Session Seven: Pigtailed Pickpocket

From the time Harley first put on her own cape and cowl, there was a marked change in her attitude. She'd been gung-ho from the beginning, desperate to prove she was one hundred per cent devoted to our cause now, but when she got her Lark costume, it all but took over. She was a justice-dispensing machine, slinging batarangs almost as well as Tim had once done and displaying Catwoman-like reflexes. Far beyond my expectations and prayers, having her own secret identity separate from us empowered her, added focus and a personal sense of duty that extended beyond simply repaying me for grabbing her ruff in the depths of Arkham's basement. A villain trying to be a heroine? She was a heroine, now.

Oddly enough, you'd never know it to talk to her outside of the job; her personality remained as bubbly as ever, complete with tongue-in-cheek wit and typical blondeness. I still continued to find socks in the coffee cups, and another month of nights stretched on with her stretched out on my sofa sleeper, doing her best imitation of a muscle car with no muffler. How could a body completely transform themselves in one aspect of their life and stay exactly the same in all others?

But then I was totally thrown for a loop when I walked in from another day at the library one dreary Tuesday afternoon in March.

"I got it, Babsy, I got it!"

"Got what?" I sighed. Okay, so this was the most unenthusiastic response I could have given her, but I'd been assigned the task of converting the card catalogue of the nonfiction section to digital format. All of it. That's several thousand books that had to be entered into the system one by one. What a pain. And why, might I ask, was our library still catering to the Flintstones?

She hesitated, lowering the sheaf of papers she was holding. "You okay? Ya sound like you forgot your morning mochaccino."

"No, I- oh, it was a long day." No sense dragging anybody else down. "So what did you get?"

"Oh- oh! Yeah, I finally did it - and I'm sorry it took so long, I'm such a dip, but I think you'll be pleased!"

This was already getting old to my fatigued brain. "Yeah? Pleased with what?"

"My apartment!"

My eyes flew open - a statement like that packed ten times the punch of any mochaccino. "What?!"

With a grin wide enough to accommodate a foot-long sub (sideways), she brandished a printout of a building exterior. "Ta-daah!"

Looking between it and her skeptically, I snatched it and glanced down the website's description. "Hmm, 'one bedroom with small studio or office, one-and-a-half bath... 760 square feet, laundry room in basement. Full utilities. Two blocks from the subway. Six hundred a-' SIX HUNDRED A MONTH?!"

"What?" she asked, her smile faltering the tiniest hair. "Too much?"

"N-no, it's- it's amazing," I gasped, frowning at the floor of my one bedroom, one bathroom flat with a miserable excuse for a balcony that I had foolishly been paying seven hundred a month for - not including electricity. "God, where on earth did you find a place like this?!"

"On the net," she said simply, shrugging as she picked up another stack of papers and shook them. "I've been followin' up on a few prospects, but they either looked and smelled like a public toilet, cost an arm and a leg or turned out to be a shoebox. But I finally found a good one, Babsy, this is it!"

There were at least forty sheets in her hand. She'd been working on this - and diligently. "Uh... wow, Harley, I- I'm happy for you."

She frowned. "Then why do you sound like I just cancelled Christmas?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I- I just didn't think you'd ever find a place," I laughed, trying to shake off the shock. "I mean, you've been here how many months?"

"I dunno... five, six? Maybe not that many..."

I tried to flick her on the forehead - something I'd taken to doing when I thought she was playing dumb on purpose. She, of course, dodged with a slight laugh. "Yes, that many. I don't know, I guess I just got so used to you living here I forgot you'd be moving out eventually."

"Yeah, the good times are over, I guess, ain't they?"

"Yeah." What? What was wrong? Something was weird, but this was all very good and productive, wasn't it? Probably just tired. "Well, when do you move in?"

"Oh, not until April First," she said sheepishly, looking slightly away. "The landlord still has to clean up after the bum who wasn't paying his rent. Which reminds me... I think I need a day job."

"I suppose you do - I mean, all that leftover loot is probably running out by now, isn't it?"

"Well... not so much," she giggled. "I've been trying to keep my spending down since I got it. Still, I'm sure I've only got a few months' rent saved up."

Some weird hybrid of a frown and a smile played at my lips. "How much?"

"How much what?" She was about to earn another flick.

"How much do you have in that Swiss account?"

