"You should probably wait out of sight."

Jerome and I are standing outside of my parents' house. The lights are on – I just hope they're still there. That I'm not too late.

"What? I'm not allowed to meet your parents?" He scoffs, but he does retreat into the shadows of the trees that line the sidewalk. I steady myself and walk up the steps. As my hand wraps around the door handle Jerome calls out –

"You'll be fine!" I can't tell if he's serious or joking. Maybe there isn't ever actually a line with him. I shake my head, ignore him, and try the handle.

The door's unlocked. A shiver of fear runs through my body as I open it. Please don't be too late. Please. Jerome watches from a distance. I don't need to turn around to know that. A shadow passes the window and I burst in. My mom screams and drops the bag she's carrying.
"It's me!" As soon as she hears my voice her arms are around me.
"Harleen!" I think she might be crying. I pry her away from me and hold her at arms-length. "Thank goodness you're-"
"There's no time," I pick up the bag and begin searching for my father. "You need to go, now. We're already pushing it." He's in the living room, checking a hastily made list. "Come on."
"We need to wait for Archie to get here."
"No." I struggle not to shout but I don't need to create any more stress right now. "You can drive yourself for once."
"But-"
"No buts!" I bite my tongue immediately, but it's made them pay attention. "Now get in the car."

I grab another bag on my way out and head to the car parked in front of the house. My parents follow me with their own bags. Luckily I can't see Jerome. Once the bags are stowed away my father opens the back door and stands, waiting for me to get in.

"I'm not coming with you."
My mother steps out of the car and gapes at me. "What do you mean?"
"I need to fix this mess. I can't let them get away with this."
"I won't let you stay."
"You can't stop me." I slam the door from my father's hand. "Now go."
"Harleen-" He starts, but I don't have time for a debate.
"Dad, just go!"
"I'm proud of you." The words shock me. In eighteen years I don't think I've ever heard that. I don't quite know how to respond.
"I'll let you know when it's all over." It's all I can say. But I think he understands.
"Goodbye." He gets into the car, turns the ignition, and they're driving away from me. Left all alone in Gotham City. My dream come true.

I wait until the lights disappear before I let myself fall. All the tension releases from my shoulders and I practically collapse against the wall. A shaky breath makes its way through me and I need to bite my lip to stop myself from bursting into tears.

This is all too much. This isn't supposed to be my life. I can't do this. Why me? It's not fair. Not fair. Not fai-

"Harls," Jerome's voice startles me. I swipe hastily at the pooling tears in the corner of my eyes and turn to him. "We should probably get going."
"Yeah." I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. No more crying.
"You alright?" He asks incredulously, head tilted.
"I'm fine."
"Sure you are."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You get so sappy over your parents. I really just don't get it." He stares off into the distance where the car vanished.
"They're good people."
"And?"
"Just shut up." I shake my head at him. Almost relaxed. I stretch, take a moment to breathe now that the urgency is gone.

Or not.

"We need to go." Jerome grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards the bike. I hiss at the pain emanating from his grip and try to force him away.
"What are you doing?!" He doesn't answer but just points at the three black cars driving towards us. "Shit."

We leap onto the bike, Jerome behind me again, not even taking the time to put helmets on before I'm veering away from the sidewalk and away from the house. The cars rev behind us – it's definitely them. I take a sharp turn, hoping that it will at least be enough to slow them down.

No such luck. They're closing on us.
"Hurry up!" Jerome's voice is faint, muffled by the engines and the wind.
"I'm trying!"

I speed up, the bike roaring beneath me. Suddenly we're in the city, zipping past bright lights that blur into a neon rainbow. I'm trying to keep on track, to get to Penguin's, but my priority is getting rid of our trail. We can't let them follow us.

BANG!

Gunshots shouldn't sound so familiar. I duck swerve instinctively, despite having no idea what direction they're firing other than "at us". I dart between cars, but they somehow manage to keep up. Other drivers are pulling out of the way. I can already hear sirens.

My heart is racing. This is too exciting. It's terrifying but exhilarating. I'm running on adrenaline and it's a high unlike anything else. I could do this for the rest of my life.

I catch sight of a narrow alleyway. Dumpsters line it – they won't be able to follow us. It's a risky shot. But I can make it.

A hairpin turn. Barrelling through traffic, cars swerving everywhere. It's getting closer.
The wind pulls at us as we barely make it through the gap. There's the sound of a collision behind us, more gunshots firing, but I keep going. Jerome is trying to say something, but I can't hear him; I'm laughing in relief, practically whooping at our victory.

Through the alley and out the other side. I turn to head out of the city.

But they're there. Waiting. I skid to a halt. We seem to stare each other down, me and Jerome versus a fleet of cars, of guns, of death. Waiting to see who will bite first.

Except I'm not waiting.

The wheels skid on the asphalt. We're heading straight towards them. I grit my teeth. Their weapons are pointed at us. Jerome's arms around me tighten. A deadly game of chicken.

