Okay, I apologise for the slow update. Hope you like this chapter anyway though!


Chapter Nine, Ways and Means

Maybe I can do it
If I put my back into it
I can leave you if I wanted
But there's nowhere else that I can go

Maybe I won't suffer
If I find a way to love here
I'd be lying to myself
But there is no way out that I can see
Snow Patrol


Harleen felt roughly like her insides were trying to shred their way into outside existence. Her nerves were stretched as tight as the wires on a suspension bridge and unlike those giant, steel structures, she felt like she could snap at any moment.

'Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact you're about to break dozens of laws all at once, would it?' That damn voice was back again, snidely poking at her mentally.

"Shut up!" She whined, putting everything she was going to need into her bag. Car keys, cash, Bus Pass, kitchen knife, screwdriver and other assorted tools for the more technical side of things…

"Shit!" Harleen exclaimed suddenly. She just realised she'd forgotten something…Something rather crucial. With a wince, she took about twenty dollars of the money in the bag out and put it in her pocket. Then, she took one last look around her apartment (and fair enough too…There was every chance she wouldn't see it again), before heading out the door.

Hopefully the party shop would still be open at this time of the night. Her life may or may not have been depending on it.


"You're kidding right?"

Gordon knew his investigation was an unusual once and perhaps rather inappropriate sounding considering the rather dire nature of the Joker. However, he couldn't help the way this investigation's only lead was a stationary item and all subsequent probing was being fed to them by a vigilante…

"No actually." He replied to Liao, "I am using the Intel Batman supplies."

Liao clicked his tongue and shot Gordon a look that was part admiring and part disbelieving, as if he accepted Gordon's daring, but saw only disaster to reward it.

"Garcia will tear your head off when he finds out."

"Well, I was actually working on the basis 'if he finds out'." Gordon said warily, eyeing Liao's reaction.

"Holy…" Liao shook his head and now gave Gordon a look that quite clearly questioned his sanity. "You're insane. Tolerably so perhaps, but I have to say, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for any money."

"So you're not tempted to, uh, turn me in?"

Liao's lips twitched as he realised he was being tested.

"Of course not," He replied in amusement, "My youngest has posters and drawings of Batman all over his walls…I would be stir fried and eaten for dinner if he found out I'd tried to arrest Batman."

Gordon smiled and leant back in his seat whilst Liao leant forward in his.

"So, I was just given a list of likely names." Gordon began, "Batman says he's targeting the main suspect personally, but he's given us all the prosecuting material so that we can make the actual arrest and have it stick in court."

"So what are we doing in the mean time?"

"Before, he mentioned he knew someone who owned one of these pens," Gordon gestured to where he'd called up a picture on his computer. "I want to know which of Gotham's big faces has a personal relationship with one of the most wanted men in the city."

Only now did something like unhappiness cross the detective's face. Gordon knew why: Batman was trusting them, not only with his information, but also with his safety and existence. It felt wrong to try and go behind his back to find out what he was doing when he wasn't saving Gotham or tracking down assassins.

"I know." Gordon said quickly, trying to look sympathetic to his friend's discomfort, "But I know this is important. What if, God forbid, something was to happen to the Batman? If the only way to save him was, I don't know, to use information only a friend would have?"

Liao still didn't look one hundred percent convinced, but he shrugged anyway and got on with it.

"So, we need to find a likely name in this list…" He said thoughtfully, "Hmm. What sort of criteria are we using to reference names?"

"Well, income first of all." Gordon said slowly, "Whoever Batman's friend is, I get the feeling they're supplying him with a lot of cold hard currency. So, I'd be on the look out for any names who earn enough to supply a vigilante and still be able to maintain their lifestyle."

Liao pulled out a notebook and pen and made a note of that.

"Okay, income…What's next?"

"Social prominence." Gordon was firm in this point. "Batman's demonstrated a pretty close attachment to the rich and famous of Gotham. Whoever's mingling with him needs to be pretty high up on the social pecking order. I'm talking names from the Gotham Times social pages."

Liao suddenly put his notebook down and gave Gordon a strange look, like he'd suddenly seen a ghost or some other mythological creature. Gordon frowned at him, perplexed.

"What?"

Liao swallowed and licked his lips. Gordon didn't like the gesture; it reminded him of the Joker too much. Maybe, that was why the Joker did it: he was constantly in the grip of a self-created epiphany.

"You know, there's really only one person on the list that matches those criteria." Liao said quietly in an almost frightened voice. "Someone who…Might not just be helping Batman, but might be Batman."

