The Imperfect Art of Madness (Jerome/Harleen)

Chapter Two - Prom or Hell?

He'd forgotten all about her until he saw the newspaper, there was too much else to think about. Shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages andviolent murder . Opening the door to madness and trying his best to push Gotham through it.

They didn't make it easy for him.

But she... she'd had potential. Hell, she'd dropped Bozo like a pro when he'd given her the chance, almost taken him out too in the process. He wondered for a moment why she didn't, what had stopped her from pulling the trigger when she'd had the chance. The dull muzzle pointed square between his eyes and the glory of killing Gotham's most wanted riding high in her eyes.

Then he shrugged and moved on, there was no point crying over un-spilt brains.

Wayne Foundation to Host Prom for Survivors of Gotham State High Massacre.

There she was under the headline, right smack bang in the middle of those ever so lucky survivors as they were led from what remained of their school, swaddled in blankets and wailing. She wasn't wailing though. Oh no, not a tear in sight as she stared straight ahead like she couldn't even see them, a strange little half smile on her Cupid's bow lips.

The picture needed more oomph. Too pretty, too perfect. He snatched up a marker, red of course, and painted a real smile on for her. Nice and big.

God what was her name? Something ridiculous and old fashioned and- he snapped up in his seat, scars twinging as he grinned.

Harleen.

His Harley Girl.

Maybe it was time to pay her another visit. The thought unfurled, the idea that maybe if he could push one person, just one , over the edge the rest would follow. Like lemmings. She was the perfect candidate after all, the blonde haired, blue eyed doll he'd bet any money on being a cheerleader.

Maybe if he could twist her...

The thought stuck, a pleasant tingle tracing the length of his spine as he drummed his fingers against the table edge. It was time for a little trip, he'd never been to a prom before.

He needed a new suit.

---

"I still don't understand, what were you thinking Harls?" Melinda had hold of her arm, sharp nails digging into her skin as she dragged her into the mall's ladies room. It had been a month since the event and she still hadn't shut up about it, Harleen was hopeful it'd all calm down once the funerals were done but nope, Melinda was still harping on about it.

Oh well, at least she didn't have to wear black anymore. She'd run out of decent dresses after the third wake.

"It wasn't a big deal," Harleen shrugged, pulling away to face herself in the mirror above the sink as Melinda disappeared into a stall. She frowned at a smudge in her eyeliner, pulling out her makeup bag to fix it, her gaze lingering just a second too long on the Hello Kitty band-aid she'd stuck over the cut on her neck.

His cut.

It had healed over already but for some reason she still wore the band-aid where the little white scar was.

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Melinda was the picture of disapproval as she reemerged, the same blend of fear and horror scrunching her features that Harleen had long since gotten sick of. It was better than the sympathy though, the cloying look the police had given her as they'd patted her arm and told her it wasn't her fault. Told her how brave she'd been.