The master bathroom gleamed like something out of a dream. Marble floors, golden faucets, a chandelier that sparkled like it was dipped in diamonds. Everything was pristine — too pristine for someone like her.
Harley Quinn sat on the toilet, chin in hand, glaring at the pregnancy test in her free one.
"I ain't pregnant. No way. Nope. Not a chance in hell. I'm just… feelin' weird. Too many late nights, not enough cheeseburgers. Batman stress. Y'know. Bats-stress." She said it out loud, because silence made her thoughts louder.
The stick beeped once as she peed on it. Fancy little digital one. Real fancy. She huffed.
"C'mon, I'm on the damn pill. I'm not stupid."
Except, well. They were them. Chaos incarnate. Of course it'd happen this way.
She finished, tossed the stick gently onto the marble countertop, then stood up and washed her hands, because hygiene matters when you're a queen of crime. She dried them slowly, eyes fixed on the little blinking hourglass on the test.
Pacing now. Back and forth across the bathroom like a lion in a cage.
Three minutes. The longest three minutes of her life — and she'd spent some of it strapped to bombs and lobotomized by love.
BEEP.
She froze. The test screen flashed.
"Pregnant." In big, bold, smug-ass letters.
Harley stared. Said the first thing that came to her lips:
"…Shit."
She grabbed the test, read it again like it might change. It didn't. It mocked her.
"I was careful! I've been so careful! Ugh, this is why people use spreadsheets and calendars and—"
CRASH.
The front doors to the penthouse slammed open with their usual flair.
"PUMPKIN! I'M HOME!"
Joker's voice cut through the penthouse like a blade — loud, melodic, dangerous.
Harley didn't respond. Just stood there, death-gripping the sink, still holding the test like it might self-destruct.
You gotta tell him, Harls.
But her heart was a riot.
The last time she told him she was pregnant, they'd danced in a whirlwind of ecstasy for three months — and then lost the baby. He'd shattered. Not in front of her. But in quiet ways. Dangerous ways.
She drew in a breath.
Walked out of the bathroom, through their lavish bedroom, down the hall. The silence in her steps contrasted sharply with the chaos still radiating from the living room.
She saw him — standing tall at the floor-to-ceiling windows, 18 feet of glass casting him in starlight and city glow. His coat draped off his shoulders like royalty, hair a messy green halo, his presence filling the room like smoke.
"Puddin'…" her voice cracked just slightly. "I— I got somethin' to show you."
He didn't turn. Just lifted a cigarette to his lips.
"Mmm? What is it, Pumpkin?"
She stepped forward, slowly, heart rattling in her chest.
Then, in one motion, she threw the test onto the bar beside him with a soft clatter.
"I'm pregnant."
Silence.
He turned. Finally. Eyes locking on the test like it might bite him.
His grin didn't come right away. That was the first warning.
His face remained unreadable. Cold. Focused.
Then he spoke, voice low, almost casual:
"…Aren't you on birth control?"
Harley let out a breathy laugh, not nervous — just done.
"Yeah, well… it ain't foolproof, Mistah J. One in a hundred's gotta be me, right?" She smirked, cocking a brow.
He didn't move. Just stared. Then, slowly, he picked up the test. Twisted it in his gloved fingers like he was holding a ticking bomb.
"…Last time you said that… you cried yourself to sleep for weeks," he murmured. No edge, no sarcasm. Just truth. Bare and bleeding.
Harley's smile faded. She stepped closer, until she could smell his cologne and gunpowder and sin.
"I know." Her voice was a whisper. "But this ain't last time."
He looked at her, finally, really looked at her. Something swirled in those blue eyes — not fear, not quite. But something raw. Something ancient and human.
"…Do you want it?" he asked, suddenly. And that made her heart skip.
She paused.
Then shrugged.
"I want you. I want us. The rest? I'll figure it out."
Another long beat.
Then — finally — he laughed. A real one. Deep, breathless, like he'd been holding it in forever.
"Hah. You're somethin' else, y'know that?" He stepped toward her, pressed his forehead against hers. "Guess we're havin' another little monster."
His arms wrapped around her waist, his voice dropping into a wicked grin:
"Hope it's got your smile. Mine's a little much."
Harley laughed, nose bumping his.
"Yours is perfect."