Gordon felt something akin to simultaneous shock and excitement stir within him. He thought it to be like the first time he ever saw a lion in the zoo: it was something terrifying, but vaguely exhilarating to be able to see this symbol of might, but on a much more personal scale.

"Who?"

Liao took a shuddering breath in and did his best to meet his boss' eyes.

"Bruce Wayne." He said. "The playboy."

Gordon found he could only say one thing.

"Shit."


"Hello, Arkham Asylum, Patricia speaking."

Bruce paused, checking for what felt like the millionth time to be sure he wanted to go through with this. He'd reached for the phone a few times, only to retreat at the last moment as new fears and doubts sprung to mind.

"Hello, this Bruce Wayne." He said slowly, wondering how the receptionist would react.

She handled the surprise surprisingly well, better then he'd expected. True, she seemed speechless for a moment, but when her voice finally came, it was remarkably stable.

"Hello Mister Wayne, what can I do for you today?"

"I need to speak with whoever's manages appointments and the like." Bruce knew how suspicious, bizarre and just utterly weird this must sound. He couldn't help it though, this had to be done.

"Oh, that would mean Director Banks most probably." Patricia did sound a little perplexed, but she was a true professional, managing all manner of surprises with a cool and level head. "He's just down the other end of the building right now and-"

And that's when something a little odd happened. Bruce heard something like a mix between a person falling over and a door being slammed through the line and suddenly heard Patricia's voice talking to someone else, presumably a person in her office.

"Harleen! What are you…?"

A longer pause, Bruce assumed she was listening to what this 'Harleen', this troublesome intern psychoanalyst, was saying.

"Oh…" Patricia's voice was shaky, but still resolute, "Well, ok."

"Patrcia?" Bruce interceded here, a little annoyed at being promptly forgotten about. "Are you still there?"

"Oh, sorry." Patricia sounded startled. She really had forgotten he was on the line. "I was just talking to a colleague of mine."

"That's alright," Bruce sighed, already regretting ever making this call. "So, I need to make an appointment with Director Banks. Can you put me through to him please?"

"I'm sorry, I'm a little busy at the moment." Patricia suddenly sounded scared and that was when Bruce's alarm bells started ringing, "I'll get back to you in a-"

Dial tone.

For a minute, Bruce just stared at his cell phone, wondering what the hell had just happened. Then, logic and the colder, more detached part of his mind took over.

Something was happening in Arkham Asylum. Patricia had sounded frightened. Harleen was involved. Arkham was full of homicidal lunatics.

All in all, not a good scenario.

Bruce quickly stood and strode out into the informal living room that Alfred usually spent his time in when he wasn't doing something for Bruce.

"Alfred, I need to go out to Arkham."

Alfred heard the determination and grim quality in his employer's voice straight away. He got out of the armchair he'd been sitting in.

"Do you need a driver?" He asked, wondering what was happening.

"No," Bruce shook his head. "I'm going on my own. I need you to keep an eye on the news and call me if anything comes up whilst I'm gone. I'm not sure, but I think something might be about to happen."

Alfred nodded.

"Be careful Master Wayne."

Bruce nodded and grabbed a nearby jacket.

"Hopefully I won't need to."


"Why didn't we see it before Cheng?" Gordon demanded as he raced through Gotham traffic towards Bruce's apartment. "It's so obvious."

"We were busty trying to stop corruption, to save the city," Liao replied, holding onto his seat as they took a sharp corner at nearly double the posted speed limit.

"But still." Gordon looked anguished. "This is…We should've known."

"It certainly would have helped things," Liao agreed dryly, ignoring the way a red Ford nearly hit them as it skidded to avoid being sideswiped, "To be able to work alongside him on a much closer level."

Gordon just shook his head and slammed on the brakes. They were at the apartment. Together, the pair hurried inside. They blatantly disregarded the receptionist (much to her indignation) and caught the elevator to the penthouse.

Standing outside Bruce's front door, Gordon took a bracing breath in. Then, he knocked. Firmly and authoritatively, but not obnoxiously.

An elderly man answered the door, brows shooting up as he regarded the two Detective and Police Commissioner before him.

"Can I help you?"

Gordon decided being direct would be the best approach.

"We know who Bruce is." He said, "We don't want to cause him any trouble, but we need to speak to him now."


It had started raining. It was an obstacle come too late though, Bruce was already at Arkham. He sprinted from his car to cover, using a key fob to lock the Veyron behind him.

