Oh my. When I said the chapters would be coming out after longer periods of time, I hadn't meant that much longer. I'm sorry! I originally had had this chapter done two weeks ago. But then certain distractions came up (namely a tantalizingly good Sherlock Holmes fanfic series and a decidedly sad week of vacation.) Again I apologize. I'd say it wouldn't happen again, but... we all know I'd be lying...

I Disclaim.


"Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide."

-John Dryden

Bruce was funny. She could barely stop herself from laughing every other word, nearly choking on her wine several times. Of course, she'd had him chuckling, too. She wasn't one to back down from a battle of wits. He was possibly even more handsome when he was laughing. She had to keep herself from taking a large gulp of wine, every time she thought that. She wasn't an ugly woman. But she wasn't the model type that Bruce dated. Her long, brown hair was fluffy to the state of frizziness, her bangs puffing out above her hazel eyes. She had her mother's eyes, her father's nose, her grandmother's mouth. She had reached 5 foot and 6 inches in tenth grade and hadn't grown another inch since. All in all, average. Just average. The thought would instantly sober her and she would need another sip of wine.

"Did you know, in English," Bennett began "with words, a double negative forms a positive? In some languages, such as Russian, a double negative is still a negative. However, there is no language wherein a double positive can form a negative."

Theresa raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, right."

Bruce sputtered on his drink, coughing to cover up his laughter. But Bennett, always one to share his knowledge with the rest of the world and never one to miss a joke, nodded his head vigorously. "It's true, I took a linguistic class when I was in college."

"Oh, did you? Didn't you also study phonetics?" she asked, launching him off into the subject. She rolled her eyes at Bruce, who only smirked.

As Bennett continued to spout off useless facts, starting off speaking of the different ways people spoke and ending up talking about what he ate on his trip to Europe, Bruce's butler, Alfred, entered the room. He approached the table, waiting for Bennett to finish his spiel. Bennett kept talking. Theresa shook her head, smiling kindly at the older white-haired man.

"You'd better just say it. He's not going to stop anytime soon." she laughed.

Bruce chuckled with her before looking up at his butler. "Go ahead, Alfred."

"Pardon me, Master Bruce. I hadn't wished to interrupt." he said in a thick cockney accent, smiling. There was something in his eyes, however, and Bruce knew exactly what it was about. "You have a phone call on your private line."

"Ah, I better take this. Excuse me, will you?" Bruce said, smoothly, sliding his chair back and getting up.

"Oh, of course." said Theresa. She smiled wryly, glancing at Bennett. "I'll just socialize with Charlie here."

"And the man thought I stole his sheep! Can you believe that? I tell you that's the last time I visit Wales." Bennett carried on, not realizing he had lost his audience.

Bruce laughed. "I'll be right back." he said as he left the room, leaving Theresa and Alfred to make their own conversation. They had to speak around Bennett's loud voice.

Walking down the long hallway, heading towards his favorite study, Bruce's footsteps echoed through the large home. Gordon had just sent him a message, not minutes ago. He had gotten the results back from scene and he was sending them to Batman. Bruce reached the room, stepping over to a nearly empty bookshelf that held a few pictures. The one he was drawn, specifically, to was an old picture of a young couple. The pretty, laughing woman was dressed all in white with one arm around her man as he held her bridal style. The man himself was beaming a ridiculously large smile, obviously just happy to be alive and holding that beautiful woman in his arms. Bruce's hand strayed behind the picture's frame and pressed a tiny button. The image of his parents slid back to reveal a small screen and keyboard.

Once he had gotten the memo from Gordon, he had immediately sent a message to Alfred. The butler had responded by coming in and giving Bruce an excuse to leave the room. It would have impolite to just get up and go. He finished typing in the password and the bookcase to his right glided open, closing behind him with a soft swoosh. It was dark inside for a moment, then the elevator began to glow and a low rumble could be heard as the lift lowered itself. The doors opened and Bruce exited into Batman's headquarters.

The massive cave had been modified to accommodate the vigilante's needs. There were a few large screens on the opposite wall to the elevator, with a layout of buttons and such beneath them. In the middle of the room sat a vehicle that seemed to be a smaller version of a tank, parked and brand new. A gift from Lucius Fox. Positioning himself in front of the screens, Bruce clicked open the file Gordon had sent him.

