Chapter Text
Harley has achieved, collected, and owned a lot of things in her life. She has two pet hyenas that act like dogs. She has a tattoo of a skull on her upper right thigh that has bleeding hearts for eyes. She has years of acrobatic training under her belt, making her body flexible and fit for all kinds of strenuous activities. She has fifteen different boxes of crayons, each from a different brand and each a different set amount. She has twenty-one succulents, all watered regularly by her friend Ivy. She has a bunk bed that she shares with Ivy, her bunk sporting blue sheets and pillow covers and a red duvet. She has their joint cell decorated with tiny diamonds, hearts, and declarations of love written across the stark white walls. She has an orange prison jumpsuit and long duel colored hair, tied up in ponytails that manage to stay in place under extreme circumstances. She has education, given to her by her parents’ endless working hours spent throughout her life. She has experience with class and society, falling from the top and landing ever so gracefully at the bottom. Harley has a degree — a goddamn doctorate, actually. Yet, despite all this, she never saw any of the signs. She only ever saw what she wanted to see.
It was a year into it when she noticed he didn't like her. She was testing him, flirting with other men in his presence. He didn't seem to mind, much less care. His attention, as always, was preoccupied on the Bat. When he planned, he always requested dead silence. Within the first few months, after the eventful murder of one of his most trusted henchman when his coughing fit became too distracting, Harley realized attending the planning sessions was pointless and dangerous. He had a temper, which Harley learned the hard way. That was the first time she had seen brain matter splattered across the wall. It wouldn't be her last. She had hoped things would get better, that'd he would pay more attention to her. Perhaps the plan was intricate and needed special focus to work out all the kinks. But whenever he wasn't planning things, at night or when they were acting on said plans, he tended to treat her as any other one of his henchmen. He didn't want to have sex with her either, which made her even more concerned.
But, Harley knew that just because they ignored you didn't mean they didn't love you. In her childhood, spent with her many brothers and sisters, she never received as much attention as she had wanted. Her mother went to work every day, from dawn to dusk. Her father, who was a social worker at Arkham, usually came home late with little to say to anyone; she admired him somewhat in her youth. She liked to distract herself with fitness, particularly gymnastics. But as she grew older, and more and more restless, Harley had double-downed on becoming better than her miserable little family. She wanted to become a full-blown psychologist. At first, her grades were less than amazing. In high school, her grades were average at best. College was even more stressful and irritating. But, she got through it, after a painfully long process to achieve her doctorate. Along the way, she had slept with professors. Some of them gave her better grades, others didn't. That wasn’t really why she slept with them anyway. It was to give her the faux feeling of independence from her parents and her family. She needed to feel unique, to stand out in the crowd; she needed attention. All her life she had craved it. When the Joker had supplied her with attention, told her things about himself that no one else knew, she had felt special. No one before had given that to her.
Batman just had to take it all away. Or, at least, that was her interpretation. After his breakout with her assistance, they headed to the chemical plant for her rebirth. When they arrived, the factory seemed rundown, different from what Joker had described; at the time, she thought that it was just aged. If she thinks about it now, it was disgusting. The metal walkways were rusted over and covered in wet footprints, making it slippery. She was also wearing heels, which only made the area more problematic to navigate. Joker seemed oblivious to it though, twirling around and looking gleefully at the gigantic vats of bubbling acid fluids. He paused at one of the vats, staring at it quietly. Then he twitched, a wide toothy grin spread across his face in a rather unpleasant manner, as if to cover up the quiet moment he just had. It was the first time she ever felt truly unnerved while in his presence. He turned to her, finally acknowledging her existence for the first time since they arrived at the plant, and graced her with a seemingly approachable nature. She didn’t think twice about the strange behavior or the weird nostalgia he seemed to harbor for the place. Harley didn’t think at all; she was in love.
Batman crashed through the glass above and landed with a powerful thud onto the metal walkway across from Joker. Harley stood behind Joker, with a heated expression unraveling across her pretty features. She was pretty, she remembers that with the most brutal kind of self-loathing. Her eyes watched as Joker removed any kind of attention directed towards her and replaced it to the Bat; he always did take the spotlight. He narrowed his shiny white eyes at the display. Then, the Bat paid special attention to her. He looked surprised almost, but Harley knew better. He was devastated, the brows beneath his — his whatever the hell he wore on his head –– furrowing up in shock. Joker talked and Batman talked and left alone, Harley realized on her own what was happening. It was all too late though. That was the same moment she tripped over the grating and fell. It was itchy at first; then, it burned. She could briefly see above her that Joker and Bats were fighting each other; a split image of the Bat looking to her in horror remained in her memory. Harleen was sucked through the comically large drainage pipe and Harley was spat out into a puddle of the acid. She coughed up the chemicals from her mouth, with a bitter stinging taste on her tongue. As she did, she rolled her body out of the puddle and into a patch of dry dirt with decaying grass and dead dandelions. She passed out once in the dirt, her body on fire. When she awoke, Joker stood above her with a smile and an open hand, offering her a new life. She took it without thinking. She didn’t see herself in a mirror until five hours later.
