In the Still of the Night - A Bruce x Harley fic
A/N **TRIGGER WARNINGS** Rape (not by Bruce). Childhood Sexual Abuse. Graphic Violence. Graphic Sexual Violence. Post-Rape GYN Exam and medical treatment (not kinky, treated as traumatic). A flashback of the present-day attack and past childhood sexual abuse is in Chapter 1 in italics, I highly recommend skipping it if you need to. The rest of the story is the aftercare and aftermath but is also graphic.
This is a work of fiction. I am not a medical professional or legal expert. While I tried to make those details realistic, they are in no way intended to be taken as true to life, although certain details may perhaps be accurate representations.
This story was inspired by "The Princess and the Bat" by The Kat Valentine on FFN. Her story is unfinished but still so adorably worth the read as a collection of scenes. She writes Harley as she is in the animated universe (i.e., cheerfully insane) … I interpreted Harley as post-traumatized and dissociative through a darker lens because that's how I like to write her. I LOVE the fluffy version, though, so go read it! Her story is SO. CUTE. And mine is SO. DARK. It was a therapeutic write for me. I haven't exactly been through all of these situations, but some similar ones in some respects. My story does have a happy ending though, because I only write happy endings.
Chapter 1
Harley parked the stolen car a block from Wayne Manor. She hadn't hotwired a car since she was a teenager; it was funny the things that your brain never forgot how to do. Groaning as she got out of the car, she began gingerly walking towards her destination.
One foot in front of the other, Harley. You can do it, she thought to herself.
Competitors don't give up. Push through the pain. Are you a winner or a loser, Harleen? A harsher voice in her brain refused to let her stop, even though her pelvis was on fire and her eye was swollen and her body beaten and cut.
This is the way we go to school, go to school, go to school… A childish song tripped through her mind and Harley felt a swirl of energy trying to cheer her up and get her to the finish line.
I'll be safe there, Harley thought. Just get there and then you can collapse.
The block should have taken less than thirty seconds for the fit Harley Quinn to scamper down to the gates of Wayne Manor. Instead, the minutes seemed to crawl by as Harley shuffled along, gritting her teeth through the pain, her destination seeming just as far ahead of her every time she raised her eyes hopefully to see if she was close.
Finally, thankfully, Harley made it to the locked gate. She looked for a call box and cursed when she realized there wasn't one. Seriously? She thought to herself. Somebody doesn't want uninvited guests, she thought bitterly, and yeah, she got it; she probably wouldn't have a call box either in Bruce's position, but she had to get in.
Harley heaved out a huge sigh as she looked up at the twelve foot tall gate. Tears pricked her eyes but she wiped them away with determination, rubbing her nose on her sleeve for good measure. Her right hand was soaked with blood from her jumpsuit where she had shrugged out of it and balled it against the deep jagged gash in her abdomen, so she wiped it in her hair to get it as dry as possible.
Pretend it's the Olympics, she thought to herself. Our final competitor on the gate climb… Harleeeeeeeey Quinn!
With a determined grunt, Harley blocked out everything else from her mind. The pain. The cuts. The bruises. The bleeding. The rapes. She grabbed the vertical bars as high as she could with both hands and started to climb, using her feet to support her as best she could. Her mind went white and there was no more Harley, no more Joker, no more father, no more Wayne Manor. There was just one hand over the other, pulling her up by sheer upper body strength.
When she got to the top of the gate, Harley swung her left leg over first, then her right, refusing to acknowledge the new blood that she felt gushing out of her cut or the agonizing fire that ripped through her lady parts. She whimpered, but she didn't hear it. Having crossed over, Harley carefully lowered herself hand by hand down the bars instead of jumping, knowing she wouldn't be able to land without breaking something in the condition she was in.
Finally, finally, her feet hit the ground, but Harley refused to stop. Because if she thought making it down the block was bad, now she had to get down the fancy-ass long driveway to the house. Harley forced her feet to go even faster than they had on the street, knowing that if she collapsed without getting help she might bleed out. She had no idea how bad the one cut was.
