I'm sorry.

Those are two words that have never passed my lips.

Well, they have, obviously. But there has been no meaning, no sincerity latched on to them. It's all part of the fun, the mocking. "I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" It's never real.

But then she...

Have I ever told you how much I hate bathtubs?

Really, I do.

Stupid white porcelain, clean water, waiting to be dirtied. Waiting to be corrupted.

Sort of like Harvey Dent.

White Knight.

Oh pardon me, where was I?

Ah yes.

Bathtubs.

I really do hate them.

I think she knew that.

I think that's why she choose it.

You know, I always thought she would go out in action, in a blaze of glory. Obviously I would never kill her, that would be boring, but maybe Batman would beat her little head in too hard, or his little Robin bird would shoot her.

He always had a grudge against clowns.

Never could see the funny side of things.

I do.

Even now.

It was funny, that she didn't die in action.

It was funny how I would never kill her.

But I did.

I killed her.

Too much...

I always thought she was stronger.

Not so delicate.

Breakable.

She was always strong for me.

She saw me cry.

She knew more about me than anyone else in the whole damn world!

More than I did, I suspect.

Madness takes just a little push.

I shouldn't have kept pushing her.

That bathtub.

THAT STUPID FUCKING BATHTUB AND THOSE STUPID RAZORS AND...

Stupid me.

Stupid...

Stupid me.

She wasn't quite gone when I found her.

Not... quite.

I held her.

"Harley? What do you think your doing? Wha... Hang on Harls, I'll help ya..."

She smiled.

"Oh puddin," She croaked.

"All it takes is a little... push..."

Her eyes didn't close.

They glazed over and this... this thing was no longer Harley.

This thing had deep cuts going down her arms, had a heart that didn't beat, lungs that didn't breathe and lips that didn't smile.

Harley was gone now.

I pushed her into the abyss.

And I knew then, as I laughed, because this joke was so funny, that she had dragged me down with her.

"And you expect us to believe that you are not responsible for the death of Harleen Quinzel, who acted as your criminal partner under the alias of Harley Quinn?" Said Bruce Wayne, who was running the interrogation of the Joker.

"Witnesses say you were found walking into the town square holding Miss Quinn's corpse in your arms. They say you were screaming. This behavior is very unlike you Joker."

The Joker, who mind you, had not spoken a word about how she died, stating only that he hadn't done it, finally spoke up.

"You must be mistaken Mogul Man. I was laughing."

Bruce shook his head. "Witnesses say distinctly that you were screaming, we can read you the repor..."

"NO!"

Bruce stared at the clown slack jawed, as his cuffed hands slammed the mahogany table. "Were they there? Were the witnesses there to see her die?! To see the life leave her eyes?! No they weren't and they can't say anything or undo it!"

"Are you saying you were there when her life was taken?"

He sighed.

Mister rich boy and his Arkham committee friends would twist this into the way they wanted it to be anyway.

But how on earth can he explain to them that she killed herself to get away from him? Because he didn't love her. Because that girl was so damn smart that she knew the only way he'd want her is if she left him for good.

If only he hadn't hurt her quite so much. Maybe shown her a little more appreciation.

As he was taken away by vans with the Arkham symbol on the sides he thought to himself.

Can I love you back to life, lil' Harley Quinn?

My harlequin.

I'm sorry.