Disclaimer: I don't even own the toy. :-(
Author's Note: Doing a short original piece and webcomic script at the moment (hence my being quieter on the updating front), but been interested in trying a few shots outside my usual fare. This doesn't mean I'm dropping Harley/Crane or Jonathan/Sherry (they are my OTPs XD) but it's fun trying other stuff too on occasion. So first, decided to buck up and try writing a more pleasant Harley/Joker shot.
It's winter in Gotham, and the streets are full of ice. Harley Quinn sits by the heater in her red, black and blue—humming some half-remembered tune while Joker oils a gun. There's not much decoration. Crates and makeshift pillows over concrete floors (with the occasional stuffed giraffe thrown in for a laugh) but she likes the dirtiness of it all. That chill cutting through building, jacket, shirt, skin, and bone.
When she mentioned it to Mr. J he'd looked surprised. Then amused. "You, uh…would notice something like that Harley-girl." He'd smiled. Tousled her hair.
She knows he's thinking now and doesn't interrupt. She knows he appreciates her bringing food (when the ham and cheese sandwich went, it went fast) as long as it's not distracting. Joker doesn't say thank you, but occasionally he'll give a kiss or sweep her into a dance she can't follow.
He knows all sorts of jokes.
And when they lie in bed together, sometimes he'll ask what she enjoys from day to day. It pleases him when she appreciates this explosion, that ruined human being, the comedy of chaos. The scars on his face.
"Now, how'd you like doing it on your own?"
She sticks her tongue out, clearly dismissing it as a stupid question. "This is who I am, J. I'm happy."
Except it's not enough.