Harley was in the shower for what seemed like forever. Long enough that Edward considered checking on her, though he couldn't quite work up the nerve before the water finally shut off, indicating she was probably still alive. He wasn't a prude by any means, and he was far from blind, but it was somehow distasteful to him to try to spy on her.
It would be…rude.
He was, after all, of a higher class than the normal brutes and thugs that made up Arkham's population. More truly refined than the madmen or the pretenders like Oswald. For all the weird little man's affectations and pretentions, he was as coarse as they came. Money was poor substitute for real refinement, and while Edward wouldn't claim to be a chic sophisticate, he was aware that certain things were simply not done. Which was why he hadn't peeked into her shower, and why he remained fixed to his seat and kept his expression quite neutral when Harley trotted through his living room wearing a towel that was hardly up to the task of keeping her decent.
She glanced up, smiling cheerfully, her hair dripping on her shoulders, beads of water standing on her smooth, creamy skin and reflecting the greenish glow of his monitors as she left moist footprints on the hardwood.
"Forgot my clothes in the bedroom," she giggled, raising one hand to point, which loosened the towel into an even more precarious state. He couldn't think of any reply before the door had closed behind her.
He sat for a moment, congratulating himself for his composure, and took a slow, deep breath. It had been meaningless—pure guileless innocence on her part. She hadn't been deliberately trying to entice him, he was certain of it, so it was best to let it pass unremarked on. Best to banish the image from his mind and not dwell on it.
Dammit, though. He was still a man, and Harley was still naked. Or near enough to provoke him to no small distraction. It all made sense now; the very fact that Joker managed to ever get anything done, let alone the extensive empire he had built up, with her flinging herself at him proved that the man was quite clearly blind. Or a eunuch. Maybe both. Madness alone couldn't possibly explain it.
He realized he'd been staring stupidly at the bedroom door for some time and shook himself, turning reluctantly back to his work. If she made a habit of walking around like that, he'd never have the trophies or death traps finished. He supposed he ought to talk to her about it, or find her a robe perhaps. If it persisted, of course. No sense in bringing it up then and there. Only if it became problematic.
Edward groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It wasn't like him to get distracted from his work, but again, though he was far superior to the vast majority of them, he was still human. And it couldn't do all that much harm, really. Harley would eventually decide her sabbatical was over, go back to her killer clown, and life would go back to its nice, predictable patterns.
"What'cha doin'?" Harley quite suddenly ducked around him, peering at the collection of metal pieces he'd been assembling. He hadn't heard her come out of the bedroom, and so he jumped, startled. She smiled brightly.
It was rare he saw her in anything but one of her "work" outfits and attendant makeup. Seeing her in a simple pair of jean shorts and a pink tee shirt, her face freshly scrubbed and her blonde hair loose and in damp strands, gave him pause.
She looked softer; aside from the black and red dyed tips of her hair, she looked like she could be any young woman in any home in Gotham. It was a strange thing to contemplate, though he supposed he must look strange to her as well, his jacket hanging on a hook, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his tie and hat abandoned on his desk. Before then they had always been "on." They'd always been their personas. There and then, they were Eddie and Harley, when always before, no matter what they said, they'd been Riddler and Harley Quinn.
He cleared his throat, turning back to the item he had been working on. "It's a set of restraints," he began, holding up the cuff to show her.
Harley grinned, wickedly. "Ooh, kinky, Eddie!" She winked, clearly teasing, and he chuckled.
"Cute. I'll have several sets of these and once I finish, well, I'm planning some interesting surprises for the Dark Knight, should he not be quite…clever enough." He couldn't quite keep the smug smile from his face, particularly as Harley's expression brightened with interest.
"Oh, Eddie, will you tell me? Please please please? What're you gonna do?" She bounced with excitement, and he felt a small flush of pleasure.
Ordinarily his activities were solitary. Oh, he had his minions to help with the setup, but the planning, the designing, the execution, those were pleasures he didn't share with anyone else. He usually preferred it that way, but he had to admit it was quite pleasant having someone to admire his work, and he was certain she was doing so honestly; his schemes were far too cerebral and required far too much patience to appeal to the likes of the Joker, so she wasn't trying to steal his ideas to curry favor.
He smiled, broadly, and nodded. "If you like, certainly. Now, pretend you're Batman."
Harley giggled, delighted. "Okay!" She darted away into the bedroom as he watched, puzzled until she returned with a hooded sweatshirt tied around her neck for a makeshift cowl and cape. She scowled, theatrically, and glared around the room, affecting a low, gravelly voice. "I am vengeance! I am the night! I have serious psychosocial issues I deal with by punching people!"
Edward laughed; he couldn't help himself. "Well, I suppose I asked for that," he held up the cuff he'd been working on. "Now, you find some prisoner, trussed up with these. They look rather fragile and breakable, wouldn't you say?"
She leaned closer, examining the restraint he proffered, and nodded. "Hmm. Yeah, I suppose that they do."
"Almost as though you could just break them by hand, wouldn't you say? Little effort required for someone as strong as you, Dark Knight? Go on." He smiled, extending the cuff, and she reached for it, but before she could wrap her fingers around it, he pulled back. "Ah, while I actually hope Batman does, I would prefer you didn't leave your hands on the inside of the cuff."
Harley cocked her head, puzzled by this, but did as he asked and gripped the edges of the metal circle instead, pulling sharply. As expected, it triggered the mechanism inside quite smoothly, razor sharp blades dilating the inside of the cuff. It wouldn't quite sever a hand, but the damage it would do to a wrist, and hopefully a certain caped nuisance's fingers, would be substantial. She gasped, startled, nearly dropping the thing, her eyes wide. "Wow, Eddie. That'll slice something important, and it'll be Bat-brain's fault."