Make it a game! her childish inner voice said. The driveway is lava. RUN! Harley took off like she was running towards the pummel horse for a vault, abruptly stumbling up the steps of the house before she had time to think. She looked for a doorbell, a knocker, a buzzer, an intercom - there had to be something, right? Didn't they ever get deliveries?
Apparently not. Growling in frustration, Harley scanned the porch and found a sturdy looking metal planter. She picked it up and slammed it into the antique oval-shaped glass window of the door. Hard. And it bounced off and almost ricocheted back into her.
Harley screamed and cursed in frustration. Of course the Bat had bullet-proof glass. Of course he did. That sonofabitch. Harley started screaming louder and picked up the vase again, slamming the wood of the door this time, again and again, as loud as she could. Maybe there was an alarm system she could trigger.
Harley's desperation gave her strength and she kept screaming like a banshee while trying to raise the dead with her hefty pounding on the door. Finally, lights flickered on somewhere a ways back from the door and a dark silhouette approached. Harley dropped the vase and pounded on the glass with the flat of her hand, pressing her face up to it so Bats could see who it was.
The porch and foyer lights flicked on simultaneously and then he was standing on the other side of the glass, staring at her in shock.
"Bats, help me! Please, I need help," Harley yelled through the door, not sure how well her voice would carry. Bruce Wayne's eyes widened for a minute, but then he was unlocking the door and opening it. Harley gratefully stumbled in, almost falling but catching herself on him.
Bruce stared at her in horror. She had taken one arm out of her jumpsuit which she was now trying to use again to staunch the heavily bleeding wound in her stomach. One eye was blackened and swollen shut. Her nose looked like it was broken. Her jaw and uncovered arm had multiple bruises and, most gut-wrenching of all - Bruce had to swallow and look away, because the crotch of her jumpsuit had been cut open and was soaked with blood, which was apparently still dripping down her legs.
"Harley?" Bruce said gently, because however much she annoyed him when she was running around with the Joker, he'd never really blamed her for her Joker-induced psychosis. And seeing her now like this - his Bat-brain did wonder for a second if it could be a trap, but he immediately dismissed the thought. She was hurt. Badly. And she'd undoubtedly made her injuries worse in getting past the gate and trying to wake him up.
"Bats, please, I need you to protect me from him," Harley said, looking up at him as she hung on to his chest, propping herself up. Bruce's arm automatically went around her back to help her stand. He was most worried about the gash. It looked deep and it could have punctured some organs. He frowned. He and Alfred were more than capable of patching up even moderate injuries, but thanks to his armor he'd never received a deep cut like this.
He almost didn't register what Harley was calling him. "I can't go to Arkham," Harley was pleading with him. "He'll get to me there. Please, Bats, please, I need to stay here with ya." Bruce flicked his eyes to hers.
"I'm not Batman," he said, "but I can help you with your injuries and get you to the hospital."
"I can't go to the hospital," Harley hissed. "You know damn well he'll come right in and take me back. And I can't go back, Bats, I can't. Please," she said, her face crumpling up as she began to cry. Bruce sighed.
"Let's go take a look at that cut first and then we'll talk about it," he said. He frowned as he looked at her. "Can you walk?" he asked her with concern.
"Not so good," she mumbled. Bruce gently lifted her in his arms. Harley lay there limply as he walked, her face starting to take on a gray pallor. He carried her upstairs to where a worried Alfred was standing, waiting to hear the cause of the disturbance that had triggered the alarms.
"Oh, my word!" Alfred exclaimed, although whether it was from the shock of seeing Harley in the first place or her abused state, Bruce couldn't say.
"Go reset the alarm system, Alfred, please, and check if there's anything on the rest of the cameras," Bruce said to him. "And then come find me."
"Of course, sir," Alfred said, hurrying down the stairs to secure the mansion once again.