The commissioner had forwarded him a record from Akham asylum on a Miss Hartman. The woman had been a patient at Arkham for many years, labeled with a slight A voidant personality disorder and later a dissociative identity disorder (DID). Doctors attributed this to an abusive childhood, but it was never backed with actual evidence. Miss Hartman was committed to the asylum at age 17. She was given therapy immediately and, after several years, was thought to have made improvement enough to be discharged. This was debunked when an incident occurred (the event otherwise dubbed as Fear Night), killing and injuring multiple staff members and patients. Miss Hartman, herself, obtained various wounds from an explosion. The accident reduced her mind back to it's original state, rousing her A voidant disorder to a new level. She became violent after a week and was transferred to a isolated cell.

It was at this time that the doctors became aware of her growing DID. It was also noted that Miss Hartman had created only one main character. This persona would take control of Miss Hartman for weeks at a time, on each occasion having a different reason for the scars she had received (through her life at home and at Arkham). There were two particular traits of Miss Hartman's alter ego that Doctors found strange. There had been previous cases wherein the artificial personalities had known of their host body; usually these personas were there to help, taking control of the person when he or she could no longer hold out by themselves. Miss Hartman's character held this quality, but did not appear when needed, instead choosing to take control when Miss Hartman showed signs of improvement. Some doctors went so far as to say that she was deliberately trying to maintain her alter ego. The other characteristic, however, could only be described as rare. The patient's alter ego had taken on Miss Hartman's byname.

Bruce stopped reading as the elevator's doors opened and Alfred stepped out with a cup of steaming coffee on a tray.

"Mr. Bennett and Miss Juniper give their thanks and apologies, but the hour was getting late. I told them you wouldn't mind their leaving." Alfred said, walking up to him.

Bruce reached over and took the mug from the tray, nodding his thanks. "Good, I think I'm going to be heading out soon anyways. To see what else Gordon's got." The two men looked back at the document.

"DID, Master Bruce?" Alfred questioned.

Bruce sighed, feeling very tired. "Dissociative identity disorder, also known as multiple personality disorder."

"This is the file on the, ah-"

"-the woman from the video, yes." Bruce finished for him. He took a sip from his coffee. "If this is correct, which it is, then her 'alter ego' is due for a trip back down to earth. If she hasn't already."

Alfred nodded his head. "Meaning the other Miss Hartman will be coming out."

Looking back at the text on the screen, Bruce reread the last passage.

"But which one is it?"


When they got back to the theater, she strayed into the kitchen. The Joker had mumbled something about going to his office, walking off backstage. She headed towards the kitchen after she heard a door slam, edging through the shadows to the green room. It was small, makeshift. The Joker had obviously just thrown everything together. The oven was rusting in places at the bottom. The refrigerator was more of an icebox, old and dingy. Almost as dusty as the tilting table that was missing a segment out of one leg. The loss in height had been replaced by a large telephone book. The thickness of the book was more than needed, so the table sloped in the opposite direction. At least he had a coffee machine.

And it was still going. She turned the contraption off, pouring the luke warm liquid down the drain of the stained sink. One thing she'd found in the past days, was that there was always coffee available. She was beginning to think that the Joker's teeth were yellow, not from bad hygiene, but from drinking so much coffee. The man was addicted to it. She sat down, the chair groaning as she leaned forward. But even if his teeth were yellow, he was still the sweetest piece of ass she had ever seen. Setting her arms on the table, she buried her head in them. She sat that way for a few moments, just breathing in and out, not thinking of anything. She felt the fringe of sleep surrounding her fuzzy head.

The chair across from her creaked. Sighing silently, she faded back into consciousness. She peeked up from her arms, finding the small, ebony haired woman leaning back in her chair, placing an arm over her brow. She looked tired, dark and heavy bags were under eyes, dragging her down. About as tired as she felt. The only source of light was a flickering, over-head lamp with a dirty, dead insect ridden covering. The trembling, dull light caused their shadows to shake with anticipation. The kitchen was placed on the small stage of the green room and stood before a small layout of chairs. She could almost feel their invisible audience watching. Having one of the most domestic settings setup as if they were on show, was strange to say the least. She watched Red as she breathed a deep sigh. She cleared her throat and Red looked over, her face in shadows with the light behind her. Her piercing blue eyes stared at her expectantly, maybe even with a little hostility. Harley looked down at the dusty table, suddenly very uncomfortable. She opened her mouth.

