Chapter 16

His return back to being King, back to being the Clown Prince, went rather smoothly.

Hours after his escape from the crazy prison Arkham where he'd been held at, Joker found it quite easy to blend back into his usual business like normal. It was almost as if he hadn't been away in the first place, being committed into the loony asylum.

Almost.

Jonny had known intuitively what J was expecting for his homecoming. He knew J well enough to know that he'd expect a big bang, a big celebration once he got back into the club for the night. So that was exactly what Jonny made sure he planned; A big celebration, a big round of applause for J the instance he got into the club by the regular patrons, a big fanfare home-welcoming.

You didn't disappoint J very often and get away with it- that rule was always at the forefront of Jonny's mind. While J was out and about, getting comfortable with settling back into 'normal' routine, Jonny took his absence to his advantage to prepare for the big production ahead of him.

...

Jonny-Boy had done him proud, indeed.

The club was exactly how he had left it to go on his little trip to the loony asylum, with not a thing out of place. He could count on Jonny well to upkeep his business.

The place was thriving, pulsing with excitement when Joker smoothed down his vibrant green hair, preening himself for his entrance back into his kingdom. Wearing his best tuxedo suit and matching trousers for the night, no shirt, suspenders snug around his shoulders, gun holstered to his side, he felt good and ready to get the show on the road. Rolling his neck around his shoulders, stretching various tendons while holding his interlaced fingers behind his back, flexing his knuckles, he finally felt ready to make his entrance.

He felt jittery with excitement, with mirth as he pushed through the door into the club.

Every eye turned to him in the room, and he relished in it, running his tongue over his capped teeth salaciously. The lights on the ceiling were flashing, pulsing manically from red to white, while the dancers did their pretty little thing.

Eyes still on him, he held out both arms flamboyantly, turning around slowly on the spot, a dominant peacock showing his feathers to all those around him. He'd returned, the King was back.

Alone without his little Harley Quinn, mind you. But back nevertheless.

Once feeling satisfied with the respectful amount of attention he'd received, he finally approached his usual spot, in his private V.I.P area. Loud rock music started playing, filling the silence. He hitched up his trousers before sitting, letting out a gruff "Ahhh" through his teeth at the immediate familiarity of the couches comfort, lifting his arms and outstretching them wide at the back of the couch.

Oh, here... we... go. He rolled his eyes.

Just as he was predicting, a flock of men started approaching him, one by one. So eager to welcome him back, so eager to kiss ass.

"Er, welcome back, J," first man grumbled nervously, the fear reeking off him pungently like a bad smell. So uneasy. He made so many people so uneasy, and it was easy as breathing, the way he made them flinch, made them cower. He reveled in it. The young man avoided his gaze, shaking a little. "Good to see you back in one piece."

The Joker rolled his eyes again before outstretching his right hand, showing his pinky ring.

Like the straight up nincompoop he was, the young man did not hesitate to bend down, pressing his lips to Joker's ring. He could feel the young man's lips quivering on the cold metal, and Joker had to suppress a laugh at how quick the boy turned away, desperate to flee unscathed.

Next man came up to greet him and brown nose him, this one a little more cocky and braver than the first one this time.

"Great to see you back, Mr. J," the man said confidently, his voice cool and collected as his dark eyes held and did not waver from Joker's. "Knew you'd get out of that loony bin eventually." Bowing his head in an imitation of respect, the man quickly left, only for the next person to come up, then the next. And the next. Next. Next. Next.

Boring, boring, boring...

All these endless brown-nosers, so eager to show their loyalty to him, their dedication, just so he'd still remain an investor in their part of their business. Yawn. And he thought the crazy asylum, Arkham, was worth escaping out of so that he'd have to put up with this? At least back then he'd had his little Harley girl to play and amuse himself with...

His Harley Warly Pudny Parly.

His thoughts drifted to her as, endlessly, the next sweet talker tried their charms on him.

Oh, his Harley. His Harley, Harley, Harley.

His mind drifted, until he felt like he was no longer there, present in the club anymore. An out of body experience, where his mind had separated itself from his body. Like a puppet pulled on strings, his body was present, coaxing each and every ass kisser in the room to kiss the ring reflexively.

But his mind...

"Mr. J, what are you doing?"

