reunion part ii

Abstinence [The Joker x Harley]

Summary: He must have her back, no matter what it takes. - The Joker’s perspective of his separation from Harley in Suicide Squad, and after their reunion. Angst and fluff.
Part II is HERE. You can find the playlist for this fic here.

Well I’m not a zombie
But I feel like one today
Self induced comatose, chemical daze


No one had warned him about it, that tearing withdrawal. He never thought it would be grinding his bones the way it did. It made his mind and body crumble until he was nothing more than a shell, containing all the pent-up violence that threatened to overflow. Just like a mine, the slightest touch was all it took, a breath, and he would explode.

Abstinence for everything that she was, her body and soul.

He had never depended on anyone for anything, he didn’t need anyone. He was the Joker. The one and only. Henchmen, humans, just like expensive Italian sport cars, were easily replaceable. Everything in this world was floating, gone with the pull of a trigger.

And now… what a pathetic display, he would have laughed if only he hadn’t lost his smile. He was a mess, hollow like a bombed building. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept. Days, weeks even, he couldn’t see straight anymore. He couldn’t remember when his starving body was nourished with anything else than vodka.

She had been gone for so long. And no matter whom he threatened, whom he called, whom he slammed against the wall with the promise of breaking their necks and cutting their faces up, no one could tell him where she was. She had just vanished off the face of the earth.

And he was suffering; no point in denying. He was the embodied form of aching. Pain.

It was… painful. He never minded physical pain, it had become a permanent part of existing, and he used to turn all mental pain into physical. But now, this pain was chasing him into a corner, trapping him.

He had tried. He had gone out on wild sprees to distract himself. But driving through a crowd and see the bodies rolling off the streets, breaking into fancy parties and unloading ten machine guns, creating chaos and leaving a burning city behind, was only so fun. He had grown tired, losing his energy. There was no one there to celebrate his victory with him, there was no one there to appreciate the heists. No one who came running to him with a vexing laugh and devoted smile.

Suddenly the world, the part of it that moved in the darker circles, could see him, stripped of his smile, a Joker in pain. A Joker who made no jokes. To the rest of the world, he had just disappeared, gone into hiding - except for when he was out searching, leaving a trail of bodies behind.

He had grown tired of the distractions, he was only sitting there, gun in hand, like a pacifier to a kid, staring down into the floor, head swinging back and forth, grinding his teeth, grasping the gun tighter.

Where. Is. She.

The henchman was staring into the black hole of a gun muzzle. The Joker’s eyes were that of a wild beast, an unstoppable force of nature, ready to strike, ready to kill. An addict gasping for the next dose, baring his veins desperately, he found his voice and it was reduced to a dark, throaty snarl.

Where is she?”

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