Copyright: Characters are obviously property of DC, etc.

Characters: Joker, Harley, talk of Batman.

He had to admit he was impressed.

He'd just busted out of Arkham and was pleasantly surprised to see Harley at their apartment when he got there, which meant he didn't have to fetch her from the wretched house-plant.

That wouldn't have been all bad, anyways. The look on the weed's face whenever he showed up holding a dozen roses is always priceless.

'It' would scream bloody murder, something about roses being killed, while he clutched his sides, laughing until it hurt.

Plants being murdered! And they called him crazy.

And Harley, wearing not much more than underwear and a T-shirt --- strangely enough 'cause it didn't seem that hot in ol' Pammy's hideout -- would whistle for the hyenas and away they'd go.

Hey, what could he say?

Besides, with the autumn chill, it got cold at night, and a naked Harley was much warmer and cheaper than an electric blanket.

But that wasn't why he was impressed.

No, it went down like this.

He'd barely stepped foot in the door of their penthouse apartment when Harley tackled him.

Which was cute at first, but got extremely annoying after she'd planted what felt like the 673rd kiss on him. Or second kiss, who knows. It sure felt like more.

Harley, it appeared, was already cracked out on a candy-coated concoction of Gummi Bears, Popeye cigarettes and Poprocks, so he'd shoved her off with a placating, "Daddy's gotta work, dollface," and a pat on the head like she was Cindy-Lou Who.

Problem is he'd been having artist's block --- not entirely unlike writer's block -- and had been having trouble coming up with just the right plan to announce his return to Gotham.

There were so many thoughts coming all at once it was hard to narrow down just one fantastic kernel of an idea.

He'd been busy thinking about just how to say hello to his favourite old acquaintance, The Dork Knight, when Harley'd come along pouting.

"Ain't we gonna go out for a spell, Puddin'?"

He considered smothering her pretty little face with at least one, if not two, of those red pillows she had on that tacky heart-shaped bed, when she'd handed him a couple of article clippings.

She'd pointed out the Gotham Arts and Culture Museum benefit -- which would be chock-full of rich jerks and broads ripe for the robbing in Joker-style stellar fashion; and a major mob take-down -- which meant the city's boys in blue had seized millions in assets and had stashed it in the police department's vault in the east end.

"C'mon! A date! It would be fun!! Pretty please with sugar on top?!" She pouted again.

But then again, she had told him how she'd dumped her meds down the toilet two days ago and he was quite proud of her for that.

The first time he'd seen her take them after getting out of Arkham, he'd been so angry, he'd crushed all of the pills in front of her, shoved her face in the pile and then ignored her for an entire day.

His ignoring her caused her more agony than if he had just threatened to slice off her tongue or something comparably fun.

Those doctors were always giving his little Harley-girl anti-psychotics and sedatives to "cure" her of her insanity.

It really infuriated him, because every time he'd have to put in so much effort just to unravel the job they'd attempted ON her.

Those idiot doctors were always trying to keep them apart at Arkham. Something about him being detrimental to her so-called recovery.

So he'd bribe the guards to accidentally mix-up their schedules, so they'd by chance bump into each other in the common room.

Then he'd flirt with her a bit, say squeeze Harls by the behind, tell her he needed something to take back to his lonely cell at night or some such drivel. Later on, he'd steal her away to a supply closet and she'd be a giggling mess by the time she got to Doc Leland in the morning.

This time around however, they'd kept him in solitary for "bad behaviour" and Quinn'd gotten early parole for "good behaviour."

He'd tittered over that one because if he knew his girl by now, his jaded jester was just playing the system, and it made him smile. He could never keep up the good behaviour act for long enough and besides, it wasn't so hard to break out of solitary.

Trying to get out of the straight jacket, on the other hand, always ate up time, but by now he figured he almost rivals Houdini in that little feat.

So when she'd pulled his arm and thrown on his hat and coat, he'd waved over two goons to drive them to the city's vault.

Harls was blathering on about how they were going on a "romantic date" or some garbage, while he wondered what Batsy would be up to at this very moment in time.

