This was something that was important. Harley is not inside of love, but that doesn't mean I'm trying to portray her as if she can no longer feel it at all.

-:-
If I went back to the beginning, I could start it over again…
-{proof}

Sanctuary-:-

The three ducklings that Harley was required to train and watch over (teach herself responsibility again, patience, life, as Dr. Arkham said this would help) sat again in the doctors' lounge, each with their cups of coffee in hand as Harley—for what Hiro had counted as the twenty-seventh time since they'd started work at the Asylum—worked on fixing the coffee machine. There was a set photo in the middle of the table they sat at of Harvey Dent, Arnold Whesker and finally Jonathan Crane. Dr. Leland sat at a separate table in the back with a clipboard to write this little lesson down as it progressed so she could report it back to Dr. Arkham and the rest of the staff as needed; her own caramel coffee wafted steam out into the air for three seconds before the heat from the furnace swallowed it up into its own temperature.

"So, today is a lesson in debate," Harley smiled sagely from behind the coffee machine, wrench covered in brown sludge that the three "newborns" (one of the many nicknames Harley was fond of calling them)knew to be more of the backed up coffee grounds that none of the staff in Arkham seemed competent to correctly clear out for more than twelve hours at any given time. "Bright Eyes, you will argue in favor of the theory that Alternative Personality Disorder can be a good thing pertaining to these three individuals given their given history in their files," she pointed at Becky, using the alternative nickname for the frizzy haired girl rather than her fallback of 'Cripple' of which Joan in her seat was grateful of while drinking half of her coffee. "Toyman and Rose Red, you'll be arguing against this theory, trying to prove that, in fact, it is quite a bad thing that they have been diagnosed as such, given their histories. I don't need to tell you their history, because I told you all to read those big, thick files last night when you were dismissed for the evening. Any questions?"

All three individuals lifted an arm and Harley rolled her eyes, pointing at Kate Kane.

The redhead lowered her arm and flipped closed the file she had been looking over again of Mr. Whesker, his glasses in the tiny picture pinned to the file bright and making it impossible to see his actual eyes; even less so when both hands folded atop the file and her fingernails sat along his jaw line, "And what will this lesson provide us with?"

"A new point of view," Joan answered for her blonde colleague as Harley removed some of the guts from inside and grinned to herself because Joan was spot on.

Harley then pointed to Becky from over the coffee machine door, her fingers all wet from pawing at cogs and carriers of the machine itself.

Becky cleared her throat, "Why am I the only one arguing for their diseases?"

"Conditions," Harley corrected, voice echoing against the metal and plastic she was facing, unable to see the students and not caring to, "Not diseases. Ever say that in front of them or I and you'll be facing mental or verbal abuse and scut duty for another five months, my dear. And you're arguing for them by yourself because I want to see what those years in law school did for you."

The lame young woman blinked, but didn't get the chance to ask more as Harley shut the coffee machine and pointed lastly at Hiro; arm still hanging in the air and his feet skimming the bottom of his chair like a fresh, but brilliant child in school. She did not look happy to have to answer whatever popped out of the young man's mouth.

When Hiro's arm folded back against his chest upon the table, palm dry and soft and not leaving tracks of sweat behind like most men that entered that room and stood in the presence of the Joker's former partner, "Is it true that Batman and three Lanterns from three different Corps' went to your apartment last night to pick up Sinestro?"

If Harley's teeth weren't grinding together at such impertinence from Hiro (she had no doubt that he somehow had access to this information from some of his contacts—probably Nightwing—so trying to lie her way out of the embarrassing truth would be pointless) she would have taken note that Joan had choked on her coffee and was glaring heatedly at the young man. She would have noted Dr. Leland jotting down a note about talking to Toyman later about trying not to act like the blonde even if he was her student. But she didn't and simply answered with a Great Grinchy Smile most unpleasant.

"None of them knew how to wipe their damn feet on my front mat and ended up leaving space debris on my carpet while Batman left mud and snow. Can we get on with your lesson now, Nosy Parker?"

"Sure," and the young man shrugged his shoulders with a smug smile at getting the answer he wanted as Harley sat up on the counter (legs long and beautiful even if nothing else of her was even pretty anymore, no matter what and in those black stockings) and she cleared her throat. It would be a specific enquiry lesson that they would all doubtlessly suffer through; but they would be all the better for it if the way their boss was swinging her legs left to right, slip-on clogs dropped to the floor, heels tracing the lining of the counters.

"Alright, Miss Albright: let's start why it is a good thing that Professor Crane has the Scarecrow. And let's remember that you're Pro, not Con. I won't tolerate anything else."

