The Doctor

I'm lying on a cold rooftop, beneath a black tarp, my chin on the ledge as I watch the figures gather on the other side of the street. Harley Quinn is lying beside me, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and her finger on the trigger of the rifle she's pointing at the leader of the gang converging below us. We wait a fraction longer, just to see if anyone else is going to appear, but it looks like the figures have got everyone they were expecting and the leader, a man dressed in black with a camo bulletproof vest, turns and starts to lead the group away. I turn to look at Harley just as she squeezes the trigger and there's a crack and when I turn back to the group, the leader's on the ground and his head's been exploded into a pile of red goo. The rest of the group draws their guns as Harley pulls her head and her gun behind the ledge and I pull the tarp over the top of us. I can hear shouting and gunfire but none of it sounds like it's even coming close to where we are and I already know that we got away with it. Dad's been sending us after Bane's lieutenants for a month now and we got all of them just as easy as we got that guy down there.

Harley and I have been spending a lot of time together since that first day. A few hours after he beat me up, Dad sent her in to check on me. She found my rib and we figured it was only a crack and it did get better. But I remember watching her examine me, watching her roll up her sleeves and I could see the bruises. When she got closer to me, I could see the fading cuts just as clearly as she could see mine. I don't know what happened. We used to hate each other. She used to help Dad torture me and I wanted to see her dead. But something changed. She still loves Dad. Of course she does, you can just see it on her face when she looks at him. She idolises him, does whatever he says without question, and he's gentle with her. But only up to a point. But I think she get it. She understands what I feel. She knows that he's hurting her because he loves her and that makes it impossible for her to leave. And, I dunno. Something happened. There was a moment of clear understanding. Of desperation and futility and we both just knew exactly what the other was feeling because we were there ourselves. Does that sound stupid? I suppose it must. But it was there. It happened. And then, for whatever reason, Dad told us to start working together. Probably to keep me on a short leash, cause he knows that he completely owns Harley and she wouldn't let me do anything he didn't want me to do. But we've spent hours together, just sitting together, waiting for the mark to show up. At first neither of us said anything. It felt weird. Like sitting with your worst enemy. But we had a job to do, I guess. And we had to rely on each other when Dad sent us out at night. So, eventually, we started talking. We started to trust each other, just a little bit. And... I dunno. I don't really see Harley the same way anymore. She's not the idiot I thought she was. She's just like me. But different. She's lost so much more than I have but she loves Dad and, to her, that makes it all worthwhile. And I sort of think I can relate.

"We should get moving."

I look over at the spot where Harley's voice came from. "Do you reckon they're gone?"

"Who cares? We've got somewhere to be."

I shrug, despite the fact that I know she can't see me, and I pull back the tarp, raising myself slightly onto my elbows to peer over the ledge. The figures on the street have gone, and they've taken their fallen leader with them. The only thing to indicate that they were ever there to begin with is the giant red puddle on the street and that's just the mark of a job well done. Harley stands up beside me and I scramble to my feet, rolling the tarp into a kind of ball and shoving it into my backpack. I follow Harley to the fire escape stairs on the side of the building, holding her gun for her as she swings over the ledge and passing it back to her when she looks at me expectantly. I kind of want to ask her something, but I feel like even coming close to the subject would be stupid. She wouldn't care. I'd just be annoying her.

We walk together through Gotham, heading towards what was once one of the richer districts. These were the places that were the worst hit when Bane set off those bombs. There are buildings that are completely destroyed, and the rioting masses did the best to destroy what was still standing. The smell is terrible over here, and I can only guess that it's the smell of decomposing corpses that no one bothered to fish out of the rubble. Why would anyone care, anyway? They were only rich leeches. I smile a little at my own bitterness because it makes me think of Lonnie and what he'd say about it. When I'm out at night, I like to think that he might be keeping an eye out for me but, truth be told, I don't even know if he's still alive. Dad hasn't granted me leave to go anywhere without Harley and I'm pretty sure he's expressly forbidden her to let me do anything I wanted to do. So I don't know if Lonnie ever saw my message, or if he even made it back to that apartment. I hope he did. I'd like to think he did. Because, if he didn't, if he's stuck somewhere or... if he's dead... Then I'm doing this for nothing. And, if that were true, I'd just kill myself. The thing about disasters is that you've gotta find some reason to keep going. Otherwise, what's the point?

