Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any characters/Places/ect that go with him.

Harley sat in one of the many hideouts the Joker had found them, staring out the window in the small master bedroom. There were only a few things in this old house, a couch, dusty mattress, a couple pillows and some chairs. Nothing special. This house had obviously been abandoned for a while, as the wall paper, classic stripes, peeled down the wall. The Joker was currently in the other room with a couple of his goons, making another stupid hostage video for stupid Batman.

"I warned you, Batman. Every night you don't reveal yourself, more people will die. Here's number four!" She heard him say. If he only had the same passion for her as he did for killing Batman… Maybe she wouldn't hate this life so much.

Harley truly hated this life, but she loved her Puddin', and time and time again she was forced to prove her usefulness, and other times, she just wanted him to be proud of her. She craved his attention, whether it was good or bad. She only had one fear: losing him. She could handle a couple bullets, getting roughed up, even sent back to Arkham, where her pretty padded cell waited for her return. She knew her love for him was illogical. Completely illogical. He'd made her do awful things, beat her to no end, and rarely showed any sort of affection for her, yet she was so hooked. It wasn't like he never showed affection for her. About once a week he'd give her gifts he'd probably stolen, like pretty designer clothes that always fit her like a glove, little trinkets like porcelain figurines, and expensive jewelry. But those were only objects.

"Harley!" He yelled, grabbing her attention. "Get down here!"

"She walked into the other room to find a girl around 40 against the wall on the opposite side of the room, crying and rocking.

"Yessir?" She asked.

"Take care of this." He said handing her his gun, and walking into their temporary bedroom. She stared at the gun a moment, a pistol, and bent down beside the girl. She rested her hand on her shoulder in a brief moment of comfort to the frightened woman.

"I'm real sorry lady." She said too quietly for Joker to hear. She aimed the gun, pointing it to her temple before pulling the trigger. Blood spattered on her makeup-less forehead and on her oversized tee-shirt, barely fazing her. Sometimes, Harley deliriously enjoyed killing people, but sometimes, like tonight, she just… didn't. She got a couple trash bags, and a bottle of bleach. Cleaning, and disposing. Easy work. She thought about her life as Harleen Quinzel. Young, beautiful, well employed. Now all she was was tired, restless, and ill. She'd caught a disease someone she killed had, and she knew she was sick, fatally so, but she didn't dare tell Puddin'. He'd get rid of her as soon as he could. She knew nothing of the disease she had, just that her health had been decreasing. Quickly. She felt like she was fading away. She knew she'd probably die soon, but she wasn't sure if she actually cared. All she was now was his sex doll and punching bag. She didn't mind. She loved sex with him, and sometimes she even loved being his punching bag.

She drug the trash bag filled with the victim to a large waste dump close by. The bag was warm and wet. It was gross. She quickly made her way back as they were in a very dangerous area. "Puddin', I'm done." She said, walking back into their room, as the goons looked around in the empty fridge. She realized as soon as she walked in the room that he was asleep, still in his purple suit. She emptied him of his weapons, so he could sleep more comfortably, pushed his curly green hair out of his face so she could see him better, and climbed into the bed with him, snuggling to his side for warmth (There were no blankets here). Sometimes the best part of the day for Harley was when she went to sleep, because when the Joker was unconscious, he'd hold her tightly, something he never did when he was awake. She let herself pretend he was awake, and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

6 days later she awoke to the sound of the Joker's voice. She'd been dealing with whatever her was wrong with her body pretty well, but didn't think she could keep it up much longer.

"Harley. GET. UP." He said, voice angry. Obviously this wasn't the first time this morning he'd tried to wake her up. She opened her eyes, and tried to get up, but was too weak.

"I-I can't Mr. J." She said, struggling desperately against her, at the moment, feeble strength.

"And why ever not?" His voice calm, but eyes filled with anger.

"I'm too weak Puddin'." She whispered. She felt horrible. Like the flu times ten. Her body ached all over, and she could barely sit up. Maybe it wasn't from someone she killed, it could just as easily be something Poison Ivy had given her. "I'm trying, honest."

"What's wrong with you? You've been looking pretty bad these past couple of days. Are you ill, my little harlequin?" He asked, though his words were friendly enough, his tone was often opposite. She hated disappointing him, but nodded yes. He gripped her face "And we'll be all better by tomorrow so we don't postpone the plan two days in a row, won't we?" He asked insensitively. She nodded again. "Good. I've got errands to run." He said and left.

She fell back against the pillows, and closed her eyes. Throughout the day she felt nauseous on-again, off-again, but never threw up. It was 8 p.m. and now, she was wheezing, and could barely speak. Joker returned at 8:37, and went to check on her. Her eyes were closed, and he stroked her face, making her eyes flutter open. "Something's really wrong with you." He stated, voice serious, and low. She nodded slightly, still wheezing. "Has it just been today?" She shook her head no.

"It's been," Wheeze... Wheeze. "About 3 weeks," Wheeze. "If not," …Wheeze, tear. "More." She said as tears trickled down her face. He looked at her, face angry. Oh, how she hated herself for making him angry!

"And your just now telling me?" He exploded, even the henchmen in the living room shut up. He angrily paced.

"You," …Wheeze "Would've gotten," Tears… Wheeze "Rid of me." She cried.

"I would've found a cure Harley. Forced a doctor to make one!" He kept pacing. Did she see… tears? He bent down next to her, knowing that she'd most likely die. She wiped his tears away as best as she could, ruining his makeup, his hair in his face. "I've tried to make a good life for you Harley. Tried to find us nice places to stay, obviously this isn't a good example, but still! I've even given you nice things, simply because I like to see you smile! And you thought I'd get rid of you if you told me you were ill?" He asked, still yelling. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her. He got next to her in the bed, and held her. She'd never seen him so… gentle. She'd never been happier, well besides the effects of the illness of course. That's all they did all night, neither fell asleep. He whisper sung to her to whole time. Her heart rate sped up, then drastically started to drop. She knew she was running out of time.

"Love… you… Puddin'." She panted, closing her eyes tightly. Her chest hurt. Badly.

"You too, Slugger." He hadn't actually said it. But it was close. She felt him kiss her forehead, and hold her tighter. A few minutes later, her heart stopped, and her body went limp.

A/N: First ever oneshot. Feedback appreciated.