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She was going to have to tell her sooner or later. That the Joker was dead. That his body was really, honestly lying in the morgue. That he had been knocked off in a decidedly humorless way by some two-bit mobster who just got lucky.
But Harley would not rejoice in the Joker’s death. She would cry into her pillow, inconsolable. With the abusive clown truly gone, with only his memory left to romanticize, she would never get over him. And even when they were together, Ivy would be alone.
So she wrapped a blanket around the both of them and held her close, her Harley Quinn. And for as long as she could keep her silence, they had each other, in the dark.