He hasn't thought of her in years when her name is spoken – just another set of syllables rattled off in the tirade of those needed to be rounded up. He wonders if she is how he remembers – all naivety and wasted ambition. He volunteers to collect her without thought. He knows where to find her – he's been to that cramped apartment in the Narrows once before, when he had still ruled Arkham. He had gone to warn her that there were those concerned about how she treated her patients – the John Doe in particular. He supposed no one had cared in the wake of his escape.
When he arrives on her cluttered street he is surprised by the calm. Most have abandoned the Narrows to claim their share of the riches being divided uptown, leaving the area hollow. He sees her almost at once. She watches him from the balcony structure outside of the apartments, her expression one of casual intrigue. She is not how he remembers – the knock-off suits and reading glasses are gone – replaced with an ill-fitting t-shirt and gym shorts. He finds her a ghastly sight but he stares all the same – a frayed Romeo surveying an uninspiring Juliet.
She moves inside and the spell is broken, leaving him to climb the stairs to her apartment with a familiar air – at home in the decay. He finds the door ajar – a cup of coffee set out on the kitchen table opposite, full and steaming, as though he was expected.
When he speaks his only words to her, his voice is full of the sarcastic malice he has mastered in the courtroom.
'Honey I'm home.'
The noise reverbs around the scarcely furnished apartment, drawing her out to its heart.
'How was the court?' She asks, playing his game for just a moment. She lets him know she understands – that she knows why he is there. There is no pleading in her voice.
He can see her bedroom is still blue – China motifs decorate the sheets. The bed faces the front door and he wonders if she has slept with one eye open since Bane's 'revolution'. For a long time they say nothing to each other – he wonders if they were always so in tune in silence.
Still without speaking, he throws himself back on her bed and she takes the other side. For what may be hours, they simply stare at the ceiling – each wondering how life might have been had they taken different paths.
He picks her a dress from the closet – black and sequinned. She doesn't have time to fix her hair or wash her face.
They travel in silence. The stitching on his jacket continues to break.
In the courtroom they are loud. He mocks, she begs. It makes no difference in the end. He comes to watch her walk out onto the ice. Their eyes meet as it begins to crack and they say nothing.
In another life, Jonathan Crane drinks the coffee she sets out. They talk for hours as they lay on her bed – share each dream and disappointment life has thrown at them. They lie low and wait out Bane's hold on the city before they disappear, below the radar, and build themselves a new life somewhere far away.
Under her feet, the ice gives way. Harleen Quinzel falls and he knows he'll never be redeemed.
When the Bat comes, he doesn't resist. His cell in Arkham is cold. He never says another word.
A/N: I know this one is a little bitty, but I wanted it to read almost like a stream of consciousness. Hopefully you like it all the same!