"Honey, please," he implored, rolling his eyes and used two of his fingers to harshly press her lips shut.

He considered what it would be like if he squeezed her lips right off. "I'm trying to think."

She puffed out her cheeks and crossed her eyes in a passable Lucille Ball imitation that made him chuckle a little and he let go.

He bet Bats didn't have to put up with this from Catwoman, obnoxious hussy as she was. Of course, those two were made for each other. Too serious, never knew how to take a joke.

All those femmes were the same.

Just the thought of those clenching, suffocating maneaters made his skin want to crawl away.

By the time they'd arrived at the bank, he was pretty engrossed in his thoughts about Fatman and wondering how much he was thinking about the Clown Prince of Crime.

But then, the scenery had changed and Harley was the first out of the van, making fancy with the acrobatics.

With a Tommy gun in each hand, he followed behind the two henchmen, making sure to keep behind one or the other in case one of the guards started firing off shots of their own.

He laughed when Harley brained a security guard with a rubber chicken filled with a couple of bricks and sprayed another with a whoopee cushion filled with his patented toxin.

He made sure to step on that last laughing and twitching guard and as he did, he thought since it was more of a Two-Face schtick to have TWO guns, he used one to hit the guard and dropped the gun by the man's convulsing body.

Inside the bank, he grabbed another guard, and slung his arm around him. "Charlie! How are you old pal?" The guard looked at him stunned, then looked down at his nametag, which clearly read Steve.

He looked from side to side and sputtered, "Puh-puh-puh-please don't hurt me!"

"Nonsense, Chuckers!" Joker clapped him on the shoulder. He used his gun to wave over the two goons, who grabbed Charlie/Steve roughly and nudged him down the stairs, into the vault area. Joker followed and turned back to make sure Harley was behind him. "See Chuckers," he said, batting his eyelashes, "I really need your help. You can help me, can't you?"

Charlie/Steve looked at each goon as they sneered at him in return. "I-I-I guess so," he whimpered.

"You know, Chuckers, if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the precipitate! Bwhahah!" Harley giggled as Joker slapped his knee in a rolling cackle that felt good all over. "Listen, ol' pal, we need to get into this vault, here, see, and you're the only one -- well, the only one left standing, that is --- who can help us!"

The guard started shaking and Joker started to lose his patience, so he used the butt of his gun to hit the man upside the head and screamed at him for the code. The guard stammered out the numbers, after telling them about the laser beams that were used as an extra security measure to protect the goods. The code, he said, would turn off the lasers and open the vault door. Joker shoved Charlie at the goons and before he had to call her, Harley was at his side, one knee up, poised for him to hoist her up so she could reach a ceiling joist.

As she did her flips and dives getting around the intricate lasers, the four men watched her. He'd seen her do the splits about a million times, but couldn't help but turn his head to the side to ogle her petite pixie frame again. He wasn't sure why, but it just felt like the right thing to do.

Just as he did that he heard a wolf whistle, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw it was one of his henchmen, the new guy. The other thug was shrinking away, pointing at the culprit.

As he was about to put a bullet through the guilty party's knee, he heard a loud "Ole!!"

He turned to see Harley had already gotten past the laser beams.

And with a flourish of her arm and a swivel of her hip, Harley punched in the code, opening the vault and turning off the security system.

He directed the goons to fill up the bags with the money, while he bound Charlie's hands and feet together.

Harley had taken out her Polaroid camera and was snapping pictures of her and Charlie, giving him bunny ears and smushing his face into goofy expressions.

"You-you said you weren't gonna hurt me!" Charlie exclaimed.

"I did?" Joker pulled a wounded expression and placed a hand on his chest. "Did I say that, Harley?"

She put her finger to her mouth in an exaggeratingly thoughtful look. "Hmm. He must be making things up," she whispered loudly enough for Charlie to hear, circling a finger around her ear, making a 'He must be crazy' face. "I don't think you would have ever said such a thing!"

"You're right, Harley. I just can't imagine I would have said something like that."

She grabbed Charlie's nose as Joker moved beside her, putting his arm possessively around her.