To his surprise however, the front doors' electronic locks were engaged. Bruce thought he could hear annoyed yelling from inside. Experimentally, he rapped on the doors. There was no answer though and it was too dark inside to see any people.

Now beginning to grow seriously concerned, Bruce turned to the nearby woods. He had a secret 'mini Batcave' inside there. Considering the number of adversaries he'd generated through the Asylum, it'd seemed a prudent decision to have a suit and set of resources available nearby.

He just wished he hadn't needed to.


Harleen Quinzel was terrified. Harley Quinn, however, was excited. Both of them knew what they were doing was dangerous though, so they proceeded down the pitch black corridors with caution.

After reading through the poster, it'd been easy enough to come up with a plan. First of all, she'd gone at the Asylum's central fuse box with a wrench, utterly destroying the lights system. Even the backup generators were destroyed. As it'd turned out, it'd been quite…fun immersing herself in such utter chaos and wanton destruction.

Then, Harley (and it had been Harley at this point. Harleen would have been too scared) had hurried to where Patricia was on the phone. She burst in, mouthing off about the blackout and how there was a possible security problem and that she'd needed to hang up on whomever she was speaking to. When Patricia had done that, Harley promptly hit her over the head with the wrench, knocking her out cold. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Even bludgeoning her ex-friend on the head had its merits these days.

And now she was creeping along the corridors in a blackness darker then midnight with a bag full of goodies both from home and some she'd picked up on the way here.

Every now and then, she'd have to hide as a guard or orderly raced by, some brandishing a flashlight, some without. It wasn't overly difficult going; everyone was panicking over the blackout. After the last breakout, everyone had massive fears of patients escaping.

Harley giggled, thinking that a mass breakout was the last thing they should be worrying about considering what she was planning.

But then, she arrived at her destination and her laughter promptly died in her throat unborn. The solid door stared at her blankly, the small plexiglass window encouraging a peek. On her tiptoes, Harley did just that.

The cell was empty, or at least, she couldn't see anyone in the bed or near the door which was all she could see. Even that was indistinct due to the darkness. There was nothing for it, she'd have to go in.

Swiping her ID card, Harley let herself into the Joker's cell.

She just had time to register the sound of her own frantic heart before suddenly, without warning; a figure loomed out of the dark and pinned her against the wall. Before she could scream or make so much as a single sound, a hand was clamped over her mouth.

"Don't say a, uh, word." The Joker's breath smelt of nothing to her surprise. No expected odours of decay and filth, only a hot, dry air on her face. Her wince was one of surprise rather then revolt. "Don't."

Then, something tugged at her plastic ID badge. There was a snapping sound in the dark and suddenly, a sharp, jagged edge was at her throat. The Joker's face leered at her through the shadows like a Jack O Lantern's, trying to identify her through the dark.

Frightened she would have her throat slit before she could reveal her purpose here, Harley managed to dislodge the hand covering her hand and call out.

"Don't hurt me!" She squealed, "It's me, I'm here to help!"

And then, realisation dawned on the Joker's features. Harley wasn't certain, but she thought she saw a sadistic, terrible smile cross his face. Certainly there was a quiet giggle. She wasn't sure whether or not that boded well for her. He was unpredictable, a smile could be death and delight all at once.

"Harleen Quinzel," He mocked her in a near whisper. His words seemed to hiss through the air like snakes. "Harrrleen."

"No." She whispered back, an odd intensity filling her with her words. It was almost like taking the final plunge over some invisible yet entirely corporeal boundary within her tangled, confused mind. "Harley. Harley Quinn."

And now a loud laugh, delighted and almost childlike. Admittedly, not attractive in the way of a child, but full of the same sheer delight and bewitching bliss.

"Harley Quinn! The clown girl… My little harlequin toy." The Joker giggled. "You're helping…"

A pause and then a hand pinched her face, gripped her chin and drew it close to his. Harley saw the smile for certain now: feral and giving a chilling warning against playing with him. He was the one who played with her, not the other way around. If she wanted to survive, it had to be that way.

"How?" He snarled, eyes gleaming in the dark like shadowed mirrors.

"I b-brought a bag." Harley stuttered, shrugging the knapsack from her shoulder. "There's k-keys to my car and money and…"

"Annnddd?" He pressed her, running the sharp edge of the snapped ID badge against her lips teasingly. The contact of the sharp edge of his coarse yet agile fingers caused her to shiver and the hairs sprung up on her arms.

"And…And face paints." She said it so quietly she wasn't sure he heard. "They're all in my bag."

