AN: Please take note - I need to assign a trigger warning to this chapter. There is mention of rape and an implied threat of rape. Nothing happens, and actually, it's dealt with as would be expected, but the word is still there, and the threat is still made, and so I'd like to give fair warning to anyone about to read this. If you would prefer to skip it, please skip past the conversation Harley has with the dodgy guy in the car. Everything should be fine from there. Anyways, sorry this has been a long time coming, and enjoy!

[ H ]

Batsy was gone by the time she turned around to take another look at him. Oddly, she missed the hulking figure behind her, and the unexpected loss of her fun triggered the compulsive tendency she had in her mind to pout. Of course, sane people didn't walk around with a childish pucker to their lips, and this attracted more attention than any undercover criminal would have liked. It was a conflicting thing for Harley - because, boy, did she love the attention - the spotlight called to her, practically courted her with the rush it offered her... but did she desire all eyes on her more than she desired The Joker?

Nope. Not even remotely. Harley was crazy - she was fucking crazy - but Joker? Joker was a whole different kettle of fish. An entirely separate bag of frogs. Every breath that left his body, every movement of muscle, every infinitesimal modicum of his being and personality was so captivating and inevitable to her. She had to have it. Forever. She had to be near it. She had to be able to grasp him and talk to him and revel in the bliss that overcame her when she saw his mouth shape the six letter word that had been assigned to her at birth, and when she heard her name fall from his lips she felt as if she could do anything and try anything and overcome any and all odds. But most importantly - Harley knew that because of him - no matter how or when her life ended... she would die laughing.

And that, she figured, was a hell of a life well spent.

So away went the pout, and a composed neutrality came to take it's place instead. The onlookers quit their looking, and the prospect of a life spent adored at her Joker's side was suddenly within her reach once again. She couldn't help the little jaunt her body applied to each step. It was an organic thing for Harley. She'd spent her life flipping and twirling and somersaulting about, barely ever allowing herself time to stand still. As a result of lifelong habits and the... insanity... Harley was now, as a "grown up", an ever fidgety, ever restless and ever ADHD suffering bundle of energy and static compulsivity.

"Heya, sweetheart. You lookin' for a ride someplace?"

Harley halted in her stride, head swiveling down to zero in on the dodgy looking man in the shifty looking car. She leaned her weight into one foot, her hip jutting out with a hand on it to match, and cocked her head. Slowly, unconcerned with the time passing between his given question and her expected answer, she brought a strip of bubblegum out of her pocket, and unwrapped it from the foil, popping it into her mouth. She watched him as she chewed it, waiting for the pink stuff to loosen up and become malleable enough for her to tuck under her tongue before speaking up.

"Heya, mister. You lookin' for a gun to your head?"

Whoever this guy had expected her to turn out to be, and whatever he had thought she'd say - this clearly wasn't it. She observed as his complexion turned a nasty shade of red, and then progressed from there until it was tinged with purple. She could guess what was running through his tiny little mind. God forbid a pretty woman should threaten him - the big fuckin' dog. Cock of the walk. Master of the streets. His mind probably couldn't process the concept of a man being intimidated by a woman - especially a cutesy looking blonde woman who looked more like a ballerina than the deadly murderer she really was. Eventually, though, after Harley had blown and popped approximately thirteen bubbles, the guy seemed ready to react.

"You wanna be pretty damn careful what you do or say out here on the streets, bitch. A woman is never safe on the fucking streets. Especially not at night - you got that?"

Harley raised her eyebrows, nodding along as he spoke, and tugged her arms out of the straps of the backpack, slinging it from her shoulders into her arms, and unzipped it. He was still speaking while she started to rummage around, pushing aside coke and pills and even something that looked like a diamond encrusted dildo before she found what she was looking for, and with a delighted 'Aha!', Harley pulled the pistol out of the bag, and aimed it directly at his head.

"W-woah, honey. What the fuck. Easy now, hun. I don't want no trouble."

