Warning: Spoilers for JL's "A Better World", and the B:TAS episode "Harley's Holiday". Rated R for Harley's mouth and thematic elements.
Summary: Ambiguous is just another way of saying everything is all fucked up.
Notes: This story arose out of the fact that I never saw Harley in ABW. With that fact in mind, I wrote a story based on two suppositions: that Harley Quinn is insane because of her obsession with the Joker and that Batman has something of a soft spot for her.
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Chances are, if you go far enough one way, you'll come out the other side.
Harley knew that, had known that since a certain Dr. Harleen Quinzelle had walked through the cast-iron gates of Arkham and met a man called Joker. That day, she'd learned that the best kind of insanity was the kind that thought. But she'd never thought she'd see the day that Batman started killing people, or see Superman lobotomizing his enemies.
Yet, that day came. And when it came, she got a front-row seat.
Lucky her.
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It was a sunny day in March, and Harley was feeding the babies in one of the hide-outs. They'd broken out of Arkham a week before, but hadn't done anything yet. With Luthor wreaking havoc, what was there to do? The bastard had made the Justice Dweebs super-vigilant, so all they could do was wait out the furor and hope Bats ignored them while Mr. J plotted their next master plan to bring sunshine and laughter into the city.
On that sunny day in March, no one knew the Flash was KIA, or that Luthor's body had been found in his office with the head blown off. If they had known that – if they had known, in short, that the Justice Dweebs had gone crazy – they might have had a chance. They could have run, taken up disguises, separated…oh, who was she kidding? They would have found them anyway, and it would have been a lot less fun.
As it was, having the Justice League burst into your hideout in the middle of the day was bad news. Having the aforesaid Justice League hold them down, and then have to watch the Big Blue himself do a home lobotomy on your boss was worst-case scenario. Hell, it was past worst-case scenario. In all the things she'd thought could happen, the worst had been an accidental death. Batman didn't do things like this, didn't kill them, didn't even hurt them that much. None of the capes-and-tights set did.
But on that sunny day in March, they did. That last thing Harley remembers of that day is seeing Superman's glowing red eyes and Batman grabbing him by the shoulder and stopping him.
Then that sonofabitch Martian blanked her.
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When she woke up, she was in prison.
It didn't surprise her. It would surprise her, later, when she realized how few of the bad guys the Lords left alone, but at that moment in time, life was good and the incident with the Joker was just an 'aberration'.
That good feeling lasted only until she found out who her fellow inmates were. Her cellmate was a Dr. Hoshi Kimiyo – and she was an astrophysicist. Not an evil plastic surgeon, not one of the girls who went around home-experimenting with genes for a living. Hoshi stared at stars for a living. Not exactly someone you find in a triple-max prison.
It only got worse from there: Kara Kent, that supermodel Mari, Tora the albino… none of them had done anything wrong. In fact, they were regular Girl Scouts. And honestly? You don't find Girl Scouts in jail. You especially don't find them in a jail which has double shifts of guards, more security than Norfolk, and deep-implant indent chips. Stranger than that were the collars some of the girls had to wear. Harley didn't have to wear one, but Hoshi did. She hadn't quite figured out what they were there for…
It only took her a week to figure it out. The Justice League had taken over the world, and this was a prison for superheroes.
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Harly had always known that if Batman ran the world, things would be different. She hadn't counted on how different it would be, but at least she would be right about one thing. Prison was a hell of a lot harder to break out of now.
Special Prison D was the best prison she ever had. Overlapping shifts of guards, electric fences, both manual and electronic locking systems, indent chips, and those handy customizable collars – yeah, Bats had gone all out. Harley was impressed. She was also frustrated, because no matter how many times she tried to get out, she was always – always! – caught. Even if the outside world was a very scary place now, even if Batman wouldn't give her a second chance if she got out, she couldn't stay. She needed to be free.
She was stuck in that goddamn hellhole for over two years.
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October eleventh started oddly. For one thing, the guards didn't wake them up, and that was odd, because the bitches took a lot of pleasure in setting off the morning buzzer, which sounded like thirty different chainsaws running at the same time. Instead, Harly woke up to the sound of – well, of nothing.
"What the hell! Where's the buzzer?" she hears someone yell.
"I dunno, but I'm gonna enjoy the silence for once!" she yells back, and flops back onto her bed.
"Harl, shut up. I'm trying to sleep," Hoshi moans, and Harley grins.
"Aw, quit whining. Everybody else is already awake."
