Joker paced around his bedroom, raking his hands through his hair. Something didn't feel right. You and Harley had left an hour ago, and she wasn't back yet. Normally, this wouldn't be a cause for concern, since she could've whisked you off to God knows where for a girls' day. She was just that type of person. But, the alarm bells in his head were ringing, all for an unknown cause. And, to make matters worse, he couldn't even contact you so that you could reassure him.

   He knew he shouldn't care about you anymore, but God damn it, he did. You were a real piece of work, a real pain in the ass, but he cared more about you than he had ever cared about anything. All he wanted was to ensure you were safe, and something in him was telling him that you weren't.

   "Fuck," he breathed, holding his head in anguish. He felt like he was losing his mind, much more than usual. In spite of himself, he kept replaying your goodbye to him over and over again in his mind, imagining that this was the last time he'd ever see you. Imagining that pitiful face as you begged to kiss him one last time. Imaging you leaving the room, leaving his life for good.

   He was bad for you and you were bad for him. He knew both of these things. But, still, he couldn't stop the regret from taking hold. He had said things to Harley that he hadn't meant, but things he would never be able to take back. While it was true that he was growing tired of your constant failures, it would never be true that he didn't care about you. He just didn't know how to handle his emotions in the face of adversity. When he actually had something to lose. So, he figured it would be easier to just cut you loose than to spend every waking moment worrying about you.

   And, an hour later, he already wished to find you and take it all back. But, clearly you didn't want the same, proven by the fact you had blocked his number.

   He had never experienced loss before. He had lost Harley, sure, but he wasn't emotionally invested in her like he was you. Losing her was, at worst, inconvenient. Losing you made him feel like he no longer had a purpose on this earth. Why else had he been put on this planet if not to protect you?

   The grief combined with the fear he was feeling put him in an almost manic state. He began to fling any object he could find at the wall. Glass broke, walls dented, and even the noise of it all couldn't drown out his screams of agony. He was completely and utterly lost, and completely and utterly afraid. He needed you to be okay. He needed you to live a fulfilling life, even if he couldn't be a part of it. But, he wanted to be a part of it more than words could even describe. He would hate to see you happy without him, but he'd hate to see you sad even more.

   He looked down at the floor, random objects strewn about as if a tornado had hit the room. Surprisingly, he felt frustrated tears start to form in his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. In fact, he didn't know if he ever had. This sadness was so foreign to him that it scared him. He began to repeatedly strike himself in the face to snap himself out of this trance, not liking this lack of control a single bit.

   Once his tears had dried up, he stopped striking himself. He shook his head to himself, plopping down amidst the mess. In order to divert some of his focus, he began to arrange the strewn objects into a circle on the floor. Books, glass shards, and even some of the makeup you had left behind, all in a large circle that took up a good amount of the floor.

   Dazed, he sat in the middle of the circle, looking around at all of the objects. The points of the glass shards were pointing right at him, causing him to laugh. Nothing was funny. He didn't know why he was laughing. But he laughed and laughed until tears stung his eyes again.

   He was fucking lost without you, and that realization just made him laugh that much harder. How ironic! The Prince of Crime, completely codependent on a girl. A girl that started off as a business transaction, then a small crush, then his entire universe. The sun rose and set on you. He wanted to tell you that so bad, that you were his world. But, he would never be able to tell you anything again, causing him to moan and bury his head in his hands.

   If Harley ever came back, maybe she could pass a message to you. At this point, he wasn't above using a third party to get his point across. He needed to communicate with you, even if he never received anything back. He needed to know you were hearing him, still perceiving him amidst all the chaos.

   He picked up one of the glass shards from the circle, turning it around in his hands. It was from a vase that had been on his nightstand. The flowers the vase contained were unharmed; just spilled on the floor.

He picked up one of the flowers, too. It was a beautiful red rose, but the thorns nicked his hand as he picked it up. He winced, irrational anger bubbling up inside him. He was once again being hurt by something beautiful.