The night before…

She was more surprised by the fact that the buzzer on her door sounded off, than she was by the fact that it was after midnight and there were three very bright lights apparent at the stoop of her building, luminous even from her window. It meant that Batman with the Lanterns he'd doubtlessly brought to tag along were good enough not to bypass common courtesy and simply break down her door or window.

Sighing, the blonde renter of the apartment set down her freshly cooked liver and premium steak (the carcass she's gone at until a little after eleven still hung from its hook in her living room right across from her, stomach carved open with her dainty and precise hands, but missing most of its organs, the stumps that used to be where its back legs were dripping blood unto the plastic below it every five minutes; the hyenas were happily gnawing at those legs Harley had cooked over her open flame stove) across from the set of erotica she had laid out to categorize and file after her meal and crept over to her buzzer. It wasn't like she could just ignore them to make them leave on their own.

It was already pretty obvious that tactical plan didn't work for her.

Finger on the button so hard that the little indented circle would doubtless leave a full moon circle on her skin, the buzzer opened the connection to the building's front door, "Hello?"

"Dr. Quinzel," was the greeting of the Dark Knight, his own finger on the button at the front, three figures behind him indeed glowing like the Christmas lights left on bar house buildings all year long in certain places less than deserving of remembered names; giving him such a headache it was ridiculous to imagine, "Some associates and myself would like to come up and have a small word with you, if that's alright?"

Not as though he would care if it wasn't, but at least he made the attempt to seem pleasant at such a late hour.

Harley didn't even answer, she simply pressed her hand to the large button besides the one for the telecom and the door downstairs unlocked.

"Just come up slowly, please," she muttered as she counted to five before letting go of the pressure on her buzzer, walking back over to her bedroom door to knock on the wood in a succession of three tiny little beats, hoping that it wouldn't piss the alien inside off too much more than it had earlier when he had been dozing off and she had offered him a hot plate of some of the lasagna she had left over from the night previous, as well as the heart and tongue of the dead beast on its hook. He'd taken it and offered explanation for his coming to her little abode, but she'd declined with the recitation of 'La-la-la-la! I don't want to know! I can't hear you! Please don't tell me! La-la, la-la, LA-LA!'

It was humiliating that she had to request to go into her own damn bedroom, but she ignored any indignation in the pleasant recalling that he'd complimented her let down hair (somewhat still choppy from last year's debacle of being shorn; not much she could do about it seeming as if she was trying to pull off a Brittany Murphy showcased in 'The Dead Girl' look after the actress got cut up and left in the wilderness) and her no longer wearing clown makeup. It was nice to get compliments, even if it was by the leader of the Sinestro Corps after breaking in her door and then claiming her bedroom (clean sheets, fresh smelling—perfect, finally) as his personal recuperation den.

There was a deep, rough cough that echoed beyond her door before Sinestro answered, sounding more tired than he had earlier. Perhaps she'd woken him up, but this couldn't wait; she didn't want an all out fight between Redskein (it was fun to call him that; his given nickname she'd bestowed him after the first time they'd spoken in the Legion of Doom and he'd spoken to her like a person, doubtless, because of her having to wait in the makeshift cafeteria with both eyes blackened with barely non-swollen bruising and Joker harassing Luthor about something stupid in the conference room. He seemed to like it enough) and the Lanterns ascending her apartment stairs. Personally, she was hoping that one of her pathetic, stoner, grunge metal band playing neighbors popped out and spooked them enough to strike up a conversation; at least that would buy Sinestro some time to ready himself in case of confrontation.

"Yes, you can come in, I'm decent," he said; her opening the door without waiting for him to finish that sentence and being very swift to pick up her thick glass plate and the half-empty imported soda bottle from where he'd set it on her side table when she'd dropped in half an hour previously to give him some torn-up sheets and peroxide that he sported as she whispered to him.

"There are some people coming up here to see you," she didn't make eye contact with him, picking up the fork and knife that had fallen onto the table, his being too busy to pick it up earlier when he'd removed his tattered suit and set about to use her pre-offered sheets to tie and fasten his injuries.

Sinestro opened his mouth, eyes getting a little more awake, (strange, how she paid more attention to his face than how he was only wearing the torn sheets for his upper torso as bandages and as a temporary shift around his waist that left little to her rather spot-on imagination) but she set her cup onto the plate she held carefully to keep from spilling some of the meat's juice onto her carpet, other hand lifting to foil him from speaking—or worse, charging his ring.

"I just want you to be aware that though they're coming up, I won't grant them access into my home until they explain exactly why they want you to go with them."

