Jonathan Crane was blushing. He pushed his glasses up as they began to slide down the bridge of his nose. He paced around the library until he found her. She was beautiful. He watched the brown-haired angel from behind an old copy of some psychological book. She watched him from behind a book about Botany, the study of plants. She was wearing a tight dark green sleeveless turtleneck sweater, a light brown pencil skirt, and black strappy heels. She had pearl studs in her ears and her thick luscious hair was held up in a high ponytail. He couldn't stop staring. Neither could she.

As soon as she stood up and glanced over at him, he turned back to the book. Began to sweat as he heard her footsteps near.

"Hello again," she smiled nervously, holding the thick book to hide her stomach.

"I'm… sorry?" He pretended not to remember her name, though in his mind it repeated like a broken record.

"Oh," she laughed, "we met last time…" she studied his face for any sort of recognition. "Pamela Isley…"

"Ah, yes. The Botanist? Correct?"

Pamela Isley roamed the streets dressed to impress. Forest green dress, instead of heels she sported s pair of dark brown knee-length with a two inch heel and pointed toe.

She looked amazing, to say the least.

She walked into a tavern on the outskirts of Gotham, hoping to stir up some trouble. Pamela had done her hair that day just for the occasion. Now instead of a bushy mass that reached to her hips, it was thinned, straightened, layered, and cut beautifully; leaving her with wispy locks that reached the middle of her back.

There was no doubting how attractive she was. Even during the short walk from the doorway to the counter she received four whistles, a slap to the bottom, and three unmoving stares.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked seductively, eyes trailing to her almost fully exposed breasts, a smile left to linger on his rough lips. Pamela smirked, flipping her hair.

"Screwdriver," she whispered, turning her head slightly, setting her elbows on the counter and resting her chin in the palms of her hands.

"Right away," he said, giving a not-so-friendly smile as he threw a stained towel over his shoulder and walked to gather the ingredients, the glasses, himself. As soon as he left she spun around on the bar stool and eyed the other customers. That's when she spotted him, yet he seemed to have had his eyes onher the entire time. "I knew you'd come back doll face," he snickered, bringing his shot glass to his lips and throwing his head back.

"All talk, no action, aren't you?"

"You're going to be put away in the slammer for a long time."

The bartender walked over with her drink and she paid him quickly; taking a sip, she glided over to the man to whom she had been talking.

"That's what the last one said," she stated with a sigh and sat in the chair across from him.

Almost instantly five men appeared behind her, "Naw, this one's getting a nice padded room." the cop who had slapped her butt in the way in remarked.

"The lat one," the man she sat across from began, taking a second swig of tequila, " did not have back up, or a warrant." One of the cops who had whistled busted out a pair of handcuffs. Pamela scoffed and put her hand up to distance herself from him, "Hold up Romeo, Ivy's not into that," she spat bitterly.

She picked up her glass and turned to the first man, "I'll go quietly this time," she took a long gulp.

"After I've finished my drink."

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." Harley croaked, wearing a neck brace. The song was wrong in every single way imaginable, but it was the only one she could think of that made her smile.

"Honey, I love you," she liked to imagine him whispering those words to her late at night.

It had been a week since she had been attacked in her sleep. One week since someone had tried to recreate an Ice Age in her bedroom. One week since Batman had been seen on the city's streets.

Harley could feel her vocal cords ripping to shreds, "You make me happy,"

She cried. "When skies are gray."

All hope seemed lost. She missed being Harleen Quinzel.

"Harleen," her mother spoke softly from the dining room table. "Please. You're bringing everyone down."

Harley's father was off at work and her younger sister was at school. "You'll never know dear, how much I..." she shifted her body to peer at her mother from the couch. "How much I... love... you." She would never stop. Not for this bitter old bat.

"Harleen Quinzel, stop it!" Her mother shouted and Harley stood up, walking into her room and slammed the door shut behind her. It was still pretty much soaked, but Harley had set up a few heaters in the hopes of drying up some of the moisture. She figured it was better than the cold frostbitten weather outside.

Harley got on her knees and sat before her dresser, sliding it open only slightly, reaching in to retrieve the gun.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

It has been a VERY long time since i've posted on this story, and while I re-read this one, It's no where near as good as I thought it had been at the time. But, to keep in it in sync with the rest of the story, I'm leaving it as is.