The engine roared beneath you, a harsh, mechanical growl that seemed louder than the pounding of your own heart. The stolen car skidded out of Gotham’s twisted alleys and onto the open road, headlights cutting through the night like knives. You gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white, stealing quick glances at the passenger seat beside you. Harley sat there, her wild hair messy, eyes wide—not with the manic glee she wore around the Joker, but with something fragile, uncertain.

“You think he’s still alive?” she asked quietly, voice low like a secret. The absence of her usual sarcasm was jarring.

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to break the fragile thread of hope that had started to weave between you two.

“Maybe,” you said finally. “But he won’t find us. Not now.”

She bit her lip, fiddling with the edge of her jacket, like she was trying to hold herself together. “I didn’t think I could… leave him. Not really. But you made me see it. That he doesn’t love me. That all the twisted stories, the chaos—he’s just… a man who hurts the people closest to him.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the raw honesty. “It’s not easy to see past what he wants you to believe. I know. I was his right arm, his slave. My father owed him something—some debt he never paid before he died. So the Joker took me. Took my childhood, my adolescence. I was just a tool to him. Mocked, abused, thrown aside. Same as you.”

She looked down, twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. “I always thought I was the crazy one. But maybe… maybe we’re both just broken.”

“Broken,” you repeated, voice softening. “Yeah. But not beyond repair.”

The weight of years spent under the Joker’s twisted thumb settled between you, but for once, it didn’t feel like a prison. It felt like a shared wound—something you could bandage together.

“You remember the plan?” you asked, eyes back on the road. “The day I finally tried to want out.”

She nodded slowly, the ghost of a smile flickering. “You kept it a secret from him at first. You didn’t want me to tell, didn’t want to risk it all falling apart before we had a chance.”

“Because if he knew, he’d tear us apart. Especially you. You were his favorite—his prize. Breaking free meant breaking you too.”

Harley’s gaze met yours, fierce and tender all at once. “But you showed me I could be someone else. Someone who didn’t have to live in his shadow.”

You felt a flicker of pride, buried deep beneath years of pain. “So when the time came…” You paused, the memory sharp. “I pulled the trigger. Shot the Joker. Right between the eyes. No hesitation.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of that moment pressing down on her. “And then we ran. Stole this car. Left everything behind.”

The city lights blurred past as you pushed the accelerator, the night stretching out before you like a promise. A chance.

“For the first time,” you said, voice steady, “we’re not running from him. We’re running toward something.”

Harley laughed softly, a genuine sound that didn’t hide pain or madness. “A chance to live. For real.”

You nodded, eyes bright. “No more chains. No more lies.”

She reached out, briefly touching your arm, grounding you both. “We’re not perfect. We’re scars trying to heal. But maybe—just maybe—we can be something better.”

The road ahead was long, unknown. But for the first time in a long time, you felt hope.

Together.

To finally be able to live .