Tonight, You're Gonna Break Your One Rule

Curiosity is a strange thing.

It worms its way through you without any such warning, and before you realise, you'd do anything to find out the one piece of information you desperately need.

For me, that piece of information was Harley.

I needed to know who she was, where she was now, and why she affected the Joker in such a way.

The room is empty, and as far as I knew the mystery room is too, so I push myself out of my seat on the sofa and towards the desk. I pull open the first drawer and find a stack of notes, all in his scribbled writing, left hand pushing ink through the pages.

I squint to try and read them, and find out he's babbling, writing down what he thinks as he thinks it.

Harley... one year. Harvey. Harvey Harvey and Rachel. Rachel Dawes. Bruce Wayne. Millionaire, Bruce Wayne. Batsy, Batsy! No... no, love. No. precious, laughter and scars precious, precious. Hm.

I frown so hard my forehead hurts. It's like being inside his mind.

I place the notes back into the drawer and close it again, moving to the next one down. It's the yearbook, and this time I scan each page for any reference to Harley, since I figured he'd write down anything about her.

Nothing, no reference except the one scribbled out photo, and I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that might be her. I run my fingers across the page, feeling the dips and ridges the pen had scratched in, and I notice my fingers come away stained blue-black. I look at the opposite page and see ink smudges where the book had been closed.

I frown again, hard, and stare at my fingers, as if I couldn't comprehend the simple blue liquid on them. He'd scribbled it out fresh, new, which meant he was thinking something new.

I knew by now, after living with him for so long, that the only way he could sort out the riot in his skull was to write everything down. I place the yearbook back then pick his notes back up, scanning as best I can for any more Harley references.

I find a few, but I can't make heads nor tails, just random words thrown onto the page by his left hand and deranged mind. I take a deep breath and place everything back into it's home, leaving the desk as I found it, tucking the chair, with his coat draped over the back, into it's footwell.

I sigh as I stand up, and lift the cuff of his coat to my mouth, breathing it in. I close my eyes and almost feel a little woozy, desperate to know that mystery aftershave, and when I open my eyes I quickly drop the sleeve, almost feeling like a stalking weirdo.

I blink, long and hard, then when I open my eyes again I'm filled with my second wind. I have no control as my feet lead me to the mystery door, and my hand curved round the handle. I take a huge breath in then push all my weight onto the golden handle, but it doesn't budge.

I hiss through my teeth, clench my eyes shut and steady my feet, gripping the handle with both hands and leaning every ounce of weight onto it. I let go when it doesn't budge, and growl, my foot kicking the door. The dull thud reverberates through the wood, and pain lashes through my toes.

I clutch at my foot and stumble back to lean on the bed, gripping my toes so hard I'm cutting off the circulation. I let go of my foot after a few hisses, and flex my toes with a sigh.

I lean back and close my eyes, though a few minutes later they fly open, as the sound of clinking metal, the white door opening, fills my ears. I stay leant against the bed and when Mister J fills my vision I smile just a little.

"So," He says, absent-mindedly polishing his switchblade with his sleeve, "Kill Jamie did you?"

I nod, nonchalant as I blink slowly and concentrate on the oxygen entering my bloodstream, and the carbon dioxide filtering back out, "He hated me." I breathe deep again, "And I needed somewhere to vent my anger."

The Joker smiles, showing his yellowing teeth as he pockets his knife again and steps forward, "Fair enough Precious. There are plenty more twisted minds willing to work for me."
I nod, agreeing with him as I watch him potter around the room. He's about to lower himself into the sofa and relax just a little, when I pluck up the courage.

"Fight with me?" I say, pushing myself away from the bed and smiling as he eyes me with interest, "Practise I mean. I want to get all my energy out."

"You just want to feel pain," He says with a smile, standing up and cracking a few joints in his fingers, "Like me, Precious."

"C'mon then," He steps forward to the middle of the room and so do I, "No holding back." He breathes deep and when he breathes out again his face is filled with the sadistic expression I see whenever he used to hit me, or he hits someone else. I smile and get the feeling my expression mirrors his.

"Hit me."