Her panicked voice filled the chasms in his mind.

"I thought we were going? So what are you doing?"

It began again, like a bad joke. That throbbing over his mark, that buzzing over the looped calligraphy, skin-deep, in his neck.

"You can't kill me, Mr. J. Want to know how I know that, huh?"

Her voice, how strong she had sounded. How certain.

"'Cause we're soulmates. You can't kill me, Mr. J. It's not possible. We belong together..."

That irritating feeling formed in his heart again, the horrible one from this morning. It was embarrassing, how.. unfunny he'd found the whole entire thing, in turning her brains into scrambled mush. He'd never felt such a feeling before, usually he found it amusing, hurting people, killing them, torturing them. Yet all it takes is one loony Doctor hell bent on them being soulmates to leave him in a black hole state of confusion, hesitation and... and... sappy regret?

"We belong together..."

Now he'd almost wished he hadn't left her behind after all. She could have brought so much fun to his little City, to his little club.

Just you and me, baby. You and me against the world. And maybe he hadn't been playing? Maybe he'd actually meant that, at the time, sappy as it was to consider?

He's gone years trying to track her down, having finally found her at that crazy farm. Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

He'd heard it multiple times. People said someone like him wasn't capable of love, wasn't capable of anything. Compassion... Remorse. Apparently he was a psychopath- and, to be perfectly honest, he found being labelled as that an outright hoot.

It made people automatically fear him, deem him dangerous, terrifying. It gave him immense power, made people remember who was boss, who was King.

Loathe as he did to admit it, he had actually enjoyed having his little Doctor around. Talking to her, fooling with her. Her sappy questions about love and her little gifts. It had been a blast. What fun was there without her anymore?

She'd been so willing. Oh, so perfectly willing to join his side, to be part of his world.

All the fun they could do together. Not overly 'sappy' fun, like lovey-dovey stuff. But killing together, burning down buildings, wrecking havoc. Laughing together. Having her at his side, his Queen. The King and Queen, owners of Gotham City.

It would be a real party, a party fit for two. Batsy Boy wouldn't have known what's hit him if he knew there was not just the Joker causing havoc on Gotham City. Imagine how much he'd be crapping his spandex pants once he discovered there were two of 'em, Joker and his girl.

And what was that stupid saying? It takes two to tango?

Back in his right mind, he grit his teeth as the line of brown-nosers started getting smaller. Then he decided he'd had enough of sitting around, bored out of his brains. He ignored the proffered hand of some man that had approached him, instead lifting his boot. He swung carelessly, catching the man right in the groin roughly, and he cackled when the man fell back while both hands cupped through his pants in agony, while he also knocked over a few men behind him.

"Ow," he heard the guy whimper tragically, which tickled him even more.

"Ow," he mocked, copying the guy in an exaggerated, wailing voice. A few dancers turned and stared at his little performance, but Joker was beyond caring. He never cared. The more spectators, the better. "Ow."

Rising to his feet, he turned away, catching Jonny's eye behind his shoulder.

"I'm going out for a little road trip," he told Jonny, then he left, striding away determinedly from the group of men all lined up, aware they were all staring after him like sad little whiny pups.

He had to find her. He didn't think like this all too often but he could see now that maybe, just maybe, impulsively sizzling her brains out and leaving her at Arkham had been a huge whoopsie! moment for him.

Harleen woke with a start, immediately aware she was aching all over as her eyes popped open. She blinked heavily and squinted, blinded momentarily by a harsh glare of white light above her while she sucked in deep, ragged breaths through her lips.

It was agony. Everything that she felt from her head... straight down to the very tips of her toes. Sheer, plain agony.

Her stomach coiled in on itself as she turned her head away from the light, becoming aware of her surroundings. She was alone, all by herself, in a tattered, discarded room. She wondered why she felt so stiff and so cold, then realized it was because she was on one of the steel operating tables where the patients at Arkham were frequently operated on.

What had happened minutes- or was it hours ago?- flashed in her mind brutally, fractured memories coming to the surface. She clenched her eyes shut against them as they flickered around in her head painfully, making her head throb.

His voice. Her Mr. J, of all people.

"We're gonna play a game. And lucky, lucky, lucky you, ya get to go first. You wanna play, hmm?"

