Notes: This was written entirely for my own gratification, pretty much because I'd been day-dreaming about the senario for a while and thought I may as well try documenting it. It's a pretty soon post-Arkham breakout based story from when Harley was still adjusting to life on the insane side of things and finding out what living with Joker is like; even though she did snap I think the adjustment would be a gradual process so she's a little Harleen-ish in places and not quite as loony as I might write her at other times.

This fic contains what some call "Evil Clown Pr0n" or what I like to think of as "Harlequin Hanky Panky"; also known as sexyteims of an adult nature - you have been warned. Plus, being Joker 'n' Harley, there is some not very nice borderline abusive behaviour going on coated in a sort-of hurt/comfort chocolate shell. It is also probably about twice as long as it needs to be, but I never was very decisive when it comes to pruning my work... all comments are very welcome and thank you for reading; I hope you may find it enjoyable!

I of course own nothing and this was written purely for non-profitable fandomish entertainment purposes.


Silent Comedy

The Orpheus Cinema had been neglected long before its doors shut for good several years earlier, and the décor was stuck in a timewarp somewhere around the fifties. Harley Quinn loved it in all its tatty glory, revelling in the freedom it now signified as she began to forget the confines of her tiny apartment and the drab, clinical world of Arkham Asylum. She could barely believe she'd run away to join the circus of life with the Joker just a few short weeks ago.

Within half an hour of driving away from the Asylum on that rainy night she'd been directed to the boarded-up rear entrance of the Orpheus, where a gang of a half-dozen guys whose names she never managed to catch (probably because Mistah J called them whatever names he felt like each time he spoke to them) had moved in and set up shop, hacking into neighbouring electricity lines and getting supplies out of storage units ready for his arrival. The efficiency of it all amazed her, and the psychologist in her who had once been dying to learn the Joker's secrets thrilled at the thought of the complex power structures and logistics that evidently thrived behind what those stupid, book-blind doctors and theorists continued to claim was his 'insanity'.

But where she was supposed to fit into all this, Harley wasn't so sure. She'd been boggled at by the heavies when she first walked in, tagging along at the coattails of Mistah J's rumpled Arkham pyjamas in her still-unfamiliar red and black costume. When Joker's behaviour made it obvious that she wasn't an oddly-dressed hostage but he didn't provide any sort of formal introduction they rapidly backed off, obviously unsure of who she was to their boss and unwilling to risk being seen talking to her or even breathing in her direction for fear of the reaction it might cause. Since then she'd been pretty much resolutely ignored, both by the hired help (as if she cared) and Joker himself (it was tearing her up inside).

Maybe she'd been spoilt by the luxury of so much one-on-one time with Joker as his doctor, but she'd hoped to be able to explore and deepen their relationship once the petty restrictions of the Asylum were behind them. This was a man that she loved so much she had willingly, eagerly, cast her old life away to be with him – surely it wasn't wrong to want to explore what that meant to the both of them?

And on a closely related point, she was pretty certain that she looked damn fine in her new form-fitting costume, so why the heck did he seem so oblivious to the goodies that were right in front of him and eager to be sampled?

The boring notes she'd had to read before taking him on as a patient had included vague, fluffy statements about intimacy issues, and since the rest of the world had turned its back on him and treated him so cruelly she had to expect some reluctance to allow himself to become physically close to another person without lashing out, but she couldn't help wishing that there could maybe be at least some sex going on while that process was worked through.

There had been a few all-too-brief trips to second base on the couch of her office at Arkham, but he'd always insisted that while she was his doctor it would be unprofessional for them to go any further. Breaking him out of the joint had flung that flimsy excuse out the window, but since then she'd had limited opportunity to revisit bases of any kind.