I go straight through them. They fire, bullets flying, glancing off the metal, one even catching my hair. But for once I'm the lucky one. They're still chasing us, but the blockade means they have to regroup. Our advantage.

Sooner than I expected we're out of the city, driving through trees down back roads. I'm starting to think we've lost them. Starting to hope that we'll get there safely.

It was foolish to hope.

More cars. More fucking cars. There's too many. I'm exhausted, body and mind. Just a bit longer. I can do this. I have to.

But then I glance down.

The tank is close to empty. There's no way we'll make it. Not if we have to lose them again. They're getting closer. I bite my lip. Squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for what I'm about to do.

I'm sorry Jerome.

I snap the handles hard to the right, spinning us hard out of control. Jerome yells in my ear. We knock into trees, bushes, and down a steep slope. We fly off of the bike and away from each other. I hit the ground hard and continue falling, hitting what feels like every rock and branch on the way down. There's nothing I can do. I feel a sharp pain in my head. Taste blood. See black.

"There's no way they could have survived that."
"We still need to check."
"You want to try and get down there?"
"We have to."

I feel like I'm in a dream. Everything is fuzzy around the edges. But I can see the stars. If they're the last thing I see, I'll be happy.

I think I hear cars driving away. I thought they were chasing us? Does that mean I'm dead?

I don't feel dead. I don't think I do, at least. But I don't know what death feels like. The closest to death I've felt is leaving Gotham. But I survived that. I don't think people survive death.

Then again, Jerome did. He died and came back. Quite impressively. Maybe I'll come back. Maybe I'll be worse than I was.

"Harleen." The voice is hushed. Raspy. Familiar.
"Jerome?"
"I'm here." I think he's leaning over me.
"Are we dead?"
"You're not getting rid of me that easily." Hair is moved from my forehead. There's something sticky. Smells metally.
"Of course not. That was a dumb idea." I murmur. Talking feels funny. It's like all the bones and muscles in my head have been shaken out of place.
"Come on, we need to keep going."
"Just a little rest." I try to close my eyes but Jerome makes me sit up. I whine in complaint.
"They're looking for us."
"Oh. They'll kill us, won't they?" I hate feeling this stupid, sounding this stupid, but my brain feels fragmented. The thoughts just don't fit together.
"Yup, so we need to get going." He helps me to my feet but as soon as he lets me go, I stumble and almost crash to the ground. Luckily he catches me and hoists an arm over his shoulder. "How come the guy with the bullet wound in his leg is doing the carrying?" He grumbles.
"'Cause you like me." My mouth speaks without my brain.
"I'm liking you a lot less after that stunt throwing us off a cliff." We begin to shuffle across the damp ground.
"Well, you can drive next time." Being on my feet is starting to clear my head a little, and I pull away to stand on my own. I'm still a little unsteady but we need to move as fast as we can. "You know, I really don't see how that could have gone worse."
"We could have died."
"Good point." A moment of silence, but I can't seem to shut up, "What's it like?"
"What?"
"Being dead."
Jerome sighs, glancing around. "It's not like anything. It's just… nothing. Empty."
"That sounds awful."
"Well, I'm trying to avoid round two for as long as I can."

I press my hand against my forehead. It comes away bloody. "I'll have double face scars now."
"Join the club." He chuckles.
"Nah, I'll look after mine and they'll look cool."
He gasps in mock offence. "Are you saying my scars don't look cool?"
"You look like Frankenstein's monster gone wrong."
"That's harsh."
"It's true though."
"You wound me, Harls."
"I think you'll find you're usually the one doing the wounding, thank you very much. It's only fair I get a turn once in a while." I smirk at him.

The levity disappears quickly when we hear voices calling to each other.

"Here's the bike!"
"They're not here!"

"Shit." Jerome hisses. We move as one, hurrying forward as silently as possible. They don't seem to be too close. Yet. We're both limping as we make our way through the trees. But the pain now won't matter if they find us. "Wait." Jerome's voice is barely a whisper as he throws an arm in front of me. Ahead of us. A man in leather. Flashlight in one hand, gun in the other. Jerome acts on instinct. Before I can process what's happening I'm pressed against a tree by his body. He holds a finger to his lips. I nod. Slowly, I raise my arm and pull his hood over the shock of ginger hair.

Our hearts beat as one. Eyes fixed on each other. Breath mingling. My hand hasn't moved from his hood. My wrist rests on his shoulder.

The moment feels endless.

There's a sigh from behind the tree. The man is walking away. But Jerome isn't moving. And neither am I. We're frozen here, together, separate from the world. For once free from everything else. I'm not scared. Fear doesn't mean anything anymore. Jerome's eyes flicker to my lips, and mine imitate him. It seems like the only thing to do.

The sound of cars driving away makes me jump. The spell is broken. Jerome pulls back, leaving the space around me suddenly empty and incomplete.
"We should go." I manage to speak. He nods, and I lead us away from the tree, from that moment suspended in time.