Hey, I'm back! This chapter is special, guys. I actually didn't write it! I dedicate this to my awesome, great, amazing friend Skriva for volunteering to write this. Go check her out! Now! And leave reviews, for her if not me!
Harley glances in the rear view mirror at the dark figure lying curled on the dirty backseat.
Shit, if things weren't bad enough already. She sighs, There was no going back now, she had known there was no going back as soon as she had stepped into that evaluation room at Arkham.
And now she was alone.
Betrayed and lost.
Harley swipes impatiently at her eyes, blurring her face paint and staining the sleeve of her costume.
Why was she wearing the stupid getup anyway? There was no more Mistah J. to please. No more reason. She could go back to being Harleen…but then again, she couldn't even do that. Her love for The Joker had burned every single bridge she had, severed all ties to her past life. No, Harleen wasn't coming back.
Tim lets out a low muffled moan and Harley bites nervously at her bottom lip, then there was Robin to think of and an enraged Batman as well.
She needed help.
Ivy! Ivy would know what to do! Ivy could hide her…but Ivy was dead, her throat slit. Ivy was dead and it was all her fault.
Harley screams at the steering wheel, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks "MY FAULT! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN MY FAULT!"
Where could she go?
Tim lets out another muffled moan and the sound of it brings back a memory suddenly to Harley's bewildered mind:
It had been nearly four months ago, she had accidentally stumbled upon one of Scarecrow's laboratories while moping around the docks after a violent argument with The Joker.
It had been utterly destroyed, vials of Crane's Fear Toxin spilled and delicate chemistry equipment overturned and smashed.
Harley had crept stealthily through the destruction, hoping to find something of value to her Mistah J. Something he might like well enough to let her share the bed that night.
Instead she had found Crane; pinned beneath broken shelving, his dark hair caked with thick drying blood.
She had stood there and watched him, half curious and half concerned until his piercing blue eyes flickered open and met hers.
"D-Dear child what are you doing here?" The words were pained but gentle, and there was worry in the doctor's bruised features.
Harley had been taken back by the soft words, the concern for her when he was the one who was injured.
Crane lifted one arm to push weakly at the rubble piled on top of him, and it was then Harley saw the deep wound in the side of his neck; a savage bite mark that dark blood was continuing to flow freely from.
"You're hurt!"
"Its…nothing more than a scratch." Crane muttered, his eyes flickering between open and closed as blood bubbled from between his thin lips.
"Ha! Nothing more than a scratch my foot!" Harley cried her natural desire to help bursting forth as she pulled the heavy shelving off of the professor's broken body; surprised when he offered no rebuff or angry remark as she carefully placed a small hand over his wound.
"You need a doctor." Harley told him, able to feel the blood leaving him with every unsteady beat of his heart.
"No…I can't. They'll send me back to Arkham." He answered, gazing up hazily into her wide blue eyes.
She was so kind, why did she stay so loyal to The Joker when all he ever did was abuse her? Crane wondered, choking on the blood pooling in the back of his throat.
"There are some bandages…in my room…can you, can you get them for me child?"
"What so you can put them on yourself?" Harley scoffed, "Good luck with that."
She shook her head, "I'll fix you up."
Again she was surprised when Crane didn't object like The Joker would have; he merely closed his eyes, giving her hand against his neck a brief touch of thanks.
The adjacent room where the mad professor had been living while conducting his experiments was in worse disarray than his laboratory, books shredded and the only lamp shattered against the wall. Harley could smell it as soon as she walked in, the odor of rotting flesh.
Killer Croc.
That would explain the bite wound in Crane's neck; the cannibalistic mutant had come calling.
Harley shuddered, stepping over a splintered chair to a cupboard hanging by one nail from the scarred wall; the reptilian man always had scared her, with is long pointed teeth and the hungry gleam in his murky eyes.
The bandages had been there, untouched despite the whirlwind of destruction all around them, nestled safely in a tin.
Crane was unconscious when she returned, a pool of blood circling his head like a gory halo; his breath short and gurgling.
She had tried her best to be gentle, cradling his head in her lap as she applied the gauze to his torn throat. Harleen's medical training hadn't been wasted after all.
Harley remembers dragging him into his dark living area and laying him down with care on the dirty mattress she found tucked into the farthest corner.
The wound was filthy, she knew, and prone to serious infection but without taking him to a hospital there wasn't much more she could do.
Harley had sat on the cold cement floor beside the cot, chin resting on her knees like a skewed version of a guardian angel.
She was puzzled by Crane's actions, they hadn't talked much while at Arkham; she was too devoted to The Joker to think much about anyone else, and yet Crane treated her like a dear friend.
It was probably the pain.
But pain or no pain he is now Harley's only hope as she swerves down a side street towards Scarecrow's hideout.