She twirls the red side of her ponytails between her fingers and shudders at the memory. Joker, in all his time spent with her, only slept with her once. He was also drunk and clearly thinking about that someone else. Harley didn’t mind it but, when she woke up alone, she knew she couldn’t stay any longer. It was the same day she first met Ivy. She left the Joker’s madhouse, with a few costumes, Bud and Lou, and a leather suitcase adorned with many stickers. She stole a car, unsure of where to go. She needed money so she came to the only conclusion she could: she needed to rob a bank. Harley drove back to the madhouse and scavenged for a gun. She grabbed one rather quickly, as well as an extra baseball bat. She returned to the car and left in a hurry. She knew Joker wouldn’t be happy if he saw her leaving. His brainless goons never paid her much attention anyway. Harley pulled up to the bank, a brief smirk gracing her face, and entered with a rush of adrenaline hitting her. There were only four people inside, including the bank tellers behind the glass. She fired the gun up in the air, forcing everyone’s eyes to snap to her. She never liked how people looked at her after “The Bleaching”, with fear and resentment, and she never got used to it. Even still, the memory gives her pause. If she thinks on it too long, the pause will lead to chills. Before, she was anyone else; but, now she had everyone’s attention, it was for all the wrong reasons. Harley grimaced to herself and bent behind the smashed-in glass to intimidate the bank teller. He raised his forearm to cover his face, his glasses reflecting her own face back at her.
“Get back, freak!”
Harley never took criticism very well, but this was on a different level somehow. She had been called many different demeaning things in her life. The list was almost endless, really: bitch, slut, cunt, whore, hoe, bimbo, brat, dumb, stupid, idiotic. She had really heard it all. But, freak was not on the list before. Freak meant she had become someone else –– or, rather, something else. She didn’t like it one bit. Harley shot the bank teller in the foot. He screamed out in pain, almost on cue with the appearance of her. The flooring from beneath them rumbled at first, giving Harley a reasonable pause. The bank tellers and others took this time to run away from the bank. Harley stared on curiously as the rough carpet gave way to humongous vines. She fell back onto the crumbling ground, watching in shock and awe. Then, she arrived through them, plant life of all kinds surrounding her. She was sitting at first, on a throne of banana leaves and periwinkles. She stood up when she spotted Harley through the moving life. Harley liked girls; it was something she never really talked about because she never found it necessary. But, as she stared at the elegant and ever so breathtaking Poison Ivy, it became apparent to her once again why she did like girls. She wasn’t really afraid of her. Ivy narrowed her eyes at her, circling her with interest.
“You’re Joker’s plaything, aren’t you?”
She smiled, with pretty pink lips and a tantalizing smile.
“Want to help me?”
It wasn’t long before they were friends. Harley decided it was best to stick with her; they lived together in her greenhouse. The place was thriving with so many different types of greenery. Vines grew from the inside, acting as curtains and blocking the glass view of the outside. Flowers of all colors were arranged by color, specifically by the color of the rainbow. It was a beautiful ombre that greeted Harley every time she passed it. Giant trees, with long branches and thick trunks, shed their leaves with the seasons that passed, covering the brick pathway in a variety of different kinds leaves. Batman would run into them on occasion but, seemingly every time, he was distracted away from them. Something –– or someone –– always seemed to take priority over them. Harley wonders if that is truly “The Joker Effect”, as Ivy refers to it. At first, what Ivy told her disturbed her. Even the implication that Joker liked Batman in that way was shocking. She didn’t want to believe it so… she didn’t. She placed it in the back of her mind, focusing on the present than what she considered in the past. While with Ivy, she learned loads about her. The doctor in Harley engaged her on this front, asking questions and always listening. Ivy didn’t seem to ask her many questions when they first met, simply keeping her around for her own amusement. But, as time went on, Ivy seemed to loosen up in this regard, inquiring often about things she did not know about Harley. It was a slow buildup between Ivy and Harley, with the Joker never interested in finding her. It was only when Harley and Ivy made headlines when apprehended, by Batman himself evidently, did he ever give her any attention. It was a phone call, the few designated ones Arkham Inmates could receive. The call had been arranged, one of his henchman passing her a note during her lunchtime, but it didn’t make it any less awkward. His words were lasting; it had been a year since they met, the very same day.