A long, tense moment, where she looked between me and the floor several times. "Umm... y'know how when you put money in the bank, it earns... interest?"

"You're filthy stinking rich, aren't you?"

"No, no!" she laughed nervously, backing up a step. "Just... comfortable. But I've been tryin' not to touch it, I'm still iffy about keeping it. I was talking about the local dough."

"A job, huh... I saw a sign across from the library; there's a pizza place that needs a waitress."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "Okay, that's a start. Can ya get me an app?"

We spent the rest of the night eating leftover Chinese, kicking around employment prospects and having too much fun coming up with ideas for decorating Harley's soon-to-be-home. Finally, around eleven, I decided to turn in so I wouldn't die from sleep deprivation at work the following morning.

. . ᴥ . .

Or so I thought.

"What is it, Bruce?" I rasped into my cell.

"A pawn shop in your neck of the woods," he said. "17th and Marshall. Silent alarm. The police won't get there for another fifteen minutes - perhaps twenty."

Damn. "On my way."

As I ran through the living room half-dressed and desperately trying to shake the vestiges of sleep, Harley was already sitting up and rubbing the crud out of her eyes. "Whazzat, hng?"

"Burglary. Nothing major, go back to sleep."

"No, I'm coming with you," she said dazedly, staggering to her feet and reaching behind her pillow and past the mattress to yank out her spare costume. "Just gimme two sec-"

"I can't wait for you," I sighed, pulling the second boot on. "Fourteen minutes until the cops show up."

"No, wait, watch - I've been workin' on this-"

And before I could protest, she was already down to her polka-dot panties. I clapped a hand over my eyes. "WHOA! Harley, dammit, I don't have time for a peep show!"

"Hang on!" With speed that I couldn't help but admire, the blonde seemed to jump into her spandex, and as I opened the door to the balcony and glanced up and down the street for anyone watching, I could hear her struggling to yank her pigtails through the holes in the cowl (this was always accompanied by several yelps of pain). "Th-there, I'm ready! Let's bounce!"

It only took us three minutes to silently pick our way along the silent street, turn a corner and spot the broken glass. There were thugs inside, all right - I could see three from the street level. A getaway car was idling on the other side of the street, the nervous driver glancing inside the store far too often to appear remotely inconspicuous. Harley knocked him out without making a sound as I watched the perpetrators toss anything that looked valuable into huge burlap bags.

"How old school," Harley whispered as she joined me. "So... should I go around back, or-"

"I have neither the time nor energy for this." Without hesitating, I took out a few sleeping gas capsules and tossed them inside. "Let's go."

"But-"

"C'mon!"

We scaled the side of the neighbouring building and watched as a cloud of bluish smoke curled from the shattered window. About twenty seconds later, one of the crooks staggered outside, waving his hands in front of his face, then slumped to the ground on the sidewalk, still.

"Well, can't argue with that," said Harley, arms crossed.

"Let's go tie their hands, just in case."

Once the deed was done, the both of us were leaping from roof to roof, already inside my apartment when I heard the police cruisers draw near.

"Whew!" said Harley, unbuckling her utility belt. "That was cake!"

"God, I hate nights like these," I sighed, ripping my cowl off. "Like the day wasn't long enough, I have to break up kids in a candy store."

"Um, Babs..."

"When am I supposed to sleep? When I'm dead? Might be sooner than predicted if I can't rest like a-"

"Barbara!"

"What?!"

When I turned to Harley, I saw "what": she was holding what looked like a very expensive ruby brooch, and the expression on her unmasked face was nothing less than terrified.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I- I dunno," she whispered, gloved hands beginning to shake. "Did... did I take it from the pawn shop?"

"Did you- you're asking me to tell you if you took something?!"

"I don't know!" After a brief moment, tears began sliding down her face. "Th-this can't be real - touch it, is it real?"

I took the brooch from her hands, a sense of welling dread bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. It was at least eighteen karat gold, and the ruby was the size of a walnut. Worth several hundred dollars, easily. "Sheez..."

"B-but I didn't- I- I never-"

"Harley," I sighed weakly, "I'm very tired. It's a measly brooch. We'll drop it off at the police station tomorrow or something. I'm going to bed."

"No," she pleaded desperately, planting herself firmly in my way. "No, y-you have to hear me out, I never took nothin'!"

We were going to talk about it for a minute, I guess. "Yeah, nothing - like that entire warehouse of nothing my father has to sort out, right?"

