"The patient's outside, Dr. Quinzel," came the guard's voice over the intercom in Harley's office.
"Thank you – please send him in," she said, closing her bag. "Dr. Crane, won't you have a seat?" she said, gesturing to the sofa. "How are you feeling today?"
"Yes…fine…I think," Crane stammered, still gazing at her in disbelief. He had almost convinced himself that yesterday had been a dream. It clearly hadn't.
"That won't be necessary," said Harley, as the guard made to chain Crane up. "You're outside if I need any assistance."
"You sure?" asked the guard.
Harley smiled thinly. "Please believe I am perfectly used to dealing with dangerous patients."
"Yeah, everyone knows," muttered the guard, heading for the door. "Just try not to sleep with this one, clown slut."
He slammed the door, and Crane saw Harley bristling, clearly trying to control her temper, although her body shook. "That was…uncalled for," he said, slowly.
"Yes. But not unexpected," retorted Harley. "People say worse things to me every day, after all."
She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. "It's just been very difficult…trying to reform. Nobody believes you, and everybody keeps constantly reminding you of your past. There is no forgiveness, only suspicion and distrust. You have to be…very strong to endure it."
"Well, you always were that," said Crane. "I remember after…after he died…everyone said you would just curl up and die too. But you didn't. You proved them all wrong."
She smiled. "Well, it's easy to prove idiots wrong, Dr. Crane. I'm sure you know that."
"Indeed I do," he agreed. "But frightening them to death is so much more fun."
"Let's turn our minds to happier things," she said. "Like your therapy."
"Yes, I'm afraid you're only going to be wasting your time, my dear," said Crane. "I have no intention nor desire to reform. I have to undo this terrible mess I've made of Gotham. If I want the legacy of what I accomplished to survive, I have to make sure everyone remembers the man who did it."
"Believe me, Dr. Crane, this is not a waste of time," said Harley, firmly. "I intend to help you more than you can imagine."
"What, by curing me?" he asked with a wry smile. "I'm afraid that particular pipe dream died a long time ago."
She smiled. "Just talk to me, Dr. Crane, please," she said, taking a seat across from the sofa. She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook, which she opened, propping it up on her lap. "I need you to trust me. Please believe me when I say I can help you, if you just keep talking."
She was gazing at him very earnestly, and he shrugged. "All right. What should I talk about?"
"Start with your earliest memories of your childhood," she said, her hands working behind the notebook screen. "And go from there. Or start with the most recent thing you can remember. Whichever you'd prefer."
"I'd prefer not to dwell on my childhood, if at all possible," he replied. "It was not a pleasant time in my life."
"But your humiliation at the hands of Bruce Wayne was?" asked Harley, continuing to write.
"It was not a humiliation!" snapped Crane. "I made Gotham into a City of Fear! I unmasked its hero! I destroyed its hope!"
"And yet, it survives," said Harley, dryly, adjusting her glasses while she kept writing with one hand. "What did happen at Arkham Asylum? Why didn't your toxin work?"
"I…I don't know," he stammered. "It doesn't make any sense! Something…something happened to Wayne, he…he changed, but…but he didn't change! It wasn't a physical thing it was…a mental thing…something in his mind changed…he was…different."
"Different how?" asked Harley. Before Crane could respond, she prompted, "Like he changed into someone? Someone more…crazy? Random? Making jokes? More…sadistic?"
"…yes," stammered Crane. "How did you…"
"Your unmasking of Batman was broadcast live on every news channel in Gotham, and around the world," said Harley, smiling, her hands still working. "It's done the rounds on YouTube. Everyone in the world has seen it at this point."
"It wasn't the first time I'd seen him change that night," said Crane, quietly. "On Stagg's airship, when he came to confront me about the Cloudburst, he…transformed somehow. In the same way - not in body, but in mind. He started unleashing the worst brutality on the militia – he nearly killed all of them and…he was somehow amused by it."
He saw tears come to Harley's eyes. "I'm sorry, have I said something wrong?" he asked.
"No," she said, wiping away her tears. "No, I just…sympathize. It must have been awful for those poor soldiers. And for you to witness, of course."
He smiled. "I'm no stranger to brutal sights, believe me, my dear. But I had never known the Batman to be that sadistic. It was like he was…a completely different person. That's the only way to describe what happened on the airship, and at the asylum. Like he became a completely different person."
