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“Harley?” I can hear him ask with an audible question mark as I’m closing my eyes, and I want to growl. This fucking question again? Every bloody night I can hear his voice say her name with that question mark behind it. And every fucking night, I’m unable to figure out why.
“Why do you say her name like that?” I finally ask him, and he just cocks his gloriously green head at me, those strange blue eyes staring at me as if I’m stupid.
“I’m in your head. Why don’t you tell me why I say her name like that,” he demands, a green brow lifting in challenge, and I want to throw the pillow at something.
“I don’t fucking know, that’s why I’m asking you!” But he continues to stare at me, and all I can do is pull my pillow over my head, trying to block out his voice. But it’s not my ears that need blocking, is it? It’s my damn brain.
Is he asking after her because she’s in the kitchen, and he’s terrified that she’s going to burn the hideout to the ground…again? Is she currently incarcerated, and he’s questioning if he’s going to go and get her or not? Is it one of the many times she’s left him, staying with Ivy while they both calm down?
Fuck if I know, but it’s a nightly occurrence, him saying her name in this almost mournful voice. This voice that is so unlike any version of him I know. I want nothing more than for her to answer him. For her to call from the kitchen that breakfast is ready and for him to have to sit through the atrocious tasting pancakes that she made with love. I want her to answer him with everything I am, but still, he questions her presence.
“Where is she?” I ask him quietly, not knowing if I want to know the answer. Afraid that I already know the answer. It’s my brain, after all, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I know where she is? Is that why he asks it? Is he asking me where she is? Is he asking me if she exists?
She never answers him, though, and I fear I’ve lost her. That I’ve lost who she is and who she’ll become. That she’s no longer there to answer him.
But if that’s the case, why does he linger? Why does he say her name, night after night after night, as if the answer will change?
I wish I knew.
Is this the nightmare version of him, and he’s asking Batman to repeat her name? Just to hear it one more time?
Has he just watched her fall from the helicopter to her death, questioning if he really saw that? After they’d just been speaking of bearskin rugs and grape soda? That can’t be the case, right? She did a magnificent little tumble on the rooftop. We watched her!
Has she finally decided enough was enough? That she deserved better? That true love wasn’t always enough, that sometimes it takes so much more to work through our problems?
Is he asking himself why she’s lying on the ground, bleeding her life away, as if he can’t believe that this is his fault? That he didn’t bring her into this world of crime and villainy?
“Harley?” Joker repeats night after bloody night, and I want to cry.
“Tell me where she is!” I scream, fisting my hands in his immaculate purple pinstripe suit. He cackles as he lets me shake him like a ragdoll, like he’s boneless, and I practically fling myself away from him. “Please tell me?” I beg, even as my brain begins to shut down, the answer still eluding us all.
“I wish I could, Doll, but you’re the one with that answer,” he hums in amusement.
But I know him so very well by now. I know that while he may be projecting that devil-may-care attitude to the world, he can’t hide the terror behind his smile. Like he’s just as desperate to know the answer as I am.
He may want everyone to believe that his hands shaking at the mere mention of her name on Batman’s lips was an affectation, but I know the truth. I know that he’s lost without her. That the jokes are no longer funny when she’s not around to share them.
“Harley?” he whispers again, and I want to cry for him. Where is she? I want to scream, but then…there she is. Walking toward him as if she’s never been anywhere else, the adorable scrunching of her face tells us that she’s been there the whole time.
“Yeah, Pud’?” she chirps, skipping the last step toward him, not a care in the fucking world. Like she hasn’t been missing. But she doesn’t know any of that, does she? Just he and I know the truth.
Joker gently leans down, stroking her face as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I can’t seem to turn away. I need to see this reunion. To know, just as surely as he’s finding out, that she’s real this time. That she’s not going anywhere. I watch as he tenderly kisses her, and I can see the scrunching of her forehead that lets me know she has no idea why he’s being like this.
“Harley?” he questions again, turning briefly to meet my eyes.
“Come oooon, Puddin!” she chirps, taking his hand and skipping forward. He lets her lead him like a stray puppy, and I smile, happy that he’s finally found her. That she’s finally decided to show herself.
Here’s to hoping for sleep. For his voice to never again beg me to let her answer. To never again hear him whisper in desperation, “Harley?”