"I didn't kipe any of it," she insisted, eyebrows knitting. Maybe I meant for that remark to sting, and I guess I got what I wanted, but I found no pleasure at the bottom of that bitter cup. "Mister J was all about that stuff, and I thought it was a thrill to do it with him, sure, but I never really stole nothin' for myself, not once!"

"Fine, whatever. Just... let me go to bed."

"C'mon," she whispered, smiling at me in an extremely frightening manner; I thought she was going to start twitching any second. "You gotta believe me, I'm not trying t-to put one over on you, I really didn't take it!"

"Bed."

"Look at me, willya?!"

"Bed."

Five seconds passed. Finally, she stepped out of my way, and I slunk away to my bedroom, but just before I closed the door I heard her say, "Red... again, red."

By the time I climbed out of the Batgirl suit and back into bed, I was wide awake. What was going on? Did I really want to know? Perhaps there were a few lingering issues her psychiatrist had overlooked, like unconscious kleptomania. Then again, she could be trying to juggle her newfound crimefighting career with the crime she's supposed to be fighting.

Then again, why would she have exposed herself to me? I hadn't noticed her take the jewelry, she would have got away with it free and clear. Could you really steal things without realising it? Or... no. No, I didn't want to go there, it was too dark, too unsettling - especially with her living one room away.

Harley Quinn, Harleen Quinzel, Lark... was it simply three names for one woman, or three women in one body? Split personalities - it wasn't unheard of. Two-Face, anyone? Would one of her dormant souls awaken in the night and stab me to death?

. . ᴥ . .

Ten minutes passed, and I did not sleep. Twenty. Thirty. Over an hour later, I finally got up and tiptoed into the kitchen, but when I came back out, I heard a voice whisper, "Babs?"

I turned to see the whites of her eyes in the middle of the dark living room. When I turned on the hall light, I saw the sofa sleeper was folded out and she was wearing fuzzy pink pyjamas, but she was sitting Indian-style atop the sheets, apparently wide awake as me. She was staring straight ahead at my plasma screen, but it wasn't on.

"Just getting a glass of water," I said. "Goodnight, Harley."

"Am... am I still crazy?"

There was something about the plaintive squeak in her voice, the way she was begging me to answer her question. My brain continued to will my feet toward my bedroom, but they instead turned toward Harley.

"I don't know, are you?"

"B-Babs," she choked, and I could now see her face shining with tears. She must have been crying nonstop, and more importantly, she sounded like she was trying her damndest not to lose her grip completely. "I can't go back to Arkham, I- I can't do it. I d-don't want to be a crazy, I don't wanna steal anything, I w-wanna be good now!"

"I know," I whispered as I sunk down on the bed next to her, still feeling my way around this.

"I don't know where this brooch came from," she hissed. "But I- I don't even want it, I don't even like it! I think it's- it's hideous!"

When I looked into her hands, I saw the brooch's pin had stuck into her fingers several times as she turned it over and over. Tiny drips of blood stood out and ran down them, leaving small, circular stains on the topsheet.

"Harley, stop!" I gasped, snatching it away (and sticking myself in the process - perfect). "Y-you're bleeding!"

"I know," she sobbed. "I know, I know, and I k-kept thinkin' I should get up and get a Band-Aid, b-but- but what if I came back, and the brooch had disappeared? What is friggin' wrong with me, what am I doing?!"

This was getting to be too much for this poor librarian. I wasn't at all qualified to babysit an ex-mental patient, much less give her any advice whatsoever. For the first time in a long while, I couldn't trust my instincts because they were telling me to do different things; call her psychiatrist, call the police... call Bruce. Do nothing, as I tried to do before, but then I had to get up for a pointless glass of water just so I could distract myself from-

"Babs?"

I wished she wouldn't keep looking at me, as if I was on top of this one. "Y-yeah?"

"Babsy, you... you think I did it, don't you?"

As I looked at the blossoming hurt in her blue eyes, I felt a sort of semi-painful CRACK - like someone had shot me up with an elephant tranquilizer, then pried open my chest with rib-spreaders. I could already sense tears on my own cheeks, already knew what I was going to do, but I struggled to remain objective, I had to! This girl was insane, she had to be to steal a pointless bauble and forget she did it, or to go to these lengths to feign ignorance! I was setting myself up to be murdered in my sleep!