It wasn't that she never saw him at all, but he always seemed to be so busy – working, scheming, concocting plots to finally bring down the meddling Batman for good. One evening she'd cosied up to him at his desk in the office he'd set up in the projecting room and offered to help with his planning, but in response he'd looked at her and started laughing so hard that she briefly worried he might have ruptured something. Eventually she had to just stalk away, red-faced, but she could still hear his piercing laughter as it echoed around the building.

Still, when she wanted something she could be pretty persistent, and she continued to badger Joker to let her do what she could to help out. In the mean time she ran errands and fussed and tidied up the place, always hopeful that at the end of the day he would come and join her in the snug bedroom she'd set up in the projectionist's storeroom next to his office. Each night she fell asleep while waiting in a suitably seductive pose and woke up with a cricked neck to find that he hadn't slept at all, instead preferring to while-away the night in a haze of crayon scratchings and gag-weapon constructing.

When she ran out of chores she would sidle up and perch on top of a file cabinet or in a corner of the office where she could watch him work, hoping that she might still be able to offer the odd helpful suggestion and eager to learn about what his plans were leading up to. After she'd pestered him for a fifth time to tell her about his latest scheme he finally relented, and his ego seemed gratifyingly soothed at her astounded praise and entirely truthful proclamations of his genius. She couldn't help it if she was boggled by his brilliance!

To her delight Joker went so far as to allot her a small role in the proceedings; nothing very technical, just as a metaphorical cheerleader to help spread the message to the population of Gotham as some more of their fruitless little lives were extinguished in the course of showing the populace the futile truth of existence. Or something like that – it apparently wasn't vital that she fully understood as long as she did as instructed.

In the run-up, sat in the back of a panel van with him and a half-dozen of the boys, she was nearly sick with the excited, nervous butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she re-ran her allotted lines in her head and waited to grasp her chance and show him what she was capable of. Joker himself seemed almost serenely calm, giving the odd fond pat to the crate of explosives that were accompanying them on their journey, while the boys just looked jittery and decidedly trigger-happy.

From that point on the night was quite a blur – though she remembered sticking close to Mistah J while the boys dealt with the rent-a-cop security at the conference centre, and then a lot of screaming and panic from the hapless delegates when they cut the electricity. The group of hostage journalists weren't very cooperative until Mistah J gave them a little pep talk, and after that she was just trying to keep up and cheer loudly whenever he said anything. She was just getting into her cheering and whooping role when the stupid Bat turned up bashing heads together and things started falling apart.

Joker was still back with the hostages, but the hired goons seemed to be taking heavy knocks and she couldn't just stand back and watch Mistah J's brilliant plan collapse around the Bat's pointy ears, so she stepped up to the plate and got in a shot or two at the big bully. The jerk didn't seem to have a problem with hitting girls in the course of trying to subdue them (so said her new shiner of a black eye that quickly formed under the camouflage of white greasepaint), but even though her efforts were brushed off she was feeling quite proud with herself at being able to hold her own.

Holding her bruised eye, she made a crack to the Dork Knight about his mental health that she was sure Mistah J would just love – afterwards she wasn't even sure exactly what it was, other than it involved suggesting he could hang upside down like a bat in a straitjacket – but then there were some not-so-muffled explosion noises coming from the conference centre which she was sure wasn't supposed to be blowing up quite yet, and suddenly Batman was gone and Mistah J had suddenly gripped her wrist painfully hard and was dragging her back to the waiting van without a word.

On the drive back her jumble of adrenaline-fuelled questions got one muttered curse from Joker about the whole thing being a disaster and her in particular being a poor excuse for an assistant, cutting straight to her heart. Harley found herself suddenly wishing that she was back in the now flattened conference centre buried under several tons of immovable rubble.

As Larry (or Curly, or the other one; whichever he was this time) drove the van back to the Orpheus, Joker glowered silently in his seat and Harley sobbed quietly to herself in the back, leading to some uncomfortable glances between the remaining mooks who were still doing their best to ignore her. The van pulled around to the rear entrance and the doors were opened, but Harley remained sat by herself in the van as the boys dispersed and Joker stalked off to the main auditorium with growled instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed.

