9 days before T.O.D

Stewing was an appropriate description for what Harleen had been doing for the past couple days. Sitting around for hours on end, marinating in cigarette smoke, general filth and self-pity. Even if stewing did make her sound like a piece of meat, it was better then the alternative description, which was sadly a more accurate one. Harleen was wallowing.

Wallowing, she despised the word, it sounded so degrading and pathetic. She despised it because it fit her life perfectly.

Here she was on the edge of another evening, lying on her couch in a baggy old t-shirt dusted with powdered cheese from the bag of Cheeto's she had had for dinner, staring at the oddly colored green wall that was a little lighter then all the others, thinking about how her job at the asylum was the only thing she had really had in her life.

Aside from going out with her co-workers for drinks, she never had no other plans or commitments outside of work and she had been much too busy to have a relationship. Despite what her neighbors now thought, Harleen was very much alone.

A potent state of panic had settled for good in her chest and often gripped her strongly to the point of hyperventilation and nausea when she was doing nothing. It wasn't so much about being jobless and unemployable or soon to be homeless. Harleen had the feeling that something bad was going to happen to her.

Harleen pulled herself off her couch and went in to her bedroom to find something to read before she had panic attack.

She had finished The Lucky One yesterday afternoon and now it sat on her bookshelf by Dear John, which she had planned afterward. Harleen had made it her goal to read every single Nicholas Sparks book ever written, but right now she could not deal with reading a romance, she wanted a distraction, not a reminder of what she didn't have.

Harleen didn't find a novel she wanted to start, she was probably bored with reading, just desperate for a means of distraction. She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror as she started back to the living room to watch TV.

Harleen looked awful. Her hair was knotted and stringy, she grabbed a hairbrush and started combing it out. While she did she noticed every other imperfection: she had a small breakout of zits along her jaw line, the skin around her eyes was puffy and pink and the rest of her face was pasty. Looking in the mirror made her feel an over due sense of grunginess, Harleen also became aware of the fact that she smelled.

She pulled the skunky, cheese flavored, Calvin and Hobbes t-shirt over her head, kicked off her faded yellow boy shorts and hopped into the shower. What could be classified as neurotically she scrubbed herself down, going over every part of herself twice.

When Harleen was done, she felt a little bit better. She wiped away the steam that had settled on the mirror, making a window to her reflection whom still looked sad. She could be good looking if she only put some time in to herself.

After she was done blow-drying it, Harleen ran strands of her blonde hair through with the flat iron. Her hair was longer then she expected it would turn out, her bangs had really grown out, if she brushed them over to one side, they would cover up her eye. She had mysterious stranger bangs, just like she always wanted when she was six years old. Twenty years down the road, she wanted a haircut. She pinned her bangs on top of her head and finished up with some product to give it some volume and aside from the over grown length her hair looked good; clean and cared for, looking out of place on her head compared to the rest of her body. That wouldn't do.

To her right was a drawer filled with cosmetics, she slide it open and grabbed foundation to mask the zits. As she added a little blush to give her some needed color, Harleen began to feel creative.

Inside the drawer was a hardly used liquid eyeliner, She traced the bottom of her eyes with it, leaving a bit of a flared up tail in the corner. She covered her eyelids with silver eye shadow and just for kicks added little rhinestones, which was near impossible, next to her tear ducts.

The last thing she applied was her favorite ruby red lipstick.

Harleen took in the big picture of her work, as an artist looks at their masterpiece and smiled. Her reflection smiled back at her devilishly.

While the plushy towel she had draped around herself was comfy, it didn't suit her mood and took away from her work. She padded back to her bedroom to find something to wear.

She slide back the hangers in her closet one by one. A black and red corset type top hung near the back, it was a impulse, its one sale buy that she hadn't had the opportunity to wear and until now forgot she had it. Harleen plucked it out of the closet, unsure whether to try it on or not. It looked small and if it didn't fit, it would ruin her good mood and push her back into frumpy clothes and the couch.

She unfastened the lace at the back while her conscious reminded her of her new diet and chided:

If it doesn't fit I'm not going to feel sorry for you.

It felt snug. Since Harleen had dared to put it on, she may as well look in the mirror. If anything it would motivate her to go for a jog in the near future.