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, footsteps and shouting started. It sounded like they were coming towards the cell the Joker and Harley were in.

"Good job Harley," The Joker giggled at her, removing the sharp edge. "Love your work. You, uh, you just made it through this time."

Harley sighed in relief and a small smile flittered onto her face. She started to say something, but at that moment, The Joker grabbed her by the forearm and before she could struggle free, swung her round hard.

Harley just had time to see the wall rushing up to meet her before she smashed into it. She collapsed to the ground, starts chasing shadows across her vision. The Joker whispered something in her ear, but she didn't understand. She was too dizzy, too stunned.

Maybe it was something like, 'see you soon'. Harley didn't know. She passed out, sprawled like a broken doll on the ground.


Once he was in his suit, it was easy enough for Batman to break down the front doors to the Asylum. Hampered for a moment by the dark, he switched to the night vision filter in his mask. Everything was suddenly much brighter, albeit presented in a rather irritating shade of red.

Moving quickly, he saw reception desk. Patricia wasn't there, so he hurried to the front office. Again, the door was locked, so he broke it down.

To his shock, he saw Patricia lying on the ground, blood oozing slowly from some unidentified wound above her hairline. Although he didn't want to be distracted from his main task, Batman moved closer. She was breathing slowly, and her pulse was present.

Fine, she was fine. He hurried back out of the office and into the main part of the Asylum. Occasionally, a guard carrying a flashlight would run by, but it was easy to avoid them. But then, he saw someone ahead of him, creeping along the corridor in much the same way.

A woman carrying a backpack. Somehow, Batman knew this was Harleen Quinzel. He narrowed his eyes, wondering exactly what she was doing, trying to avoid being seen. He was just about to grab her from behind when suddenly; something flickered in the corner of his eyes.

He lashed out with his elbow. Spinning around and completing the move with a follow up kick, Batman saw he'd managed to catch someone who'd been trying to sneak up on him.

'God, how many people are there creeping around right now?!' A wild, errant thought flittered through his head, 'Lots of creeps creeping around…Not funny…'

He ignored that wayward thought and grabbed the person (on closer inspection, a man) by the shirtfront. He knew he must be scary, terrifying even, in the dark like this.

"What's going on?" He snarled.

"I don't know." To his surprise, the man didn't sound frightened so much as calm with a perplexed edge. "The lights, cameras and phones are all out. The patient's cells are still all locked though."

Then Batman recognised the face before him. Director Banks.

"Why were you following me?" He demanded, putting the man down.

Banks shrugged and straightened his shirt and tie.

"You're a wanted man wondering around in Arkham during a blackout. It's not the most normal of situations. Now, what are you doing here?"

Batman ignored the Director and looked around. Harleen had vanished from sight, too caught up in her business to hear the two of them fighting.

"Who are you looking for?" Banks squinted, trying to make out which direction Batman was looking in. "Did you see something?"

"Where did Harleen Quinzel go?" Batman whipped around, glaring at Banks, daring the shorter and thinner man to defy him. To be honest, the man's lack of fear or wariness for him irked him a little. Surely he wasn't getting used to be seen as a symbol of fear?

"I don't know, I didn't see her." Banks was lying, Batman could tell. "She's treating the Joker, maybe she-"

And that was what did it. A mention of the Joker. Banks trailed off, realising what he'd said. For a split second, panic raced through the man's eyes before calculating calm took over.

"No!" He shouted, eyes widening in an exaggerated motion of distress. "She's going to get herself killed!"

Before Batman could say or do anything, Banks took of running down the corridor towards the Joker's cell. Batman followed, determined to sort all of this confusion out there and then.


"Why was he coming here?" Gordon demanded as they pulled up outside Arkham Asylum. There was about a dozen cars altogether, a mass of squealing brakes, wailing sirens and flashing lights.

"I'm not sure." Alfred said tersely, eyeing the Asylum warily, "He didn't say anything but that he thought something was about to happen. He said to watch the news just in case and call him."

"There's his car." Gordon noted as they climbed out of the police car, "He's not in it."

"Commissioner!" A uniformed officer called from a few metres away. "The front doors have been broken open!"

Gordon felt dread and panic settle within his bones. Bruce was right: something was going to happen, he could feel it.

"Get a team in there now!"


The Joker heard the footsteps rapidly approaching. He narrowed his eyes, restraining an urge to hiss his dislike of the entire situation. Instead, he moved to a nearby THTutility closet and hid in there, keeping the door slightly open so he could watch the proceedings.