"Gotcher nose!" She held up her hand, her thumb stuck between her middle and index finger.

Joker took that opportunity to spin Harley around so she was facing him and they were standing sideways in front of Charlie. Still clutching her, he produced a blade from his pocket and in one fell swoop, sliced off Charlie's nose.

"No, actually, I have it," he gave her a big grin, showing her the nose between his own middle and index finger, then tossing the body part.

Sanguine liquid seeped from the unstaunched wound all over the guard's face.

The sight of the garishly crimson laceration started Joker's own blood flowing in all kinds of places, and it wasn't entirely being helped by Harley's own strange writhing.

Charlie started screaming bloody murder.

Harley looked up at Joker and stuck two fingers in her mouth and slide them around for a bit, which caused him to raise an eyebrow. With a wink, she popped them out and shoved the two fingers in Charlie's ear.

"Wet willie!"

Charlie paused briefly in his wailing, before he started gurgling and choking on his sobs again.

Just as Joker was about to up the ante by pulling a van Gogh on old Chuckers, one of the goons yelled to them.

"Boss! Coppers are on their way!"

So all in all, he was in a pretty good mood.

Harley was practically bouncing off the seats in the van.

They'd beefed up their coffers and he'd at least gotten to see some blood spilled. Which made it a pretty eventful evening.

He hoped Bats would say something like "That dastardly fiend. He cut off the guard's nose to spite his face" or something equally lame and grim in light of the night's events. At least he knew how to play his straight man role to a T.

He turned to Harley and looked at her with a dopey smile.

He decided she'd been quite good, and though she was no Alice Kramden, she'd kept up as his foil tonight.

So he ordered the goons to get them some grub -- something for Harley, like pork-chops (cause he was pretty sure that wasn't kosher) and lobster, escargot and some Hostess Twinkies for him (cause it would be so funny when some of those shells just happened to land on her plate). The thugs set up a table on the rooftop of their apartment building, complete with candles and a bottle of white in an ice bucket.

Did he know how to treat his dame, or what?

Unfortunately, it meant pretending to listen to her prattle on for a whole four minutes before he steered the conversation back to more important things. Namely, him.

Harley was done before him and she'd snagged a Twinkie to replace the pork chop.

"But, Puddin', I can't eat this!" she'd protested and he snickered into his bib. As she put the meat on his plate, she stabbed a Twinkie with her fork and he managed to playfully stab her hand with his own fork.

"Whoopsy! Thought that was the meat," he said as she wrenched her hand back and caressed it.

He was feeling in a really good mood and told her they should do a song and dance like old times and swept her up into a tango, ballroom style of course.

They had to move some of the pool chairs out of the way, so it could be done properly. They danced around the pool, lit up only by the soft pool lights.

He liked spinning her around and especially enjoyed it when she did a dozen pirouettes or so for him.

It reminded him of one of those ballerina dolls, the ones glued to the inside of music boxes, that start dancing every time you open the box. But this one was his very own, warm and real, for his amusement.

When she stopped and did a little curtsey, he told her to sing something.

Harley's singing was always pleasant and helped him to concentrate.

Watching her pirouette had given him a really good idea for a devious plan and a song from his muse provided a nice working environment.

Plus, it meant she wouldn't be talking.

She took a moment to consider what to sing and he figured she'd break out with something like "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts..." or maybe that apples and bananas song they liked, "I like to eat eat eat eee-pples and bee-nee-nees" or something equally childish, but it was a welcome surprise when she busted out a rendition of Judy Garland's "Get Happy."

It had been eons since he'd heard that tune. It made him feel anxious and warm all at once.

He thought maybe for a moment he could remember the first time he'd heard it, perhaps when he was 10 years old. There might have been an older woman there and a man, too. He couldn't entirely recall.

He thought it best if Harley stopped singing for now.

So he picked her up in his arms, cuddled her, then dumped her in the heated pool, belly-first, so she'd flop real hard and make a big splash, which he jumped back to avoid.

He pointed at her and laughed for a few minutes until his belly ached.

Her greasepaint washed off in the water, so she took off her domino mask, her hood and started slipping out of her costume.