Her stomach coiled in over itself and rolled again as she turned slowly onto her side, lifting her knees up. She held them to her chest, comforting herself while her arms wrapped around her shoulders, getting into a protective fetal position. She was shaking. Trembling all over.

"Oh, no, no. You see, I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm just gonna hurt ya. Really, really bad."

It was him. He did this to her.

Her soulmate, the man she was meant to be with.

And after everything she'd done for him?

All their time spent together, talking in the session room? All her gifts to him, all their special talks?

He'd asked her for a kitty. She couldn't give him a kitty- it was against Arkham policy- so, fearing to disappoint him, she'd gone above and beyond to get him a stuffed toy kitty instead, praying it had made a good enough substitute.

He'd asked her to get him a machine gun- and she'd even done what he'd said. She had been willing to throw away everything for him, all because they were soulmarked and were meant to be together!

Her job at Arkham!

Her own entire frigging life!

Her identity as Harleen Quinzel, even!

She'd sacrificed everything for him! And yet, he'd gone and done this to her? This was what she got in return? This is how he repaid her expressions of loyalty, of... devotion? Of... love, even?

Her jaw was aching so badly from grinding her teeth, probably while he had done what he'd done to her.

Something tickled down her face. Reopening her eyes a peek, she brought up a hand, wiping around the crease of her lower eyelids with her fingers slowly. When she held her hand back to look at it, she noticed the dark black smudge of mascara dirtying them, probably because she was crying and her mascara was not waterproof.

She had to sit up, but it took her a couple of seconds to find her courage. Bracing herself, she pulled her legs away from her chest and shifted upright, swinging her feet off the steel table She could barely move her jaw from pain, and she could feel her heart beating too fast in her chest.

Her eyes searched around the room. It was completely empty. White curtains were pulled back from another steel table that divided patients when undergoing their therapy. Smashed pieces of glass were covered the floor beneath her. Her eyes found the rods he had used- the ones he had held to her temples. Instinctively, she touched the area where he'd held them to her skin, massaging gently near her hairline with her forefingers. Her temples felt bruised and tender.

He'd done this to her. The hurtful knowledge came to her again, and Harleen felt her stomach muscles kick and spasm involuntarily beneath the weight of it.

He'd actually done this to her. And he'd dared to leave her. He'd left her here, crashed out in the room, all alone, and in pain.

He'd left her.

She'd been so naive, she realized. So, so naive and stuck on the thought that they were soulmates.

What the hell would make her so different compared to anybody else that he probably toyed with? He'd played with her heart, with her stupid romantic wishes of them sharing a life together, all because they were soulmarked to each other. What had she been thinking? He was a master manipulator, he probably did this to everybody. He was a known psychopath who, on record, was not capable of loving or feeling for anybody. And she'd believed him for goodness sake?

She'd always heard people say, when you find the one your soulmarked to, you follow your heart. You follow your heart and let them in, and everything suddenly turns rosy.

What a dope she'd been to believe that! She'd followed her heart and look where that got her! To where she is now!

He's not capable of love. Or giving or receiving love, for that matter. Why was she so damn naive?

"It's not your fault," she whispered through gritted teeth, keeping her jaw stiff, careful not to move it too much. She stroked her own cheek with the heel of her hand, caressing it, soothing her own betrayal and self-hatred away. "He tricked you. He took advantage of you bein' besotted over the idea of being soulmates with him, that's all."

As if someone had turned on a switch, her soulmark began buzzing beneath the fabric of her blouse. Irritated by it, she dropped her hand from her cheek, yanking the tucked-in ends of her blouse out of her skirt. She found her mark, covering it over with her palm and the length of her hand. Her skin felt moist and warm beneath it.

Suddenly, she didn't want it there anymore. Curling her fingers inward, she began scratching it, scratching along the letters as roughly as she could. Do your friends call you Harley?

"Get off'a me," she muttered harshly through her clenched teeth, scraping against her skin furiously. "I don't want you anymore! Get off!"

The mark didn't listen to her voice. Instead, it seemed to intensify, that feeling. Giving up in heart broken defeat, tears rushing down her face, she dipped her chin, lifting her blouse, glancing at her stomach. Her skin was red raw and inflamed along the words of her mark from her sharp fingernails, but that was it, It was as if the mark was so ingrained into her skin, so thick like a tattoo that, no matter how hard she damn well tried, nothing could ever get rid of it.