Harley sat in silence as the van's engine slowly ticked and cooled, racking her brain as she tried to recap what had happened. After going over the gig a half-dozen times she still didn't know what she'd done wrong, but as she got to her feet and hopped down from the van, she knew she was determined to make it up to him. And she had an inkling of an idea that might kill two birds with one custard pie…

When they moved in to the dilapidated cinema, Joker had sent the boys all across town to junk shops, specialist outlets and private collectors of original reeled film, searching for old silent comedies. He'd amassed quite a selection and when there was a lull in the schedule of bringing joy and mayhem to Gotham's streets she'd often seen him sprawled across several worn velvet seats in the main auditorium, chuckling away in delight at the antics of the legends of screen comedy. Harley didn't quite get why someone would want to watch an old silent film that wasn't even in colour when they made fancy schmancy 3D films these days, but then Mistah J seemed pretty purist when it came to comedy.

After dithering on the threshold for a few moments Harley took a deep breath, cracked open the door of the auditorium an inch or two and peered inside. From the look of the flickering screen he was part way through a Charlie Chaplin film; she might not have the encyclopaedic comedy knowledge Mistah J seemed to possess but the funny little Tramp was easy to recognise, even for her.

Harley opened the door and little wider and squeezed inside, scanning the auditorium before she spotted him in the middle of the top tier of seats. She crouched down so she wouldn't be silhouetted against the screen and snuck towards him as silently as possible, willing the bells on her cowl not to jangle; not wanting to earn any further wrath by disturbing his concentration at a favourite gag.

Once she reached his row she dropped down further to a slinking crawl. The aged carpet was sticky with the remnants of years upon years of spilled drinks and dropped popcorn, and as she paused next to his seat she was almost overpowered by the sugary sweet scents that seemed to seep from the very pores of the building. It reminded her of childhood trips to the cinema clutching a box of popcorn almost as big as she was, and fairground cotton candy eaten on a whirlitzer as she tried not to throw up. She inhaled deeply and it nearly made her head spin.

With the house lights off it was dark, the only light thrown by the film itself. Sat on the floor in the shadow of the seats Harley could barely see her hand in front of her face, but the Joker's bizarrely white skin and the acid orange of his shirt collar seemed to provide their own illumination as she gazed up at him in the darkness. He looked almost ethereal in the darkness and she felt so imperfect beside him, but something compelled her to reach out to him.

She sat in the darkness for several minutes, patience stretched to the limit, but if he realised she was there then he paid her no attention. His pale face remained focused on the screen, guffaws and the odd throaty giggle escaping as punch lines and pratfalls were executed with practiced ease. Harley sidled closer and ever so carefully rested an ounce of weight against his lower legs, leaning into him with the most gentle of pressure. Every muscle was poised to flinch back if her temerity earned her a sharp kick of rebuke from one highly polished shoe.

She held her breath for several tense seconds, but no kick came. She wondered hopefully if his film had already cheered him up, and made him forget about whatever it was exactly she'd done (or not done, or at least not done quite rightly to his exacting standards) to make him so mad earlier…

Emboldened, she lent up against him a little more and cautiously lifted her hand to begin a gentle stroking of his knee, a motion that was soon halted by a sharp pain in her scalp that made her yelp in surprise.

"Harley, Harley, Harleykins… after the monstrosity that was your performance earlier today, is there a reason you've snuck in here to start tickling me while I'm trying to watch a genius at work?"

Joker emphasised his crossly spoken words with a sharp tug on the lilliripe of her costume, sending pain shooting down the pigtail of hair that was hidden under the fabric. Though her head was now pulled at an uncomfortable angle she could see his face and noted that he was still watching the film rather than looking at her as he spoke.

"Have you decided, perhaps, that solid food is overrated and you want to try eating through a straw for a few weeks?" he asked queryingly.

