Fic: Why do you stay?
Aug. 21st, 2011 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
illwyndSo the other day I was going through some old fics and I came across this and realized it wasn't half bad and I oughta post it. So here it is!
Why do you stay?
Fandom: Batman
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me.
Characters: Harley and an unnamed Arkham shrink (with mention of Harley/Joker)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harley is not in an abusive relationship.
Notes: Dialogue!fic. X-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
knivesandlint.
Aw, would you quit asking me that? Do you think the answer’s gonna change or something? Okay, okay, don’t get your shorts in a twist. I stay because… he needs me. What’s a supervillain without his main squeeze? What’s a clown prince without his lady? Somebody’s gotta make sure he’s eating breakfast and that he packed enough C4. And he’s really not like everybody thinks.
What do you know about it? We have our ups and downs, sure, but he’s really sweet when we’re alone together… It’s just the stress, you know? It makes him twitchy sometimes, my poor puddin’.
That bruise? Ha! No, that was just for fun. These things happen. You know? In bed? Doin’ the horizontal mambo? Whips and chains and big squidgy rubbery things? … Yeesh, you really don’t know what fun is!
Hey, he didn’t actually mean to throw me off the ledge. And usually I bounce.
None of your beeswax. How would you like it if I asked you how you got that face? There’s a guy three rooms over looks better than you, and he got burned with acid.
Oh you did not just—shutupshutupshutup! La la la la la!
Okay! Okay! Cut it out! I give!
Back on track. Gotcha.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just like football or something: if you’re gonna play the game, you gotta expect to get knocked around a little bit. And Mr. J loves me. He really does. That stuff doesn’t mean anything.
I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to say that I’m afraid to leave him, that I don’t think I could survive without him or that I think he’d hurt me if I left. It’s not like that… it’s not. Anyway, he’s the one that kicks me out, mostly.
Yeah, but sometimes it’s not even really that he kicks me out. He just has to leave all of a sudden, moves the whole shebang across town and it’s not like he can leave a forwarding address, you know? Ha! It’s all just part of the life. I catch up with him eventually, and he’s always happy to see me when I do.
Nope, you dope. I’ve been on my own, I’m not scared of it. Been there, done that! I know who I am, and I can get by just fine alone. But I don’t want to.
Why do I have to get anything out of it? I love him, he loves me, what more should I want? You’ve got a really cynical attitude about people, Doc. Seems to me like a sign of some sort of emotional trauma. Maybe from your childhood. Do you want to tell me about it? You can sit over here and I’ll just…
Okay, lay off! My butt’s planted. Ha, planted. Too bad Red’s not here… And it’s not like I could even get out of this getup if I wanted to. But I’ll tell you what I get out of it, because you asked so nicely and anyway I don’t have a really full social schedule calling me away right now. If I did, it’d be see ya later, ta-ta, and thanks for nothin’! Okay, I hear ya. I get… lots of laughs, practice rigging explosives, and access to his mother’s world-famous top-secret lasagna recipe! Ha!
What? Oh, and the sex. That too.
How do I feel… ? When I’m with him, oh… I feel… like I’m right where I ought to be. Happy. Content.
But are you sure about that, Doc? You suuure you want me to be honest?
Yeah, I know all about confidentiality here. I was sitting where you are, once. I guess it doesn’t matter, though. So if you really want me to be honest…
… then I can’t tell you how Mr. J has got me brainwashed or how being with him has consumed my personality and made me dependent on him for approval blah blah blah… because it’s not true. I’m with him because I want to be. And anything wrong with me was already there, long before we met. That I wanted to work here is proof, don’t you think?
And if you want me to really really be honest, my puddin’ helps me with that. Hey, I thought you wanted honesty? Yeah, yeah.
It’s true, though. He makes it okay to be… a little bit… crazy. Or a lot crazy.
But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?
Would you?
*
Why do you stay?
Fandom: Batman
Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me.
Characters: Harley and an unnamed Arkham shrink (with mention of Harley/Joker)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harley is not in an abusive relationship.
Notes: Dialogue!fic. X-posted to
knivesandlint.Aw, would you quit asking me that? Do you think the answer’s gonna change or something? Okay, okay, don’t get your shorts in a twist. I stay because… he needs me. What’s a supervillain without his main squeeze? What’s a clown prince without his lady? Somebody’s gotta make sure he’s eating breakfast and that he packed enough C4. And he’s really not like everybody thinks.
What do you know about it? We have our ups and downs, sure, but he’s really sweet when we’re alone together… It’s just the stress, you know? It makes him twitchy sometimes, my poor puddin’.
That bruise? Ha! No, that was just for fun. These things happen. You know? In bed? Doin’ the horizontal mambo? Whips and chains and big squidgy rubbery things? … Yeesh, you really don’t know what fun is!
Hey, he didn’t actually mean to throw me off the ledge. And usually I bounce.
None of your beeswax. How would you like it if I asked you how you got that face? There’s a guy three rooms over looks better than you, and he got burned with acid.
Oh you did not just—shutupshutupshutup! La la la la la!
Okay! Okay! Cut it out! I give!
Back on track. Gotcha.
It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just like football or something: if you’re gonna play the game, you gotta expect to get knocked around a little bit. And Mr. J loves me. He really does. That stuff doesn’t mean anything.
I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to say that I’m afraid to leave him, that I don’t think I could survive without him or that I think he’d hurt me if I left. It’s not like that… it’s not. Anyway, he’s the one that kicks me out, mostly.
Yeah, but sometimes it’s not even really that he kicks me out. He just has to leave all of a sudden, moves the whole shebang across town and it’s not like he can leave a forwarding address, you know? Ha! It’s all just part of the life. I catch up with him eventually, and he’s always happy to see me when I do.
Nope, you dope. I’ve been on my own, I’m not scared of it. Been there, done that! I know who I am, and I can get by just fine alone. But I don’t want to.
Why do I have to get anything out of it? I love him, he loves me, what more should I want? You’ve got a really cynical attitude about people, Doc. Seems to me like a sign of some sort of emotional trauma. Maybe from your childhood. Do you want to tell me about it? You can sit over here and I’ll just…
Okay, lay off! My butt’s planted. Ha, planted. Too bad Red’s not here… And it’s not like I could even get out of this getup if I wanted to. But I’ll tell you what I get out of it, because you asked so nicely and anyway I don’t have a really full social schedule calling me away right now. If I did, it’d be see ya later, ta-ta, and thanks for nothin’! Okay, I hear ya. I get… lots of laughs, practice rigging explosives, and access to his mother’s world-famous top-secret lasagna recipe! Ha!
What? Oh, and the sex. That too.
How do I feel… ? When I’m with him, oh… I feel… like I’m right where I ought to be. Happy. Content.
But are you sure about that, Doc? You suuure you want me to be honest?
Yeah, I know all about confidentiality here. I was sitting where you are, once. I guess it doesn’t matter, though. So if you really want me to be honest…
… then I can’t tell you how Mr. J has got me brainwashed or how being with him has consumed my personality and made me dependent on him for approval blah blah blah… because it’s not true. I’m with him because I want to be. And anything wrong with me was already there, long before we met. That I wanted to work here is proof, don’t you think?
And if you want me to really really be honest, my puddin’ helps me with that. Hey, I thought you wanted honesty? Yeah, yeah.
It’s true, though. He makes it okay to be… a little bit… crazy. Or a lot crazy.
But you wouldn’t understand that, would you?
Would you?
*
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