Eyeing her surroundings again, she noticed it then. Her gun, the Rhino Revolver she'd brought. Mr. J hadn't taken her gun with him. An idea forming in her brain, she slid off the bench as gracefully as she could, anger replacing her grief. Reaching down gingerly despite the aching twang in her side, she got hold of the white handle, tightening her fingers around it. She lifted it up, immediately remembering the man's instructions in the gun store.

She opened the cylinder, checking to make sure it still had bullets inside. It did. It had three.

"You wanna play a game?" she murmured to herself distractedly as she flicked her wrist, wrenching the chamber shut again. She eyed the end of the barrel with wide, shining blue eyes while she felt something deadly, something mischievous and vengeful course through her veins. "Huh, well, lucky for you, Mr. J, ya get to go first." She didn't realize what she was doing until the words flew out of her mouth.

She was mocking him. Copying him.

She wanted him to pay for what he did to her. Who the hell did he think he was for leaving her this way anyway?

Her mind made up, she tucked the gun carefully between the tight waistband of her skirt, then she fixed up her shirt, making sure it covered over the gun perfectly.

Mr. J wasn't gonna know what's hit him.

"Where?"

His patience was wearing thin.

Sitting in the driver's seat of his purple Lamborghini, the Joker was growing more and more frustrated by the minute. He growled through his teeth as he stomped down on the accelerator,listening to the beast of an engine purr. Waiting was not something he particularly liked to do, but he was finding he was having no luck in scouting out the streets of Gotham for any sign of her.

It was a mild, quiet evening on the streets of Gotham. There wasn't much traffic out tonight, no cars that he could purposefully bump into or chase down as a distraction while searching for his Harley.

Tightening his pale, slender fingers over the steering wheel, he growled again, this time shaking his entire body furiously at his lack of success. A sudden impulse made him jolt up from the seat, only to smack the top of his scalp on the roof of the car. The pain throbbing around his cranium only soothed him momentarily as he laughed. A strand of green hair curled out of place due to its contact with the car ceiling, and he sighed, wiping it back into place with his fingers.

"Where... is she?" He muttered out loud to himself, growling like a dog.

A spark of hope lit inside him as he thought he saw a blonde-haired woman walking on the pavement, and his eyes glued to her immediately. Unfortunately, as he raced past her, he saw the front view of her face and body and pulled his rouge lips down into a scowl of disappointment.

That hope exploded and died within him immediately. No, no, that wasn't his Harley, so... where? Where... was... she?

"Where are you, honey bunny?" he called out inside the car, as if she were his cherished pet, his loyal little doggy that responded to his calls, even in the purple Lamborghini with the windows wound up. "Come, come, come to Daddy!"

What happened next, had a thrilling shiver of shock rattling through his spine.

He heard the sound of glass smashing and, in the next instance, a bullet was shooting through the empty passenger's seat, right through from the windshield.

He clomped down onto the break with his foot without thought, skidding to a loud halt as the Lamborghini rumbled and vibrated around him, plummeting back against the leather seat at the fast break action. His eyes roamed ahead of him through the windshield, his chest heaving in excitement through the loosened collar of his tuxedo jacket.

Batsy or... his Harley?

He couldn't see anyone standing around near the car, the culprit who had shot at him. The street was empty.

Tonguing his grill, he lifted his head, scanning the high buildings for any glimpse of Batsy-Boy coming to join the party.

Batsy?

Or... Harley?

He couldn't see Batsy anywhere on a rooftop. But then he felt it, and his silent question was answered. In response, he grinned widely while closing his eyes, letting that niggling sensation overtake him, the one that always did lately whenever she was close. He inclined his head, basking in the feeling, turning his head gently side to side as it enveloped him like a suffocating blanket, a deep moan tearing through the back of his throat.

That all-too-familiar sensation, that feeling like invisible fingers were tickling and tracing over his soulmark.

She was near.

And then-

"Get outta the car!"

Harleen hadn't been sure she'd be able to track him down.

Yet she'd felt it, the instance she'd jogged across the street, the instance she'd heard the growling of an engine in the distance and screech of tires. The mark on her stomach had started feeling tender, had started feeling tingly- a telling sign that he was near, that her soulmate was in close range.