"Nosir…" she babbled quickly, not wanting to risk assuming it was a rhetorical question. "I'm – I'm just real sorry about earlier... that I let you down..." Tears prickled at her eyes again and she tried unsuccessfully to will them away.

"Yes, you were quite the little screw-up today, weren't you?" He turned to look at her, voice taking on a biting tone revealing barely-suppressed anger. Harley quailed in the face of his displeasure. "It was a great first night performance, going off-script in front of all the press, and the police, and the Bat!" He spat out the name bitterly and Harley flinched again. "I should've just stuck a blonde wig on Curly and had him understudy for you, at least he knows when to keep his big mouth shut. No-one tries to upstage me, okay?" There were further sharp tugs of her hair. "Only. I. Do. The gags. Gottit?"

Harley sniffed and nodded as best she could, dashing away the now-falling tears with the back of a hand. The pain of knowing she'd disappointed him was like a knife in her chest, and she would do anything to make it stop – to make him realise that she hadn't meant to try to steal his thunder or let him down like so many others had, and that she would kill and bleed and die for him before she would make the same mistake twice.

First she had to make amends, and she could only hope that the method she'd chosen wouldn't end up with her in even deeper trouble.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed again, and tried hard to put on what she hoped was an enticing smile. "But please Puddin', won't you let me try to make it up to you?"

She reached over, letting one gloved hand stray across the crotch of his pants. He shot her a fierce glare, fist tightening on her pigtail under the fabric of her costume. Her lower lip wobbled slightly but she summoned all the bravery she could muster and left her hand where it was, licking her lips and beginning a gentle stroking back and forth.

She stared with a desperate intensity as she searched his expression for a clue to his reaction. What was he thinking? Was he enjoying it? Had he been waiting for her to make the first move? Was just planning how best to punish her before her stopped her? She'd seen what happened to the boys when they questioned him, or when he had a fit of temper – despite the connection that she knew they shared, there had been nothing in his behaviour so far to suggest she was immune to such treatment if she angered him. She could end up with a bloody nose, a broken arm, or worse…

Harley forced herself to meet his questioning gaze unblinkingly and put on as seductive an expression as a harlequin with a swollen black eye and incredibly tear-smeared makeup could, as she kept up the rhythmic rubbing motion. She'd thrown all her cards down and now it was his move.

Joker let a small growl escape as he slowly returned his gaze to the flickering screen, chuckling as the hungry Little Tramp began boiling his boot in a saucepan at the start of one of Chaplin's most famous scenes. At the same time, Harley felt the grip on her hair loosen slightly.

In terms of endorsements it might not have been much, but she hadn't been pushed away yet and so she allowed herself to press a little harder, feeling his warmth through the purple fabric. Was it her imagination or could she feel the start of a more positive reaction? She let the tiniest of eager little smiles creep onto her face.

She had just begun to sneak her fingers into a position where they could unbutton the fly of his pants when he suddenly dropped his grip on her hair. Harley jerked back slightly, anticipating a cuff or shove that would end her exploration, but instead he reached across for a handful of popcorn from an almost empty tub resting on the neighbouring seat and brought it to his mouth. He then lent back a little further against the tatty red velvet, folding his arms behind his head.

Harley looked up at his face with uncertainty – was that permission to continue? Dismissal? Did he remember that she was still there? The subtle tenting of his pants suggested that some of him seemed to remember, but she suspected this was a boundary you only wanted to cross with express consent if you didn't want to end up in that eating-through-a-straw state he'd hinted at earlier.

"Mistah J?" she asked in a voice that wavered back and forth somewhere between enthusiasm and hesitance, "Do you want me to… I mean, is it okay if I…"

He grunted, still not looking at her. "Do whatever you want. At least with your mouth full you wouldn't be talking through the movie."

