Title: Broken

Summary: Somehow, something shifted, and what was once a game turned into something far more dangerous. But who is really hurting whom? Or, there is more than one way to break someone, and not all wounds leave visible scars. Oneshot.

Warnings: Cursing. Domestic abuse. The works.

Notes: Well. First fic for the Batman fandom. I'm just glad to be here, because I love this couple. You know the drill: R&R, my lovelies!

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman

They were under a single blanket together, (or rather, they should've been, except for the fact that he had previously yanked the heavy comforter off himself because of the stifling weight and threw it over Harley), and she had silently moved across the bed so that she was right next to him.

Then she had tried to curl up next to him. He instantly stiffened, staring straight at the ceiling as she rubbed her face against his chest-nuzzling him!-and curled closer. Even without the blanket, the air suddenly seemed to close in on him. When she wrapped her arms around him, he finally threw her off, growling.

She had tried to cuddle with him. It was ridiculous, and not the brand of ridiculous that he enjoyed. That was suggesting that there was something between them other than shared wants and hatreds. It was suggesting something warm, uncomfortably so, and if he hadn't known better, the Joker would've thought it had frightened him.

As it was, he wouldn't stand for it, and a line had been crossed. He glared at her and she let out a small whimper as he had raised an arm to slap her.

Looking at her, he paused, just for a second, and she slowly raised her eyes to his.

And then he was lost.

Looking into those eyes made him think that she could see right through him to his soul. But then he thought that perhaps she didn't have to look that far, because he would've just bared everything he had and gift-wrapped it for her if she asked.

So he stared at her and she stared back, neither saying anything until Harley broke the spell by opening her trembling lips and saying a single word.

"P-P-Puddin?" she whimpered, looking up at him. That was all it took. Swift as a cobra strike, he brought his hand against her face, leaving a bright red mark on her milky cheek.

Instantly, she shrieked and rolled off of the bed, landing on the wooden floor with a crash. The Joker lay staring at the wall, trying to dredge up the usual pleasure he gained from hitting someone. He crawled across the bed, hoping to stimulate the feeling by looking at her injured cheek. Then he found himself staring at her again.

She was curled up on the ground, looking up at him and biting her lip, turning it an attractive shade of pink. Tears were welling up in her eyes, lending them a glassy shine. The angry scarlet mark on her cheek was slowly fading to a blushing pink, standing out against her pale skin in a way that made his breath suddenly catch in his throat.

She was beautiful.

Oh, God. This was all wrong. He shouldn't be thinking that. He should be angry at her for...what was it again? He couldn't remember. Every remaining thought in his head fled at the sight of her, so pretty and delicate and vulnerable, looking up at him in such fear...

He grabbed a fistful of green hair in his fists, pulling on it, as if the pain would bring him back to his senses.

"P-Puddin," she tried again, the tears tumbling down her cheeks, "I-I'm sorry, for whatever I did to ya."

The Joker stopped pulling out his hair and glared at her, sending her shrinking back into a corner. She didn't even know what she did to him. She didn't know how much she changed him, and now he couldn't even slap her without feeling this tormenting guilt...Suddenly, he swooped down on her and grabbed her by the throat, throwing her against a wall with a thud.

"You should be sorry, you bitch," he snarled, tightening his grip on her throat. Harley gasped and clawed at his hand, struggling for air.

"Say it," he hissed. Harley only opened her mouth in a silent scream. "Say it like you mean it," he added, pressing harder.

"I-I'M SORRY!" She shrieked in a thin voice. "I'm sorry!" He removed his hand and she fell to the floor in a heap, heaving for air.

The Joker slowly walked back to the bed and lay down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He traced a crack in the plaster with his eyes as his ears registered Harley's slowing breathing.

The bed creaked and he stiffened, feeling one side of the bed get weighted down with added pressure. He turned and glared at Harley, who was slowly creeping back onto the bed, nursing her injured cheek.

He glared at her with his dark beady eyes and she cowered from his gaze. Slowly, slowly, he sat up and faced her. She gazed up at him fearfully, burrowing into her pillow.

She wanted something soft from him. She wanted romance. Well, two could play at that game. Because it took two to tango, and was he really to blame if her foot was stepped on in the midst of the dance?

After all, she had weakened him with the same tools. It was only fair that he got to hurt her back.

People were wrong when they said that revenge was best served cold. What liars. Only when it was hot would you would taste that lovely moment of triumph when you handed over that steaming plate of revenge and they burned their fingers. You could watch with a smile on your face, because it was truly them hurting themselves, which was undeniably the worst kind of pain.