Squinting through her glasses down the long street-lamped lit street, she'd seen the fancy purple sports car zooming down the street towards her at lightning speed. She'd caught a glimpse of a head of vibrant green hair and she hadn't had her doubts then.

It was him. Mr. J. She'd found him.

Whipping her revolver out of her waistband, she'd gotten into position, spreading her legs a width apart. Lifting her arm straight and angling it towards the windshield opposite his seat, she'd clenched her finger down on the trigger. One breath had barely left her before she firmly held the trigger down, shooting at her moving target.

And she'd done it. She'd actually done it.

The moment he'd slammed on the breaks and the tires skidded to a loud halt, she'd immediately moved into action. There was little time to think. If she gave herself time to think, she knew she'd only just chicken out and she was hell-bent on making him pay. It's what he deserved, wasn't it?

Heart hammering in her chest, she strode briskly towards the passenger's side of his car, holding her arm straight, aiming the gun at him through the window at where he sat. Through it, she saw his eyes were clenched closed, his head flopped downward. He seemed oddly serene as he slowly rolled his head around on his shoulders, as if he was a cat basking in the sun. It unnerved her deeply, how calm he appeared in contrast to her violent actions.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stepped closer, "Get outta the car!"

It was hard to speak when her jaw was still sore from grinding down on her teeth the way she had when he'd done his little game of electroshock on her, but she managed. To her relief, her voice was steady and firm.

He reopened his eyes slowly, and then, turning his head, he met her gaze.

Harleen wasn't sure why it started her the way it did, because obviously he had to look at her, didn't he? Only, the minute his eyes made contact with hers, wide and black-rimmed with smudged eye make-up, she felt her resolve and determination crumble, just like that.

She wasn't expecting him to look at her like that and she swallowed as she forced herself not to look away. Red lips parted, teeth glinting at her as he held her gaze intensely through the glass on the window.

What startled her most of all, she thought, was the fact that his eyes showed no fear in them at all. Here she was, holding a gun at him, a clearly loaded gun seeing as she'd shot through his windshield all but two damn seconds ago, and what, no flinch or flicker of fear from Mr. J at all?

She heard the door handle unlatch and she forced herself to step back a distance, still holding the gun tightly. She kept it aimed at his face as finally, he did as she requested, climbing out of the car. And then she saw the clothes he was wearing and she felt her arm shake unsteadily as her eyes roamed down his outfit quickly.

He was no longer dressed in his boring prison garb or straitjacket, which, of course, he wouldn't be because he was out of Arkham now. But it still took her a moment to gather herself when she saw him wearing normal clothes. Well, sort of normal clothes.

Her heart ached a little at how four buttons on his white shirt were undone, showing his pale, muscular chest and the numerous tattoos he had decorating his skin. His My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel soulmark was shown proudly, the collar of his shirt not covering the cursive lines at all. Suspenders held up his suit trousers, and his shoes appeared to be made of crocodile skin or something of the like. Civilian clothes. He was wearing civilian clothes- although obviously ones that showed his own particular flare and unique style.

It felt so real then, so close. He was now out of Arkham, and they could have been together. Could have had a real good life together, just him and her, if he hadn't done what he'd done to her. They could have had something so good, and yet, he'd gone and left her after brutalizing her?

Harleen felt her eyes sting with moisture as she brought her eyes back up to his face again. She hadn't noticed it until a second later, but he must have taken advantage of her ogling, her distraction. He'd been taking it one step at a time, sneaker closer and closer to her. She lifted the gun higher, until it was level to his forehead, to the 'Damaged' tattoo there gracing his skin. Again, she noticed he did not flinch or give any outward sign of fear at all.

"You..." she began, and then she had to stop to clear her throat, because it had lost some of its firmness.

She now began to feel just as vulnerable and heartbroken as she felt on the inside, but she did not want to give him the satisfaction or power of knowing he'd gotten to her.

"You left me there?" She inhaled in deeply, then decided she did not care anymore if he heard how hurt she was. "You think its okay to just up and leave me like that, huh, Mr. J?"

He snarled through his teeth at her, eyes still not leaving hers.

