There were some things that had to be admired about Harley Quinn, including how well she was holding herself together after the Jokerâs death, despite her original (extremely dramatic) reaction. After all, once she snapped out of the original psychotic break, finished a minor murderous rage, and made a damn fast move outside of Gotham... Well, she seemed to be okay again, aside from the voices coming back again.
Though, really, that was extremely impressive; it was only a month since the death of the man she loved and dedicated her entire existence to died, and yet... Harley was functioning. She was eating by herself again, brushing her hair almost every day, and actually staying somewhat connected to reality. She even could keep track of time again, at least well enough to know when three weeks had passed (although, admittedly, the first week was completely lost to the nasty, nasty episode she went through when she heard, and she didnât remember anything about that), and to acknowledge that, knowing how often Gotham went through city-wide crises that swept through the news, three weeks should be enough time for the story to change, and thus make it safe for her to watch again, despite Ivy warning her not to.
Did Harley ever listen to anyone, though? No, not really, and thus it really was her own fault when she turned on the TV for the first time since his death, flipped to the news, and landed on the last report she wanted to see.
âAnd now, news from Gotham City...
Over a month after the death of the self-proclaimed âKing of Gotham Cityâ, the Joker, a newly emerged villain already seems well on his way to claim the title. His name? Sweet Tooth.â
A picture was flashed up onto the screen, and as she saw it... The world slowly faded away around her. The news report faded into white noise, the couch all but disappeared beneath her, and darkness overtook everything. And then his face faded into existence. Sweet Toothâs. Then, the rest of his body... And, suddenly, there was nothing but Harley and Sweet Tooth. She studied him for a long moment, silently drinking in every little detail. He looked... So, so familiar. She sniffled softly, but, the more she observed, it slowly worsened. His face started morphing, until all she could see was her Puddinâ before her. The grin, the way his bangs fell, the suit... Tears formed in her eyes the more she let it happen.
â... Puddinâ?â The word came out as a desperate whimper, one that almost died in her throat. The morphing stopped, and then reversed... And Harley only worsened as he went back to his true form.
Sweet Tooth looked so similar to Joker, but also so wrong. The suit, the cane, the tie, the hair... All the same (almost), but so pastel! A mint green instead of Jokerâs richer color, pink instead of purple, and candy-striped instead of her Puddinâs suave solids... And the hair! Oh, the hair was the worst. How much hair gel did that man use?! Her Joker didnât really use gel, she recalled; her hand reached out into thin air at the thought, as her fingers moved like she was combing through her Puddinâs curls, soft and tangled together. Another whimper, and then Harley pulled herself from the memory. She refocused on Sweet Tooth.
He wasnât as pale, either... Joker matched her own bleached skin. This man didnât. She blinked slowly at the thought.
Wait... Of course he didnât. Why would he? He wasnât Joker. She knew he wasnât, because... Thereâs only one Joker. He couldnât ever be Joker. Joker was gone. Her other half was gone...
But what if he isnât gone? The little voice whispered in her ear. She shook it away. No. He is. How can he have the same attitude if he wasnât? The voice got louder, and she shook her head again. Because they had the same problems. Because he was a copy cat. Her Puddinâ was dead.
The voice wouldnât stay quiet. But what if he could be, then? If theyâre so similar... She jerked back again, shaking her head all the more vigorously. No. She wouldnât listen to that voice. He couldnât be Joker. He would never be Joker. Ever.
He could be. You could make him. The voice got louder. It wouldnât be silenced. It couldnât be. Make him, Harley. Make him Joker. You can do it.
No. No, she couldnât! She shook her head violently. He would never be Joker. He could never be him. Why not? Because heâs too different, too wrong! The voice kept getting stronger... And she kept fighting it. Sweet Tooth could never replace her Puddinâ! There would never be another Mr. J. Thereâs only one... Only one. And he was gone. Dead! She... Had to move on, didnât she? No. Youâll never move on.
With another whimper, Harley rocked back into the couch, almost violently... And the impact dragged her back towards reality.
By then, though, it was too late; she didnât surface fast enough, and, because of it... The voice was still loud and clear. Telling her what she could do to Sweet Tooth, to fix him. To make him Joker... To make him her other half. In her mind, the idea was already taking root, as the two men fused... Jokerâs features started to impose on her mental image of Sweet Tooth. The pink became pastel purple, the hair darkened, the skin lightened... And his eyes became green. Oh, how she missed Jokerâs green eyes! She sniffled a little again as she weakly shook her head. The voice was getting overpowering. More were joining in, whispering to her all the things she could do, all the ways she could remake Joker from Sweet Tooth... And she couldnât ignore them all. Her sniffling turned to sobbing, until she practically curled in on herself and covered her ears, trying to block the noise out.
âNO! No, no, no, no! He ainât my Puddinâ!â Her voice broke through the roar, getting louder... And the voices started to fade. And so, she kept talking to herself, rocking back and forth as she tried to fight the voices. Defeat them. She was stronger than them, and she knew it. âHe ainât... He wonât ever be! He canât ever be! Thereâs only ever gonna be one!â She was practically shouting by then. Her voice got louder, stronger, until, at last... There was silence again.
That image, though, was not gone. Not yet. The strange yet beautiful amalgamation of the two men... Her Puddinâ, lighter-colored but not too different from what she had known. It was all she could see as she closed her eyes. It was burned there, and she almost dared to believe she could make it real...
And then the sound of the TV broke her trance, and Harleyâs eyes snapped open suddenly. The first thing she noticed was her breathing. It was fast, erratic... But because she noticed, she could take a little sigh of relief. Very carefully, she uncoiled herself, gently releasing the death grip she had on her legs against her chest. The news report was the same as before. Harley listened for a second, before sighing again and slowly letting herself tune back into it.
â... but, unlike his predecessor, Sweet Tooth seems to have a motive; if rumors are to be believed, he wants to kill the Batman.â
Harley bolted up in an instant, her eyes growing wide. Kill Batsy? What? Joker would never...
The amalgamation of the two men shattered in that instant, and Harleyâs eyes narrowed. Of course. Of course Joker wouldnât, and Sweet Tooth would... Because Sweet Tooth was a fake. An impersonator. A copy-cat. Heâs... He was disrespecting her Puddinâs memory! Right after his death. She exploded to her feet, violently shoving away from the couch as she listened more closely. With each word, though... Harleyâs eyes darkened.
Fake. Impersonator. Copy-cat. The words echoed around her, each in a different voice... And then she broke.
An explosive card was suddenly in her hand, and then it wasnât. The TV exploded in a rain of glass, slicing her bleached skin... Blood trickled down her arms, and a little trickled down her face, but did Harley care, as she was left trembling with fury? No. She didnât even notice. The roar in her head was too loud, too insistent. The voices all agreed.
Sweet Tooth had to pay for what he was doing, and he would. She would make sure of it.
There was, after all, only one Joker... And only one person left to keep it that way. His laughter rang in her head as she turned away from the destruction and stalked towards the door.
