Session Fourteen: Family And Forensics

What a rip-off.

Oh, I found the bomb, all right - but Penguin had forgotten a key ingredient. There was no battery in the timer. All I had to do was find it, pick it up and deposit it at Gotham PD. I was relieved and perturbed all at once.

"That is good news, I suppose," said Bruce in my ear as I swung from ceiling to ceiling, making my way back to the car. "Still, I'm sorry to have pulled you away from your previous emergency."

"Yeah, I hope Ha- err, Bat Three is okay." Our fearless leader was working on a hyperwave signal that couldn't be picked up on any other CB or police scanner, but until he perfected it, we had to be careful about codenames. "Batman, I... I really think somebody drugged her, she wasn't herself at all."

"Where was this? A bar?"

"No, a party." He grunted, and I knew what he meant. "Yeah, there was a pretty large crowd; it's gonna be difficult to pin down a suspect."

"I'll see about hacking into the hospital records for a report on her condition when I get back to base; I have a delivery to make."

"Sounds like you caught our felonious waterfowl."

"Indeed... but please, don't say that ever again."

"I know," I groaned. "Drivel like that just flows naturally when you're suited up, doesn't it?"

Five more minutes put me in my Altima, peeling off the leather and spandex and shoving it into the secret compartment in the lid of my trunk. Now back down to a bathing suit, I grabbed a wrinkled pair of jeans from my cluttered backseat and rushed up to the penthouse.

The police had broken up the party. Apparently, soon after they rushed Harley off to the hospital, a lava lamp had fallen off the side to the pavement below, narrowly missing the beat cop who had shown up to check on why the ambulance had been called. Reinforcements soon arrived and escorted everyone from the premises, so says Leonard.

"The only reason they didn't bring me in is because I was in the middle of calling them when they busted in," he moaned, looking around the shambles of his living room. "They gave me the nod for deciding the kegger got too kooky."

"What happened to Jared, and Eileen, and M-"

"Down at the hoosegow with everybody else," he said with a shrug. "I mean, I knew it wasn't everybody, but the fuzz have to do their thing."

It took a lot longer for me to get through traffic to the hospital, but once I got there, I was met with staunch resistance.

"Are you family?"

I hesitated for the briefest moment. If I lied, would it go over? Probably not. "I'm her best friend."

"Well, nobody can see that patient, ma'am," the plump receptionist told me. Her mammoth perm was a remnant of a bygone era, but now was not the time to point it out. "She's being given a psychological evaluation; she may be a danger to herself and others."

"What?! But- but she was intoxicated! Her drink was spiked, too, what's-"

"Young lady," the woman said in an undertone, leaning over the countertop so her abnormally-generous bosom started pushing inkpens onto the floor. "You do realise who we're talking about, don't you? Harley Quinn?"

"I'm well aware," I managed through my teeth.

"The Harley Quinn who used to work for the biggest menace in Gotham history?"

"What about it?"

She sat back, flabbergasted. "Well, if you knew all that, then why are you still asking me why they're giving her a psych test?"

"But- but that's not fair!" I shouted. A dozen heads whipped around, so I leaned in myself, now. "I mean, she has a past, I know, but- but she was drunk, I'm sure her bloodwork proves it! It's not the same thing as a-"

"She punched out an EMT, ma'am. Call us hyper-sensitive, but we don't usually ignore it when that happens."

My stomach sank. If she got violent, that would complicate things.

An hour went by, and no word. Two. I called Bruce a few times on the courtesy phone (I'd left my cell at Leonard's place), but he didn't have anything for me, yet. Another hour. The spare change I'd left in those old jeans bought me a cup of vending machine cocoa, but it didn't really help; I continued to pace, wondering what was going on and whether or not they cared to tell me anything. Finally, when I was on the verge of asking a sickly-looking man if he might have a cigarette I could bum, the receptionist told me I had a call.

"It's not good," said Bruce. "The bloodwork's not in so I can't tell you what she might have taken, but... the rest of the report is in the system."

"Yeah, and?"

"They're seriously recommending she be sent back."

"Sent back? To wh- no. No, you can't be serious."

"Afraid so," he grunted. "When most average citizens see someone's former address is 'maximum security ward', they panic."

"They can't do this, she's- she's cured, you know she is, they-"

"I never said she was myself," he reminded me, "but I have been leaning that way. Their evaluation seems rushed and amateurish, if you ask me, but... the Joker connection is going to hurt her. I was amazed she actually got out of Arkham to begin with, given her record."