"Hey, Harley," I whisper and she turns her head to look at me. She's got her rifle resting on her shoulder as she walks and she looks tough enough to keep the roaming gangs of starving citizens away, but there's something about her face and the fact that I can see the fading marks of Dad's love that makes me trust her.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" She raises an eyebrow, but it's not cruel, not the way Dad does it. She's not saying 'no'. "I..." I let my voice trail off as I try to figure out how I'm going to say this. "Can I ask you something about love?"

"Yeah. It hurts," she says quietly, and she quickens her pace. I hurry to match it.

"That's not really... Well, it kinda is, but that's not... Look, I'm not asking about my Dad. This isn't..." I sigh and grip the straps of my backpack. This is so much harder than I thought it'd be. Every time I even try to start a sentence, there's something inside of me that's stopping me from finishing it. "I think I love someone," I blurt out and I just stop walking at the shock of what I've just said. Harley continues on for a few more steps, then stops and turns back to look at me. I stare at her, my mouth hanging open like an idiot. "I'm sorry. I don't... I just... I don't know what to do."

Harley smiles sadly at me, sicking her free hand in the pocket of her jeans. "Stay away from them," she says. "They're only going to hurt you."

I shake my head hopelessly. "But how do I know? He's not like Dad. He's passionate and motivated and he wants the best for everyone and he kissed me, even when I look like this, and every time I think about him I feel sick because I have to stay away to make sure he's ok." Maybe I've said too much, because the smile on Harley's face starts to fade and now she just looks lost.

"What do you mean 'how do you know'?" She says softly. "Kid, you're in love."

"But how?"

She slowly walks back towards, looking me in the eye. "You just want to be with him, more than anything, more than life itself. Being apart hurts you. Sometimes he says and does things that make you mad but you're never really mad at him at all, no matter what he does. Whatever he wants to do, however he wants to change the world, you want to be there helping him do it."

I nod. "I guess."

"Then it's love." Harley pulls her hand from her pocket and starts to bring it to her face before she catches herself and presses her arm against her stomach instead. "It's love and it's gonna suck."

"But love's not supposed to suck! It's supposed to lift you up, give you wings. When you're in love you're supposed to be able to do anything, to be anything. Love makes you feel good and happy and alive. I don't feel any of that."

Harley smiles and I start to feel very self-conscious. "You have got to stop watching romantic comedies. Life's not like that. Love's not like that."

I shake my head hopelessly, pressing my left hand against my cheek, feeling the scar beneath my fingers. "But how can so many people be wrong about that?"

"Because people are stupid." Harley sighs and motions for me to follow her over to the benches overlooking the river. She sits down on the closest one and, after a moment's hesitation, I sit down beside her. Propping the gun against her thigh, she brings her leg up beneath her and turns to look at me. "Look at the divorce rate. It's huge. Half of the people that get married think that love's going to be just what you described and, when it's not, they call it quits because they realised they were never really in love with each other in the first place."

"You're wrong," I whisper and she smiles knowingly.

"Love hurts."

"It's not supposed to."

"But it does anyway. It hurts, even when it's good." She pauses, and looks out at the frozen river. "Especially when it's good. You know nothing comes easy. I can't see how this'd be a surprise for you."

"But I've never known love," I insist and she turns back to look at me again. "Not like other people do. Not like Lonnie does. He can be so sure of his feelings because they're normal. He knows how to feel, he has names for his emotions." I hesitate, wondering whether I should go on but I guess I'm in too deep to stop now. Somehow, I don't think she'll tell Dad about this conversation. "Dad's never told me he loved me."

Harley shakes her head sympathetically. "That doesn't mean he doesn't."

"He's broken bones," I insist. "Cut me open. Tortured my friends." My voice starts to crack. "Made me kill them. That's love! To me, that's it! And I don't want to do that to Lonnie!" Harley reaches forwards and takes my hand and such a large part of me wants to yank it away. I can still remember her mocking voice, the way she threatened me just after I'd watched my best friend jump to her death. And maybe we're different now. Maybe now we have a connection. But it still hurts and there's still a small part of me that hates her for what she did, even if she was just another victim.

