Harley's POV
I had lost track of how many days and nights have passed. Food and water never came at the same time each day, therefore I couldn't count the days by their arrival. I tried to ask the henchmen that came with my food and water, but they wouldn't talk to me. I'm sure they were under strict orders not to. Nobody crosses the Joker and gets to live to tell about it. They had no physical contact with me either, therefore I couldn't steal the keys or knock them out or anything that could help me escape.
If you've never been locked up before you can't really understand how slowly the minutes pass by. It feels like time pauses and leaves you just suspended in this void. Eventually you become disconnected from reality, from space and time. You talk to yourself just so you can hear the sound of something, anything. You count everything you can, tiles, bricks, anything that has multiples. You'd kill for something to read, even if you normally wouldn't enjoy the content.
It wasn't the first time he's locked me in his dungeon and left me until my mind was on the verge of snapping. He did it right after he saved me from that vat of acid. He kept me locked up in the dark for months. He left me there until I would do anything he asked without question. Because you would do anything to be freed. I assumed that was his plan again. But it wasn't gonna work this time. I'd rather die in this box than do anything he asked.
I crouch in the corner in darkness. My oily hair hung in dead strands in my face. I don't remember when I last bathed. I just know I haven't since I've been here. I mumble the words to the last song I could remember hearing. I chuckle for no other reason than I'm starting to lose it. I go silent with a jerk when I see a trail of light spread across the floor. It almost seemed unreal, I was so mystified by it.
I look out of my cell and I see him standing there, staring at me. I expected him to laugh at me. I expected him to enjoy all this. He drags a chair across the floor and sits down in it. He doesn't smile, he doesn't laugh, he doesn't even fully look at me. It's only the second time I've seen him down here and I was curious about what the nature of his visit is if it isn't for his own twisted pleasure.
Finally his eyes find mine but he quickly looks down, "You ok?" He faintly asks. That question didn't even deserve an answer, so I just glared at him. Like he really gives a shit if I'm alright. He sighs when I don't reply. "How is Deadshot these days? Getting geriatric on you yet? It must be awkward for you in public, being seen with a man who looks like he could be your grandfather."
"Well, not everyone cares to try your fountain of youth," I say and push myself to my feet. I walk to the glass and stand before him. I seem to make him nervous because he shifts his weight in the chair.
"You still look just as you did on the day..." His words trail off and he looks down at his hands. "Harley...what kind of person do you think Lucy would be today if she had been raised by us?" His eyes look up, studying my face closely.
"I can't answer that because you tore that reality away from me," I snarl at him.
He looks to the side with another sigh. "Just think about it. You know, what if? Do you think she would have turned out to be like us? Or do you think she would have ran away from her psychotic parents? Do you still believe her life would have been better with us in it?"
"She was ours," I say and feel tears building up in my eyes.
He turns his head back to face me. "Did you want her to be like us? Criminals, always on the run from the law or Bruce in his costume? You would have rather seen someone put a gun to her head? Maybe kill her just to hurt us? That's honestly the life you wanted for our child?"
My head drops and so do my tears. Of course that wasn't the life I had wanted for her. "I thought we could change," I shake my head.
"Change? Really? How long do you think it woukd have been before we were bored out of our minds? I thought you were smarter than that. We aren't good people, good people don't lie or steal. They don't blow up buildings with people in them. They don't hear voices. Come on, if you were capable of changing you would have done it already."
"That's because you took my reason away," I wipe at my tears.
I watch as his face gets even longer, and his eyes fall to his hands yet again. "I never wanted you to be hurt...I wanted you to understand that it was best for our daughter. I wanted...no, I needed my wife to hold me as I screamed in agony. Do you think what I did was easy for me? I've died just a little bit every day because of what I did, to you, to her, even to myself." He rises to his feet and looks into my eyes. I can see him reach inside of his jacket. He pulls something out and looks down at it.
"I don't even know if you killed her," I sniffle, "Do you have any idea how that uncertainty plagues me?"
He places whatever is in his hand against the window. It's a picture of a young woman with strawberry hair and blue eyes. I look at him. "You really think I'd kill something that was the best of us? Our daughter?" A lone tear slides down his cheek. "I didn't kill her. I couldn't even if I wanted. I loved her, I've never stopped. Look at her, look how perfectly content she is. She looks like this because we weren't there to ruin it. I know how much I hurt you, and for that I'm genuinely sorry, but I know that what I did was the best for her." He removed the picture from the glass and tucked it back in his pocket. He wipes the tear on his cheek away looks at me. "I did the right thing, why can't you see that?"
"Where is she?" I ask him.
He just looks down without answering and backs away. He leaves me there, banging on the glass, praying he will tell me where our daughter is.