"Don'tcha wanna join me? We can skinny dip." She batted her lashes at him coquettishly and splashed some water that landed near his spats.

He frowned and started walking towards the rooftop exit when he heard something that sounded like a drowning bird.

"Kawk!"

He mind flitted merrily to Harley drowning or maybe Harley being sucked up by that pool vacuum monster thing.

Sadly, when he turned around, she was still swimming around, only now naked and had started flapping her arms like a bird.

"My good sir," she said, deepening her voice. "I believe I have the best 'Almost Got 'Im' story." She mocked holding a cigarette and fake ashed it. "Yes, that's right. I attempted to thwart the Dark Knight with a fowl plan of mine own. Kwak! Hahahaha!!"

He nearly bust a gut. It was one of their favourite games! Making fun of the other rogues! He walked back over towards the pool.

"Why Ozzie, old chum! You're looking quite fine feathered, if I do say so myself. Your, err, chest is looking a little larger than usual, too. Gotta stay away from those donuts, ol' pal."

She swam over to the edge of the pool and mimed pouring tea into a cup and drinking it.

"Oh frabjulous day! Hehe. Say, would you like some tea? I just can't live without having my 16 cups of tea a day. Callooh-callay."

The game went like this: either he or she would pretend to be one of the rogues, mock them for a bit and the other would have to guess who it was. And then, of course, mock them back.

They played the game for hours in the bowels of Arkham, chattering loudly across their cells, much to the dismay of the other inmates.

"Jervis! Find that Alice of yours, yet?" Joker enquired, bending down to splash some water at Harley. "You know the Internet police don't look too keenly when you troll for girls who haven't reached their 16th unbirthday yet."

Harley fell back into the water, holding her side in stitches. He crowed.

"My turn!" He shouted, jangling his pockets for a coin. He took out a quarter and flipped it. He dropped his voice to a growl. "Goddamn doctors. Took away our coin and gave us a pack of Tarot Cards. We couldn't even make the simplest decisions, like when to go to the bathroom. We held it in for weeks and then we blamed the Killer Moth for the stench when we finally let loose. HHAHAHHA!" He broke character, laughing, as Harley stepped out of the pool and wrung out her costume.

He eyeballed her lithe form. "We like the looks of you, missy. One of us wants to eat you up. While the other half wants to run you over with a truck."

"Two-Face! Quit givin' me the stink-eye. Yeesh. Mistah J won't be happy when he hears about this!"

He took most of the turns, of course, since he was much better and funnier at this game and even made a couple of digs at the flying rodent family. ("Lookit me! I'm a self-righteous jack-ass!" he hollered, flapping out his pretend cape).

When she wasn't laughing with him, Harley managed to slide back into her costume and even somehow found more greasepaint in that purse of hers to re-do her makeup.

And since Harley would never, ever, ever do such a thing and he being the complete jerk he is, he decided to make the most of a golden opportunity for another insult directed towards Ivy.

"Eek!" He screeched in the most grating voice he could muster. "Haaaaaarley! Did you just step on that dandelion?! Murderer! MURDERER!!"

It didn't go over as well as he planned since Harley's eyes glazed over a little bit, and with a sniffle, she said, "Aww. Red."

He narrowed his eyes and sidled up to her, making sure her attention was back on him.

He grabbed her behind roughly with a leer and with his other hand, inched it up between her breasts.

Then capping it off, he added a lilt to his voice: "Puddin'! Oh Puddin', it's been a whole 20 minutes since ya revved up yer Harley-girl! Best make sure she's still in working condition!" He laughed obnoxiously as her lip wobbled a bit. He waited excitedly for the tears to pour, hoping to lick them off her face in satisfied glee.

But the little minx put a hand on her hip and stepped out from under his arm. She raised her chin and smiled one of her big nasty grins.

He looked at her curiously, wondering if she had the guts to do it. She probably knew it would get her into a whole lot of trouble.

"Get off me, woman!" She snarled.

His jaw dropped.