"After everything I've done for you? Everything you've asked of me, I've done it, haven't I? Like the... the kitty and the... machine gun?" Her voice rose, high pitched and tremulous as her eyes held his. "Hell, I got you that machine gun, just like you'd asked? I'd smuggled it in! I did what ya said!"

She caught the movement as he inched closer with his shoes against the pavement, and her hand tightened on the handle of her gun, holding it straighter towards his head.

He was standing so close now, that all he had to do was reach up and snatch the gun from her, yet he held his hands at his sides carelessly. Shoes scuffling against the concrete, finally she felt it as the nozzle of her gun pressed against the skin of his forehead, obstructing his 'Damaged' tattoo from her sight. She swallowed again against an uneasy thick lump that had formed at the back of her throat, her underarms feeling damp.

"I've done every goddamn thing you've said! Everything!"

She tried to peer into his luminous bluish-grey eyes, tried to plead with him despite how loud her heart was pumping and how frightened she was at the fact that he showed no fear whatsoever that she held a loaded gun at him. She could literally blow his brains out at any second!

"Haven't I proved myself worthy to you, and about how much I wanna be part of your world with you, huh?" Now that she had begun, she couldn't seem to stop. The words were tumbling out, achingly sad, and desperately loud, "Haven't I... I proved my loyalty to you and how... how much we're meant to be together?"

She felt his forehead leave contact with the nozzle of the gun as he raised both hands in the air, as if in surrender.

Only she realized his true reason for it when Mr. J rolled his eyes at her, muttering in what sounded like a gruff tone of disgust, "Got it, got it." He made a swishing hand motion at her, as if to say 'stop with the sweet words already'. "Got. It." The last part tore through clenched teeth as he enunciated each word.

His quick dismissal of her words, it shred at her heart more than she thought it would, more than even the thought of his betrayal, more than even the fact that he had left her behind, suffering at Arkham after shocking her had. How could he deny it and dismiss it when proof was there, on their skin? How could he not accept it and let her in?

But she set her chin and kept up, hoping to make her voice as steady as possible. "We're soul mates, we got the marks on our skin to show for it."

Forgetting herself in all her desperation to get her point across, Harleen lowered her arm that was holding the gun slightly as she reached out with her other free hand towards him. The moment her fingertips touched above the loosened collar of his shirt, the moment they stroked against hot skin and cursive lines that spelled her name, he stepped back and recoiled as if she'd burnt him with a match.

"See, ya even got my name on your neck for goodness sake! Just accept it!"

He hummed throatily at her words, his head tilted in what seemed obvious dismissal. "I am not..." Mr. J paused for a moment, turning his head, as if considering his words extra carefully, "Someone who is... loved... or is... in love."

He circled her, his polished shoes scratching against the concrete as he walked around her body like a shark taunting its prey, sizing her up for the precise moment to strike. Regardless, Harleen felt high, as if she were floating to the ceiling beneath his gaze.

Still, her heart fell with every word he was telling her.

"I am... an idea, a..." Slipping in front of her again, he clapped his hands loudly while smacking his lips together, the unexpected moment causing Harleen to flinch, "State of mind!" In a showy gesture, he extended both arms out, wiggling each of his slender fingers at her as he paced around her again, taunting her. "I execute my will according to my plans and you..." He was going on and on, scattering her mind as he raised a hand at her, jabbing his forefinger and wiggling it at her accusingly, "You and this"- Then he tapped violently at the mark on his neck- "Harley Quinn, are neither part of my plans."

"What, and ya think this was part of my plans too, huh?" A bitter, disbelieving laugh tore through Harleen's chest at his words, making her arm that was holding the gun shake and tremble. "You think I planned for it to be you, huh? That I... I wanted to have to willingly make sacrifices such as give up my job or my... my whole entire life to be with you, huh, Mr. J? You don't think I wish it was easier than that, huh?"

He held a slender forefinger to his lips, as if warning her to be quiet, a look of quiet warning in his eyes for her as his eyebrowless forehead crumbled. But she didn't care, not anymore. She'd put her heart out on the line this far. What difference did it make anymore?

"Well, 'course I do!" She went on, ignoring him as an exasperated low grumbling noise left the base of his throat. "Course I wish things were different, that you'd... you'd turned out to be somebody else! But I've still let you in!" She could feel her face muscles slackening, the soft look overtaking her as she tried to put all her desperation, all her sincerity, into what she was telling him. "I still let ya in, Mr. J! I'm not fighting this so... please!" Swallowing again, she lifted the gun, touching it to his forehead again, hoping to make her intent clear. "Please, let me in or..."