“Stay away from Bats!”
She sits in her cell, bunk beds with Ivy, and contemplates this phone call. Above her, Ivy is reading an extensive book about soil. Harley doesn’t bother her, knowing if she does, it will certainly not go in her favor. Instead, she lays down on the firm mattress, looking up at the metal springs of Ivy’s bed. She looks behind her at the succulents and the doodles all around the room. Harley takes all of this in gradually, a strange cold feeling passing through her. What she truly wants to know is if Ivy is right; she wants to know if the whispers on the streets, the tittle-tattle in the tabloids, and the gossip within Arkham’s walls amount to anything. She wants to know if Joker truly likes Batman in that way. She no longer needs to know if he loves her; she knows that was never the case from the beginning. She just needs confirmation. But, she needs a plan. She has never been good at planning, and when she was good, no one ever appreciated them. Ivy is the only one who ever tried out any of her plans and, almost mockingly, they never turned out well for either of them. She sighs and Ivy, above her, shuts her book dramatically.
“What is it now?” asks Ivy. Harley turns to lay on her side, the springs of her bed screeching loudly. Harley looks to the concrete floor, clean and slate gray. She stares with contained bitterness, something she refuses to plague Ivy with. “Harls?” she asks again.
“It’s nothing, Red.” Ivy raises an eyebrow, dangling her legs over the edge of the bed. She jumps down from the edge of the bed and sits in front of Harley with a concerned expression. Harley smiles faintly at her.
“You’re thinking about something, just tell me.” Harley sighs again and sits up from the bed. Ivy looks at her curiously as Harley scratches her hair.
“I’ve just been thinking—“
“A dreadful thing to do—“
“And I want to see it, with my own eyes, ya know?” Ivy furrows her brows with an amused expression.
“And what would that be?” Harley looks down, embarrassed.
“Them together...” Ivy looks at her with confusion. She sighs again and then, decides to clarify. “Mister J and Bats,” she whispers harshly. Ivy looks at her then, throws her head back, and laughs. Harley crosses her arms, her face turning into a temporary scowl.
“Come on, Harls. You know that’s all just talk, right?” She keeps her arms crossed and Ivy sighs. “Harley, you’re serious about this?” She nods and gets up from the bed to pace the cell.
“Look, Red, I just need to know, okay? I don’t even expect to see anything, I just want confirmation, ya know?” She rambles. Ivy blinks blankly and nods slowly. “All we got to do is spy on them during one of their big fights. Can’t be too hard, right?”
“I thought you said you were over him, Harls,” Ivy says. Harley rolls her eyes briefly.
“I am!” she exclaims, exasperated. “That’s not why I wanna know.”
“How do you even know you’ll catch them doing it anyway? Bats doesn’t seem like the type––” Harley sighs in anguish.
“I know the chances are slim, Red. I just wanna know if that’s why he never—“
“Loved you?” She finishes for her. Harley pauses her pace and nods in her direction. Harley turns somber, her pace slowing. “You know he used you. Why does it even matter what he and Batman do?”
“Because, Pam, I need confirmation. I need to know that I wasn’t paranoid. That it wasn’t somethin’ I coulda fixed. That I... was right.” Ivy gets up from the floor and walks over to Harley. She takes Harley’s hand in her own and looks at her with a deathly serious expression.
“There’s nothing you could have done, Harley. He’s the Joker, all he cares about is himself.” She squeezes Harley’s hand in her own and smiles at her with those oh so pretty lips. She thinks about them, even though Poison Ivy’s alluring effects have no real effect on her anymore. She gave her the injection early into their friendship, ensuring that she would never be under her complete control. It was a nice gesture then. Now, it only makes her feel more desperate. She smiles at Ivy and squeezes her hand back.
“I just need to know, Red. I just need to know.” Ivy twitches, something like jealously in her eyes. “Will ya help me?” Ivy huffs but relents.
“Yes, I’ll help you—“ Harley jumps into her, pulling her arms around Ivy and squeezing her into a brutal hug.
“Thank you so much—“
“But, only on one condition.” Harley pulls back from her and cocks her head to the side.
“And what’s that, Red?” she asks.
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Ivy says cryptically. Harley nods slowly, unsure of what Ivy could possibly want from her.
“Whatever you say, Red.”
The next day, Ivy seduces a guard for a keycard. The act is so easy that Harley is almost enraged she never tried it earlier.