My hands felt cold, and my legs were numb. "They can't lock her away. I need her - we need her, she's one of us, now!"

"The records show her sample's already arrived in the lab, so we should know fairly soon what's in her system, but... even if she tests positive for alcohol and other substances, I want you to remember that doesn't mean she'll be released. In fact, it may be all they need."

"All they need? For wh-"

"Miss?"

"Oh, hang on, I'll call you back," I said quickly. "Sounds like they know something." 'That would be a welcome change,' I added to myself.

"I'm sorry to tell you that your friend is being transported to the asylum."

The floor shouldn't sway like that; it might make me fall over. "Wh... what?"

The woman shrugged in that vaguely-sympathetic fashion that comes with an extended stint in the health care industry. "When an orderly tried to give her a cup of water, she bit his hand. Another tried to administer a sedative, and - yeah, they're still trying to figure this one out - she got free and jabbed the needle in his face. They decided that it was best to get her to a location more equipped for high-risk patients."

"No..."

"Sorry," she repeated.

"But... b-but wait, don't I get to see her, or anything?"

"I'm afraid that would be impossible." Her tone suggested she thought I wasn't bright enough to grasp the obvious. "She's so unpredictably violent, I doubt she'll be seeing any visitors for a long, long time."

Before I knew it, I was leaning across the desk, both fists pulling the lapels of her white coat toward me. "What about her tox reports?! What do they say, what was her blood-alcohol concentration!?"

"I- I don't know, ma'am!" she stammered. "What- I never-"

"She was drugged, I'm sure of it!" I shouted, tears sliding down my face. "And you just sign her over to the funny farm without a backward glance? Do you even bother to hire doctors with medical degrees, or do you just order a few from eBay?!"

"Security!" the woman was screaming; I noticed the only guard in the corridor looking in my direction, then muttering into a walkie-talkie. "Help, security, please he-"

"Oh, FORGET IT!" I growled, throwing her back into her chair. "I sure hope you don't have anybody you love wind up in this hospital, because apparently, you might never see them again!"

With that, I stormed out, the security guard trotting up to her desk to ask what had happened. The rushing in my ears drowned out their words; every inch of me wanted to kick, rip and maim anyone who crossed me. Really, I'm lucky that guard was there, because I was about to do the receptionist serious harm.

It only took me the time between there and the car to start crying. Harried to worried in a minute flat. What would they do to her once she got there? Worse yet - she was probably only mildly out of her head before, but what was happening to her right now? Those drugs could have her in all kinds of agony, and they cared just enough to lock her up in a padded cell. She needed help, and instead she was being treated like a criminal.

Criminals...

. . ᴥ . .

"Daddy, I need your help!"

The Commissioner sighed, taking the pencil out of his mouth and turning toward me as I stomped his way. "Yeah," he grunted. "I figured you'd end up here, eventually. What's up?"

"They've taken Harley back to Arkham!" I growled, fighting to keep my voice level. "Sh-she didn't do anything, she's just- and they-"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, sweetheart," he said quietly. When the situation called for it, my father could dig down and find his tenderness reserves. "Who's taken her, what happened?"

"The cowardly, dial-a-diploma staff at Gotham General, that's who! And they didn't even bother to wait for the bloodwork, they just- just sent a sane woman to an insane place, and that's a- a-"

"Barbara, honey, you-"

"It's inhumane!" I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "It's an infringement on her civil-"

"Hush!" he said, placing a finger on my lips. "Now, listen. We've been sifting through the dregs of that party you two went to - and yes, I know you were there, too - for an hour. By all accounts, we know a blonde girl named Harley was there with my daughter, and yes, I received notice that the hospital admitted Miss Quinn. Now, are you saying they shipped her back to Arkham already? Why?"

"I don't know!" I sobbed. "Sh-she's not herself, though, they don't- and this complete cow was going on and on about how she bit somebody, like that matters, and I can't- I- I want to see Harley, and they won't even let me do that!"

"Calm down," he commanded, becoming more businesslike. "Now, if she really did attack them, maybe they were justified. I mean..." Now, I knew what he was about to say. Everybody was trying to feed me the same cock and bull story, and I was sick of it already, but I still crossed my fingers, hoping against hope he wouldn't go there. "Honey, isn't it possible she really needed to go there?"