"Or?" He repeated, in a deep, gravely timbre. "Or, hmm...?"

"Or I'll kill you!" The instance it left her mouth, she knew she didn't sound very threatening or convincing at all. And he saw through her. "I swear to God, I promise I will!" She knew he saw straight through her when, without warning, he brought up both hands, only to cover them over her one that was holding the gun in a death grip.

Her heart jolted in her chest as his fingertips gently covered over her knuckles, the multiple rings on his fingers cold and hard against her flesh, while his other hand grasped hold of the side of her revolver, positioning the gun to where he no doubt knew the precise spot of where it would be fatal for him if she did so happen to follow through and pull the trigger, shooting him.

"Ooh," he rumbled out, amused, like he was testing her, calling her bluff. Harleen felt her confidence waver, her heart thumping loudly in apprehension as her eyes alternated between looking at the gun to his face. She saw that his eyes were right on her, bright and challenging, shinning with unnerving mirth. His lips curled and spread into a wide, metallic grin when he must have caught her looking. "Do it, honey bunny."

Honey bunny. The endearment made her heart seize painfully in her chest. He'd called her that once in Arkham during a few of their sessions.

"Do it," he muttered again, egging her on, goading her. "Do it, baby. Pull that trigger." It was disarming and upsetting, how composed and clearly unaffected he felt by her holding the gun at him, a clearly loaded gun. "Do it, baby, baby. Do it."

It occurred to her that he actually wanted her to. And it occurred to Harleen that, while he did not fear death evidently, he clearly was more threatened by the idea of letting her in, of opening his heart to her, of accepting their soulmarks. He'd acted dismissive and as if he didn't want to hear her words, like he loathed the thought of being intimate and in a romantic partnership with someone. Was that why he had done what he did earlier, in electrocuting her? To still prove he could, even to... her, his soulmate?

"Wow," she muttered softly, as the realization came to her. "What? So a gun and threatening to kill you doesn't scare you, yet my... my heart and the idea of letting me in, of accepting us as soulmates does?"

She caught something flicker in his eyes then. A small, fleeting look, but a telling one, nevertheless. She'd hit the nail on the head, her observation was right, and he clearly didn't like that. What he did next proved it.

Suddenly, his fingers clenched, cutting into her knuckles tightly and Harleen gasped, unprepared for the bone crushing pain he inflicted on her. Next thing she knew, her grip was slackening from its grip on the gun due to it, and it clattered to the ground, knocking against the concrete at their feet loudly. Neither bothered swooping quickly to pick it up, much to Harleen's relief.

His fingers loosening from their painful grasp on her knuckles, Mr. J finally let her hand go. Her hand throbbed instantly, red imprints from his fingermarks there when she glanced down at it quickly.

The pained noise Mr. J made caused her eyes to flit up to him again. He'd turned away from her, one hand curled and resting on his hip, the other running through his slick green hair, pushing it back neatly.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, resigned, as if he'd accepted defeat.

"You really wanna be my girl, hmm?"

After everything that had happened, after what he'd done to her, she knew she shouldn't have given in easily, that it would make her a pushover, it would make her seem weak. Yet, she was exhausted and she just wanted to be with him. She'd already accepted that the second she'd gotten a machine gun for him. Maybe even earlier than that.

"Yeah," Harleen murmured, eyes pinned to his back and the outline of his broad shoulders as he made a gruff animal-noise at her confirmation. "Yeah, I really wanna be your girl, Mr. J. More than anything. What the hell more can I do to prove it to you?"

"Then come on, come on." When he turned his green head to look at her, his eyes flickered down her face, then her body, making her shiver in the weight of his stare. The little J at the corner of his cheek twitched as he inhaled wheezily through his silver teeth. "I'm taking you for a little, ittle drive."

Hey guys, so sorry for taking so long to update, I hope you will forgive me! And I hope this chapter is okay despite my time and absence away? So nervous! Let me know what you think :) Thank you all so much, and I'll update again much sooner now that I'm back here. Hope the story is still somewhat remaining true despite changing up some things a little?