It was hardly romantic, but after weeks of anticipatory sexual tension she wasn't going to say no to even the most perfunctory of invitations. This was the best way she knew of saying sorry; and from experience she could safely say it was appreciated much more than a muffin basket. Then there was the added bonus that she was sure once he got a taste of what was on offer, he'd start to come around to the idea of greater and more regular one-on-one 'intimacy'. Plus, getting down to brass tacks, if nothing else then the dopamine rush would have to be good for his mood. Win-win-win!

She returned her gloved fingers to the buttons of his fly and made short work of releasing his cock from the confines of his pants; marvelling at the unfamiliar whiteness of his skin even with the increased blood flow that was hinted in the darker shaded lines where veins passed closest to the surface. In her time she had seen plenty of different shapes and sizes, but nothing quite like this. Her gentle touch looked to have got things started, but she was sure with the right persuasion she could make it even harder.

She placed her lips against the head and gave it a fleeting kiss, watching his face for a reaction. Though he still wasn't looking at her she was pretty certain he was just pretending not to notice, probably as a joke, and she thought she saw the slightest hitch of breath. Encouraged, Harley ducked her head down lower and kissed the base, before travelling up and placing a dozen little pecks along the delicate underside right back to the tip. Slowly, she took the head fully into her mouth to taste him properly, still with an eye kept out for his reaction... maybe he was breathing a little faster.

Harley let a sly smile slide up her face as she sucked the head ever so gently, the musky scent of his body now filling her nose, before returning to kiss and lick the shaft alternately, feeling the increased heat as he warmed from her attentions. He seemed to be fully hard now, and she felt herself tingle inside as she imagined what it would be like if the switch that was so close to the surface in most men's brains finally tripped and he decided to fuck her right here on the tatty velvet seats of the auditorium... But as she slid back down over the head of his cock and circled the tip with her tongue he still wasn't even watching her efforts, as though the rest of him was disembodied from the perfect, rock hard shaft that she held between her lips.

Determined to earn his attention she curled her hand around the base of his cock and squeezed rather more firmly than she might usually, sliding her hand up and down as she began to dip her head, knowing that the pressure would increase the sensations. She took as much of him as she could in her mouth, sucking rhythmically while breathing shallowly through her nose and caressing his balls with her free hand. When she pulled back slowly, releasing him with a soft pop, she smiled to see the black ring of smeared lipstick she'd left behind. After catching her breath for a moment she planned to dive back in to see if she could set a new personal best; shutting her eyes as she slid her mouth back down and revelling in the pleasure she knew she would be bringing.

Her concentration was broken by a familiar snickering laugh that made his whole body shake against to her, and she looked up to see that Joker's attention had finally turned from the film to her; though she wasn't quite sure what the gag was. As his laughter passed it was replaced by contemplative smirk.

"How did I just know that this is what you'd see as an apology?" he asked mockingly, before answering his own question. "I suppose when you've been using the same go-to move since high school to say sorry, thank you and happy Hanukkah, you get stuck in something of a behavioural rut."

Harley paused mid-lick, taking a second to process what he'd just said, and Joker raised one questioning brow.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he queried in a sugary voice that was full of underlying menace.

Harley somewhat reluctantly returned to the task at hand, internally squirming with indecision. This wasn't quite how she'd pictured that the 'exploring and deepening' of their relationship would happen. Maybe she'd been realistic enough with herself not to expect a rose petal strewn bed and taking him to meet her parents the weekend after, but kneeling on a sticky carpet and having her prior sexual indiscretions raked through wasn't the most romantic of backdrops to the current activity.

"It's very resourceful really," he continued, seemingly oblivious to her frowning expression at this topic of conversation. "Out in the land of the lemmings with their dull, pedestrian lives, it's all about the give-and-take. And if you can get what you want a little easier with the aid of some nimble fingers and a dextrous tongue then I won't be queuing up to blame you." He paused for a second, pondering. "Others might, particularly ethics committees, but what do they know?"