As he did that, two figures burst into sight. The Joker knew them both, but he only had eyes for one of B

Batman. Batsy. His favourite plaything. Here. Already. Hmm, not exactly good…Amusing yes, helpful no. Batman, man with a plan. All his frustration, anger and amusement scattered his already chaotic thoughts into downward spirals. Everything came up in fractured shards before being swallowed into the abyss once more.

Fortunately for the Joker however, Batman headed straight into his cell. He saw Harleen's unconscious figure straight away and snapped something at Banks. Banks replied by shouting out for help into the corridor and then leaving the cell, looking around.

"Marrrshall." The Joker hissed so quietly the word was almost silent. He gestured to the man, wondering if he could even be seen in the dark.

Apparently so, Banks edged over, trepidation entering his eyes.

"What's going on?" He whispered, almost panicking, "Batman is just-"

The Joker lunged forward, grabbing the man by the throat and brandishing the makeshift knife he'd created from Harley's ID badge.

"Distract him." He snapped, "Obviously. Or I'll make the sentence here awaiting you look like, uh, look like you've died and gone to heaven!"

Banks nodded quickly and moved away as he was released. The Joker hurried away, just in time to hear Banks shouting behind him.

"The Joker! He's running for the main entrance!"

The Joker gave a quietly, cruelly amused laugh before continuing on his way to where he knew Harleen would have hidden her car.


Gordon left Alfred with a few other officers and quickly followed the team into the Asylum. Patricia was just being dragged out of the reception office, only just conscious, when there was a shout from someone further along the building.

"The Joker!" He's running for the main entrance!"

The response was immediate and expected. Everyone's faces paled and all around, firearms were ripped from holsters and pointed into the maw of the darkness.

Just then, a figure came rushing out of the dark. Gordon saw who it was, opened his mouth to scream out an order and-

Bang!

"Stop!"

It all happened at once. Gordon screamed out for his men to stop just as Banks came rushing out from the dark, only to be shot once in the abdomen. Patricia screamed loudly, startling a few people. Her hoarse, horrified cry leant the entire scenario a ghoulish, gory air. The sound her horror reverberated through the air, as powerful as a shockwave.

Gordon didn't react, staring at Banks through widened eyes. The man stumbled forward a step before an expression of surprise crossed his face. Then, he fell face first to the ground where blood began to pool around him in a metallic smelling, sticky puddle.

Somewhere to the left of him, the officer who'd shot Banks was stuttering and babbling out words of surprise and horror. He was lead away gently, obviously in shock. Gordon moved forward slowly, feeling like this was all a dream, a very bad dream. The other officers suddenly began to mutter and melt away as another, more recognisable figure appeared.

"What happened?" Batman's raspy voice seemed surprised if such a thing was possible. His figure emerged from the shadows like a phantom rising from the grave. "Did he have a weapon? I thought we agreed on a legal prosecution…"

"It was an accident." Gordon said and then gave a gasp as he looked down at his feet. "He's still alive!"

Marshall Banks spluttered and dark, almost black blood trickled in a grotesque trail from the corner of his mouth. Gordon and Batman propped him up a little, knowing he had maybe minutes left.

"Marshall," Gordon knew this man had done bad, terrible things, but he couldn't help but feel a pity for the man. To die so young with so much potential…It was a horrible waste. "Marshall, its Commissioner Gordon. Can you answer a question for me?"

Banks nodded sightlessly, coughing weakly. Blood splattered against Gordon's supportive arm and shirt, but he ignored it.

"Did you… Were you the Joker's assassin?"

Marshall gave a wheezy, damp sounding laugh full of bitterness.

"You're…All so, so shortsi…sighted. You don't see him for the…" He had to stop to swallow a mouthful of blood, "For what he is…He's a force of n-nature, you can't confine that, it's not…He's doing what he's supposed to do now."

Gordon felt his heart sink and a horrible desperation fill him.

"Marshall… Did you release the Joker?"

Gordon could only watch as Marshall Banks died laughing before him. Then, he looked up to see Batman walking away, obviously in the grip of his own hell spawning from the knowledge the Joker had escaped Arkham Asylum.

"We'll get him." Gordon called out, aware from the way his words echoed in the silence that it was just them now, everyone else had left. "We'll catch him."

Batman didn't respond, continuing to walk away. So, Gordon took a chance. It was the only thing he could think of. And that was a measure of how grim everything had become.

"Bruce!" He called out, clenching his eyes shut in regret for a moment. It'd come to this: tearing Gotham's last saviour's mask away with brutal claws and throwing it to the wind.