The prognosis was good; the little corset was tight in all the right places, it made her boobs look great. If there was one thing Harleen didn't like about her body it was that her breasts were on the small side. The only slight perk was that they weren't much of a hassle when it came gymnastics, not like she had done that in years though.

She put on her favorite pair of black booty shorts and a thick belt to tie the ensemble together.

The only flaw was the bandages around her wrists. Harleen had swapped out the paper towel for sleeker, flesh tone band-aids, but they were still such an eye sore to her.

Inside her jewelry box, she found two gaudy leather wristbands left over from her youth. They went unbelievably well with her outfit.

She joyously posed in front of the mirror.

Harleen, you are a stone cold fox.

Her heart swelled with pride. Harleen no longer looked like she was wallowing. She looked tough and edgy. Harleen felt tough and edgy.

She grabbed her evening clutch from its spot on her bedpost and threw her cell phone, visa card, a good wad of cash, favorite lipstick and driver's license in it.

Harleen was going out tonight.

No fear spoke up as it had done when she went to get groceries. She was through with being afraid.

She took one last look at herself before she left. The bobby pins plucked out a few hairs in protest as she pulled them out. She brushed them down to the side, so they only partly cover her eye. They looked better down.

Could she be Harley again?

Bruce sat in the brightly light temporary bat cave staring, more like straining to look at several computer monitors. All of them displayed police reports from the hacked GCPD database about the Joker's past crimes and other bits of known information about him.

He felt a small sense of déjà vu looking over all this again and that bled into thinking about the way things use to be; Batman wasn't hunted, at least not as bad, by the police, there was a glimmer of hope for Gotham, a chance that one day Bruce could be with Rachel and the Joker was small time game.

The Joker had grown out of that classification fast. Everything happened fast with him, once he started, it would already be too late to prevent bloodshed because the Joker would start with bloodshed. That was why it was crucial he had to be found and locked away, Batman could not let that happen again.

His eyes growing wearier, he took the one of the screen off the police database to the GCN website.

In the top news stories in the center of the page, there was picture of Harleen Quinzel looking over her shoulder, appearing to be staring at the Joker's mug shot, which was in the corner.

What She's Looking At. Read the title.

With a small click Bruce opened it.

"While the Joker himself never stood trial, his alleged accomplice Doctor Harleen Quinzel will." A video of Summer Gleeson started.

This was news to Bruce. He knew that Harleen was going to meet with the board of Arkham Asylum to determine if she would serve as a psychiatrist at the asylum

"-details about the Joker's escape from the asylum are still being kept under wraps-"

Bruce knew how he escaped, it didn't do much to prove or disprove Harleen's innocence.

With this case you had to know the people behind it. Bruce knew how manipulative the Joker could be, he also knew on how much Harleen cared for him.

Did he really know enough about her after one date to convict her?

No he didn't. However Jeremiah Arkham, Joan Leland, Hugo Strange and a couple other Arkham employees that had been interrogated by the police had all been saying the same thing

"-An inside source has told us her trial could start as early as next week so soon it will be made public what was done to unleash a murderer. For GCN news I'm Summer Gleeson."

Next week. That wasn't nearly enough time to build a case for either prosecution or defense.

Bruce skimmed the article to see if there was an explanation as to why the trial was being held so soon. He didn't find the answer in the article; he found it in the comments section below.

"About time someone in this city went to court."

A dozen other similar comments came after it.

Harleen's trial was for show. It wasn't for justice; it was to placate the citizens of Gotham.

Citizens of Gotham had gotten a taste of how things could be in the city when he had become Batman and when Harvey Dent was elected as DA. They had been given hope. That hope hadn't died with Harvey Dent. Batman ensured that. However, that hope had been scarred, people had become increasingly angrier with Batman and everything else. Deep down they were afraid that Gotham was going to take a nosedive down to the corrupt, criminal-breeding city it had been before.

The Joker's escape made an already scared, hostile crowd a terrified one. A dangerous combination.

Harleen was only being placed on the stand to show the people of Gotham that something was being done. Even if they didn't have anything on her, it would calm the mob on the brink of violence.

Bruce put the monitors on sleep mode. He began the tedious task of placing plates of Kevlar. The last thing he did before he smeared kohl greasepaint around his eyes. He hoped with all his heart that no where in the city was the Joker doing the same.