Having made it to his bathroom with Harley, Bruce gently set her down on the toilet lid. He hesitated. "Would you like to sit on a pillow?" he asked her, embarrassed to have to address her obvious sexual assault but at the same time, determined to help as best as he could.
"Yes, please," Harley said tiredly, shutting her eyes as she slumped backwards. Bruce returned seconds later with a big fluffy one from his bed and he helped her stand up again and get resettled with it under her. She sniffed as tears started to trickle down her cheeks but she didn't say anything.
"Can we take your other arm out of the jumpsuit?" Bruce asked her. "So I can get a better look at that cut?" Harley nodded with her eyes closed but made no move to do it so Bruce gently slid it down her left arm and peeled the jumpsuit down to her hips.
"Oh, shit," he said, realizing that her bra was cups built into the suit and that she was now naked from the waist up. He peeled his t-shirt off and popped it over her head, threading her arms through it. Harley opened her eyes in surprise and met the Bat's which were surprisingly gentle and concerned.
"Thank you," she whispered. Bruce just nodded and lifted the hem of the shirt up a little bit to see the cut.
"I'm worried about internal damage from this," he said to her, frowning. "We really need a doctor to see it."
"I don't think a doctor could tell just by looking," Harley mumbled. "Probably need an MRI. But I can't go to the hospital, Bats, I'd rather die than let him get me again," she said in a stronger voice, despite her pain. Bruce sighed.
"Ok, I can appreciate that," he said, standing to get gauze and alcohol and the suture kit from his well-stocked medicine cabinet. "But we need to get it checked out. Let me stitch this up temporarily and I'll have Alfred make some calls; we'll find a private imaging center to scan it tonight." Harley chuckled quietly despite her pain.
"Must be nice to be so damn rich," she said with a hint of a smile.
"It has its perks," Bruce said back. "This is going to hurt," he added as he prepped the alcohol and hydrogen peroxide to clean her cut.
"Trust me," Harley muttered, "it ain't gonna have nothin' on what I been through tonight," she said bitterly. Bruce met her eyes with empathy before starting to clean the cut out. Harley hissed but otherwise didn't make any noise, although she shut her eyes again. Technically her eye, since the one was so swollen that she wasn't able to open it.
"Ok," Bruce said a minute later. "I'm going to give you a few shots of topical analgesic before I sew the wound shut," he said.
"But you ain't Batman," Harley grinned at him cheekily, peeking out from her eyelid again. Bruce sighed.
"What makes you think I'm Batman?" he asked her as he began administering the injections.
"Well, not you personally, but he's in there," Harley said. "Ain't ya, Bats!" she yelled a little louder, causing Bruce to jump.
"Shit, Harley!" he said in annoyance. "Do you want me to stab the wrong place?"
"There ya are, ya cranky bastard," Harley said with contentment. "Took ya long enough to come out." Bruce raised an eyebrow at her, but truth be told, his easy-going Bruce Wayne demeanor had in fact shifted into the hardcore, tense watchfulness of Batman. He gave her a hard look but Harley just giggled.
"You can't fool me, Batsy," she said cheerfully as he looked back down to give her another shot. "You think we're gonna make it?" she asked him, but she didn't sound too concerned. "Or am I gonna die?"
"You made it all the way here," he said to her. "And over the gate. So I doubt this is life-threatening. But it needs to be checked out."
"Yeah, yeah," Harley said playfully. "Big bad Batsy doesn't have an MRI down in the BatCave?"
"Unfortunately, no," Bats growled at her, giving up on denying the truth. Who knew how Harley had figured it out - well, he would get that information out of her later - but she clearly had no doubts and continuing to deny his identity to her felt too pointless given the fact that he had already decided by this point to help her. It's not like she was wrong about his identity, after all, and dammit, he wasn't going to just turn her away instead of protecting her when she was so beat up and desperate. And had remarkably managed to get herself to him despite her terrible condition.