"No," I whispered, biting into my bottom lip so hard, trying to regain ground. I had to keep speaking, but every word became harder and harder to complete. "No, I don't think you did, but I don't know what to think, either."

"M-m... I didn't," she insisted again, staring into nothing and seemingly talking to herself more and more. "There's no way, I- I'm a good girl now, I didn't even see it before I got here, and- but then, where'd it come from? Sounds like somethin' Mister J would do... yeah, like he'd plan this out, like a game, a fun game, and just see where it-"

"Harley!"

Her blonde head jerked up. "Huh?"

I can't believe I had to do this. "Harley, Mister J- I mean, The Joker, he's dead! The Joker is dead, do you hear me?"

"Yeah," she choked out, nails digging into her knees. "But... but he ain't never really left me. I can't keep him out, not every last iota. He keeps hangin' around, like a stray..." Her breath was coming faster and faster, and I was fighting the urge to run from the room. "And it's red and black, red and black all over again, and Mister J won't get outta my head, and the superhero gig ain't a picnic, either, but it's all I got that makes any sense, that feels right! Wh-why's somebody trying to take it away from me, am- am I sabotaging myself, tryin' to get revenge on my good half for leaving Mister J behind?! I- I had to, he left me when he let himself get iced by little Timmy, and little Timmy wants to see me in traction, and n-now I'm all alone, and some days I feel like I shoulda died when I fell down that hole in the floo-"

"NO!"

Maybe twenty or thirty seconds passed before I noticed a wetness running down my back. What did I just do? Only after that did my mind clear, and I saw I had lunged at Harley and engaged her in an awkward deathgrip of a hug that probably hurt, but I didn't care. Shaking like a leaf, I let my own tears douse her neck in turn and whispered, "Don't... ever think that. Don't ever think you should have died. I didn't bust my hump taking you to the hospital for nothing."

She felt quite rigid, like she wanted to explode on me but couldn't let herself. "Barbie girl, I- I know you only did what you did b-because it's your job. Given the choice, you'd never of saved some evil blonde bimbo... especially not me. Geez, you must hate me."

"I don't, though. Even if I did, I'm fairly sure I let all that go when you helped Tim get the medicine he needed." Somehow, as I spoke the words I knew they weren't accurate. I hadn't meant to give voice to anything more, but I couldn't stop myself. "N-no, maybe..."

"Wh-what?"

"Well, I really think it was when you were about to fall." I sniffled, still too afraid to release Harley and let her go back to those half-assed suicidal ramblings. "When I looked into your eyes, and you looked- you looked the same way you did a minute ago, when you thought I didn't believe you, and... and for the first time I thought of you as just another human being. Not Harley-The-Joker's-Flunky-Quinn, not some villain who I had to thwart for truth, justice and apple pie, but... a scared girl who didn't want to end up as a greasy spot. Maybe I didn't think you were a model citizen, but I couldn't hate you after that."

"Oh," she managed. "W-well, as l-long as you d-d-don't hate me. Babsy-"

"But I'll say it again: I'm uncomfortable with you owing me for saving you. I- I don't want us to be like that, with you as my... my indentured servant or whatever, because that's just so last century. So... if you did steal the brooch, you can tell me."

"B-"

"And if you didn't, then I believe you," I finished stubbornly. "But I can't stand the thought of you being- I don't know, afraid of talking to me. That's unacceptable."

"But I don't know if I took it," she sobbed, hands finally pressing into my back as she let the tears fall in earnest now that I gave her a green light. "And I'm s-so afraid of being crazy again! And honest, I don't remember taking it, but that means if I don't remember taking it, then- then I'm-"

"Don't go there right now. Just don't, okay? I- I want to believe you're cured."

"I ain't, though." What a dismal tone. "You don't get 'cured' from being mentally raped every day for a third of your life by a homicidal fruitcake - God rest his soul."

Maybe it was inappropriate, but I chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think God's the one who ended up with him."

"But I am a smidge better, and- and Dr Leland agreed, she agrees I'm better every week... but now I'm relapsing. What am I gonna do? Sh-should I turn myself in? Probably should, but I dunno if-f I can handle going back, not when I come this far, when I finally have a real friend who doesn't see me as some expendable b-b-bimbette who can do his dirty work and JESUS CHRIST I HATE THAT MAN!!"