So, he began to use the piece of glass to cut off its petals. This was likely the most futile thing he had ever done, but it was oddly cathartic. He was taking back his control over that beautiful thing and doing what he wanted to it. He was no longer letting it run his life. He was letting it go, letting it wilt.

By the time he was finished, it looked as if he were preparing for a night of romance on his floor. The thought of it sent a chill down his spine. He was sickened with how much he missed those nights of romance with you. How much he missed feeling your touch, your face, your body.

He laid on his back. It looked like he was being sacrificed to some sort of demon, lying there amidst the objects he had thrown. He stared up at the ceiling, hoping for a miracle. Whether that be you miraculously turning up or his feelings miraculously vanishing, he didn't care. He just needed relief, no matter how it came.

Little did he know, he would soon get it.

A few minutes later, he felt his phone vibrate from in his pocket.

He was not in the mood to converse with anyone, so he didn't look at the text right away. But, after a few seconds, he began to feel this nagging curiosity that he couldn't ignore. What if you had unblocked him?

So, he took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the text. His heart leaped with what he saw.

A text from Harley. It was simple, giving nothing away. It was simply this:

Hey.

It wasn't much, but maybe she would have some updates on you. How you were feeling. If you wanted to see him. He began to type out a reply, but an additional text from Harley came first:

Please don't say anything until I'm done. I need to tell you something important.

He liked the message to show that he understood, and she immediately began typing. He waited anxiously. This could be good, but it could be bad. Her existing texts were extremely cryptic, giving him nothing to work with. The uncertainty he felt caused him to stand up and pace, his chest heaving irregularly. Naturally, being the cynic he was, his mind seemed to favor the idea that this was bad news. A thousand scenarios raced through his mind, all of them involving your death. He didn't believe in God, but he found himself praying that you were okay.

He waited for a long time, the three dots in the bottom left corner of his phone unchanging. The longer he waited, the more restless he became. What the fuck was she doing, typing an essay? He found himself gripping his phone tighter, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her text came through:

Idk how to start this, so I'm gonna be blunt. I double-crossed you. I brought (Y/N) right to Two-Face, and she's tied up now with no way to escape. And TF wanted me to tell you that she missed you, that way you'd come running, oblivious to what's actually going on. And once you got here, we'd knock you out. And when you came to, we'd torture her right in front of you. But honestly puddin, I don't want that to happen. So that's why I'm telling you his plan. I'm so sorry I had a hand in this at all, but I'm hoping that this makes up for it. I just wanted to get back at you by hurting (Y/N). You hurt me so badly that I wanted to do that kinda damage to you in return, yk? But after getting to know her, I understand why you've changed for her. She's an amazing girl. And I can't sit by and watch her die. I just can't. I'm gonna help you, for real this time. Come to 278 Thicket Road. I'll meet you at the door and we can pretend that you've got me at gunpoint. Then I can lead you to her without you having to get knocked out. Then, when he's preoccupied with you, I can catch him by surprise and take the shot. TF doesn't know that you know this, I promise. I'm so sorry, and I'll see ya soon.

Joker was shaking with anger by the time he had finished reading. He had known something was fishy about Harley the second she strutted back into his life, and he had been right. The image of her preying on you when you had been so vulnerable... It made him sick.

But, among the disdain for who he had thought was your friend, there was a stomach-churning feeling of guilt. If he had just stuck with you when things got hard, she wouldn't have been able to prey on you. Her sick, twisted plan would have fallen flat, and you would've been safe from her and from Two-Face. He was beginning to realize that his emotional unavailability was more than just an inconvenience to those around him; it was also extremely dangerous.

He texted her back quickly:

Fuck you. I'll be there asap.

He wanted nothing more than to shut her up for good with the barrel of a gun, but he knew he had to work with her this one last time. Your life was on the line, and that was more important than this feud.

He pocketed his phone again before storming out of the room with resolve. As he descended the staircase, he was comforted to know that he once again had a purpose on this earth: to protect you. He could fulfill his duties at least one more time. If all went well today, the most important mission of his life, he would do whatever he could to ensure that he could fulfill these duties forevermore. He would barter, grovel, anything you desired. He just needed you back and needed you safe.