Hoshi groans and sits up, rubbing her face with her hands. "The first day in two years they let us sleep past five-thirty, and you wake me up. Thanks, Harl."
"You're welcome!"
"I just want you to know, Harley, that I am loathing you to the utmost of my abilities right now. If I could, I'd be sending you the laser beams of death right now."
"I love you too, baby!"
Hoshi huffs and glares at her – and an ethereal white light plays over her body.
"Hoshi, you're glowing."
"That line only works after sex, you idiot. And do any of us look like we've gott-"
"Doc, you're glowing."
Hoshi holds her hands up in front of her, and a look of something indefinable – shock? Relief? Love? – flashes over her face in an instant. And then she presses a glowing hand to her collar and sparks fly. She fairly flies out of the bed and runs to the cell down, clenching the bars in her hand until her fists turn white.
"Everybody, get up! The collars are off!"
And then she blasts the door off their cell.
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Even with the collars off, it was hard to get out. Batfreak had embedded what seemed to be a zillion booby traps and auto-defense systems, so it took the better part of a day to work their way out. But, hey, with super-strength, energy blasts, and plain experience, anything is possible, even getting past the kryptonite barrier.
Harley guessed that's why Superman had never visited Kara.
And when they were finally out in the bright yellow sun, Harley grinned widely and stretched, feeling an energy run through her that she hadn't felt in years. Yeah, freedom – more addictive than alcohol and nicotine combined, baby! While bent backwards and cracking her back, she catches Helena's attention.
"So… how's your day been?" she asks chirpily.
Helena just shakes her head and tries to hide a smile.
Harley straightens up suddenly, an audible crack making the people around her wince.
"So, where do we go from here?"
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They split up, afterwards. It wasn't like they were friends, after all. They were prisoners, and they knew far too much about each other, about their lives and their families and their wants and needs. Kara dreamed of the sun, and Beatriz complained of being cold all the time, and there was a reason Dinah had to use sign language. Harley is the only one who has no secrets, and she's the only one who doesn't cry for her old life.
There are a few cars in the guard's parking lot. She hotwires the one she thinks has the best gas mileage, and fills it up from the rest of the cars. There's no map, but there's only one road out of the compound, only one way to go. The others look at her sidelong when she offers them a ride, and she can see the realization in their eyes. She's free now – free to do as she pleases. A part of her flinches away from the judgment in their eyes, points out that she cannot fly, cannot run faster than the speed of sound, cannot…cannot do many things. She is only human, and she can only go as fast and as far as her mind and experience can take her.
In the end, Hoshi and that creepy girl Raven are the only ones to take her up on her offer.
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It takes them a week to get to civilization. By civilization, Harley means cities, because no matter how many people live in the wilderness of Nova Scotia, it's not really civilization unless you can buy real hotdogs and ride some form of public transportation. Canada just doesn't cut it.
Raven does some weird voodoo magic on them, and the eyes of the people in the tiny towns they pass through just slide right off them, sometimes not even giving them a cursory glance. It's a strange feeling; most of Harley's good memories are of people staring at her with horror, never taking their eyes off the gun she held in her hands. They take turns driving, surviving off food and water Harley stole in that first little town they found.
"You know, Raven, they didn't even protest, or look scared at me. They just handed it over and looked…happy. It was sort of creepy," she confides to the girl the third night they are on the road. It's her turn to drive, and Raven is riding shotgun. Hoshi is in the back, sleeping, and the only lights are the headlights showing the road through the North American forest and the faint glow Hoshi seems to always carry these days. Raven's intense blue eyes are only half open, and she stretches and yawns before saying, "Maybe they think petty theft is a small price to pay for freedom."
Harley just shrugs. "You worked out of Jump City, didn't you?"
"Yes…"
"Why are you coming with me, then? You can fly and teleport, after all, and I'm going to Gotham anyway. What's in this for you?"
Raven looks at Harley calculatingly. "The Tower is gone, and the age of vigilantes is over. There is no reason for me to be there now."
"There's no reason to be coming with me either. You and I weren't exactly close in the joint, after all," Harley says.
A struggle of some sort plays out across her face. "When Dick died, I promised him I'd take care of business."
"Well, you have to wait your turn, 'cause I got first dibs."
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It only took them an additional two days after reaching civilization to make it to Gotham, and it was quite possibly the worst thing she had ever seen.