Batman seemed to twitch and then he spun around furiously, a wild expression on his face.

"I'm not-"

"Yes you are." Gordon shook his head sharply, opening his eyes once more. "Look, I'm not some sleazy reporter, looking for sensationalist rubbish to divulge to Gotham's public. It's me, Gordon, you trust me. Or at least, you should. Bruce, just listen to me."

Batman, or rather, Bruce, stood silently looking at Gordon with hard eyes. It seemed he couldn't quite decide whether to be more angry that his identity was revealed, or curious as to what Gordon had to say to him.

"We'll get him." Gordon said quietly, seeing the anger and fear of the Joker in the caped crusader's expression, "You know we will…We got him before and we can do it again."

"We got him last time because he made mistakes," Bruce said, dropping his disguise voice, "He won't make them again, you know he won't. Besides, there's another element this time. One we don't understand."

"What?"

Bruce looked down the hall to where paramedics were converging on the Joker's cell.

"Harleen Quinzel."

Gordon watched as the unconscious intern was wheeled away on a stretcher, face bloodied and bruised. He thought that perhaps she was lucky to pass through the scene unknowingly, not having to see the despair and horror before her. He also thought it was selfish of her, to do so and leave everyone else to bear the burden of death and blood.

"You think she's involved?"

"Let's go find out."


Harley was taken to Gotham General (she was lucky to go there. The hospital had become the city's best after being reconstructed and renovated) where she was in some pain, but really not too badly injured. The Joker had chipped one of her teeth, nearly broken her nose and given her the mother of all black eyes, but otherwise left her unharmed. The only injury likely to remain was an odd laceration running down her arm. Apparently, when the Joker had grabbed her forearm, he'd used the same hand that held his makeshift knife to do so.

What was really the worst part of it all was what she woke up to.

Commissioner Gordon and…

Dear sweet god, and Batman. The caped crusader was in her hospital room.

'Oh god, oh god, oh god!' She inwardly panicked, awash in her own guilt and fear and anxiety.

"Miss Quinzel." Gordon had had a sympathetic look to his face last time he'd spoken to her. That was lost to a hard, questioning expression now. "We need to speak with you."

"Uh, w-what about?" Harley carefully arranged a frightened, bewildered expression on her face.

Gordon glanced briefly at Batman and Harley felt an unexpected spurt of dislike and terror at the sight of the caped crusader. It wasn't a sensation she could explain, she just knew the man put her on edge.

"We need to talk to you about…about the Joker."

"Oh." Harley frowned in polite confusion, "I…You could have made an appointment for a week's time."

"Well, I'm afraid that's no longer an option." Gordon said grimly, "So I'm going to have to ask you straight out, do you know where the Joker has gone?"

Harley made sure her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly.

"But…" She put her hands up to her mouth in horror, "You mean… he escaped?"

Another glance exchanged between Batman and Gordon. This time she saw disbelief in their expressions.

"Harleen-"

That irritated her.

"Harley…Harley Quinn."

Gordon looked taken aback for a moment. He quickly regained his composure however and looked at her with hard eyes.

"Harley, you were found in the Joker's cell. Care to explain that?"

"I d-don't…" Harley paused, injecting a strained, on-the-verge-of-tears note into her voice, "Oh my god… I d-don't… I can't remember!"

'Excellent girl, lie like you've never lied before!'

"Pardon?"

Harley pretended to begin panicking.

"I…I remember hearing something s-strange from his cell, but after t-that…Oh my god…I can't remember what happened!"

Her façade of hysteria must have been working because Gordon looked at her worriedly before making placating gestures with his hands.

"It's okay, we'll sort that out," He said firmly, "Now, I need you to answer a few more questions. Are you up to that?"

"O-okay." Harley looked over Gordon's shoulder quickly at Batman. He returned her stare with fathomless, indecipherable eyes. She shuddered and looked back at the Commissioner.

"How did the Joker behave prior to his escape?" He asked, looking like a man desperate for some shred of hope, some small morsel of light.

"I don't know." Harley looked down, focussing briefly at the white, hospital blanket covering her legs. "The Joker is… Well, how you describe the indescribable? He was…is utterly unpredictable."

"So, would you say the therapy sessions you administered were effective or not?"

Harley looked up sharply, glowering at Gordon abruptly.

"I can't say," She snapped, "Don't you understand? No one can…can possibly fathom the workings of the Joker's mind except himself. So I don't know if I had any effect on him! I really hope I did, but honestly…"

Gordon's brows had risen to a point level with his hairline, but genuine curiosity glimmered in his eyes.