Once he got to the first floor, he grabbed his keys and went straight out the door. Normally, he would have enlisted the help of Frost, but he had such tunnel vision that he had forgotten the man even existed.

He unlocked his purple Lamborghini and got in, shutting the door behind him afterward. He looked at himself in his rearview mirror, observing what it looked like to actually worry about someone. To be in love.

His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a mess from all his manic fidgeting. He looked like shit, but he didn't care. He would look like this and feel like this a hundred times over if it meant that he got to see you alive.

He quickly put the address into his GPS, mumbling to himself to hurry up, as if someone else was in control of how long it took.

Once he had the address pulled up, he threw the car in reverse and shot out of the driveway. His arms were a blur of motion as he turned the wheel, and he felt the car lurch as he hit the curb behind him. Again, he didn't care. He shifted to drive and sped off, his engine revving obnoxiously.

On the drive there, he began to feel a little apprehensive. After all, Harley had double-crossed him once. What was stopping her from doing it again? What if her whole strategy was to get him to trust her so that he would let his guard down?

He supposed that was the good thing about Harley's little plan. If she wasn't acting right, he could kill her with the very gun that he was supposed to be pretending with.

He nodded to himself, confident that there would be a way out regardless of what happened and what her intentions were.

After an erratic drive, Joker barreled into the driveway of 278 Thicket Road. He took his keys out of the ignition, grabbed his phone, and stepped out of the car before returning those things to his pockets.

The thing he noticed was how damn still everything looked outside. There was no hint of anything amiss happening inside, which was a little unnerving even to him. If you were in pain, no one would know.

He didn't know now, but he'd find out. He'd find out and rip anyone apart who contributed, even Harley. Even if she helped him today, he would still pull the trigger as soon as she was no longer useful. No one fucked with his (Y/N). Technically dating or not, you were his, and slighting you was just as bad as slighting him, if not worse.

   He approached the door, taking his gun out of his blazer's pocket. He knocked, preemptively raising the weapon.

   Harley answered almost immediately, and it took everything in him not to immediately pull the trigger. He noticed that she looked sad. Regretful, even. He took pleasure in this; he hoped what she had done kept her up at night from now until death. And, if all went well today, her death would be imminent.

"Hi, puddin'," she said weakly. "Thanks for coming."

"Where is she?" he asked immediately.

"Give it a minute, tiger. If we're gonna sell this 'I'm being held at gunpoint' story, we need to hang out here for a bit. Just to really simulate that confrontation."

"I don't give a fuck about selling it. Where is she?"

She heaved a sigh. "He moved her to the kitchen so that you wouldn't see her when you first walked in."

"Take me there now."

"Just a little longer."

He growled. "How much longer?"

"Thirty seconds?"

"Fine," he conceded.

There was a brief period of silence in which the pair just stared at each other. Even though the gun technically wasn't required until she started leading him to you, he kept it trained on her. He could never be too careful, especially since she had proven herself to be a rather cunning woman.

As he looked into her eyes, he realized just how much he fucking hated her. Ever since the breakup, he wasn't too fond of her anyway. But what he was experiencing now was next level hatred. He could tell that she was trying to mollify his anger with her soft gaze and warm smile, but nothing could do that. Especially not the person who assisted in his soulmate's kidnapping.

"I'm really sorry," she said quietly.

"I don't care."

"J, please."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm making up for what I did. I'm helping you."

"Too little, too late. Ya still did what ya did."

She sighed, nodding. "You're right. But I'm trying. And that's what matters. I'm gonna do everything I can to save her. She doesn't deserve any of this."

"You're God damn right she doesn't. She deserves the world. And we both fucking failed her."

Surprise swept over Harley's expression at the mere idea that Joker had admitted his failures. "Yeah. We did."

Her expression made him realize what he had inadvertently confessed to. He looked away, frowning at the vulnerability that only you could bring out. Eager to escape this situation, he said, "It's been thirty seconds. Can we go now?"

"Yeah, we can go now."

She turned around, backing up until the barrel of his gun was pressed against her back. "Follow me."

"Okay."