He was something else, that much she would tell anyone. That much anyone would tell anyone else, really. He was ghastly white, green, and notoriously broken for all the right reasons. The Joker was many dirty things, many evil things, but not many knew that Joker was a lover.

A horridly abusive, self-absorbed, hateful lover. Harley knew this much, had always known this much despite how the world painted her. Gotham didn't know anything and neither did Arkham or The Bat. She knew what she was getting into and she only had to play a precise part, a part that only someone like her could do. She had to play the part of a madly in love lunatic. She had played it so well for years, even under all the broken bones and swollen flesh she had still managed to conduct her piece wonderfully and put every Hollywood actress to shame.

The fact of the matter was that Harley Quinn was not in love with The Joker. He was pathetic, really. Oh sure, in all the lights of the police cars, he was top dog. He was the one who barked the orders, acted all tough, took all the bullets, busted her face in...but in the raunchy comfort of their hide out, he was nothing. Just a blubbering mess, down on his knees begging for release of some sort, with his hands tangled in whatever night gown she wore.

Gone was the make up, her bottle-blonde hair cascading around her perfect, rosy-cheeked face. Her blues eyes hooded and lips allowing a mocking smirk dance across her face. He was nothing without her, though he was nothing with her, either she mused dryly in her mind. She'd quietly pat his head, "Oh Mistah Jay, why ya worryin' so much? I ain't leavin' any time soon. I love you, silly."

The words always spilled from her lips with such practiced ease that not even Joker could tell the lie behind it. He never could tell the lies from the truths, though. He liked to pretend he could, but he only knew one thing and that was how to bring a city to its knees. That was Harley's sole purpose of being around. It wasn't for "Mistah Jay" or the "love" she held for him. It was for the power she'd get a hold of as soon as the proper time came near.

The Joker wasn't as smart as everyone thought and he was a completely different crazy than everyone assumed. He was mad with grief and as far as the Joker and the rest of the world were concerned, Harley was there. In his mind's eye, Harley was there to fix all the hurt...to the world, Harley was there to terrorize along his side, a match made in some sort of hell.

And as Harley contemplated it all, smiling to herself contentedly while taking a drag of her cigarette and stroking the Joker's thin, straggly, green hair. He was quiet, aside from the whimpers of his nightmares. At the end of their "love-making" he had rested his head in her warm lap. She kept herself from laughing out loud, not wanting to wake him—his annoying, grating voice was finally silent for the evening.

"Yes..." she thought happily, "it's all falling into place..."