"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, what did that fucker do to my city?" she breathes, and a little part of her that still nourished hope that she could go back home died. This sunny, bright monstrosity is not her home, is not Gotham. Without the shadows and darkness, it looks like a Gotham-shaped piece of wrongness.
"So, what do we do now?" The question is asked by Hoshi, and for some reason she and Raven are looking at her as though she has the answers. Harley finds this disturbing, because she's Harley Quinn for God's sake, people don't look at her as if she's capable of anything but a little 'fun'.
Harley sighs, and says, "There's a bolt-hole in town I used when I wanted to be alone. I don't think Batfreak ever knew about it, 'cause I'd stocked it up about...five years before I was sent to prison? Something like that. Anyway, there's money and weapons and shelter, so we can crash there."
"And after that?"
Harly shrugs dispassionately. "And then I go visit some old friends."
When she gets back into the driver's seat of the car, they both follow.
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The hideout is an old maintenance closet in the sewers. It's not really her territory, but it's a good place to crash, and it's been mostly forgotten by the city. The closet's bulb still works, and the thick layer of dust is undisturbed. The others file in behind her, wet from the knees down from the sewer water, and look around them with undisguised relief. It's dry and safe, and that's all they really need.
Harley motions for them to dump the food and water in the corner, then goes and takes the brick-face off the wall. It's not the best hiding space, but all $6, 327 dollars are still there, and Harley thanks god she was cognizant enough in the old days to keep a little tucked away, just in case Mister J kicked her out or Ivy got sick of her.
"I don't know about the rest of you guys, but I'm in the mood to go on a shopping spree. What say we separate and get whatever we so desire after two years of mush, water, and ugly orange jumpsuits?"
Hoshi seems excited, and even Raven looks at little pleased at the thought of discretionary spending. She quickly passes out $500 to each of them, and laughingly tells them to go on, go out and buy something for themselves, dammit!
She stays behind – to check the supplies she left the last time she was here, she tells a 'concerned' Raven – and shakes out the blankets, checks the mattresses and food supplies. The water is gone, and the food is half eaten, but one of the mattresses is dry, though the blankets are filled with rat droppings and dead cockroaches. She'll definitely have to find more. She takes the rest of the money out of the safe, and the gun hidden behind it, and before she leaves, she checks very carefully for bugs.
She finds three, and she curses distractedly after she throws them in the sewer.
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Gotham at night is more like she remembers, but there are too many streetlights and not enough shadows, and she feels exposed. With the money in her pocket and the gun in her waistband, she feels more like herself, and she decides, first, to go shopping, because a girl can't feel intimidating in stolen pants and a raggedy T-shirt and sneakers.
The nearest department stores had glaring bright lights, but it's open, and she spares a moment to wonder why it's open at eight at night. She realizes after she walks in, thought, that the Mob had taken it over, and well, good for them, anyway.
She buys some jeans that aren't too pricey, and a red T-shirt that was just begging to be worn, and those red and black Nikes were on sale, so how could she resist? And then there was the smiley face sweatshirt… And after putting all that on, she felt like herself again. After all, it's hard to feel ugly wearing a tight pair of jeans that curve in all the right places, or an even tighter T-shirt. After two years of being 'prisoner delta-503' she feels beautiful and dangerous again, and the air smells all the sweeter for it. Or maybe that's just the exhaust fumes speaking.
But it was only in the make-up aisle that she really went crazy, because she'd been dreaming about it. It's only when she's fully dressed in black and red, her mouth a crazy-wide red slash across her face, that she feels likes she's back together, back to being Harley Quinn. She walks out into the night, triumphant.
It'd be a lot cooler if those goddamn lights weren't making her eyes water.
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The second thing she does is search for a car – a good car, not the piece of crap that was just barely passable for the ten days down here. No, she needs something that will last, something that could carry her to hell and back. With that in mind, she goes to see if Harry's junkyard is still running.
Harry had the best running cars in the world, and it was all legal. Fast, modified so many times that the insides never really looked like they were supposed to, and cheap. Really cheap. The pay-off for him? Word-of-mouth and the knowledge that the police could never put away the most reliable getaway car maker in town. For criminals, that is pure gold.
The junkyard is cleaner when she gets there, and with a sinking heart she strolls in and calls out, "Harry? You there?" She's sort of surprised when the old guy hobbles out into the yard, but it turns to horror when she sees the two distinctive burn marks on his forehead. "Oh, Harry, not you…"
The old man snorts at her, and says, "Ah, quit sobbing, Harley, it ain't nothing but a scar."