The Joker loved smiling.

He also loved burning people, but maybe that was a little off topic and unnecessary.

In the blink of an eye, his hands were on either side of her, pinning her wrists to the bed as he leaned over her, his face inches from hers. Harley's breath quickened as she stared at him.

"I'm sorry, Harley dear," he cooed, his voice sweet as sugar and oozing like honey. "You know how Daddy loses his temper sometimes. Would you like a kiss to make it better?" Harley's breath caught in her throat as she gazed up at him in wonder, managing only a single nod.

He slowly bent over her throat, his lips ghosting over the soft vanilla skin, his breath tickling her neck as he slowly inched his way up to her face.

"Mmm," he murmured, and Harley shivered at her speeding heart, which raced at his proximity and unexpected tenderness.

Then without a warning, his lips covered hers, and she gasped. She became eager and kissed him back, harder, exploring, tasting his bitter, metallic flavor. Maybe if she went deeper she would find the hidden sweetness that she had always known he protected.

She felt a sharp pain on her lips. The Joker drew back, grinning, and she could see the blood on his teeth. Eyes wide, she slowly moved her hands up to her lips, and they came back sticky and red.

"You would want a kiss, wouldn't you," he said, his mouth curling into a sneer, "you filthy little slut." Harley gasped and looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

"I'm sorry," she cried, not even knowing what she was apologizing for, "I didn't mean to!" He tapped a finger to his chin in a pantomime of thoughtfulness.

"I don't know, Harley," he said mockingly. "You've been a very bad girl. And we all know that bad girls have to be punished." Harley squeaked and dove under the covers, only to be dragged out again by the hair. She squealed in pain as he held her up with one hand, pinning her to the headboard by her hair.

He raised his other hand again and she wanted to hide from the blow in anticipation, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. With a crack, he hit her other cheek and she cried out in pain. Once more, he drew his hand back, this time in a fist. She whimpered and struggled, but his grip was iron, and she was stuck. Trembling slightly, she closed her eyes, waiting for the crushing blow.

The Joker stared at her as she closed her eyes in resignation, his hand curled into a fist. He would break her. He would hear that delightful snap of bones as they split in two. He would ruin her.

He then paused. That perfect button nose would be disfigured, perhaps for life. Her beauty, as fragile and flawless as glass would shatter just as easily.

She wouldn't be whole.

She would be broken.

Cursing under his breath, he let go of her and she slid off of the bed, gasping. He frowned to himself and rolled across the bed so that he could view her on the floor.

"Don't even think about coming back to the bed tonight."

She only sobbed in response, and as he faced the ceiling again, he could hear her curling up into a ball on the hard ground.

Why couldn't he do it? Why couldn't he break her? It must be something to do with her. The bitch had done something to him and now he couldn't hurt her! A surge of anger rose in his chest only to be replaced by nothingness again.

He didn't even want to hurt her. When he hit her, he felt empty. The savage delight at her pain, the pleasure in knowing that he was in control...it was all gone.

He was empty.

But when he kissed her...maybe something filled the void. Maybe he wanted to kiss her again. Maybe he wanted her again.

What's happening to me? He thought desperately. Every thought was consumed by her, everything was about her and no matter where he turned, everything always lead back to her. It was all about her and he was slipping, slipping into the void...

He fell hopelessly into thinking about her. Her big blue eyes, framed by long blonde eyelashes. Her cherry red lips, painted ebony and curled into a smirk. Her pale, silky cheeks slowly blushing as she stared at him.

Her laugh, the soft tinkle of bells. Her tears, diamond drops that left glimmering tracks on her cheeks.

He was going insane.

He drew the blanket over himself, the pressure like a pair of arms encircling him. He breathed in her scent, ripe strawberries and licorice. It was so easy to imagine that she was right next to him.

He couldn't hurt her. That was what it all boiled down to. Because one day he might lose her. He couldn't manage to lose her because it seemed like every single fucking second out of her presence he was stabbed a thousand knives in his chest.

And sometimes when he hurt her he felt like he was twisting the knives. One by one, with every slap and sharp degrading word he was stabbing himself, causing himself as much pain as he gave her. It was a two edged sword.

Or knife, rather.

Funny how his favorite weapon was the one that turned on him.

Then he realizes why it hurts so much. Why every goddamnfuckingtear that escapes her eyes is like poison to him.

He doesn't want to break her. That's all it is. But it's funny, really. She seems to have no problem breaking him.