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"Come on, now. You've lived through worse than this. You've lived through ME... Just... You can live through this."
“Jay.”
There’s an eerie calm settled over her, now that the initial shock has worn off. Oh, she’s still terrified– how could she not be, when her legs feel like jelly, and her belly feels like it’s trying to turn inside out, and everything reeks of not-quite-right blood? Her hands are shaking, her heart is pounding, but she feels it from a distance, as if her emotions and her conscious thought process are on two different levels, one yet to catch up to other.
“Jay, honey, look at me…”
He’s got his phone out, no doubt calling an ambulance. Maybe even the GCPD, to tell Gordon to turn on the Batsignal and send Guano-man their way because it’s an emergency. It’s too late.
It’s been too late.
Ever since that little pink plus sign, she’s been doomed.
It makes sense, she thinks, even though she’s no scientist– her blood is mutated, and so is Joker’s. Any child they had somehow managed to conceive was surely going to be… not right. And this is just what happens when children aren’t right.
“It wouldn’a worked out.” Her voice is soft, and it sounds like she’s fine, like she’s in control, but they both know she isn’t. If she tried to speak any louder, any quicker, the damage would be impossible to ignore.
She’s white as a sheet.
“’S better like this.” That’s a filthy lie, and she knows it. She says it anyway. It won’t make either of them feel better. But she says it anyway, and she lays her sweat-slick head against his shoulder and breathes shallowly into his chest, because pretending that this is okay means they don’t have to face the pain of admitting it’s not. “’S better. We don’t have to… y’know, and we won’t…”
Neither of them knows what they won’t have do do and what they won’t be. Neither of them can see any possible way that this is better.
One of them is going to come out of this alive.
One-and-a-half of them isn’t.
“Tell me ‘bout the baby,” she whispers. He does.
He tells her all about little JJ, how he’s got his father’s nose and a little bit of his mother’s accent, how he loves baseball, how his favorite food is chocolate pudding. He tells her about their son’s first day of school and every single time after that he gets sent to the principal’s office for misbehaving. He tells her about JJ’s first kiss, which happens far too soon, and how upset he was when he didn’t make the football team, and his junior prom, and his first car, and all the dogs he brings home. He tells her about JJ’s Wayne Enterprises scholarship, and how he joins the police force, and how he becomes the best damn commissioner this city’s ever seen. Mustache and all.
He doesn’t stop when the paramedics arrive. He keeps telling Harley, because she has to know, he has to tell her– he raises his voice frantically when the gurney rolls up, begins to shout at her when he’s pried away and restrained and she gets a paper sheet pulled over her head. He doesn’t stop telling her about their son. He won’t stop. She hasn’t even heard the best part.
