A/N: This is AU, and it's kind of a what-if fic. I'm not entirely sure when it takes place; some time after the return of Jason Todd as the Red Hood and before Batman disappears. It's more of a ficlet than a proper fic, and it's just a bit of an idea I had. Thanks to Dracheheim for help working out the ins and outs.

Ephemeral Blood

Clouds were mounting over Gotham. Batman, crouched on a rooftop, watched the growing darkness with interest. Pale, silvery moonlight limned the edge of the purple thunderheads, but that, and the soft ubiquitous glow of the city lights were the only illumination. For once the bat signal did not mar the darkening surface of the clouds.

Good. He was in no mood to be the people's protector right now. He'd had another argument with Nightwing; Red Hood was active again. Nightwing had tried to tell him once again that he was not responsible for Jason Todd's predations. In the ensuing shouting match, several nasty accusations had been shouted, and as a result, Batman was not feeling up to being a knight, tonight. Ha ha.

Lightning slashed across the sky; the clouds parted suddenly and a sheet of chilling rain began to fall, like blood from a wound. Trickling down the back of Batman's cape, it was surprisingly cooling, softening the hot ache in his bones that he had almost not noticed. As the clap of thunder following the lightning began to die away, the dull thud of a gunshot echoed out on its heels, sounding eerily loud. It came from a convenience store a block or two away.

Batman sighed. No rest for the weary. Then he vaulted down from the roof, spreading his cape and letting himself glide gently to the ground. The screams were beginning as he reached the store.

As he placed his hand on the door, it barreled open, and someone shoved him backwards. His impression of a blurry red mask above a black bodysuit was confirmed when Jason's voice chuckled, "Fancy seeing you here, Bat. Well, have fun in there."

As Batman reached for him, he was gone.

Growling something incomprehensible, he stalked into the store, which was in chaos. People were running back and forth, and frightened-looking employee was talking very quickly into a telephone. Batman stalked over to the desk just as she finished and demanded, "What happened?"

The dark-haired woman looked terrified. "He just—came in here and pulled out a gun—we heard a shot. I think somebody's hurt. I called an ambulance."

"Good," Batman said, and turned and walked into the store.

It cleared ahead of him, people scurrying away like ants from an anthill when a particularly curious small child steps on it.

In the frozen goods aisle, a woman lay on the floor in a pool of blood and shattered glass from the refrigerator behind her, her hands pressed to her stomach, her breathing forced and ragged. She turned her face toward him with an effort as he approached, the blond ends sweeping downward in front of her bright blue eyes.

"Hiya, Bats," Harley Quinn said softly.

Glass crunched beneath his boot. "Harleen. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was shoppin'." She coughed and shuddered with pain, and Batman stood back and stared at her.

"What happened?" he said shortly, trying to decide whether he should leave. But he had nowhere else pressing to be, and he didn't like to leave her, alone, bleeding.

She stared at him with pain-clouded eyes. "I was shoppin'. And…Red Hood showed up. Said…he'd show Mistah J. I don't know—why."

The sickening crack of a crowbar against flesh resounded in his ears, and he found himself kneeling beside her, still not close enough to touch.

"He doesn't like the Joker," he said gruffly.

"Oh," she said. "Makes sense, I guess. But…joke's on him, isn't it?" She squinched her eyes up.

He was slow to understand. Surely she didn't mean—

"Mistah J won't remember, will he?" Her voice was quite clear, though soft.

He was silent, not knowing what to say. He hadn't thought she believed that…and perhaps she didn't.

"Guess I made a mess of everything…"

"You'll be—fine."

She laughed. "You know I got an M.D., right? I probably know more about medicine than you do, Batsy."

"The ambulance will be here soon."

She made a small movement, shuddering as she did so, one blood-stained hand reaching out, half-blindly, toward him. He watched it, then gingerly took it in one black-gloved hand. Her hand tightened almost painfully about his and she huffed in a painful breath. "Thanks."

"Why didn't you get help, Harleen? You could have been a great psychiatrist."

"Alone." She coughed. Her breathing was weakening. Where was the damn ambulance?

"What?"

"I'd…have been…alone," she panted. "I've been alone…all my life. It hurts…"

He wasn't sure if she was talking about the bullet wound or not. He looked at her. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her cheeks were sunken and dead-white. Her blue eyes were almost empty, and for a moment, she looked like a broken doll, lying there with one hand still curled protectively in front of her stomach. Then she drew in another ragged breath, and he changed his opinion. Not a doll—just a hurt little girl.

"Say somethin'," she gasped. "Bet you're happy, ain't you? What are you thinking—serves her right for Babs?"

"No," he said. "No, I wasn't thinking that."

Harley gave a soft, mewling cry. "I wish—he'd remember me," she whimpered. "It's so cold."

"I'm sorry," Batman said softly, so softly he wasn't sure if she'd heard him. And then, when she shuddered and choked and stopped breathing, he reached out and closed the glassy blue eyes.

He paused at the end of the aisle. His breathing was a little rough as he looked back at the broken shell that had (once, a long time ago) been Harleen Quinzel.

"God damn it, Jason," he muttered under his breath.

Across the city, over which raged a massive thunderstorm, the Joker stirred in his fitful sleep; through his dreams a blond-haired puppet flitted and disappeared.