"NO!" I snapped, utterly disappointed. I was barely holding it together; most of me wanted to break down, to wallow and scream and attempt to cry the pain out of me, but my logic center insisted I keep going because it knew going to pieces wouldn't get her released. "No, Father, it isn't, it is not possible! I've been living with her for months, remember? This is the first time she's shown any sign of slipping back - and I don't even think it's her fault!"

"Not her fault, eh?" he asked, brow furrowed. "Then what are you suggesting happened?"

"Drugs," I said without preamble. "I think somebody spiked her drink, I'm absolutely sure of it - the way it just... hit her all of a sudden! She went from perfectly normal to a babbling idiot instantly, like flipping a switch!"

One of his hands went to his moustache, as usual. "It's a possibility. Wild party like that one, riddled with frat boys... usually a date rape pill winds up in someone's glass. But even so, for it to send her into a frenzy like that is a bit-"

"Excuse me," said someone to my right. I whirled to find myself looking at not an officer, but a rather young man dressed in a blue Chambray shirt and khakis. "Did you say you think your friend was drugged?"

"Yes, I- I did. Who are you?"

"My name's Gary Archdale," he said, shaking my hand quickly. "And you're Barbara Gordon; the Commish has like, four pictures of you in his office. Anyway, I, uh, I think I've got something you'll want to take a look at, here."

My father and I glanced at each other, then followed Gary down the hall and into the elevator, which we took to the first basement level. It was the CSI labs; I knew that much, but I still wasn't sure why we were headed there.

"Okay, first of all," he said, leading me over to another table where a girl with short, spiky hair was writing something down on a clipboard, "we found traces of a strange psychoactive substance on this broken glass - but it's pretty bizarre, we're not sure what to make of it. It's like a barbiturate, but also has properties not unlike-"

"Can you skip to the good part?" Daddy said. "What of it?"

"Well, the happy pill in this drink would have been plenty to send anyone but a hardcore drug user flying," he said with a slight laugh. "I mean, there's enough on this shard alone to give you a buzz. There's nothing saying it's your friend's gin and juice, but if it is-"

"Right," I breathed, staring at the glass. "What kind of drink was in it?"

"Oh, what was - Agnes, let me see that." The woman handed over her clipboard and picked up a camera to take detailed photographs of the evidence. "Hmm, something citrus-based... obviously contained a lot of alcohol, and coconut."

"The Bahama Mama," I moaned. "Yeah, she was drinking that when she started tripping out - and she dropped it, it spilled everywhere."

"There's something else," he said excitedly. This must be the highlight of his day; I was just hoping it all panned out. "One of our colleagues has been watching the amateur video shot by a party guest, and he flagged a few scenes he found noteworthy. Well- ahh, here he is. Marco!"

A fairly tall, well-toned man with thick black hair came over, slamming back an espresso like it was his only source of oxygen. "Yeah, Gar?"

"Can you cue up Index 12 on the penthouse tape for me?"

Three minutes later found all of us crowded around a thirteen-inch television screen, squinting through the crowds of people and the instability of the cameraman (or woman). Finally, Marco stopped it and said, "Okay, see here?"

"Hmm... oh, Harley's arm-wrestling contest," I said with a weak smile.

"That is one badass beauty," breathed Gary.

Daddy's eyes narrowed impatiently. "When you're through ogling..."

"Right, right. Forward a bit." Marco let the video run, and I watched as Harley slammed a girl who looked like she needed a hormonal adjustment into the table. When everyone was whooping and Jared gave Harley a high-five, Gary said, "There!"

We all looked at the frozen image onscreen for a few more seconds before my father spoke for both of us: "I don't see anything."

"Punch it up, Marco."

And as we looked on in astonishment, the picture zoomed in little by little on the glass near Harley's elbow, revealing-

"What is that?!"

"Exactly," said Gary, grinning at the Commissioner and probably hoping he'd net himself a raise for this. "I do believe you're right; a Sweathog did spike the punchbowl."

A small, thin-looking hand was suspended over her drink, and though it wasn't easy to make out, it seemed as if a tiny phial of some sort was clutched between the fingers. "No way," I gasped. "But who did it?"

"There's no way of knowing," said Marco with a frustrated sigh. "That is, I watched this part over and over for like, five minutes, and this is literally the most you see of the perp. What a burn."