"A homicidal lunatic," murmured Harley. "A murderous psychopath with a wicked sense of humor. A heartless monster."
"Yes…quite…are you all right, my dear?" asked Crane, gently. She had begun crying again, and she struggled to control her breathing.
"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Fine. So tell me more. Talk about anything you like."
"Did they ever find out who this Arkham Knight character was?" asked Crane. "He appeared to loathe the Batman with every fiber of his being, but he showed up at the asylum to rescue him…"
"No, he's…not been seen since," said Harley. "Although there are rumors that this new vigilante running around town is him. People call him the Red Hood. But he's not like Batman was. He kills."
"Is there…a new Batman?" asked Crane, slowly. "A new protector of this city?"
Harley shook her head slowly. "There hasn't needed to be one since the supercriminals left. Crime is...something the police handle, for the most part. Of course there are always going to be a few crazies running around, this Red Hood among them. But it's a lot safer now than it used to be here. A young, single woman like me can actually walk alone to the Pamela Isley Memorial Gardens and not be afraid of getting attacked."
"Ah yes, the…Pamela Isley Memorial Gardens," growled Crane. "Yes, this city lost two heroes that night. One of them a very unexpected hero. Not to speak ill of the dead, my dear, I know she was close to you…"
"She wasn't close to anyone human," interrupted Harley. "She didn't save this city for them. She saved it for her plants. I knew Red. She didn't change at the end – she just couldn't let you kill her babies. She wasn't going to stand idly by and let a man do that," she said, with a wry smile. "Even if saving them meant aligning herself with her hated enemy."
"There are so many things I should have accounted for, but didn't. So many things I would have done differently," sighed Crane. "But we can't turn back the clock. I will never have such an opportunity for mass terror again. My only regret is that I wasted it."
Harley nodded, continuing to write. "I'm sorry if you were expecting some form of repentance or contrition…" began Crane.
"No," interrupted Harley, writing something and underlining it. "No, I wasn't."
She turned the notebook around to Crane suddenly, and he read these words: The rooms are bugged and filmed. Don't react, but get ready to run.
Crane stared at them, astonished, and then looked up at Harley, who smiled suddenly. And for the first time, he recognized Harley Quinn's smile.
Then she raised the gun, which she had been building and putting together from harmless bits of gear in her bag while Crane had been talking. She fired a bullet into the security camera. "Come on, hurry," she said, grabbing his arm and racing toward the door. "We have about twenty seconds until the guy monitoring the cameras sees something's wrong, and a minute until the guard gets back from his break – he always takes it during my sessions."
She threw open the door, racing down the hall with Crane trailing after her. "Dr. Quinzel, what…" began a passing doctor, but she fired the gun into his skull, giggling.
"Oh, that takes me back!" she gasped. "Keep up, Johnny!"
She ran down the corridor, reaching a door at the end of the hall and punching a code into a keypad. The door unlocked and she reached inside, tossing something at Crane. "Here. Do what you do best," she said.
Crane caught the vial, staring at it in disbelief. "Fear toxin," he gasped. "But how…"
"Don't ask questions – just use it!" shouted Harley, firing shots at the guards who were coming at them from all sides.
"You'll be affected…" began Crane.
She held up her wrist to reveal a shot scar. "Made myself an immunity to it – just do it!"
He nodded, smashing the vial on the ground and releasing the toxin into the air.
In an instant, the faces of the guards changed to terrified ones. Some ran screaming from the building, some attacked others, some curled up and rocked in a corner. As the gas spread throughout the asylum, Crane heard more screams and cries. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath to savor the moment.
"Nothing like the scent of fear," he murmured.
"Yeah, people crapping themselves is the best," said Harley, sarcastically. "Let's beat it."
They strode toward the exit, ignoring the shaking, shivering, screaming employees they passed. "Harley, you became a doctor again, you got a job here, you organized therapy sessions with me, and it was all just an act?" asked Crane. "Why?"
Harley shrugged. "I needed info from the records kept in here. I needed their trust. And I needed you. Busting people outta an asylum is a lot easier when you're a doctor, not an inmate. Trust me, I've done both."
"What do you need me for?" he asked. "What could possibly be worth all this effort on your part?"
Harley grinned. "What's always been worth everything to me, Johnny? Mr. J. I'm gonna get my puddin' back."