She just stares at him with a jaw wide enough to catch flies, and he rolls his eyes at her. He points at his forehead and says, "Steel plate from my racing days – it kept me alive long enough for Batman to stop him, the bastard."
Harley blinks, and says the first thing that comes to mind. "Wow. Cool."
"Only if you're desperate, girly. Is there a reason a dead woman is in my junkyard, by the way?"
"Well, yeah… You got a car I can buy for about…three thousand bucks?"
He turns around and begins walking to the back, and says with a sly smile, "You're in luck, girly…"
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And she is in luck. In the last week, he'd managed to gather some parts together to 'improve' a truck. There aren't any of the classics that he liked to do, but it's steady and durable and will last for as long as she needs it to, and that's all that matters.
"She's a beaut, Harry, but they always are… you thinking of getting back in the business now that the Justice Dorks are gone?"
"Yeah, I am. I'll give you a better price if you'll spread the word."
"Sure, but I don't know how much business you'll get nowadays, Harry. Everybody's gone down to Arkham, and they ain't comin' back."
"Oh, there'll be business again. As long as we're free, people will choose to do things they shouldn't, and that's where I come in…"
Harley looks at him dubiously, then shrugs. "OK, old man, if you say so. I'll spread the word."
She hands him his money and takes the instruction manual he gives her, then waves as she backs out of the junkyard. "See you around, Harry!" is heard faintly from the street, and then Harry hears the dull roar of the engine as she hits the gas.
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Harley hits all the old hide-outs next; Mista J's, Ivy's, and even the little hidey-holes she created around town. Most of them are gone, although a few remain, holding money and guns and stuff they could use. She grabs any of the food that's still good, the one mattress that doesn't have dog piss on it, and in Ivy's she harvests the plants and makes sure to take a clipping or seed from every one. Ivy hasn't been by in a long time – maybe forever – and the only plants that are still alive are the ones she made that way. They don't need much care, and they grow fast if you give them water, and she's not foolish enough to discard any of Ivy's gifts, even if Ivy never meant them as such.
The greenhouse is dark and rustling, and if she closes her eyes and pretends really hard, she can almost think she's back before, when Batman never did the wrong thing and Superman really was the world's biggest Boy Scout. But it's been too long since then, and she can't forget all that's happened to her.
And everywhere she goes, there are lights. She hates them, and she wonders why he did that, why he ruined the city. It's not Gotham anymore, and it's all his fault!
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In the end, she has about $15,000 accumulated from the various hide-outs, and the truck runs great. She's waiting at a traffic light, feeling the vibrations run through the soles of her feet and craving a smoke, and then she sees the dog. It's a working dog, like the kind the K-9 squad uses, and she remembers the breed as being smart and loyal. The dog looks at her and begs, and well, back home they had dogs like this. Her daddy kept one until the last one died when she was seventeen.
Maybe it's the memories of all the dogs she had as a kid, or even the babies, but she opens the door to the mutt and jerks her head toward the inside. The dog doesn't need any more invitation than that, and jumps over her lap and sits panting on the seat shotgun. It's a girl, she notices, and she says, idly, "What shall I call you? Bud and Lou just won't cut it in this case…"
"Lucy. That's your name from now on." And the dog barks like she likes it, although Harley knows dogs are so dumb they couldn't possibly care. She pulls smoothly away from the curb, and dog smiles and her tail wags gently.
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When she gets back in, it's three in the morning. She leaves the dog in the back of the truck so she can guard it. Gotham may be too shiny now, but it's still as crazy as ever after dark; more, even, now that the bad guys are gone and people can do what they want. It's not just the mafia looting stores tonight.
The sewer is warm and dark, and it wraps around her like an old quilt. She swaggers back to the closet, only to see that everyone is asleep. Hoshi and Raven are curled up on the mattress together, Raven's head tucked against Hoshi's shoulder, Hoshi's arm wrapped around Raven's shoulder. In the darkness, Raven could pass for Hoshi's little sister, and Harley feels something warm tingle down her spine.
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In the light of day, her companions seem more like what she remembers them as, back on the news saving kittens and rescuing people from floods. Hoshi wears white everything: white pants, white t-shirt, white stiletto boots, even a white leather jacket. She even bought some white nail-polish, and Harley wants to snark something about going overboard but doesn't because the psychologist in her brain helpfully points out that she's just affirming her identity after two years of being just 'Hoshi' or 'Doc' or 'Kimiyo' or even 'Prisoner delta-547'. She's affirming to herself that she is, indeed, Dr. Light.
