her insides burned like fire.

"I sure as hell know where I got mine," she said quietly, glaring at the clown prince of crime.

Harley expected to be hit again. She had predicted that Joker would fetch that fallen coat and all its pretty little knives. He didn't.

Eyes never leaving Harley he sat down, cross legged before her. He reached for her gun, fallen beside her.

Harley's breath heaved quickly inside her chest; as if she had run miles before kneeling on this spot.

Taking the gun in his hand Joker reached inside his pocket and retrieved a few bullets.

He was going to shoot her, she knew it. Harley closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the Joker loading bullets into the weapon.

If these were her last few minutes on earth she did not quite know how to feel about them. So many things swirled chaotically inside her mind but ultimately made her numb to death.

Then she felt a soft, leather glove on her hand. Harley kept her eyes shut as Joker lifted her hand to touch his chest, she felt the thud of his heart beneath her fingertips. Unlike her own it beat at a gentle and normal pace.

"Riiight here," Harley heard Joker say in a soft voice.

She opened her eyes, she wasn't dead yet. Instead the Joker was watching her, one hand holding her's to his chest and the other offering the gun.

Harley stared at it for a moment before it registered in her brain that the barrel was facing the Joker and not her. She looked confused at him.

"Take it," he pushed the weapon towards Harley, "Gimme right here," he moved her hand around.

Harley tried to question him, but could not find the words. She opened her lips but nothing came out.

"Maybe you're right Harl, but first ya gotta prove that to me," Joker leaned closer to her, "Kill me before I kill you," his voice was quiet, the gun was closer to Harley.

Reluctantly she accepted it. Harley held it with to hands as Joker let go of the once placed against his heart.

"I-I," Harley stuttered looking at the gun in her delicate hands.

Her heart pounded furiously in her throat making her head hurt and her vision swim. She felt as though she would pass out.

Joker was as calm as could be despite the fact that he could not predict what would happen. Perhaps that was the best part of the situation to him; the random chaos.

Harley had been extremely loyal in the past but would she remain that way after what he had did? Joker had no way of knowing but he was interested to find out.

He watched her intently as she stared at the gun. She was still beautiful, even with those scars. Joker noticed her lips were smudged with lipstick and faded red stains decorated her scarred cheeks. He had to smile at that.

Harley was frozen, besides the occasionally shudder of a suppressed sob that would send tremors through her frame.

She did not know why this was so hard. She had killed before, she knew how to use the gun and now before her was the man that ruined her life. Harley had dreamt of revenge on more than one occasion during her asylum stay but she would always spend the next day in a lovesick trance. At this particular moment she was not feeling either of this, she was simply in between, confused.

Harley tried to convince herself that it was justice, it was self defense. This was the Joker, evil, ruthless and cold. He never loved her all he wanted was to take her, used her, twist her into something monstrous and then cast her out like a broken toy. He was the demented ringleader in a circus of demons that bound her and forced her into this, into Harley Quinn.

He was dead inside, uncaring and unfeeling. He wanted her to be the same. Harley was no more then a puppet for him to show Gotham that all the human race was the walking dead, just like him. She was just a demonstration, not his girl. He tricked her and now she could never return to the world of the living. She was past to point of no return and it was all his fault.

Harley was angry now. She glared at him as hot tears streamed down her face.

He stared back with those dark, unreadable eyes, smeared with black make up.

Harley would never save her reputation, but this was a step in the right direction. If she killed the Joker she would prove him wrong. Harley would show everyone that she was stronger than they thought she was and that she could continue like with the clown. If only she could just pull the trigger.

Her finger twitched as she stared into his eyes. Just a little more pressure and this nightmare would soon be over.

But the longer she sat there, watching him watch her, she could see that little boy. The lost little boy with his shoes untied and his ill-fitting clothes. The kid with tangled blond hair and big, dark eyes. He didn't know his name, or where he was born, he didn't even know who his parents were. Nothing made sense to this little boy but his own reality and somewhere deep inside the clown that little boy resided.

When Harley first meant the Joker she wanted that boy to find the answers she was looking for. And when his stories made her cry all she wanted to do was make him better. She had to make him better.

Harley bit her lip, "Mistah J," she squeaked just above a whisper.

It was not a question, or the beginnings of a sentence, she just wanted to say his name. She sniffed, wiping her tears with her sleeve before tossing the gun aside and crashing into him.

The two fell to the floor, lips pressed together and fingers frantically grasping at one another as if to be sure they were real.

Harley's hands touched his scars as if it was the first time. The marred flesh sent shivers up her spine and set fire inside her. She desperately wanted more.

He positioned himself on top of her as she wrapped her legs around him to be closer. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest as they kissed with more force. He pressed harder against her mouth until she tasted blood.

It felt as if it had been an eternity since she had felt this way. Passion and excitement rushed back into her with the taste of his kiss.

This was the Joker; everything she should have avoided when she took that job at Arkham Asylum. He was the exact opposite of what she had dreamt of as a girl and she knew that they were probably not 'meant to be'. But was anybody? Or was that made up for fairy tales? Maybe love didn't even exist in this crazy world or this damned city. In a few short minutes Harley would be having too much fun to care anyway. It was probably wrong and it certainly did not make sense. It was mad love, chaotic, twisted and anarchic as the Joker himself. Life would be boring if it wasn't.

And they all lived happily ever after.... well it all depend on the way ya look at it.

Here's a little epilogue because I'm sure there's questions:

Strange was pleased as well as interested to see the news a few mornings later. The Clown Prince of Crime and his Hench Wench out of Arkham and back on the streets of Gotham. He began taking notes for a possible book on the subject and does not intend to be finished with the clowns just yet.

Harley begged Joker to break her new found friend Pamela Isley out of Arkham Asylum. He did, being in a good mood now that he was out of Arkham and in the company of his girl.

Pamela still hates the Joker but was thankful to be out and started a green house... what for no one knows.

Jonathan Crane escaped in all the excitement of Joker raiding the Asylum. He wanted to do some observing of the clown couple as well.

Thanks for reading everyone and thanks to im-batman for proof reading.

A special thanks to those that review, ya know who ya are :D

And of course thanks to Christopher Nolan for coming up with such an awesome batman series to write about and thanks to Heath Ledger and Brittany Murphy for being such great character inspiration. May they both rest in peace.