"Maybe you should get one," Harley was saying as Bruce gently tapped her skin with a needle to see if the pain-killer had taken effect yet.
"Can you feel that?" he asked her.
"What?" Harley asked him as he continued to poke.
"Never mind," Bruce said as he started to stitch her wound up. Alfred came to the doorway as he worked.
"All cameras are clear, sir, no sign of any other intruders," he reported to Bruce.
"Good," Bruce grunted. "We need an MRI of her wound tonight at a private imaging center," he said to Alfred. "Say it's for a friend who was sexually assaulted and doesn't want to go to the police because she knows the perp and is scared of him."
"Yes, sir," Alfred said, but his voice was laced with pain and sympathy as the extent of Harley's situation began to sink in to him.
"I'm gonna need to see a GYN, too," Harley muttered, casting her good eye down in shame. "Mistah - ah - the Joker, um, he cut me up pretty bad," she ended in a pained whisper. Bruce swore and gently gripped her knee in sympathy.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Thanks," Harley murmured, bravely meeting his eyes for a second before bashfully looking away again. Alfred cleared his throat and his voice sounded thick when he spoke.
"I shall make all the arrangements, Miss Harley, and I daresay without your makeup on, you shall be unrecognizable," he said. Harley nodded.
"Good," she said. Bruce didn't say it, but even with her make-up, Harley was practically unrecognizable due to the number of injuries on her face. He tightened his jaw and concentrated on finishing her sutures as Alfred walked off to spend the billionaire's money on scheduling middle-of-the-night private medical appointments.
"All done," Bruce said a minute later, snipping off the ends of the suture threads.
"Thanks," Harley said genuinely, meeting his eyes again. Bruce stood to put the materials away and looked over at her.
"I know you need to wash your face," he said to her, "and maybe wash up a little bit. I wouldn't take a shower and get those sutures wet, though, so just use a washcloth. I'll get you some clean ones and a towel," he said, "and some gym pants or boxers," he added. "Hopefully something will fit."
"Thanks, Bruce," Harley said again, surprising him by reaching her hand out to him. He took it in his and she squeezed it tight.
"You're welcome," he said to her. "You'll tell me later what happened?" She nodded, blinking away some tears. "Good," he said. "I'll get what you need," he added, and walked out of the bathroom.
Harley stayed seated on the pillow on the toilet lid, starting to shake as more tears began to flow. She was so tired, so damn tired and she'd been trapped in this nightmare for so long - God, she wasn't even sure what year it was. The sobs came louder as she thought back to earlier that night.
"Happy birthday, Harleyyy!" The Joker had cooed, presenting her with a large, beautifully wrapped gift.
"Why, Mistah J! I didn't even know it was my birthday!" Harley had said happily, pleased and excited. Until she opened the gift. Which was a spring-loaded boxing glove that punched her squarely in the nose, breaking it on contact.
Harley had sat stunned for a minute before beginning to wail as the Joker's cackling cruel laughter filled the room.
"Oh, Harley, did you get a boo-boo?" he asked her. "Let Daddy kiss it all better," he said, moving to touch her, and then Harley wasn't in the room with him anymore, she was back in her bedroom on a birthday night so, so long ago, hearing her father's voice in the darkness.
"Daddy has a special birthday present for his little girl…" She had shrieked when Joker tried to kiss her, landing a few good punches that enraged him…
"Harley? Harley?" Bruce's concerned voice brought her back to the present and her eyes came back into focus as she turned her face towards him with tears running down her cheeks as she sobbed. "It's ok," Bruce said somewhat awkwardly as he set the clothes and towel down and ran a washcloth under warm water. "You're safe now," he added.
He knelt down next to her as she continued to cry and gently began to wipe her makeup off. "Close your eyes," he instructed as he swiped the cloth over her good eyelid first, before gingerly dabbing at her swollen eye which caused her to cry harder. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I have to get the makeup off," he said, standing to rinse the washcloth and re-wet it before dabbing again.