"The way he loves," she says slowly, as if she's considering her words carefully, "it's different to other people. He's not like other people. He's chaos and fear but he's fair. You get what you deserve. He's shaped you into a better person. You can see that, can't you?"

I nod because I can. I know what she's saying. I've told it to myself. "Am I like him? Do I have to be?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"I can't."

"Then don't. If you think you love this boy, then you probably do. Just because it's not what you're used to doesn't make it wrong. It just means you're going to have to learn the rules."

"And what if I can't? What if I'm broken?"

"Then, if he loves you, he'll learn your rules."

"You make it sound so simple," I scoff as I pull my hand from hers.

"It is. Love is easy. But only when you learn to accept that it's never going to stop hurting. The love you feel just makes the hurt worthwhile."

"Is it, though?" Maybe asking is cruel, but part of me just has to know. "Do you think it's worthwhile? I never had a choice. I never gave anything up for this. This is my lot and I'm learning to live with it but you never had to. This is on you."

Harley shrugs, and it almost looks like she's sad. "It was so easy at first. He was smart and funny and charismatic. He made me want to be something more. And, in the beginning, even when it hurt it felt good. I think you know what I'm talking about. I almost wanted to hurt, just so I could feel something. I still do. It's worthwhile. It's what I wanted."

"I want to be with Lonnie," I say quietly and she looks torn.

"You know I can't let you go."

"I know."

"But I do want to help you."

"You can't. He'll know."

Harley nods. "I know. But we could..." Her voice trails off and I'm not sure if she's just thinking of a plan or if the conversation is over. After a moment, she looks up at me and smiles and I don't know why but a very small part of me thinks about how nice it is to see her smile without that sadness behind her eyes. "You can't go find him but what if we let him find you?"

"But how-"

"Shhh, no questions. I'm still thinking of a plan. But I think it's possible. It's not breaking any rules and..." She nods enthusiastically. "I think it'd be alright."

I look at her in stunned disbelief. I don't understand her. I've seen her kill people without a second thought, mocking them as they writhed and here she is now, grinning at me with a real, genuine smile. "Why?" I hear myself asking quietly because it's the only thing I can think to say.

And with that, something changes inside her. Her smile drops and she nods once, stiffly, then stands and repositions her rifle on her shoulder. "We have to go," she says in a distant voice and I just want to know what I did to lose her but she's gone now and there's no real point in asking, so I stand and fall into place beside her as we walk along the riverside to the next mark.

We've been walking for a bit in silence when I start to notice the shuffling of feet coming from behind us. I'm not entirely sure that Harley's heard it because she doesn't seem to be reacting to it. "One second," I say quietly and I turn, pulling my handgun from the holster beneath my jacket and levelling it at the approaching figure. It's a man. Homeless, by the look and smell, and he just looks like he's shuffling along minding his own business but something in me knows better than that. That shuffling has been going on too long. I fire two shots in quick succession; one hits his arm and the other manages to get him in the chest. I'm no marksman, not like Harley, but she's been teaching me and I am better than I was. The man goes down and I approach him cautiously. I can still see him breathing and he's moving so I move faster and, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his forehead, I squeeze the trigger and his brains explode across my shoes. Wiping the blood off the gun with my jacket, I turn to look at Harley watching me. She looks confused, and maybe just a little worried but the expression drops quickly from her face and she waves me forwards and we start walking again.

"I'm not sure you had to do that," she says after about a minute or so.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. But I thought it did to you."

I sigh because she's right. I'm not really sure what possessed me to kill him. He could've been harmless. But still, something inside me told me he wasn't and, at the end of the day, I'm operating for my own survival. That's got to be the ultimate goal at the end of all this, it's got to be the thing that's driving me. If I survive, I get to see Lonnie again. I get to be free and to make my own choices and to leave or live in this city as I choose. And that's got to be worth fighting for. In a way, that's what I've always been fighting for, isn't it? And, in a way, I think Harley's been doing the same thing. Maybe we're really not all that different. Maybe, just maybe, I can see myself in what she says.