He winked, taking the cuff back and placing it on the table. "That's the idea, yes. It will be even more interesting if he starts with the collars. I thought about making them explosive, but the blades are far more concealed, if lacking in collateral damage." He felt faintly gratified as Harley beamed, nodding quickly.
"That's really clever, Eddie. But you always were the smart guy. And thanks for warning me about not getting my fingers in there. That wouldn't have been a whole lot of fun."
He shrugged a little, sweeping the cuff into the pile of completed and tested gadgets. "Well, obviously. Wouldn't want you to lose a fingertip, I'd just have to send out for that doctor again, and he was entirely tiresome. You're lucky you slept through it."
She laughed. "Ah, yeah, I bet. But, you know, thanks anyhow. Mist—uh, some people would think it was funny to keep it a surprise." She looked away, chewing her lip. "So, uh, anyhow. Do you want me to, you know, help?"
The question took him by surprise. He had assumed that she would stay a few days, or a week, recover from her wounds, and then leave to be injured by the clown another day. He hadn't put much thought into what she would do during the time she was recovering. Clearly she had no intention of lying around in bed. Perhaps it would be refreshing to have someone halfway tolerable to assist him for a while. And she did seem quite appreciative of his efforts, unlike the minions, who never seemed to grasp, well, anything. And looking at her, she seemed almost hopeful as she waited for his response.
"If you think you're up to it, certainly," he finally said.
She smiled happily and bounced on her heels. "Ok! I'm not too good at the mechanical stuff, I guess, but, well, I'll do whatever to help out and I'll stay out of your way when you're busy."
He somehow doubted the latter part of her declaration, but found himself quickly warming to the idea of having her there. It wasn't that he was lonely, certainly, but occasional company could be agreeable. "Well then, I suppose I should show you where to find everything."
Harley was eager to please, he had to give her that. She followed him through the apartment, remarking on its generous size and the sheer number of security features, and dutifully paid attention as he pointed out where tools, supplies, and weapons were kept for easy access. He only had to stop her from pressing the really enticing buttons on his computer banks, which happened to be the buttons he least wanted pressed at the moment.
Still, she soon clasped her hands behind her to minimize temptation, and the remainder of the tour and explanations went without incident or more near-disaster. He reiterated not to press buttons perhaps more times than necessary, but considering Harley's attention span, he felt it prudent; best not to leave things to chance when one wrong move could mean hours of work fixing the mistake. There wasn't really much in the apartment at present as he'd already moved a good deal of things into his puzzle rooms, but there was still much to be done. If Harley wanted to be helpful, he might as well let her. It was probably best that she not get bored and try to do something on her own.
It didn't seem long, really, but when next he glanced at a clock it was near dawn, and Harley was yawning expansively. He could do with some rest himself, he had to admit, and he stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. "I apologize. I should have let you rest before this, Harley. You do need to take it easy to recover I assume, strange plant healing powers aside."
She rubbed her eyes, smiling a little. "Nah, it's ok. I wanted to move around a little." She hesitated, glancing at the single bedroom. "Eddie, you want me to just camp out on the couch? I mean, it's your place, and all. I guess if you didn't care we could share, but I'm afraid I'd keep you up or something 'cause I'm a little bit of a restless sleeper."
Edward cleared his throat, glancing away, unwilling to speak his thoughts. "I…no, Harley. That's not necessary. Take the bed. I'll be fine with the couch. I can have something brought in later." He was surprised to realize he honestly didn't mind. Certainly sleeping in his own bed would be preferable, but he couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. He didn't even want to contemplate the offer to share the bed, and reminded himself sharply that she meant nothing by it.
Harley smiled a little, shrugging. "Well, if you're sure, Eddie." She darted in suddenly, wrapping her arms around him tightly, the faintly perfumed scent of her still damp hair reaching him as she pressed against his body, soft and warm, her delicate hands stroking along his back. He was so startled it took him a moment to return the hug, and when he did it was hesitant. He didn't want to reopen her wounds, or put his hands in the wrong place, or give her the impression he was thinking of the things he was trying very hard not to.
She leaned up, her lips barely brushing his stubble-rough cheek. "Thanks, Eddie," she said softly, and then released him, padding back to the bedroom. She smiled at him over her shoulder, slipped inside, and closed the door.
Edward sat heavily on the couch, sighing. That last exchange had been nicer than he wanted to admit. It had been quite a long time since he'd had any real, honest human interaction; a hazard of the profession to be certain, but that didn't mean he was oblivious to its absence. He didn't dare let himself get attached, though. He lay back on the couch, folding his hands behind his head and hoping to fall asleep quickly.
He didn't want to contemplate too deeply the inevitable end to this. Harley would eventually tire of her vacation, tire of Edward, and go back to the Joker. She might come to him for help the next time they fought, she might not. The pattern was clear, and as repetitious as a fractal. It would continue with Harley going back to the Joker, on and on until he pushed her out of a high enough window, or aimed more carefully with his acid flower.
If he were honest, he would have to say he hated that the outcome was forgone, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. He pushed the thought out of his head as best he could, and closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly on the hard couch, with his unusual houseguest in the next room, with things he couldn't stop thinking of on his mind. Perhaps something would change, perhaps not. Intellectually he knew staring at the ceiling was an unproductive exercise, but even he was prone, however occasionally, to bouts of irrational thinking. Finally he drifted off, reassuring himself that things would look better after some rest.