Harley mumbled something around his cock and made as though to cut-in, but Joker made a shushing motion and carried on regardless.

"But the thing is, if getting you on your knees was my number one intention for you then our sessions at the asylum could have been cut down to 15 minutes and I'd have been back in the rec room each day in time for the afternoon re-run of Jeopardy."

"Hey!" she finally protested audibly, starting to sit back up, but he wagged an admonishing finger at her.

"Now, now, Harleykins – good girls don't talk with their mouths full."

An indignant flush spread across her cheeks, hidden beneath the concealing layer of greasepaint.

"The thing is, Harl, you might have been able to run slurpy little rings around every male authority figure you've encountered since you were sixteen, but I'm not in the business of being manipulated, and particularly not by a corny old gag like that. Unlike most of the Neanderthals you've encountered in your desultory little life to date, my brain is located a tad higher than the area you're currently interacting with."

Harley could only listen, torn between abandoning the whole effort and storming off in a huff or staying to see where he was going with all this. She didn't have to hang around taking those sort of insults from anyone; she could stand up and slap him and walk right out. But then she would quite possibly never get this chance again – to hear what he really thought about her since she'd cast her old life away – about them? If she was going to stick around then she needed to push through and find out what sort of relationship it was possible to have with him; it was that or resign herself to being kept at arms length forever – not something her emotions and hormones seemed to cope well with, if the last few weeks were anything to go by.

Talking it was then.

"Sorry," she muttered as she withdrew him from her mouth, squeezing the base of his cock with her hand a little harder than necessary, "I can clearly see that you're hating this."

She knew she was running a risk with the backchat, but felt it had been earned. She got a smirk in response, and she continued with a haphazard stroking of his cock while the conversation continued.

"It's a pleasant enough leisure activity," he conceded, "a way to kill some time. But we really need to broaden your horizons a little. Sticking your grabby little hands down my pants is just so boring. Sure a bit of friction will do the job, but it's such a dull, mechanical process. It lacks scope. Things only really start to snap, crackle and pop when you add in a bit of chemistry."

"What sort of chemistry?" Harley asked warily, hoping that this was metaphorical and that it wasn't going to drift over into a discussion about explosives or toxic gases.

"That lacy black underwear you wore a couple of times under your white coat back at Arkham?"

She nodded, mouth quirking in a smile as she remembered how it had caught his eye the first time she wore it. With an effort she wrenched her attention back to see him shake his head firmly.

"Boring."

Her face fell.

"All those short skirts and pouting behind those cheap useless spectacles, and bending over, pretending to pick up a dropped pen? It was all ridiculous." He gave a brief chortle of laugher. "So ridiculous that it almost became hot again, enough to raise a spark of interest. But not the real deal."

Harley was rapidly trying to re-assess her world view – clearly she'd been going about things all wrong from the very start. She supposed it made sense that Mistah J's topsy turvy brilliant mind would be wired differently in more ways than one – and there was silly little her, thinking she could get his attention in the same way as any other Y-chromosome bearing man! But now she knew where she was going wrong, maybe she could get pointed back in the right direction.

"Is there anythin' I've done so far that's turned you on even a little, Puddin'?" she asked hesitantly, tensing slightly as she waited to see if her hopes would be crushed beneath the feet of his harsh truths.

There was what seemed like an agonisingly long pause as Joker adopted a thoughtful expression, before a leering smile broke through.

"Watching you cavort along Arkham's corridors in that silly little costume, braining the security guards with a brick-filled rubber chicken and shooting tear gas from a toy pop gun? That was hot."

Harley's heart thrilled at the words, and she took the head of his cock back into her mouth with renewed enthusiasm as he giggled slightly at the memory.

"And before you went and spoilt it by opening your big mouth," Joker continued, "when you were whaling on the rippling presence of our dear, Dork Knight with nothing but your bare hands and some naïve optimism? That was really hot."