"But honestly?"

"I don't think so." Tears were suddenly sparkling in Harley's bright blue eyes, giving them the effect of shimmering blue gems rimmed with thick lashes, "The Joker does what he wants, feels what he wants…"

"For someone whose relationship was strictly professional, you seem to harbour an awful lot of emotion for the Joker." Gordon said, testing the waters.

Harley gave him a haughty, hostile glare.

"When you spend so much time with someone you start to make connections with them. You can't help but start to feel some sort of…of bond with them!"

This one drew narrowed eyes and wary suspicion from both Gordon and Batman.

"To what extent would you say your bond existed with the Joker?"

Harley shook her head, as if trying to shake off a fly.

"No, you don't get it. It's not like, well, not like you'd invite them out for coffee or anything…It's more like, your entire professional interest becomes engulfed in this one person, they become a mystery, an intrigue, that you'd give anything to solve. I suppose it would be the same for a detective and a particularly complicated case?"

Gordon looked less then happy with the connection drawn between Harley's suspicious behaviour and the work of a detective, but he let it go without saying anything.

"Perhaps." He allowed, "So, you can not give us anything to track the Joker down?"

Harley shrugged, trying not to let her frustration and dislike her for current predicament show in her eyes or facial expression.

"I don't think so…" She thought about it, realising that if she appeared deliberately unhelpful, they would continue to pester her, "Well, actually, maybe there is something I can suggest… The Joker carves attention and infamy. He will not keep low for too long; you can expect a reappearance from him within weeks, if not days, so I'd be prepared for that. You can guarantee he will make it as dramatic and chaotic as possible."

"That's all?" Gordon looked disappointed, as if he'd been expecting the answers to all his problems to come spilling from Harley's mouth, "Nothing else?"

Harley looked contrite and hung her head.

"If I think of anything else, I will tell you." She replied, not looking up.

Although she couldn't see it, Harley heard Gordon leave the room, closing the door behind him. Harley breathed a sigh of relief and slowly, looked back up.

And promptly bit back a frightened squeal. She'd forgotten about Batman; he hadn't left with Commissioner Gordon. He stood before her now, a menacing look in his eyes. They glinted like blades from behind the mask he wore.

"What do you want?" Harley demanded shrilly, shrinking back in her bed. She pulled her legs up against her chest, the blanket pooling around her feet.

Batman surveyed her coldly for a long moment, making Harley feel as if she were choking on thick, enveloping silence. Then, he spoke.

"Be careful of what you say to Gordon, Quinn." He said grimly, "You can only tread such a thin line of distinction between truths and lie for so long before you're likely to fall."

Harley pretended to be indignant, even though her inner voice was whispering that falsehoods and acting would likely prove in vain against the Batman, that she was fighting something far beyond her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said stiffly, trying to look as cold as him. "I told you everything and I never lied about anything."

Batman gave her an icy smile that quite clearly mocked her pathetic denials.

"I'm sure." He said, "But just know this: I'll be watching you Quinn, and if Gordon has any sense, he will be too."

"Are you threatening me?" Harley demanded, thinking (praying?) that the man would leave her alone if she became offensive enough. It was all she wanted, just a moment of blessed solitude.

"No, I'm politely warning you." Batman said, a small amount of almost sadistic amusement entering his raspy voice as he strode towards the room's only window. He pulled it open and half levered himself through it, "And if that fails, then yes, I'll be threatening you."

And then, without anything else further, Batman seemed to just drop out of the window. Giving a shocked yelp, Harley rushed over to the window and looked down. She saw no crumpled body on the ground and heard no horrified passer-bys shouting. There was no sign that a fully grown man, costumed as a six foot, flying rodent, had just dropped from a window seven storeys up.

Beginning to wonder if she was going mad,

Haha, what a delightfully amusing notion Harley Dear…

Harley backed away from the window, shaking and pale. Looking around in no small amount of terror, she stumbled back to her hospital bed and didn't move from there for the rest of the evening.


"Marshall Banks…" Doctor Vahns shook his head sadly, "I never would have suspected him."

"I guess that was the point." Gordon said awkwardly. He'd never quite gotten the knack of delivering bad news to people. It'd made some aspects of his career difficult and less then pleasant, but that was the way of the world: everyone had to do something they didn't want to sometimes. "He was in too good a position for the Joker to pass up on…"

"Yes," Vahns said thoughtfully, "Access to the patients, to Harleen, to the Joker… Marshall was the man everyone in Arkham trusted…I don't know how I'm going to explain this to everyone."