"I apologize about before. I was just being stupid and got carried away. I really didn't mean anything by it." Red spoke before her.

Harley's eyes snapped up, her mouth closing with a click. That's basically what she had been about to say. She shifted in her seat. "I'm, uh, sorry, too. I didn't mean to get so hot, I just get-"

"A little jealousy never hurt anybody. And if it did, nobody really cares." Red stopped her, offering a little smile and a wink. She leaned forward when Harley smiled lightly, holding out her hand. "So, truce?" They shook hands. Red looked at her slyly, raising one eyebrow. "You two are pretty serious then?"

Harley broke into a wide grin. "I'd like to think so." she said, softly.

"You've kissed?" Red asked.

"Mhm." Harley said, proudly, nodding her head. "And a little more..."

Red brought her hand up to her mouth with a gasp. "So it is serious!"

Their previous spat almost completely forgotten, the two couldn't help themselves from giggling like high school girls and Harley felt herself liking Red a little more. The raven haired woman waved her hand in the air dismissively.

"Just for the record I've never had any love interest in him, nor plan to." she said. "Besides, do you really think the Joker would pick me over you?" She snorted.

Harley protested. "Red, you're pretty!"

"Maybe, but I'm not gorgeous like some blonde I know." she smiled, playfully.

If Harley had been looking closely, she would have seen a twinkle of something in Red's eyes. But as it was, she was too busy blushing and giggling. Red seemed to know exactly what to say to make her feel good. It could be that she had been wrong to be so distrustful of her. They talked on, Red giggling at just the right moments and saying just the right things to make Harley realize how nice she really was. Before she knew it, an hour had passed and Harley had a striking thought.

"I've got something to tell you." Red leaned in. "Harley Quinn isn't really my name."

"Oh?" she prompted, sounding surprised.

"No, it's really Harleen Quinzel. Mistah Jay called me Harley Quinn when I first met him. After that it just sort of stuck." Harley gave a meek smile. "To be honest, I kinda... figured if I told you my real name that you'd... well, you would, too."

Red sighed, looking down at the table. Her face became even more enveloped in shadows.

At her silence, Harley was afraid she had somehow offended the other woman. She quickly tried to undue her mistake. "Not that it matters! I mean, that is-"

"I don't have one." she said, interrupting her quietly.

"What?" Harley's heart stopped.

Red looked up. "I'll be completely honest with you. I have a feeling I can trust you." She offered a small smile that Harley returned. "I'm an orphan, Harley. I grew up on the streets, alone. I was never given a name."

"What happened to your parents?" Harley asked. She reached out and took Red's hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. She watched her face, feeling her trained instincts kicking in.

"I don't remember and I don't care." Her face hardened. "They left me, so that's their loss."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

Red shook her head. "No, you're fine. Like I said, I don't even remember them." But Harley noticed her lips were pursed, an obvious sign that she was agitated. She was more upset than she was letting on.

Such a sad, interesting, life. What kind of affect would that sort of thing have on someone, she thought to herself.

"Where did you grow up then? If you don't mind me asking."

"Hm? Oh, no, that's OK... It's history. I don't really remember anything before the age of five. By then I was living on the streets, eating whatever I could find. Scavenging." said Red. Her voice tilted down at the end.

Harley felt like her eyes would pop out of her skull. "You lived on the streets?" she nearly screeched.

"Hey, hey, not so loud." she whispered, motioning with her hand to be quiet. Red glanced behind her at the doorway. When she turned back, Harley got a glimpse of something red glowing in the light at the corner of her mouth. But then Red was facing her again, and her features were shaded by shadows once more.

"Sorry, Red, but... I mean... how? How did you survive on the streets for so long? Alone for that matter."

The small woman once again looked down at her hands. This time, Harley realized, in shame. She watched as Red wrung her fingers . "I was a pretty good fighter and if I couldn't fight I could always run. But..." She trailed off, biting her bottom lip. "But there was always... always the option of s-selling my..." She broke off with a hiccough. Harley saw that tears were forming in her eyes and her heart went out to the other woman. What a horrible way to grow up.