"Can't you see Daddy's occupied? Wait -- is that the Dork Knight in the sky? And the Boy Blunder, coming up from the rear?"

He couldn't believe it.

She did it.

He stood completely slack-jawed.

In the brief seconds of silence, her face went from triumphant to meek and unsure.

He suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of pride. Plus, THAT was really funny.

He grabbed her by the hand, dragging her off the rooftop and down the stairs to their penthouse apartment, practically knocking over the goons as he hauled her into the bedroom.

Tearing her costume off, he told her they were going to play another little game.

Since she'd been so very naughty, making fun of HIM, she wouldn't be able to come until he was ready to. And since he would be very, very, disappointed if she did, she nodded fervently in acceptance.

But he was playing his own little game that she wasn't entirely aware of, so he put his head between her legs and decided to make her come even faster.

The first time, she apologized immediately after and he tsked at her like she was an insolent child. The second time he smacked her thigh hard enough to leave a red welt.

The fourth time she started sobbing uncontrollably until he had to tickle her back into submission. By the sixth time she had caught on to the game and so he decided to give it one more go -- why not? Lucky number seven, right?

He then pulled a pair of handcuffs and a .38 Special out of the night table beside the bed. He handcuffed her to the headboard and loaded the gun.

"Now sweetie, I was hoping you'd be able to follow instructions. Since you can't even do that right, maybe you need some encouragement," He gave her a big nasty smile of his own. "Daddy said to wait for him."

She was by now obviously desensitized and would need to use her hands. Too bad.

He cocked the gun and held it to the side of her head as he entered and started thrusting.

Despite the fact a gun was pressed firmly to her head, she still looked at him like her very own Personal Jesus who was going to show her the heights of Heaven and the depths of Hell all at once.

She squirmed about trying to work his thrusts to her advantage.

As he got into a rhythm, it started to feel really, really, really good and he forgot about the gun and instead moved his hand down to help her out.

The gun fell off the bed as they came together.

As he caught his breath, he noticed Harley had slipped out of the handcuffs.

He felt suffocated when she pulled him down to pepper him with kisses, so he hopped off the bed, declaring he had to pee.

When he got back, she was squealing something about having to go really bad and was bouncing up and down. She ran to the bathroom as he settled back down onto the bed.

He wondered how long it would take before she noticed the Seran Wrap on the toilet seat.

"What the ---?!" Came a screech from the ensuite.

He snorted.

When she was done, she dove back into bed and snuggled up beside him.

"That was the most romantic date ever," she breathed.

He grunted.

She grabbed his arm and pulled it over her.

He shook his head. "One of these days, Harley. One of these days..."

And unexpectedly, but right on cue, she replied animatedly swinging her fists about: "Bam! Pow! Right to kisser, right?

He smiled.

Now THAT impressed him.

So he gave her a hug and a kiss.

Then told her to be quiet.

A/N: Wouldn't we all prefer a naked Harley to an electric blanket?

Sadly, I can't take credit for the quote "made his skin want to crawl away." It's from Greg Rucka's No Man's Land novel. And there are some bits from the Almost Got 'Im episode, like the Two-Face and Penguin quotes. Alice Kramden is the wife/comic foil of Ralph Kramden in the Honeymooners.

I adore this pairing. I can't imagine the Joker actively disliking Harley. It is messed up, but fascinating at the same time. They're like the Honeymooners, except unlike Ralph Kramden, Joker doesn't just threaten abuse, he does it. Interestingly, in the Batman: The Animated Series episode, Harlequinade, Joker's line: "Baby, you're the greatest!" and then sweeping her into a hug and kiss is straight out of the Honeymooners. And the quote... "One of these days... Bam! Pow! Right to the kisser..." is also sort-of from the Honeymooners.

And I tried really hard to keep them in character. I think Joker does have a bit of a Harley obsession, as well, but obviously not as grand and all-encompassing as his Batman obsession. Which is why I had to show him constantly thinking about the Dark Knight.

If you don't think Joker is in character when he sweeps Harley into a dance, then you should read Batman: Harley Quinn, in which he does just that. So there! :-p Enjoy. And reviews make me a happy cat.