Harley tries to ignore the fact that she's doing the exact same thing.
Raven actually looks pretty normal. She's wearing jeans and a t-shirt, running shoes. Her only concession to the climate is the cobalt blue wool coat she wears – and honestly, she could have just picked it because it matches her eyes. Harley can't recall anything Raven ever doing something for vanity's sake, though.
Whatever. Harley's just concerned that the guards at Arkham will feel their aura screaming, "I was a constumed vigilante/criminal! Arrest me!" She knows they give off that vibe, and well, Arkham is Arkham, after all. If nothing else, the guards and nurses will still know the look of insanity in someone's eyes.
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Arkham is empty. There are no guards, there are no nurses, there are no doctors. The only people there are the inmates, and Harley knows that they don't really count. Old villains reduced to little more than vegetables – who's gonna care about them?
She does. It's solidarity, or maybe empathy. After all, she could have so easily become one of them.
The inmates have been left to their own devices, and most of them look it. Harley walks among then and tries not to notice too much.
Selina looks at her warily from beneath her lank hair. She's made an effort to clean herself, but she still doesn't look as groomed as she used to. When Harley approaches, she hisses, then curls more around the pathetic strays that have come to her.
Edward rocks back and forth over a 100-piece puzzle. He croons to himself as he tries to figure it out. He can't.
Professor Crane looks at them dully. He smiles at Harley but glares at the women on either side, and she hurries them away while giving him a wide smile.
Ivy smiles dreamily at her from her garden. The plants twine around her, tying her legs and arms to the ground, preventing her from moving. She winks at Harley as she passes, and Harley gently caresses her cheek.
In one of the rooms, she finds what she is looking for. A man sits on a couch, watching a TV tuned to old episodes of a comedy. He laughs sporadically, but it's obvious that he's not really paying attention.
"Mr. J?"
He doesn't even turn to look at her.
"Joker?"
He just laughs at the TV.
"Harley..."
She turns and looks at Hoshi and sees the worried look on her face. Raven steps forward and grabs her hand. "Harley, he isn't there anymore."
A watery smile tries and fails to light up her face. "I know. I just hoped…"
"I know, Harley. I know."
Harley gently tugs her hand away from Raven. Raven looks like she wants to say something – probably something like 'don't touch him, Harley', but she doesn't go to him. She just plucks a stolen cell phone out of her pocket and makes one call.
"Hello? Is this Saint Dymphna's? Good. My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzelle, and I'm reporting Arkham Asylum. Yes, the Arkham Asylum. Every doctor and nurse in the place has left. Yes, I know who the inmates are-"
"You swore an oath. I don't care if you're afraid. You swore an oath, and these people are in need. Will you break it?"
Something in Harley's face eases. "Good. I'll be waiting out front with some friends. No, you can't miss us. Uh-huh. Bye."
She snaps the phone just and slips it in her pocket, and in her brain, the little puzzle pieces begin assembling themselves. She's always known, but telling would have ruined the game.
Harley grins saucily. "Hey, don't I know you?"
The man looks faintly puzzled. "I don't think so…"
Harley covers the man's upper face. "Something about that chin…I know!"
The man looks startled, and Harley grins even wider. "You're Bruce Wayne! The boy billionaire!"
Mr. Wayne looks relieved, and Harley giggles.
There is no game anymore.
"Who is Batman?" she whispers to herself.
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The sun is low on the horizon when the finally get to Wayne Manor. The Gothic architecture glowers from on high, and Harley remembers being a girl and reading of Bruce Wayne's newest flavor of the week in magazines. Strange, what people are behind the masks…
She walked here from Arkham. It wasn't that far, and after years of having a set hour to walk around the prison once a day, she was going to stretch her legs. She'd left the others at Arkham. No doubt they'd be here soon, but she had some leeway – they didn't know Gotham, and it was notoriously hard to find your way around the city. If she was right, they were hopelessly lost in the downtown district.
She tilts her head back and looks up at the sky. It's veiled by thin grey clouds, and the sun shines through a harsh silver color. She sits there and breathes, and inside her head the doctorate paper she never wrote comes to life. The psychological state of a city's population may be most easily seen by the symbols of good and evil in the city; that is, what kind of superheroes and villains populate the city, and what, in turn, does it say about a city's mental health? I postulate that a city gains the villain and hero that reflects its mental health, i.e., its soul – Gotham, for example…
Wayne Manor isn't going away, and neither is the man inside. Harley sighs and looks away from the sun, and walks up the steps of the Manor, tugging Lucy's leash. It's the work of a quick moment to pick the lock, and then she's pushing the large wooden doors open a crack. She looks back once, fair coloring stark against the dark wood, and then she slips inside, Lucy following resignedly at her heels.