She stepped back over to the door and past the frame of the entrance, closing the door until there was an inch of hollow space that allowed her hand to travel up to the light switch and make it dark within the bedroom, only a sliver of light from her living area slipping in and traveling the room to slip across Sinestro's dark red complexion, "Just stay in here and be quiet. I don't want ANY of you lot breaking my stuff."

The crack of the door opening remained and Sinestro (he didn't know why he was in that room, in that apartment, in that particular city, other than for the reasons his ring had given him that didn't make a whole lot of sense) quietly sat on the edge of the bed. He would keep within hearing range of whatever was said, but out of the immediate line of sight if anyone indeed came into the apartment…

The sound of one hand clapping filled the room as both Hiro and Kate looked wiped from the intense session of this little debate that Harley had set before them; Becky having come to the end of her recitation of good reasons for multiple personality disorders as the patients in the Rogue gallery conceived them to be. It was a long-winded hour sitting and listening to all the facts (Joan had to refill her coffee twice and had written on four pages of her notes in a frenzy; it was a happy event to get so much useful information from the young minds Harley had chosen for internship, a drastic change from what went on inside the walls of Arkham among the other doctors. Dr. Leland didn't look angry anymore about Harley getting the young people to do this) presented to the people of five, but it certainly wasn't boring.

Harley jumped off of the counter and started moving the papers back into their files, mouth in as neutral a position as could be and making all three of her students seem on edge with the quiet that not one of them assumed the blonde to be capable of for long periods of time.

When nothing was said even after Dr. Quinzel had picked up all the files and set them beside Joan so Harley herself could fill her coffee and then proceeded to pop four silver coins into the vending machine adjacent to the doors to the room so she could eat one of the chocolate muffins, Hiro (he had a long attention span, actually, but the woman made him nervous and speak up at the first sign of not getting what he wanted) questioned, "Well?"

Harley sank a heavy gulp of her drink, the heat dousing her throat raw, but leaving no hoarseness when she replied, "Well, what?"

Kate interrupted the second Toyman, her army training failing her as her own annoyance at this little session took root (she had felt she and Hiro had made the better argument, but quite frankly, it was the woman who had previously been Harley Quinn that had been judging them, they ALL knew who she was going to agree with) in the back of her skull and drilled into her head to take the nuts of a twitch and grow into a full bloom migraine, "Well, who won this? What's the punishment of the loser? What does the winner get?"

Harley smiled there, bowing down so her head was level with where her colleague sat behind the children, "Explain the situation, Joan."

Ugly cracking sounded as all three interns looked back over their shoulders at the other doctor, tidying her area of the table up and seeming most appeased to have something to give to Dr. Arkham that wasn't completely useless to the asylum, "You don't get anything. Nothing happens to you. This is just a learning exercise to open your brains and broaden your horizons in the most unique of ways that they don't teach in college for asylum internships."

"God only knows why," Harley said sarcastically, drawing some more papers from a file cabinet, these ones smaller in number. "But, if it makes you feel any better, now you get to help me draw up to plans for the video nights scheduled for the patients. Doctor's choices, then the patients, then your lot. Everyone gets a drink at the trough."

"…Why?" Becky asked, completely exasperated from her own spot, hands clenched tight around the coffee cup in front of her (orange, little red crows along the handle) enough so that the tips of her fingers were white, striped with red.

"Because she says so," Joan stated helpfully, notes tucked into her whitecoat pocket and notepad under her arm, "And I'll be the one to analyze it for fairness later, so please make sure your hand-writing is legible. I hate going blind on paperwork."

All of the interns (Becky, freckles going deep red so that it looked as though she was left in the sun for three days straight, Hiro with his hands raised in exasperation, Kate weaving her hands through her hair) made to say something about that, but the doors to the lounge swished closed as both Joan and Harley exited, leaving no room for debate.

The Night Before…

Soda poured down the drain of her kitchen sink, leftover scraps put into Bud and Lou's food bowls, dishes tucked neatly into soapy hot water to soak for however long the next conversation/confrontation would take, and then the knock at her door. Harley took a deep breath, counted to five, walked over to the entrance to her entire abode, never at all minding the still hanging carcass of the cow in the space of sight between both her front door and bedroom door that could at least re-direct the attention of the unwanted coming with arms bared and ire boiling.

She really hoped she could pull off keeping them outside; she liked the way her apartment looked and didn't want it ruined too soon.