"A barbiturate, Daddy," I said in hushed tones. "If it was harsh enough, that could-"

"Yes, honey, I get it." Gary and Marco were busy nodding at each other, pleased with their success; I was inwardly grateful, but too miserable to show it properly. "This still doesn't guarantee they'll let her walk out the front door, though, but... it's good to have our evidence all lined up."

"You're quite welcome," said Gary with a bow.

"They have to let her go," I insisted. "What right have they got to hold her now, anyway? She didn't even take the drugs voluntarily; if anything, she should be given an apology. They've got a victim locked up in-"

"Barbara!" he snapped, and I fell to silence. "I get it, already! Your old man's not that far gone, you know. All I'm saying is that you have to be prepared for things to go a little rougher than you expect; I thought I taught you that."

My lip was trembling. "You did, but... but I can't think about them keeping her locked up there and not allowing me to ever see her, because that kind of thinking only makes me want to start kicking ass and taking names."

"Seriously, Honey - what's gotten into you? You're so gung ho about Harley Quinn all the time, I- don't you have any normal friends?"

"Harley's the most normal friend I've got," I breathed, trying not to acknowledge that I sounded like some low-budget TV movie. "Or the only one, maybe, I don't know."

Casting his eyes around surreptitiously behind his rectangular frames, he led me off to the side a few steps, dropping his voice. "Are you sure this isn't a... BAT thing?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Has your, ah... night boss been asking you to keep an eye on her? I've been wondering about that for a while, but I did promise to try and keep my nose out of your-"

"No, Daddy," I lied. Well, it wasn't really a lie - my reasons for sticking up for Harley had nothing to do with her being The Lark and one of my former nemeses. "Believe me, I know it's mondo bizarro, but... Harley actually isn't evil. In fact, I haven't met many people as inherently pure and decent as her."

"If you say so," he grunted, rubbing his chin again.

"You will help me out, right?" I asked. "She'll always be The Joker's arm candy to you, I understand, but... if she's being set up, you will see she gets justice, won't you?"

He hesitated. That made me nervous. "Of course, honey. Our first duty is to protect the innocent, then punish the guilty. Let's see if we can get ahold of those tox reports..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Oh, Harley... what's happened to you?"

The walls were dripping again. I tried to ignore it long enough to answer, because somebody should really be told about this, but out of my mouth came, "Happened to who? Me? I'm fine."

"You've attacked three people in the past twenty-four hours," the disembodied voice went on. Every time I looked for its source, I saw... him. Grinning from ear to ear, cold eyes boring into me, trying to turn me inside out again. I looked resolutely in the other direction. "What's brought all this on?"

"N-no, no," I moaned, feeling the bed start to rock. The sheets were tentacles - the pillow was a tongue. No, it wasn't real! But it felt so real, it looked so- "This octopus, please... make it stop, I know it ain't an octopus!"

"Relax, Harley, calm down," the voice soothed. "There's no octopus."

"Easy for you to say," I sobbed, flinging myself out of the bed and onto the floor; this was difficult when tied up in a straightjacket.

"Harley, please - can you describe to me what you're seeing?"

"N-nothin' weird, nothin' at all!" My voice was an octave higher than I was used to hearing it. "I s-see a room, and a b-bed, and a psychiatrist, and- OH, GOD!"

A dragon. I'd never seen a real dragon before. It wanted to eat me - or roast me alive, then eat me. But I was ready for it; the bed was a cave, and I dove for it, made sure I was out of sight when it turned in my direction.

"What are you doing now? Where have you gone?"

"Nowhere," I insisted. "This is- I'm under the bed. I was- the lights are too bright. Yeah."

"You're lying to me," the voice accused. "We'll never get anywhere if you aren't honest. Tell me."

"Go away!" I shouted, trying to protect my face from the jagged icicles raining down on me. "If you're not gonna help me, then leave me alone - I can't run forever with you distracting me!"

"What are you running from?"

"NOTHING!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . ۞ . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Yes?"

"We're here to see Harleen Quinzel."

The man's eyebrows went up. "What? I m-mean, that is- I'm sorry, but that resident isn't allowed any visitors. She's highly psychotic."

"No, she's not," I spat.

"Barbara," my father said in a stern voice. Then, clearing his throat, he said, "We have a legal order to obtain testimony from her."

"That wouldn't do you much good, anyway," the man said with a shrug, sifting through a stack of papers. "Bats in the belfry, and how. Doubt you'd get a straight ans-"

"Irrelevant. Procedure states we have to ask her, even if she spits out gibberish."