"You don't? Huh. Sounded a little like you was thinkin' about rapin' me or some shit, you know?"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no-"

"You tellin' me I misunderstood? 'Cause I always do that, and let me tell ya, it gets me in a hell of a lotta trouble, and if you think I got some kinda problem, I think you should tell me. You think I jump to conclusions? I'm not sure. It'd really help a girl out if ya just told me."

"N-no, I think-"

"Oh. So you wanna rape me? Okay."

And she pulled the trigger and shot the asshole right in the centre of his forehead. Fortunately, the entirety of this exchange and subsequent murder took place within the recesses of a dark, dim, damp and downright dingy alleyway. After all, gunshots were not a rarity in Gotham City, and Harley was able to skip right out of that alleyway and continue on her way like Little Red Riding Hood back on track to her grandmother's house after shooting the Wolf in the head. All was well and truly golden.

She knew what she was supposed to be looking for - a big old sign, neon, with a black snooker ball and some cards on it. Sure, it wasn't original, but it was associated with Joker - and so Harley could forgive it. After her trouble with the douchebag in the car it didn't take her long to find the place, and when she did she did so with gusto, kicking the door open with a whoop and a cheer and somersaulted her way over to the bar, throwing in some obligatory backflips and double front flips for added theater.

"I'm here!" She sang, and hopped up onto a bar stool to get herself nice and comfy. A demure, pampered looking man glanced up from his drink, and eyed her like she couldn't crack his head open on the bar and scoop his brains out with a shot glass. She threw a leg up, crossing it over the other, and placed a hand on her knee, leaning against the bar as if she'd been to this place every day for the past six years. "You better hope you ain't the boss of this place, 'cause Mistah J does not get on well with folks who treat his people bad."

At the mention of the Clown Prince himself, the man actually gasped and shrunk away, practically falling off his stool in his haste to get away from the crazy girl who works for The Joker. Shortly afterwards, a short dude bustled over, pressing fervent, incessant kisses to her hands.

"Oh, Miss! How glad I am to see you here, under my roof! I trust you'll let Mister Joker know you were met with the utmost hospitality?"

"Geez, pal. Does he have your mum? Your dog? You don't gotta be scared! It's only little old me. Mistah J's behind bars right now, so you get to meet with me instead!"

"I-I see... and... what's your name, Miss...?"

"I'm Harley Quinn." She took his hand, shaking it with a firm vigour he obviously hadn't been expecting or thought her capable of, and only released it once she made sure he was smiling at her. "Nice to meetcha."

"Yes... nice to meet you, Miss Quinn. M-my name is Elvis Pritchley."

There was a silent interval, during which Elvis crossed and uncrossed his arms a few times, and shook his hand out, trying to stop the trembling after Harley had shaken it.

"Anyways... I brought the stuff. It's all here. I had to use a bullet, but I'm sure Mistah J's got it covered."

"O-of course, Miss Quinn. Thank you so very much for bringing this all the way across town for me."

"Naw, it was nothin'. You're welcome."

Harley hopped off the bar stool, turning to go, and only walked a few steps before turning around once more. Elvis, who, for only a fleeting moment, had actually looked relieved, fell into a state of nervous formality once again. "Miss Quinn?"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She giggled clownishly, letting her head fall into a sideways bob that she tapped at playfully with her finger. "Joker knows. He knows you betrayed him. He knows you wanna take over. He knows you're in cahoots with those other assholes from across the way - you know the ones! They blew up the front of the shop the other day, and you let it happen! I heard you opened the vault for 'em, too, Elvis. Naughty. Anyways, Joker knows, and he told me to say hi and also-"

For the second time that night, Harley raised the gun, and shot a man right between the eyes. Twirling one of her braids round her finger, Harley's eyes swept across the inhabitants of the room, considering the staff who were paralysed in her line of sight. "Oh, buddy. Nice dicky bow." She gestured towards his bow tie, and waved him over, throwing an arm around his neck when he was close enough. He was about her height, and she liked that. "You're in charge now. Oh, and get me a mojito, wouldya?"