Gordon resisted the urge to share his grumpy response with the doctor. He honestly didn't give a flying monkey's right ass cheek about what Vahns told the rest of the Asylum's staff.

"Well, I'm sure you'll find the words." Gordon said stiffly before turning back to more important matters, "Now, I need to ask you a few questions."

Well, if there was anything to be said about all of the Arkham Asylum staff, it was that none of them ever seemed to display any enthusiasm or penchant even for questions. In fact, Gordon had started to notice that as soon as he mentioned the possibility of any sort of questions, most of Arkham's staff tended to clamp their mouths shut pretty fast and give you a good ole dose of the evil eye. He was beginning to think they should patent the expression.

"What sort of questions?" Vahns asked slowly, eyeing the Commissioner suspiciously, "I have to warn you, anything of a sensitive nature and I have every right to demand legal counsel and-"

"Relax Victor-"

"Director Vahns," The Doctor hissed. "Please address me formally!"

"Director Vahns." Gordon allowed, patience for the man before him quickly running out, "you can relax. I have no intention of trying to incriminate you for anything…I just need to try and gather any information that may lead to the recapture of the Joker."

"Alright." Vahns didn't seem overly placated by the Commissioner's logic, but he could hardly object to a process that might assist in getting the Joker back behind bars before he did anything too big. "What sort of questions?"

"Why haven't you been at the Asylum lately?" Gordon demanded, "From what little information we have, it seems like staff were running their own shows without you there…"

"What?" Vahns seemed at a loss for words, "But that's not protocol! There's an established chain of command for when I'm away…"

"Well, protocol certainly wasn't followed this time," Gordon replied bluntly, "And quite frankly, I don't think it's a recent thing…Tell me Vahns, how did Harley Quinn end up as the Joker's main therapist?"

"Harley…Who?"

Gordon shook himself and mentally delivered a strict reprimand.

"Pardon me…Harleen Quinzel. She's rather fond of her new nickname."

Vahns gave Gordon an incredulous look, ignoring the highly offensive previous use of his surname as a title.

"But… She loathes that name. Hates it. She nearly went psychotic when the Joker-"

"Never mind." Gordon shook his head sharply, deciding that if the Joker was so involved in all of this, he'd better start at the beginning and work his way from there, "Just answer my question."

"Harleen wasn't assigned the Joker's case; she unofficially took it over through the course of a linked Arkham investigation." Vahns paused, thinking about the issue himself, "She seemed confident in her abilities to deal with the Joker, so I guessed there could be no harm in allowing her a little time with him."

"She's an Intern!" Gordon was shocked, "She's barely past her college education! How could you possibly consider her competent for a case of the Joker's complexities! Actually, in all honesty, she shouldn't even be working in the high security ward yet!"

"Well, she managed to accelerate her passage through the normal training regime-"

"And how," Gordon interrupted suddenly, suspicion and anger abruptly gleaming unmasked in his hard eyes, "Exactly did she do that? My guess is she found herself a position as your… hmm, personal assistant…"

Vahns opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. The man was forced to shut his mouth once more and eye the Police Commissioner before him with barely muted smouldering fury.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you're speaking about."

"Really?" Gordon smiled icily, "And yet I think you do… Hmm, you're starting to look rather bad Vahns. I actually think that if you continue to prove uncooperative with my investigation, I might have to level corruption charges against you…"

There was a long, stifling pause. Gordon didn't back down however, knowing how close he was to cracking the man before him. If he could just start getting the real version of what'd been going on in Arkham, he knew he'd stand a better chance to capture the Joker.

Finally, Vahns stirred. Fear and frustration sparked to life in his beady little eyes and Gordon suddenly felt his triumph soured a little by irritation.

"I want my lawyer." Vahns declared stoutly before seating himself resolutely on the chair behind him. "Now."

"He's busy." Gordon replied sweetly before hauling Vahns out of his seat roughly. "And will be for awhile. Now tell me about Harleen Quinzel."


Well, maybe this wasn't the most exciting of all chapters, but I can promise you this: things are going to be getting a lot more action packed from this point forward. Here's just a few of the things you have to look forward to:

1) The Joker taking a couple dozen people hostage

2) Harley Quinn having a homicidal tantrum

3) A Harley/Joker moment

4) Gordon remembering exactly why he's always hated dogs

Anyway, can't wait to hear from you all!