Ten minutes passed; the clerk had to ask his supervisor to sign off on it, and we both had ID checks run on us. A guard accompanied us into a small room, where we were told Harley would be brought in and secured for my father to "take notes". What we weren't expecting was to find Dr Leland waiting there, legs crossed and expression highly interested.

"Hello, Commissioner... Miss Gordon."

"What are you doing here?" I said, maybe a bit more bluntly that I intended.

"I'm here to advise you against this visit," she said in an undertone. "Whatever has happened, I couldn't even begin to guess, but she's extremely unstable at the moment. Seeing you could complicate the problem, or..."

"All the same," said Daddy, "we need to ask her a few questions."

Her dark eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "Very well, then. They're bringing her in now."

Every part of my body went cold. They had her dressed up in a Hannibal costume; full straightjacket, face mask, strapped to a dolly. The only thing missing was fava beans. "Oh, Harley..."

"What?!" she was shouting. "Jiminy Christmas, will somebody put out the cigar? My living room suit is made o' cashmere!"

"Harley!" I shouted, pounding on the thick, transparent wall that separated us.

"I... well, crap," she moaned. "Babs is here, she's gonna see the state of things, and- but I'll never be in, I'm out, out like week-old rye."

"It's not much use," Dr Leland gusted, taking off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose (as I'd been doing so frequently lately). "Her responses are so erratic - ranging between coherent, logical answers to abstract blather that sounds like a reenactment of a Saturday morning cartoon. Heavy hallucinations. Intense fear and paranoia. A real stew in there, and nothing we've tried giving her seems to have much effect."

"Harley," I said clearly through the holes drilled in the Plexiglas. "Harley, can you hear me?"

"What do I say?" she whispered. Her skin was so pale - why was she so pale? Weren't they feeding her? "Y... you're gonna see me like this if I lead you here, so- what if I stay in the woods? But then she might come lookin', she- and that'd get her killed, that's not what I- no, but-"

"I am going to get you out of here," I said clearly. "If it takes me a month of Sundays, I swear, I'll get them to understand!"

For a second - one, fleeting second - the wide, terrified blues behind the mask focused on me, and I could tell she wanted to believe me. Then- "No... no, who cares? I'm a freakin' bimbette with- but does the team need me? I can't sing for you in here, nossir, like bein' muffled by a house-wide pillow. And I just learned all the pockets, too..."

My throat constricted. She was talking about being The Lark - and a psychiatrist, the police commissioner, and two guards were listening. The chances of them accurately interpreting her rantings were slim, but best not to risk it. "Daddy, m-maybe you should ask her the questions, now."

"Sure," he said nervously, approaching the glass. "Uh, Miss Quinzel-"

"Quinn!" she growled, thrashing against her restraints. "Quinzel belongs to the dinosaurs!"

One eyebrow hiked. "Right. Anyway, uh... just to confirm, did you intentionally ingest any illegal substances recently?"

"Substance... everybody tells me I ain't got any, but they don't, either. Just a few drinks is all, right? That's fine, it doesn't- doesn't make me a- but Babsy couldn't handle 'em, she made the roses die, and I shoulda been more-"

"Don't worry about that," I soothed, and everybody was gaping at me like I should be joining her on the other side. "Just because I can't hold my liquor doesn't mean you're not allowed to have any."

"Barbara!" my father hissed. "You didn't tell me you've turned into a lush!"

"I'm not a lush, I- it was one time, at a party, and it wasn't at the penthouse; I was dry as a bone that night, honest!"

"Hmmh."

"And who still says 'lush', anyway?!"

"Don't fight!" Harley wailed. "Oy, everybody's comin' apart, and I'm the wedge, and glue guns are happier when they're put to good use! Steak and kidney pie, it's the centerpiece, and if we-"

"That's enough, I think," Dr Leland whispered. "Harley's getting overly excited."

"Have you been trying to clean out her system?" I demanded of her. "There's- there's something foreign in there, and-"

"We have been giving her a steady diet designed specifically to flush out impurities. There's been a slight reduction in rage and violent outbursts, but now she simply acts..."

"Scared," Daddy put in. "Well, I apologise, but I have more questions; I'll be quick about it."

The psychiatrist nodded glumly. "Please do."

"Do you know your name?"

"She-Ra!"

"Come on, don't be stupid," I hissed.