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It's dark and musty inside, like no one has used it for awhile. There's no food in the kitchen, and all the furniture is covered in dustcovers. Doors are locked and windows are closed, and all through the house dust swirls through the air. No one lives here. She doesn't spend too much time exploring – after all, Wayne Manor is just a façade for what lies beneath it, rather like Bruce Wayne is a façade for the man inside.
She opens the clock, and there it is – a long staircase running down into the darkness of a Cave. For the first time in years, she feels comfortable – it's nice and dark here, no need to hide from the light of day. Getting a firm hold on the handgun, she begins walking confidently down the stairway, Lucy following behind. The dog is whimpering now, but Harley ignores her. She's on a mission.
The journey seems to take forever, and at the end, her eyes have adjusted to the darkness. It's cool and dark down here, and in some indefinable way, Harley can feel life. There are bats squeaking overhead and Harley smiles faintly. In the distance is the blue glow of a large computer screen, and Harley makes her way toward that. She keeps one eyes ready behind her. No telling where the freak will come from.
The cave is like a trophy room, and Harley feels sick as she regards the various objects he took from each villain. What a sick fuck, she thinks to herself. There's no irony in that statement. Insider her brain, psychological classifications begin to make themselves known: multiple personalities, god-complex, a belief in being above the law, deep childhood trauma… Harley's lips twist when she realizes that's what drew her to Mr. J in the first place.
At the end of the cave, there is a supercomputer tuned to a dozen different news agencies, all covering the end of the Lords' reign. A man sits in front of it, caped and armored. There's no mask though. No mask. Harley sweeps her gaze around the cave, looking for potential booby traps, but only notices the wall of uniforms, a cubicle for each one. A bit of Harley feels sick, but mostly she feels pity.
This is not the home of a sane man.
"Hello, Harley – or am I talking to Harleen today?"
Her mouth twists terribly. "You're one to talk, Batman – or should I call you Bruce?"
"Batman will be fine."
She goes and stands beside him, looks at his face. It's hard and inhumanely perfect, and the only sign that something's not quite right with this man are the light blue eyes. They look somewhat like Harley's own. A part of her mumbles in the back of her mind about separation and multiple personalities, and wonders uncomfortably about the psychological problems inherent in subsuming your identity into that of a mask. Harley's got first-hand experience with that one…
"What happened to the rest of the Lords?"
He looks at her sidelong, and for some reason deigns to answer. "Alternate universe versions of us. Destroyed the rest of the Lords – as far as I know, they're in prison on that other Earth."
She bends down to whisper in his ear. "Why aren't you there with them?"
He looks at her unflinchingly. "I helped them."
"Bullshit."
"Believe what you like."
Harley looks at him, and knows in her soul that he probably did help bring the others down, just like he gave her a second chance by throwing her in prison and by protecting the prisoners with the kryptonite barriers. It still doesn't change Arkham. It still doesn't change Gotham. Harley looks at the man staring at the computer screen and knows, knows in her bones, that it won't be over 'till it's over.
The age of vigilantes and villains is over. Harley tries to console herself with the knowledge that she's just taking out the trash.
She pulls out the gun and fires.
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At the threshold of the door to Wayne Manor, Lucy panting by her side, she sees Raven and Hoshi arguing in front of the car. She was right – they got lost on the way, and they couldn't risk flying direct. Anybody exhibiting superpowers will probably by lynched on the spot these days. Isn't backlash a wonderful thing?
She looks back once, down the dark and shadowed hall, and in her mind's eyes she sees a man bent over a computer desk at the bottom of a dark stairway, bats fluttering over his body and the broken remnants of his life. His face isn't peaceful or serene, but it has found a measure of absolution. The back of his head is blown out from the exit wound of Harley's bullet.
She turns away from that vision, but hesitates before stepping out of the house. She doesn't know what she's going to do. She doesn't even know if she can bear to leave Gotham. This is her home. It's always been her home. She doesn't even know how she's going to survive in this new world without the traditional markers of hero and villain.
Harley emerges into the sunlight tousled and pale, eyes squinting in the bright silver light, and she waves tiredly at her friends. It's a new era, and she's going to make the best of it.
fin