"You've been terribly truthful tonight Harley," The Joker pulled back as we smoothed her shirt to perfection. "You deserve a prize." He tilted his head, "If you're honest once more."

Harley had to remember to breathe.

"Would you rather see a show tonight or would you rather it be you and me, all alone in this big circus tent?"

The smirk on his face had her wondering if this was one of those tests again. Oh, she wanted a prize! But this was like finding the little ball under one of those cups spun around at the boardwalk. Didn't the guy always hide it under his sleeve anyway? She had to read between the lines, she had to see the world that Mister J saw. "I would like…" No, she couldn't just say you and me or she would be a brat. But she wasn't interested in anyone else in the room. Was there a way? Maybe, just maybe. "…you to put on a show for me. You're the only one I want to watch." She hoped the truth in her voice didn't come off as pleading.

The Joker let out a laugh as his smile grew impossibly larger. "You want me to spoil you, don't you Harley?" He asked as he picked up her pigtail, letting it fall to brush against her shoulder. She swallowed. "You're lucky that you deserve it."

Harley's eyes lit up with excitement. She had made the right choice, yippee! She was getting better at tests after all!

He looked her up and down once more as she sat in his Clown-Prince-of-Crime chair. For tonight, Harley girl; for tonight. This was her initiation. He would give her all that she wanted and more, leaving her craving a taste of the good life. He spun to face the troupe with a flourish. "The rest of you may have the evening off. I expect you to take the acts with you, and please," he smiled, "don't waste their talent!" The crew laughed in response.

Their exit was slow, almost painful to Harley. Unlike the rush of blood in her veins. Then, the tent flap closed and she was left with only the sound of her beating heart and the one who caused it. He was draped over her, hands at the top of the ornate chair. "What would you like to see me do, Harley?" his voice was dangerously low.

"A-anything." She stuttered, looking up at his perfect complexion, his well-structured jaw.

"Throw a cream pie?" His voice was high as he walked away, counting on his fingers, "Pull a rabbit out of a hat? Card tricks? Trip over a banana peel?" It lowered again, "Saw a woman in half?" His face was in profile, to observe her.

"Anything," She affirmed.

"Shoot a man in the foot, carve a smile onto his frozen face?" His brow raised.

As she nodded, he felt a stirring within himself that nearly made him shiver. "Harley," he rushed her, picking up her lithe body and spinning her around, "my Harley is such a good girl, isn't she?"

She looked down at him with her still black eye, and bit her plump lip as she nodded yes once more. How he hated it when people damaged his things. He couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "You know what, Harl?" He beamed, "Since you've been so good, I want you in the show with me. What say we put you into some stage make-up?"

"Really?!" She squealed before wrapping her arms around his neck, "Gee, Mista J, I'd be honored!"

You'd better be, the Joker mused as he fought the tightness at his throat and carried her into the back room.

He said little as he walked around her wooden stool, looking at her in appraisal. Her back was stiff as a board, he didn't know if the training came from the gym or was beaten into her through upbringing. It was nice craftsmanship; her body well-honed and suited for all the stunts he could dream up. Inspiration struck as he grabbed the grease paint one of his goons had used from the counter. "Let's see now." He set out to his canvas, painting with his nimble fingers. "Harlequins have dark shapes around their eyes," that ought to cover Auntie's penmanship. "And their faces are porcelain, like a doll's." He watched her closed eyes and opened mouth as he dipped two fingers into the white. Utter submission became her. He smeared it over her, molding her face until he reached her throat. There, he trailed kisses while her eyes were still shut, though he knew not what made him do it. That's right, a little extra sugar wouldn't hurt. It certainly didn't from the noises she was making. Okay, now cut it out. "There," he stepped back to admire his work. Oh, and what a piece of work she was!

Her eyes sparkling like the morning dew coming out of a fog, "Am I ready?"

"Hmm," he put a put a hand to his chin, "needs a better costume."

"Yay, a costume!" She clapped, "what have you got?"

What have we got, he chuckled to himself. He had his seamstress working overtime on this one. Truth be told he'd had the idea ever since he'd seen Harley in her little, red leotard. He'd even worked in a cowl to hold her pigtails. Something to show off her figure in order to distract the Bats, yet still allow her to move freely.

"Why don't you look behind this curtain," the Joker bowed as he pulled the chord to reveal his masterpiece.

Her mouth formed an 'o' of black lipstick. For once in her short life she appeared to be speechless.

Well? Quit gawking and- "I want to see it on you," he purred.

"It's amazing," she ran her fingers over the black and red. "And it's mine?" she looked back at him with a smile. The girl had nice teeth. He admired them like a farmer who'd invested in a great breed.

"All yours," he grinned as he took her chair.

When she ripped off her top in enthusiasm he fought the reflex to cover his eyes or shout. No, she was his, and he had the right to admire his things. The twit must have been used to changing with all of those gymnastic meets. She hadn't yet the idea of the very different ways her body could be used as a weapon. And that body; he saw it all. He devoured every inch of her, every bruise, every freckle, and every scar. All of it was recorded to memory. For if someone were to damage his property again, they would no longer be able to walk the Earth.

"Oh," it seemed she'd realized her humility too late. "I'm sorry Mista J, I forgot myself," she blushed as if half of her was not still hanging out of the costume.

"Harley," he walked over to her, "you have nothing to be sorry for," he crooned as he deftly helped her into her top. "You're beautiful," he stated before his mouth took hers completely, "my Harley Quinn."

She admired the black imprint her lips had made in stark contrast to his visage. The ownership was mutual, but that would be her little secret.