A/N: Based on some feedback, I thought a little additional background might be helpful. I believe, in Nolan-verse, Joker would not put up with the Harley we know and love from BTAS, so I've created a different Harley. She is still an inexperienced psychologist, but that is where the similarity largely ends; her demeanor is less volatile, and her perspectives are more malleable; geared towards whatever her circumstances demand. Ultimately, she's an observer and can mold herself into whatever she needs to be... which has kept her alive, but has taken its toll.

This story picks up two years after the events in TDK, and six months after Joker's presumed death. In those two years Harley met, fell in love with, and was "left" by Joker, who mysteriously sent Batman to find Harley six months ago.

Drop me a line - let me know what you think, as long as its constructive :-)


PROLOGUE

She stood on the rooftop, admiring the dark, tree lined streets below; a rare sight in Gotham. She'd never have recognized the wealth of this neighborhood on first glance; only subtle things like well lit streets, empty alleyways, and many large, old trees gave hints, and you had to really stop and look to pick up on them. She'd noticed when Bruce first brought her here, but too quickly was caught up in dinner, and sex, and darkness. She'd been so angry, and so alone, when she'd walked down that street; too absorbed in her own problems to really take a good look around. But that first glance stuck with her, and she'd wanted to come back if she was ever free to be in the city again. She rested her arms on the rooftop ledge and stood on her tiptoes, leaning over as far as she could without feeling precarious, and then pushed just a little more. She wanted to stand on the ledge and feel the breeze wrap around her; the breeze seduced her and she wanted to let it take her away. She wanted to, but couldn't; always her fear standing in her way. It didn't matter that she'd fall to her death, she wasn't afraid of dying, only of the pain right before hand, but she was afraid it was too soon, that there were things she'd miss out on in her life. She wasn't ready to give up for no other than reason than curiosity; her life had swung from pointlessly boring to dangerously exciting, and she was afraid it was heading back towards boring. But still, the little voice inside her head whispered But you never know what might happen tomorrow...; hope was a nasty affliction on the human psyche and yet it still had sway over her.

She also cursed her mortality; not that she wanted to live forever, but that she could only make the decision to jump once, and she wanted to jump over and over again. She wanted to fly free, to just disappear into thin air, to escape everything that tied her down and held her back: like mortality... like fear. She wanted to know what it was like to decide to jump and then do it; she wanted to know what it was like to have the power to end your own life. She imagined that flying would feel like swimming, only better, less cumbersome and weighty, like zero gravity or having no body to weigh you down... like being a ghost. Maybe that's what she really wished for, to a be ghost, free to float through time and space at only her whim, invincible in her intangibility yet still have consciousness. To go anywhere, at any time, and do anything she wanted, no restraints, no consequences. That was real freedom.

The rooftop looked exactly like she remembered, only without the dining table this time, and the only troubling things were the shadows lurking behind her. The same shadows in the towering garden that had taken over Bruce and turned him inside out. She could feel them staring at her like a living being, and she slid back from the ledge and turned to face them. They were another form of freedom: freedom to face your fears, to let go of your restraints and join the monsters that lived in the dark. They were the shadows behind her eyes; they were the shadows she saw in Bruce... and in J. Suddenly she missed J with a pain she hadn't felt in a blissful while, a pain that Bruce had been keeping away despite battling his own demons, and that pain drew her into the shadows once again, as if they held the morphine to her cancer. She slipped into the shadows and let them wash over her; she breathed them in and felt them flow through her veins, she closed her eyes and let them consume her. As if led, she found the bench with ease and laid down on her back, fully exposed to the shadows. It was as close to jumping off the ledge as she would come tonight, and she held a dark hope that she might loose her mortality to the shadows.

He watched her lean over the edge of the building, watched her face relax the further along the ledge she got, and smiled when she got the empty look in her eye, like she'd disappeared. Her whole body shuddered, and she turned back to admire the darkness; he recognized the desire as well, and grinned when she walked straight into the dark garden and let it swallow her whole. Silently he crept forward, sliding along the brick planters, completely hidden in the darkness, yet able to see her clearly. He came within feet of her prone body, just steps from being able to touch her, to pull her back into the darkness with him, and he slowly reached out a hand then stopped, tracing the outline of her body in the air with his fingertip. Her scent mixed in the breeze and floated back to him, and he felt his body respond, relaxed and focused at the same time; he hummed quietly to himself in pleasure.

The breeze washed over her in waves, and if she concentrated, she could block out the cold cement beneath her back and almost feel like she was floating along the stream of air. The breeze carried the scent of the old oaks on the street, the dust of the city, the flowers in the garden; it whispered music in her air, so faint she knew it was her imagination, but it felt like it was outside of her, pulling her along. If she tried very hard, she could turn that music into her music, a melody born from her own soul, and she started to sing softly along with the breeze.

She started to sing and he stopped humming, blocking out all other sounds but her voice. It drew him in, surrounded his mind and released him from all the reckless and wild thoughts that normally consumed him. This is why he'd come in the first place, all those years ago; this is why he kept coming back. He instinctively swayed with familiar the notes, his blood flowed with the rhythm, and he closed his eyes; something he rarely wanted to do. He relished being so close and yet unknown; he could take everything she gave him without the why's and the how's and the expectations. No, whether she realized it or not, she came here for him, to give him this piece of herself that he craved and she would not be asking for anything in return. It was a perfect arrangement, for now.

"Harley?"

She stopped singing, and he growled under his breath, stopping only when he saw her shudder in response. He had always had that effect on her, and he smiled knowing she was thinking about him and not the arrogant prick that had just interrupted her. Idly, he wondered why he'd never blown up Wayne Enterprises before, and considered the opportunity he had at this very moment. But he was a patient man, and he had too many things yet to do, so for now, he slunk silently back into the shadows and watched for her response, which never came. He raised a brow, curious, and irritatingly pleased by her reluctance to give him up.

"Harley?"

The prick was dressed in a designer suit, had perfectly coiffed hair and a soft voice, all of which he wanted to mess up just to see how the pampered billionaire would handle it. He grinned, thinking of the fun, and then grinned more when he realized she still hadn't responded, even though the prick was coming into the garden now. He stepped back further, behind a plant, and just for a second thought the prick had seen him; he was disappointed when Bruce Wayne stopped in front the of the bench, obviously no more aware of his presence then he was of his own ass.

Bruce knelt down next to Harley, and brushed the hair from her eyes, not wanting to disturb her when she finally looked so peaceful. She pressed her face into his hand, but didn't open her eyes; he wondered if she had fallen asleep.

"MMmm. Bruce, I'm not ready to leave, I just want to stay here."

Bruce pulled her up to a sitting position, then sat next to her, pulling her into his arms and resting her head against his shoulder. She tucked her arms around his waist and settled in, letting herself fall back into semi-awareness. "We don't have to leave."

The prick had a sweet mouth, and he rolled his eyes, restraining himself from smacking his lips out loud and then punching the man in the face. She'd gone soft in the last few months; she'd never expected that kind of comfort from him. He wanted to giggle at just the idea, but stifled that as well, and then turned to leave before he puked on all the saccharine sweetness coming from the prick's mouth. Of course his muse would eat that up, she was a woman after all, but he was 'pretty' sure she didn't fall for anything that easily. Well, let her get as much as she can now, because her time with Bruce Wayne was running short; she had a purpose and it was almost time for her to get back to it. When he was well out of earshot, he whistled the tune from earlier, grinning widely as he imagined Bruce Wayne's face when Joker came to get his muse.