"Don't say another word. Oh, Red." She patted her hand affectionately. "Don't worry, we won't talk about it anymore."


She could have laughed at how easily Harley fell for her act. It was surprisingly fun tricking the blonde into forgiving her. And she had to forgive her. Her constant bickering would get old. The fact that the Joker had found their spat funny, and would most likely be disappointed that he wouldn't be able to enjoy it anymore, was just a bonus. She bit her lip harder, causing more tears to fall and Harley to coo comfort. Biting her lip also stopped her from smiling. It was just too funny. Such a funny situation period.

Harley rubbed Alice's arm through her jacket, looking at her apologetically. No doubt she blamed herself for investigating too far.

The blonde confirmed her thoughts. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm so sorry. Let's change the subject." Alice nodded her head pathetically, sniffing. "I, um, I worked at Arkham, you know."

Her stomach quivered and she twitched slightly at the feeling. Harley didn't notice. Her hand strayed to her abdomen.

"I was a psychiatrist. I only had just started when the Mistah Jay's case was given to me. It was so interesting there, at Arkham. I mean it. All the different..." Alice's attention wavered away from her voice.

Her stomach positively trembled. Hot fire shot through her veins, scorching her nerves and leaving them tingling. She twitched again. Alice did not like that feeling. She stopped the blonde before she could go any farther. Placing her clammy hands on the table, she stood up, silencing Harley and her talk of Arkham... An icy, wet sweat broke out on her back at the thought of the asylum.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Harley, but I think I need to get some... sleep. I'm feeling very tired all of a sudden." she said, turning around to head toward the door. It was then that she realized how lightheaded she was. She grabbed ahold of her chair for support. Not now, not now, she thought to herself. No, no, no...

"Are you alight, Red?" Harley asked. Alice opened her eyes slowly, not having realized she had closed them. She found that Harley had moved from her sitting position and now was standing right in front of her. She looked worried and brought a hand up to her forehead. Her worry increased. "You're ice cold. Are you feeling al-" Her voice stopped abruptly, her eyes glued to the side Alice's mouth. "You've got... you've smeared your make-up...." Her voice lost it's clarity, whether it was her own doing, or the ringing in Alice's ears.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of her languor, blinking rapidly. If only Harley would stop talking, maybe she could think straight enough to clear her head completely. The taller woman's high-pitched words melded into each other, tauntingly. Confusing Alice more and more. She tried to tell Harley to be quiet, but her words were lost before she spoke them. The ground shifted, pitching the room into a wild spin. Alice dizzily reached out to take hold of Harley, trying to stay on her feet.

It was no use. Harley spun with the room as well and Alice grabbed onto thin air, misjudging the blonde's position by mere inches. She fell forward onto her knees, bringing her chair down with her. The sound of the metal of the folding chair hitting the old wood floor came muted to her ringing ears.

This wasn't happening. Not now, of all times. She needed to get ahold of herself. She was losing her grip on reality, the boards of the floor flowing into strange shapes. She fought to keep her eyes open. She heard a muffled yell. Harley was calling the Joker no doubt. That thought alone triggered something in her mind, but it was too disorganized to place the emotion. She looked up as heavy footsteps approached and realized that she had fallen completely on the floor now. Laying on her back, she stared up into two dark brown pits.

Black pits. Black, black, black...

"Damnit... Harley..." was the last thing that escaped her lips. The words came out in puffs of breath so soft that only the man carrying her heard them. She knew no more, but darkness.


I think this chapter may have surprised me as much as you. I had planned on going a completely different route with this. But thanks to my father's keen observation skills, he got me thinking. Although this doesn't exactly fix the problem he brought up... it's a hell of a lot more interesting. To me at least. I'd like to hear what you all have to say on it. I hope I didn't sound too stupid with all the black, black, black's. If you like this chapter, and this story, I'd really appreciate it if you would go and check out the poll on my profile. Yes, I know I didn't have it up before. I didn't realize that I had to tell it to put it up there. Psh. Internet. Thanks for reading all, I'll be back as soon as I can!

(This has been revised in the briefest of terms.)