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"He's sicker than me 'n' Harley's honeymoon tapes, but I think he's onto something." – Joker, Batman: Arkham Knight

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Harley paused the tape there, at her past self smiling, while her present self wiped away tears. She couldn't bear to watch the sex scenes right now – they reminded her too much of what she had lost forever. And what she had failed to accomplish, even with so many of them, she thought, fast-forwarding the tape with one hand as the other rested on her belly. Empty and barren, she had found out today, in a soul-crushing revelation. She wasn't pregnant. Her earlier test had given her a false positive. And now the Joker was gone, and she never would get to have his baby. She was alone, and she always would be.

The tapes were her only comfort now, she thought, as she ejected this one suddenly, taking it out of the video player and carrying it over to her closet. She opened this to reveal a massive collection of tapes, all marked and separated and carefully preserved. Some of them she had freeze-framed and looped, putting on Joker statues around the hideout. Some of them were her private collection for her eyes only. And some she had labeled as stuff to make her smile when she was having a bad day. Today had been the worst day since the Joker's death, not that there had really been a good day since the Joker's death, she reminded herself. Everything in her life kept going from bad to worse, especially now that she was a widow.

After Protocol Ten, all the supercriminals had been taken back into custody. Harley had been forced to endure therapy sessions from amateur doctors, who were convinced she was delusional when she gave her name as Mrs. Harleen Frances Joker. They tried futilely to cure her delusion by telling her she wasn't married, that the Joker had never loved her enough to do that, but Harley knew the truth. She just kept repeating the name Mrs. Harleen Frances Joker, even as she beat the doctors to death during her breakout. They couldn't take the truth away from her, like life had taken her baby. It was one thing nobody could ever take from her.

She replaced the tape in its case and pulled out another one, one to make her smile. She carried this over to the TV, popping it into the player and curling up on the floor to watch it.

She saw her past self, smiling and waving at the screen. "Hi, future me!" she said, cheerfully. "I know you're having a hard time, and things are sad, and you need some cheering up! Well, if anyone can put a smile on that gloomy face of yours, it's your husband! The funniest, happiest, most incredible guy who ever lived, ain't that right, puddin'?" she asked, turning the camera on Joker, who sat hunched over some plans.

"I'm trying to work, Harley!" he snapped, whirling around.

"Yeah, but I'm trying to make this video for when future me's depressed," replied Harley. "C'mon, Mr. J, do something to cheer her up. Nobody can spread smiles like you can!"

Joker sighed heavily, turning his chair around to face the camera. He smiled. "Harley, you need to cheer up. Nobody likes a sourpuss. And if you brood much longer over things, you'll turn out like Batman! And just think what a fate worse than death that would be! Plus knowing that humorless chump, he'd probably sue you for copyright infringement if you went all Batty or something. Never could take a joke," he sighed. "Speaking of which, why did the Bat fall out of the tree? Because I killed it!" he laughed. Past Harley joined him in hysterical laughter, until Joker choked on a fit of coughing. It took him some time to recover and catch his breath, but he just picked up where he left off.

"But enough about Batman, pooh," he said, smiling at the camera. "Let's talk about me! Your adoring Mr. J! You gotta cheer up because if you don't, you'll undo all my hard work. I made you my Harley Quinn, the Joker's girl who smiles and laughs all the time, just like him. You can't let me down, Harley. You can't let my memory die by letting all those morons out there think I did a crap job on you. I need you to be happy, Harley. For me. Because I can't be happy anymore. You're the only one left to carry on the Joker legacy now, at least until Joker Junior arrives," he said, reaching out a hand to pat past Harley's belly.

He leaned forward into the camera. "Now smile, pooh bear," he murmured. "And remember how important you are. Not just to me, but to Batsy and Gotham as well. They'd be so bored without someone like me to tango with! You're that someone now, Harley. I'm counting on you. Don't let me down. You never have before, and you won't start now. You go out there and you spread smiles and laughter and madness untold onto the streets of Gotham, just like your Mr. J would. You make me proud, pooh. Make your husband proud."

He smiled, and present Harley paused the tape, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gazed at his face, frozen forever like this. At least she always had his smile, and his laugh, and his words to comfort her. "I will make you proud, puddin'," she whispered. "I swear."

She unpaused the tape, and past Harley turned the camera back on herself. "You're a lucky gal, Harley," she said, smiling into the lens. "Always remember that. Outta all the people in the world, Mr. J picked you to carry on his legacy. He picked you to be his wife. Don't you ever forget that, and hang in there, kid. Say buh bye, Mr. J!" she called, turning the camera back to Joker, who had returned to his work.

He had lost all interest again, his mind entirely focused back on his plans. He grunted and gave the camera a slight wave. "Why doncha stop filming crap and make me some dinner, you useless waste of space?" he asked.

"I sure will, puddin'," said past Harley, cheerfully. "It's really the least your wife can do for you."

She put the camera down and skipped over to him, kissing his forehead. Then she skipped out of the room. Joker worked in silence for some minutes, and then turned, noticing the camera suddenly. He sighed, heading over to it. "Forgot to turn the damn thing off, worthless brat, I tell ya," he muttered, and then the tape stopped.

Present Harley stared at the blank screen, and then wiped her eyes. "Ok, puddin'," she whispered. "Let's do this."

She took out the tape and replaced it carefully in the closet, and then shut and locked the door. She headed out of her bedroom and down into the loading bay of the Steel Mill, where her remaining henchmen lounged around.

"Ambush all set?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," said one, saluting. "Gordon's guys ain't gonna know what hit 'em."

"Good," said Harley. "Bats'll come rescue them for sure. We set a trap, catch him, and then kill him, for Mr. J."

She nodded. "Get going," she ordered. "And that goes for the rest of you losers. You blow this operation and I'll use you for a pinata, you get me?"

"Yes, boss," they all said, filing out.

Harley unsheathed her gun and touched her leather collar which she never removed from her neck, whispering, "This is for you, Mr. J." Then she followed the henchmen out into another cold, dark night in Arkham City.

The End