"I like She-Ra better than Harley, though," she giggled. "And you- you're my Dreamfish! I miss you, Dreamfish!"

I saw the look he gave me coming a mile away. "'Dreamfish'?"

"Don't ask me," I said very, very quietly.

"Birds and fish and bats and clowns, words that make such pretty sounds!"

This was getting too close for comfort. We had to get out of here, but Daddy had one last question. "When did you first start to feel... the symptoms of dementia setting in?"

"Who says I'm demented?" she laughed. "Everything is fine with me - it's everybody else who keeps turnin' into cacti and stinky pipes!"

He sighed. "When did you start feeling nauseous?"

"Oh, the pukiness!" Her eyes rolled in her head. "My mom's from the South Seas, and she brought it back with her!"

"The Bahama Mama," I groaned (again). "Harley, can you speak in something besides horrible riddles? You're not Nygma!"

"Nygma? Riddler. Rigma Nyddler. The Joker was a smoker, and a velvet choker." All at once, her laughing subsided. "N-no, the Joker, I- not Puddin', I don't want 'im, he's- no, get 'im out! GET HIM OUT!"

"Really, I insist you leave," said Dr Leland sternly. "I can't allow you to antagonise the patient any further."

"I've got most of what I need," Daddy said loudly, glancing at me as if to say, "You got your visit and we're pushing it."

A lump rose in my throat. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry, I- just give me a second?"

"Make it fast," she sighed uncomfortably.

I leaned against the glass, both hands on either side of the holes. Harley's eyes were everywhere but on my face; rolling around, staring at the lights, squeezed shut. A line of drool ran from the corner of her mouth to the bottom of her chin.

"Harley?"

She tried to focus on me, but it was as if I was on the other side of a football field. "Who's there?"

"Harley, I- I miss you. Come back to me soon, okay?"

"Babs? No, I- why ya runnin' away? Don't, I- I didn't mean it, I- I'm a blockhead, nobody'd want me to be their girl. You can live to be free!"

My heart exploded. Even in the face of all this, she was still agonising over the relationship issue? She was dying a little inside every day, and I was holding the knife. "Nevermind that! I miss you!"

Again, her eyes really focused on me again. Then, as if fighting with some invisible force stronger than anything we'd faced in our crimefighting careers, she said, "I... m-miss... Babsy, don't let 'em catch you, too, you don't have a flyswatter!"

Before I could say anything else, the guards were propping her up and turning her toward the door. "No, wait- Harley! Harley, I'll come back, I promise!"

"Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my Babsy to me, to meee!" she sang as they wheeled her out, voice cracking.

"I'll be damned," said Dr Leland.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I d-didn't mean to get her more wound up, or- or anything, I j-just had-"

"No, that's not what I was going to say." She took off her glasses again to look more intently at me, cold, analytical eyes boring through my head. "Something about you really is different, Miss Gordon."

"Wh-what?"

"I've been Harley's psychiatrist for some time now, and if there's one person she talks about in nearly every session, it's you. Despite past experience and the reason for the therapy, she mentions you more often than The Joker."

For some reason, that made me smile, even while I was still crying. "She does?"

"And I can see why. You actually got through to her, just now." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything I've been trying with varying success, stemming from a degree and years of experience with the criminally insane, and you almost effortlessly draw out the most rational, stable parts of her mind. Not that you 'fixed' everything; she has a difficult time ahead of her, but... that's intriguing." She hesitated, one stem of her glasses in her teeth. "Whatever the nature of your relationship, it's obvious this bond is more than one-sided. You're very special to her."

Daddy had to lead me back to the car by the hand; I was in no shape to find my own way.

END SESSION

Another note - and so soon? Lookitlookitlookit!

/community/QualityLesbianRomanceAcrosstheFandomsQLRAF/50622/99/0/1/

I am indescribably proud to be rec'd there - especially given this bit from the description: "quality stories that don't require you know a lot about the fandom to enjoy it". One of my highest goals in writing is to always make the story accessible to everyone, as many of my friends are interested in what I create and (more often than not) have had no contact with the fandom previously. Gives me a glow to know I qualified for this list. Also, I'm extra honoured to have penned (I think) the first BTAS title added to this list... although that also makes me cast a critical eye toward the Bat-Fandom... no, wait! A Birds of Prey fic! That's marginally better, Gothamites.

But I must ask, and please do forgive a foolish question... why does there seem to be an extremely high volume of Hermione/McGonagall?