She felt his cock twitch as he spoke, and deep in her throat she gave a moan of agreement. She felt the warm internal glow return as she thought about him getting off on her causing mayhem and bodily injury on his behalf; now that was something she could work with.

"I did it for you, Puddin'," she breathed softly as she lifted her head and stared up at his face. "And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat."

This time he didn't tell her to be quiet and she was pretty certain she had his full attention as she ducked her head to give him a few more long, lingering licks.

"I'd break you out of Arkham a dozen times over," she promised fervently in between licks, "even if I had to bash together the skulls of everyone on the staff. Security guards, doctors, cops – none of them mean nothin' anymore, unless they're in your way and then they're just askin' for trouble..."

There was now a more hungry glint in his eyes, and he was definitely breathing faster as she resumed her earlier rhythmical sucking interspersed with gentle nibbles. She came up for air and smiled to see the reaction she was now getting, knowing he couldn't be that far off. She traced a finger delicately down from the tip to the base as she gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, voice little more than an urgent whisper.

"And I'd give my last breath to stop that mean ol' Bat from persecuting you, once and for all. I'd go down fightin' with a smile on my face and your name carved into my heart. Because I know you'll get him one day, Puddin', you've earned the last laugh – standin' on his grave."

She'd barely taken him back into her mouth and given a few more firm strokes before his eyes closed and he gave a half-giggling grunt, cock pulsing between her lips. Harley greedily swallowed it all down, sucking gently at the tip of his softening cock before reluctantly releasing him.

She then sat back on her heels with a self-satisfied expression that was plain to see even through the abstract smears of black lipstick, white greasepaint and tear-wrecked mascara as Joker tucked himself back into his pants and smoothed back his slightly mussed hair. Harley shifted to sit to one side, stretching her cramping legs a little as she waited expectantly for him to break the silence.

"You're quite the pro, aren't you?" he finally said with a chuckle, and Harley rolled her eyes at the hackneyed back-handed compliment but couldn't help responding with a slightly smug grin of her own.

"With it a bit of direction it seems maybe you're not quite as incompetent as you come across. See if you can't put as much effort into keeping to the script and sticking to your assigned role next time; otherwise Daddy will have to cut that disobedient little tongue out and keep it until you learn how to make it behave." He made a snipping motion with his fingers and gave her a toothy grin. "And that would be a terrible shame, because it does have its uses…"

It took all her restraint not to jump up and down with joy – it sounded like not only was he going to give her another chance at helping with his schemes, but much more vitally he seemed open to the prospect of further 'one-on-one' time! It might take a while to adapt to a whole different set of motivations, but she could be a quick learner when she needed to be and it was going to be fun to explore a whole new and different set of buttons. She just hoped it wasn't going to be a long wait for the next chance at an expedition – the whole thing had really got her motor running, and she was itching to be taken out for a drive.

Harley drifted back from her thoughts just as Joker was looking at the blank screen with a frown of confusion.

"You've made me miss a good twenty minutes of the film, you little minx."

He sounded fairly good natured about it, but Harley really didn't want to risk his mood crashing back down this quickly.

"How's about I head up to the projection room and rewind the reel?" she jumped in quickly to volunteer, scrabbling to her feet and slightly wobbly legs and heading for the stairs to the next floor.

"Harley?" he called after her.

"Yeah, Mistah J?" she asked, turning her head just in time to meet the thrown empty popcorn box face-first.

"While you're up, be a doll and fetch me some more popcorn."

Harley smiled as she picked the fallen box up from the floor, just happy to be able to run errands for a more contented Joker than when she'd first crept into the auditorium.

"If you're really good and that tongue behaves itself I might even let you stay to watch the rest of the movie," he called after her. "You could do with a few lessons in the values of silent comedy."

Her heart soared so much that she practically flew up the stairs.


Notes: In case you cared, the film was of course The Gold Rush. And yes this was all a little sappy and basically fanservice for moi. Thank you and goodnight!