I pulled back, shocked. Harley's face was contorted in anger, brick red and vibrating, teeth bared. When she had taken several rasping breaths, she blinked and looked up at me, eyes widening. "Wow, I- damn, I can't believe I just combusted like that! Babs, I- I never said that before!"

"Oh," I said simply. Now I was starting to feel scared again.

"I... hate The Joker," she said experimentally. Then she smiled, like her birthday and Christmas were on the same day this year. "I hate his friggin' guts, and I only wish I'd been there to spit in his face before he died! He never did nothin' but drag me down with him, and I'm... I'm glad he's out of my life for good!"

"Harley-"

"Jumpin' Jehosephat, Babsy, I- I'm-" Then she faltered, staring down at her bloody hands. "But I'm still nuts, right? I still maybe stole something without realising it. Two steps forward, one step back."

At least I thought I was part of this conversation... "What are you talking about?"

"I HATE him," she repeated, smiling at me in what I can only describe as a much more healthy manner. "I... as much as I tried to tell myself that, it's never really worked, I always secretly loved the part of him that changed my world forever and- and- but for the first time the puzzle is finished, I get the entire scope of it! What he actually did was ruin all prospects of me leading a full and successful career as- oh, as whatever! All that matters is he blew all that to smithereens, and I let him, and now he's Clown-On-A-Stick and I- I'm over him! I think I'm really over him!"

This time, she was the one to give me the bone-crusher, and as all the air was squeezed from my lungs, I listened to the musical laughter burst from hers... and smiled. Somehow, this unexplained incident with the jewelry had prompted a breakthrough we all thought she'd already underwent. She may have left Arkham almost six months ago, but only now was Harley free.

. . ᴥ . .

She was the lucky one. Even though I told her I trusted her, that I accepted the "I don't remember" alibi, I found myself unconsciously on guard around her for the next several weeks. And not for nothing; every now and then I would catch her talking to herself, or perhaps writing a single word over and over in a notebook (something really disconnected like "where"). When I delicately asked why she was doing these things, she'd simply reply, "It's for therapy." I found myself wanting to accept that answer, and yet...

Worse than that, I don't think she was blissfully ignorant of this. Once, I asked her where she got a pricey-looking silver bracelet, casual as you please. Her eyes moved between where it lay on my end table, my eyes, and the window. She was still looking out the window when she told me it was an impulse buy at the mall.

Evasive? Yes. Suspicious? Hmm. The thing is, it certainly didn't make her guilty; maybe she forgot she had the bracelet in the living room, hence all the glancing around. Maybe I'd spent so much time fighting the scumbags and charlatans that I was seeing wrongdoing everywhere. She was acting just strange enough to cast a shadow of doubt over her newfound sanity, but not enough to cause any serious alarm. I was making much ado about nothing.

Then, while the three of us were on patrol late one night, there came an incident that was not "nothing"... in fact, it was definitely a big, honking something.

. . ᴥ . .

"Whew!" Harley gasped, dropping a tightly-bound man atop a pile of his accomplices. "That's the last of 'em, I think!"

I smiled. "Working up a sweat, are we?"

"Maybe, a little. Why, is my nose shining?"

"We can't even see your nose," said Bruce with a smirk. He brushed his hands together, then looked around the glinting glass cases of the diamond exchange, only a few of which were hanging open. "That seems to take care of things around here; let's make our exit before the guards come around."

"Wait," whispered Harley. "Do you...?"

"Do we what?" I asked, glancing in her direction. She was looking directly behind her, into the shadows left by a support pillar.

"Nothin'," she replied, turning back with a shrug. "Guess I'm just jumpy."

Before long, we were safely back in the Batcave; our foiling the jewelry heist came on the end of our nightly rounds. My back was killing me, and as always, I felt a slight twinge now and again from the formerly-broken bones in my lower leg. This night, by all rights, should have been over.

"I'd like to work on Judo again with you sometime this week," Bruce told Harley as he grabbed some more rope to stash in his utility belt, ever ready for the next battle. "Your throws are still a little... well."

"I know, I know," she pouted, pulling off her cowl. "Whaddaya want, Brucey? I've only been takin' Judo for a few months, and I'm supposed to be a third-degree black b-"

We all stopped when we heard a light sound echo around the depths of the cave. Turning, I saw Harley watch in confusion as something bright and twinkling rained from her hands.

"Belt?"

END SESSION