Alcohol hits your head first. Harleen was beginning to feel that first symptom of lightheadedness as she sat along the wall at the club, sipping her rum and coke. She hadn't been there very long but had taken a shot of tequila when she first walked in, to speed up the process.

As a psychiatrist she knew this sort of behavior was unhealthy but Harleen was beyond caring at this point if she was self-destructing. It felt damn good.

The D.J started playing what she initially thought was a remix of Bon Jovi's "Runaway", it was actually a mash-up with Fort Minor's "Remember The Name". Its beat wasn't made for the bump and grind that was the dance at clubs.

A group of doubtfully legal girls stood at the edges of the empty floor obviously eager to dance but did not want to be the only ones.

Harleen downed the last of her drink and left the empty, perspiring glass on the sticky table.

She wasn't self-conscious and she wasn't going to be club dancing.

With a one handed round off that she barely landed, she introduced herself to the middle of dance floor. Then she took over it, utilizing every square inch of unoccupied space as she danced. An archive of hip-hop moves that her memory had stored in the back of her mind, her body had not forgotten how to use them even though it had been years.

Her performance attracted an audience, which she took note of but didn't care about. Her pace was giving her a runner's high.

In a series of sharp, tight spins Harleen crossed the floor.

She was free, unchained from all her problems, worries and fears. She wasn't going to let herself be beaten down again. She was the one in control.

Harleen had made her dizzy and hit the railing at the edge of the dance floor.

Applause and a few wolf-whistles was what Harleen received when the mash-up ended. She accepted it with a low graceful bow that was pulled from her shorter ballet repertoire.

Another song started, a typical dub-step song, and Harleen went back to dancing.

She was unstoppable.

Gradually the dance floor began to fill, leaving Harleen with a little less space with each passing song. She surrendered her plot of land by the corner to go replenish her fluids.

A younger male, too much booze making him bold, took the opportunity to approach her.

"You're beautiful and a dancer." He shouted over the loud music. "I mean you're a beautiful dancer. And you're beautiful too."

She knew it didn't mean anything, but it had been so long since someone had been said anything nice to her. Harleen kissed him on the cheek in response. Her brazenness startled her admirer.

"Do you want a dance?" he asked.

"Buy me a drink, I don't give it up for free." She responded.

"Aha. I like you. What's your name?"

Without thinking she said.

"Call me Harley."

The Docks.

With the imports of drugs and arms, organized crime started here.

Batman wasn't here for the illegal shipments.

It was the drudges of society that hung around them. Potential recruits.

Whatever the Joker was going to do. He would need manpower to do it. This place would be a good place to start a sign-up.

Batman was not under the impression that the Joker would make an appearance here, looking for employees himself. That would be delusional. He'd send someone and that someone would be the connection Batman needed to close in on the Joker.

He set up surveillance on a rooftop across from The Rising Sun, a sketchy bar with an infamous reputation. And like any other hunter he waited patiently.

A bar patron tottered out and began to relieve himself in the alley. On the shorter side and stocky, right shoulder was heavily tattooed. The tattoos were what Batman recognized. He was one of the party crashers at Harvey's fundraiser.

Bingo.

He glided across the street and in between the buildings. His boot connected with the thug's head, knocking him down. Before he could get back up or figure out what hit him. Batman hauled him up by the front of his shirt and pressed him hard up against the brick wall. The tips of his feet barely touched the trash-laden ground

"I only want to ask this once." He snarled. "Where is the Joker?"

"Wha- I don't know."

"You're working for him, you know one location." He pressed the tips of his gauntlet into the thug's stomach.

"Ahh-use to. I use to work for him." He stammered. "I haven't seen him since he was taken to the loony bin."

There was no tells that the thug was lying. Batman knew that he wouldn't be a good liar.

"I don't think anyone has seen him."

Harley made her way around the dance floor. From one guy to the next, trading dances for drinks.

They all filled her ears with empty compliments. Maybe they didn't care or maybe because of the lack of light, they couldn't see her for who she was.

Her latest catch put his hand down the side of her shirt. Harley tolerated groping but only if they stayed on the outside of her clothes. His friendly hands crawled slowly down her back. She grabbed his arm and removed it as she spun around to face him.

