She touches his face, tries to slip her fingers under the cowl and gets a shock for her efforts. "You know," she comments, "Electroshock therapy works more often than you'd think."
"I'm not here for that, Harley."
"No? Then what's with the social call? Or did you finally decide to join the rest of the freaks here?"
"Maybe someday," he says, and she swears she hears a smile there under the scowl, but it's hard to tell. It's dark, no windows, just the little pane of glass that lets in light from the hallway.
Harley hates the dark. She should've picked a different city, somewhere like Metropolis where criminals are allowed to go out in the daytime.
"So, what is it then?" Harley asks. She sits back down on her bed, and the springs squeak under her. She remembers making them squeak before, with the Joker and Ivy and –
Not him, never here. With him the sheets were always soft, imported silk or Egyptian cotton, the kind of luxury someone else might've killed for.
"Did you come to tell me the Joker's dead?" she asks.
She can't even tell if he blinks, but she feels like maybe he does. Feels him move closer, until he's standing next to her. "I thought you'd rather hear it from me. That maybe then you'd believe it."
"Why?" she laughs, and it hurts – hurts more when he touches her shoulder. It's all wrong. They're both supposed to both be in costume, or both out – not like this. "Did you think I wouldn't feel it?"
And she did – she hadn't even seen the bastard in almost a year, time spent with Ivy and then locked up here, believing she was done and then finding herself in trouble again – but she still felt it, knew that this time he wouldn't be back, laughing all the while.
"What did you see in that clown?" he asks, and without missing a beat she asks, "What do you see in me?"
He's quiet, so long she thinks he's slipped away, and then he says, "You're brilliant. A mind like yours, you could've been anyone."
She can't see his eyes in the dark, not really, but she looks where she thinks they might be and says, "Pot, kettle – bat." She throws her head back and laughs at her own stupid joke, and by the time she opens her eyes he's gone again.
fill
"I'm not here for that, Harley."
"No? Then what's with the social call? Or did you finally decide to join the rest of the freaks here?"
"Maybe someday," he says, and she swears she hears a smile there under the scowl, but it's hard to tell. It's dark, no windows, just the little pane of glass that lets in light from the hallway.
Harley hates the dark. She should've picked a different city, somewhere like Metropolis where criminals are allowed to go out in the daytime.
"So, what is it then?" Harley asks. She sits back down on her bed, and the springs squeak under her. She remembers making them squeak before, with the Joker and Ivy and –
Not him, never here. With him the sheets were always soft, imported silk or Egyptian cotton, the kind of luxury someone else might've killed for.
"Did you come to tell me the Joker's dead?" she asks.
She can't even tell if he blinks, but she feels like maybe he does. Feels him move closer, until he's standing next to her. "I thought you'd rather hear it from me. That maybe then you'd believe it."
"Why?" she laughs, and it hurts – hurts more when he touches her shoulder. It's all wrong. They're both supposed to both be in costume, or both out – not like this. "Did you think I wouldn't feel it?"
And she did – she hadn't even seen the bastard in almost a year, time spent with Ivy and then locked up here, believing she was done and then finding herself in trouble again – but she still felt it, knew that this time he wouldn't be back, laughing all the while.
"What did you see in that clown?" he asks, and without missing a beat she asks, "What do you see in me?"
He's quiet, so long she thinks he's slipped away, and then he says, "You're brilliant. A mind like yours, you could've been anyone."
She can't see his eyes in the dark, not really, but she looks where she thinks they might be and says, "Pot, kettle – bat." She throws her head back and laughs at her own stupid joke, and by the time she opens her eyes he's gone again.