Bad Jokes (JokerxHarley Quinn)

merrily, merrily in terror I flee

Merrily, merrily in terror I flee
Every time I dance—every time I dance with you,
I stagger out the nightclub black and blue, battered and bruised, but I care not
-Eugene McGuinness, Shotgun

"...and then he kicked me out. He was super pissed."

Forty-five minutes later, Pam and I had united in our favorite club. We both liked X-Ray partially because it had a great dance floor and the bouncers were pretty good about making sure everyone was behaving (and taking complaints about overly handsy guys seriously), but largely because the bar was set apart from the dance floor, enough so that you could talk without having to shout over the throbbing music. I had just finished relating the story of the afternoon's events to an attentive Pam over the first of hopefully many tequila shots, and watched her now for a reaction.

She obliged. She didn't even allow the customary seconds of shocked silence after I was finished before saying, "Harleen Quinzel, you're an idiot."

"Love you too," I said dryly.

"Well, I'm sorry, but what were you thinking? The man's a certifiable psycho. What, did you think that your touch would melt the shell of crazy around him and reveal some Prince Charming underneath?"

"Of course not."

"I mean, what could possibly convince you to do that?"

"He was very... persuasive," I said reluctantly.

"Yeah, I bet," she said sardonically. "You know, maybe it's a good thing you've been taken off of the case." I made an indignant sound, but she wasn't having any of it. "No, honestly. I was serious when I said that you were pulled to him in some way, and now that this has happened, it just proves that the attraction is clouding your judgment."

"Red..." It was all I could say.

"Oh, honey, don't look so lost," she chided me, covering my hand with hers. "Your life isn't over. I know you wanted this. I know. But it's for the best. The Joker is a dangerous criminal, and I've got to say, I feel better knowing that you're not going to be around him anymore."

In lieu of responding, I did another shot and sucked disconsolately on a lime wedge, and Pam matched me. After groaning past the burn of alcohol, she patted my knee and said, "Come on. Cheer up. Stay over tonight and we'll watch something ridiculously sunny—I don't know, something with Julie Andrews—and tomorrow you'll feel better. Okay?"

"If you say so," I said, unconvinced.

"I do say so. And you better step up, because I intend to outdrink you."

I looked at her dubiously, a smile creeping over my face. Pam may have been taller than me, but she was a terrible lightweight. "Um. I'm... gonna run to the bathroom while you rethink that," I said, slipping off of my stool, and she shook her head vehemently.

"You're not gonna get out of it that easily," she called after me, and I laughed.

Once away from Pam's positive influence, though, and head already swimming vaguely through two shots of tequila taken in rapid succession, my mood plummeted again. The bathroom was empty, and I found myself glowering at my reflection, again skewing myself for my stupidity earlier.

And it cost you the best and most interesting case you've ever had—or likely will ever have. Was it really worth giving up so you could indulge in a little touch that resulted in you getting attacked by the raving terrorist, genius?

Violently, I shut off the water and tore some paper towels out of the dispenser, too impatient to deal with the air dryer (Pam would be livid with me, but I was beyond caring, and she didn't need to know, anyway). I dried my hands as if they'd done me a personal harm, tossed the towels, and then braced my hands on either side of the sink, staring at my reflection.