I do, my right fist lashing out to try and hit him across the face. He bats it away and hits me, across the jaw. As he's pulling his hand back I lash out and get him in the ribs. We fight, enjoying every punch we give and receive. I stumble back after a particularly hard punch and start laughing, as my palm pushes flat into his stomach, winding him completely.

He catches me off guard and grabs my throat, pushing us up against the wall. Just looking right into his eyes captivates me, and I find the courage to ask, just about, what I've wanted to since I'd first heard her name.

"Mister J?"

He moves back a step, an indication to carry on, and when I go to punch him next, aiming for that gorgeous jaw line, he grabs my hand and pulls me close, twisting so we're facing the same way, flesh against flesh, "Yes Precious?" He whispers in my ear.

I push myself away and twist on the balls of my feet, hands curled into fists near my face. He lashes out at me and I just manage to move from the path of his fist, before getting close to him. I resist the urge to run my hands through his greased, sick green hair, and instead my right fist catches him under the chin. He stumbles a step back, then as I go to hit him again, our giggles reverberating though musty air, he raises his arms to block me, one hand grabbing my fist to keep us there.

He raises his eyebrows to expect my question, and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes so I wont get lost in those abysses, "Who is Harley?"

Pain flashes across my eye and nose, and I stumble back into the wall, eyes flying open. The ache digs its way into my flesh, and anger rises up my throat when I realise he'd punched me properly.

He lunges at me again, all elements of practise and play far gone, and I gasp, knowing that if he'd reach me I'd be seriously hurt. I duck out the way and to my left, towards the dresser. All I could see was anger, as I turn to watch him lean against the wall, head in his arms as his lungs throw and draw gasping breaths from the air.

I growl through my teeth and crouch down, pulling open the bottom drawer and ratting right to the back, "I'm leaving," I hiss as I pull my old clothes from the bottom drawer. As I stand I hear him spin so fast the carpet almost singes, and I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head.

"I'm leaving," I repeat, more to myself than anyone else.

I stand, clutching my clothes to my heaving chest, and storm out the door, tight lipped.

"I'm leaving," I repeat again, under my breath, as I stalk through the hall. The stairwell up towards daylight and real life was stony cold, and slightly musty, and I breathe it is with disdain.

The animal in me wants the Joker to follow me, pull on my arm and tell me not to leave, tell me he needs me, though the rest of me needs to get out of here, and knowing it's wrong for him to treat me like this, no matter how much I loved staying here, and how much, no matter what I tried, I loved it.

My clothes lay over my arms as a hand barely reaches out. I wonder whether the door will be locked, or whether I'd have the courage to leave our sanctuary. Just as the apprehension floods through me one voice swims into my brain and I jump.

"But Precious, where will you go?"

I spin on my heel and drop my clothes, freezing on the spot, knowing he's got me. Everything hits me and I know he's right, I have nowhere.

"You've got nowhere to go, Precious," He takes a cautious step up the stairs and grins, knowing he's got me back, and as much as I want to deny it, every word he's saying is right.

"Nowhere," I echo, as he steps up the final step, and I'm staring at a spot just over his shoulder.

"No one," He whispers, and his breath invades my mind, soothing me and melting the freeze surrounding me. He takes my hands, and leads us down the stairs.

"But you," I whisper, my ice blue irises snapping up to stare into his. I gasp, as I realise what I've said, and he bites his lip, smiling.

"No one but me, Precious."

When I blink again, and when my sight seems to return, I'm perched on the edge of the bed, his gloved hands holding my cold ones, as they shake a little from shock. I clench my eyes shut and sigh. I hold his hands tighter, and feel a tear or two collect in my eyes.

"You can't keep doing this Mister J..." I whisper, staring into his blackened eyes and feeling them worm their way back into me again.

"I can Precious," He says, crouching down in front of me, "You can't stop me,"

I sigh and nod, knowing it's completely true. As I close my eyes he lays me down on the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight too. He pulls me close to him and rests his chin on the top of my head.

"But really, Precious," He whispers, "It's more a question of whether you want me to stop."

I sigh and a tear slides down my cheek – I didn't.