Breathing in and standing erect, the blonde opened the door to find, indeed, the Dark Knight himself, as well as Green Lantern Hal Jordan, Star Sapphire Carol Ferris (Harley could actually see her face, there was no mask and she actually looked in her right state of mind; but, then, she hadn't started spouting in that completely Children of the Corn way she often did when engaging with someone of the same sex, just yet) and some Blue Lantern that was something like nine feet tall, looked like a cross between a glow worn, fish and a human, and dwarfed Batman; all the while smiling at her.

She was actually proud when her voice didn't revert into its old ways, didn't crack at the end and she didn't stop looking Batman directly in the eye, "Hello. Is there something you wanted?"

"Dr. Quinzel," Batman greeted in that way that woman had come to recognize as his no-nonsense tone, that shadow of his seemingly larger and trying to get past the invisible line that separated her private domicile and the hallway, "We have reason to believe that the leader of the Sinestro Corps is here. May we come in and speak with him?"

"Not yet."

(Not yet; the way she said it was enough of a reason for the inside of the Batman's brain to stop firing off synapses and revert to simply clicking off a beat of Morse Code that all amounted to nothing. Not yet.)

Under his cowl, and hardly enough for anyone to notice if they weren't one of his Rogues, Batman blinked. He blinked and it took him five seconds to find something to say that wasn't entirely stupid and useless. Even then, it came off a little less than what he would have liked in front of three of the more powerful beings in the universe that were counting on him (Saint Walker, the really tall Blue Lantern's words) to be the ambassador between what they perceived to be two hostiles.

"…Why?"

Harley shrugged and gave a delicate smile, leaning against the doorframe, "I would like to know why he came here all roughed up first. And I'd like some assurance that this little peanut," she pointed to Hal whom turned a beat red she hadn't seen on a while, "Isn't here intending to take Redskein off to some ridiculous place without his consent."

"Harley, that's really not your business." Carol stated, looking rather amused herself at the face Hal made at the short blonde woman.

The psychiatrist shrugged again, this time leaning over towards her coffee table to pick up her eight inch long, serrated Rambo knife and started cutting off the dead animal on the hook's head to steer the conversation into a more manageable zone for herself; the door left wide open but her demeanor stating that if they tried to take a step inside, they would be in for something nasty, "It's my business if you attempt to cross my threshold without my permission and try to forcefully take an associate of mine while he has claimed this place as sanctuary. Doubtlessly, if you tried to do that, it would be with those rings and, doubtless, you would end up breaking some of my belongings and even the apartment proper. And make no mistake, if you tried any of that—especially entering my home and breaking my things; I would have the law on my side for once in that I would be allowed to assume you all as intruders, which would allow me to knock the crap out of all of you."

The knife, large as life and twice as deadly as even the mallet hidden behind her sofa with her slugger and just begging to be used within the decade, cut precisely into the cow's jugular and made a squelching noise not dissimilar to when someone takes a dull butter knife to the cellophane that binds store bought chicken. All three humans and the Blue Lantern took a small step back when she made a triumphant noise in the back of her throat and managed to hook the knife behind the bone that connected bovine skull to neck.

"And Carol, you above all people know that I just need a long enough moment to cut into your hands and take your rings to win any kind of fight with Lanterns of all people. So come on, talk to momma."

Inside the bedroom (still, it was dark, save for that one sliver of an opening that allowed Sinestro to grin vaguely when Harley gave a little yank on her knife and sent the dead animal's head towards the plastic it had been wrapped inside; blood splatting all about in clusters on dead tissue that Sinestro could imagine made Saint Walker out there sick to his stomach) and lightly tracing the outline of the symbol on his ring, Thaal Sinestro was starting to understand why his ring had told him, injured and bleeding and desperate, that the apartment he now stood in was 87.9% safe to stay in while empty, and 91.9% safe while that woman occupied it.

He knew there was a reason (in his gut, which when it came down to most things, was just right whenever he was on Earth) some years back, that while he was with the Legion of Doom, he had spoken to the pathetic looking thing that Joker took his rage out on, who at the time sat alone in the cafeteria. There was a reason, even if at the time she came off more as a victim than anything else.

Sinestro's eyebrows rose as he heard and barely could make out Harley's hyenas stand to attention when Jordan tried to breach the doorway and Harley kicked the head of the cow at the Green Lantern so that in landed just in the front door's threshold and flung in the air blood drippings that not only stained the carpet outside, but Jordan's uniform along the toes of his feet. Staining Batman's, Carol's and Saint Walker's lower clothing with red drops no bigger than a trout's eye similarly.

The tall, proper Sinestro grinned in shadow as his ring lit up just enough to inform him that the safety level of the immediate perimeter had gone up to 92%.

'Not a victim anymore, though…' he contemplated, smiling even more.