'I have ta go to the bathroom." She said, putting space in between them.

They parted ways.

In five seconds he forgot all about her.

Harley didn't even pretend to go in the direction of the washrooms.

Even along the perimeter she bumped into people. There was absolutely no room for her to be by herself anymore. Everyone was vacuumed packed, congealed in one massive moving clump. A clothed orgy.

She let herself be swallowed up by it.

The night was coming to a close and Batman was no closer to finding the Joker then he was at the beginning of it. Which meant he was one day closer to the Joker throwing the city into another fiery state of chaos.

A woman was standing at the seawall, looking out. Petite and blonde. When he saw her face as she turned and started walking along it. He recognized her instantly.

The one everyone was talking about. Harleen Quinzel.

She was a long way from home.

What is she doing out here so late? He wondered. It was highly suspicious.

Batman shadowed her movements for the next hour. No one ever showed up.

Maybe she was suppose to meet the Joker, but word about Batman jumping that thug had spread around no doubt the area, forcing the Joker to call off the rendezvous.

If the Joker was still using this woman, Batman knew he wouldn't be using the same manipulation techniques he had to get her to spring him. That wouldn't work anymore; he'd be using force to control Harleen. She wouldn't be willing to helping him and would be desperate for a way out.

If that was the case, the Joker had made a mistake in neglecting to tell her their meeting was cancelled.

Batman came in wordlessly on her left. His sudden appearance spooked her and for a second he thought she was going to run.

"Hello Mistah tall and dark." Greeted Harleen, in a mock tone of pleasure.

She swayed in place as if the faint sea breeze coming in was enough to overpower her. It was obvious she had been drinking.

"Lemme guess you want to know where the Joker is?" She rolled her eyes. "It seems as long as everyone thinks I know his whereabouts I'll never be lonely."

For a second Batman thought she was going fall over. He put his arms out to catch her. Harleen fell over backwards when she jerked away from him. When he offered her a hand she slide back a bit, eyeing him apprehensively from the concrete.

While their meeting in parkade had been tame on his end, Batman hadn't given Harleen a reason to believe that he wouldn't hurt her. He felt bad about that.

He made no move to help her again. Harleen awkwardly got on to her feet.

"Tell me what you know." He said in a gentler tone.

"Why should I?" asked Harleen in a hostile growl.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shifted uncomfortably.

She knows something.

"I know you weren't here when the Joker tore up the city. But look at the aftermath; look at how terrified everyone is now. From that you can tell how dangerous he is. If you have the power to stop him before anything happens – "

"Exactly, if " she stressed. " And If I could help the city, why would I after everything I've gone through."

Looking into her eyes made him remember the woman he once took out to dinner.

"If you judge a fish on its ability to climb trees, it will believe its whole life that it's stupid."

Maybe Harleen was so defensive not only because she was scared but also because of the way she had been treated lately. She could need to be told, no reminded of who she was.

"Because you are a good person, Harleen."

Harleen shook her head.

"You don't know me," she said softly.

Author's note: Thank you all for reading, subscribing and faving.

Extra Special Thanks to my reviewers (in the order they came in) :

PorterJ: I would like to apologize for the image on google, I googled it after your review and that was really gross. If there is any story I have ever written that has stood a chance of being finished it is this one. Thank you very much for stopping by and saying thanks. Oh and I watched Memento, good movie, little confusing but in a good way.

SmilinForYa: I couldn't help wonder what your favorite chapter was, yay now I know Thank you for the very positive feedback regarding the Joker in the last chapter, he is tricky to write. And just thank so much for all the compliments! I start smiling for ya before I even open the email.

Black Beloved: Thank you. Harley is one of my fav's too. She just always seemed like a tragic character to me because she's head over heels for a man who a) doesn't love, her back or b) is unable to expression that in a normal way.

Anonymous: Thank you, I love hearing continue this.

That last italicized quote is from Albert Einstein. Harleen is going to say it in the next chapter of Rubbing Shoulders to explain something to Bruce.

Harley's outfit is something like her most recent costume change for the Suicide Squad. I don't agree thats its a good outfit for her character but it is a good one for a night out.

And as far as the whole Harleen – Harley deal, wait for it, it's a good part of the story I promise you.