The next mark's less about Bane and more about getting even for Dad. What with Bane's freeing all the prisoners of Blackgate the day the bombs went off, a lot of very disgruntled mob bosses got let out and Dad's heard that one or two of them are trying to get a hold on Gotham again. So Harley and I are here to show them that it's still Dad's city, despite what the media tells us. It's supposed to be easy work, according to Dad, but I kinda doubt it. I just hope I don't get killed cause of this.

Harley walks up to the door of the building and raps on it with the butt of her rifle. I stand a little way behind her, my gun beneath my jacket and my hand in my pocket gripping my knife tight. It takes a little while for the door to open a fraction but when it does, even I can hear the thick accent calling out "Who's there?"

"Room service!" Harley says brightly, swinging the rifle up through the crack in the door and pressing it against the man's nose. "Now are ya gonna let us in or is this gonna be maid service as well?"

There's a pause for a fraction of a second, and then the door swings open and the frightened guy steps out of the way. I come forwards, sticking close to Harley as I follow her inside. She's the negotiator, I'm the muscle watching her back. That's the plan. That's what we decided on. Besides, with my scars, I look a hell of a lot more intimidating than I sound.

We walk through the lower floor of the building until we reach the stairs and there's a bunch of men in cheap, dirty suits just standing around who look really fucking surprised when Harley waltzes past them with her rifle on her shoulder. The fact that no one's even produced a gun this far makes me think that Dad and Bane might be the only ones in the city fully armed, and so maybe this whole 'threaten the Mob' plan might just turn out alright.

The second floor of the building is better lit and Harley finds who she's looking for in the first room she stops to check. She's been here before. As we enter the room, a thin man in an ill-fitting suit and small round glasses stands and looks at Harley expectantly. I stand by the door, my back against the wall and my hands in my pockets, ready to help if Harley needs it but somehow I doubt she will. "Berty!" She sings as she approaches him and he looks annoyed at how close she's gotten to him.

"Alberto, Miss Quinzel..."

Harley throws me an exasperated look over her shoulder before turning her attention back to Alberto. "I've told you Berty, call me Harley. It's ok, everyone does."

"What do you want this time?"

"Well, you see," Harley begins, moving past Alberto to sit on the edge of the table he was previously sitting at, "Mistah J's heard some nasty things about what you and your boys have been getting up to."

Alberto keeps his attention focused on me for a moment, probably taking in my scars, which probably look a fuckload more intimidating in this weird light, then turns to look at Harley. "He knows full well that we haven't been doing anything." He crosses his arms and Harley smiles indulgently. "We can't do anything; we have no firepower."

"Ah, but that's not what Mistah J's accusing you of." Harley leans forwards, resting her arm on Alberto's skinny shoulder. "He's not worried about you getting guns. But you seem to be forgetting that you and your men work for Mistah J. So we don't go around looking for contacts of our own, remember?"

"Actually," he says stiffly, shrugging off her arm, "Maroni 's men work for Joker. The Falcone family does not."

Harley shrugs. "It's the same diff," she says. "Don't you go thinking you're a free man cause you're not. Say the word and Mistah J'll come down here himself and sort you out, and take it from Chuckles over there, ya don't want that." Alberto looks over his shoulder at me and I do my best to keep my face expressionless and my posture relaxed. I can see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "We had a bit of a disagreement, didn't we?" Harley says loudly, giving me a smile and a wink. "But now we see Mistah J's side, don't we?" She gives me a big smile and points to her mouth so I smile at the thin man without changing my expression and I never knew I could inspire that kind of fear in a person. He looks like he's going to wet himself.

"Alright," he says quickly, turning to look back at Harley. "I get it. I work for the Joker. But..." He shakes his head. "He's gotta help us. We can't defend ourselves against the masked man's men, not when they've got machine guns and tanks and we're armed with baseball bats."

Leaning forwards, Harley pats Alberto sympathetically on the shoulder. "Tell ya what," she says. "I'll ask Mistah J if he can do anything to help you, on accounta you've been so helpful to us." He nods fearfully and Harley jumps down off the table, picks up her rifle and walks out the door. I turn to follow her, and I can hear him sigh loudly.