Despite Harley's sobs, Bruce carried on cleaning her face until he was sure that all traces of Harley Quinn were gone. What remained was a devastatingly battered woman's face that squeezed at his heartstrings in a way that he was most unused to feeling. Bruce lightly stroked her hair back from her face with one of his hands.
"Do you want to wash up anywhere else?" he asked her, not wanting to come right out and ask in so many words if she wanted to wash the Joker off of her. Harley sighed and nodded.
"I can do it," she said brokenly. She managed to stop sobbing but she seemed to give up on trying to stop the tears from quietly leaking out of her eyes.
"Ok," Bruce answered her, standing up first and then helping her up. "I'll wait outside the door if you need anything," he said to her and Harley nodded at him.
"Thanks," she whispered again, feeling like the rest of her life might be consumed with repeating that one word to Bruce - and then wondering if that would be so bad. I'm safe, she thought to herself, kicking off her shoes and peeling off the rest of her jumpsuit once he was outside the door as she prepared to wash up. Ain't no way Mistah J can catch me as long as I stick with the Bat, she reassured herself, taking a deep breath before daring to look at her face in the mirror, which caused her to shudder in horror.
It ain't that bad, her cheerful bubble-gum poppin' voice said in her head.
Um, it's totally that bad, another voice dissented.
If it got us away from him, it was worth it, a third voice claimed strongly.
Harley sighed, picking up the second washcloth and soaping it up under warm water.
Harley Quinn? she asked her playful part inside her head.
Yeah? she answered with a distinctive crack of gum.
Don't ever shut the rest of us out like that again, ok? Harley said to herself seriously as she began washing herself, gritting her teeth as the soapy water stung her cuts.
Why not? playful Harley asked.
Look in the mirror, the angry part snarked at her. Pigtailed Harley's lips quivered.
But… but… that ain't MY fault! she insisted. Are ya mad at me? Her lower lip jutted out like a sad puppy's.
Her question was met with an internal growl which caused external Harley to intervene.
Hey! HEY! she yelled across the angry chorus of voices in her brain. It's not her fault. This time. But next time, Harley Quinn, do not shut us all out again. Ok? It's dangerous and it's not fair to the rest of us.
I didn't know, bubble-gum Harley said in a tiny voice.
It wasn't your fault, a more compassionate voice said again to her. Mistah J told you to do it and he made you trust him. But from now on, you just listen to us, Harley Quinn, ok? Nobody else.
Ok, Harley whimpered. External Harley sighed.
Come here, have a hug, she said, opening her arms wide in her mind to embrace her usually effusively optimistic part. She couldn't stand seeing her look so down, and it really wasn't her fault that the Joker had found her and manipulated her so badly, but… Harley realized she was blinking away more tears, not that she was sure if she'd ever stopped crying.
She had managed to finish cleaning up as best as she could, though, so after an excruciatingly painful peeing experience, she pulled on the track pants that Bruce had brought her. He was much taller than her, and although super fit much bigger in the waist, but Harley pulled the drawstring tight and tied it and painfully lifted her foot on her uninjured side to the toilet to roll up the pants. The slick material promptly unrolled and she sighed. Hauling the pants up, she padded to the door and opened it to see Bruce leaning against the wall outside.
"I got the waist tied ok," Harley said to him, "but the legs won't stay cuffed." Bruce glanced at the pants.
"Let's just cut them," he said. "Hang on," he added, moving to his nightstand to pull out a large knife.
"Holy shit, Bats, ya just keep that shit lyin' around?" Harley said to him, her eyes bugging out. Bruce just grunted at her but there was a little smile in his eyes. He carefully cut around the bottom of each pants leg so that the pants hit her mid-ankle.
"Thanks," Harley sighed again. "I feel like I'm never gonna stop saying that to you, Bats," she added.
"It's ok," Bruce said to her, sheathing his knife. "I'm glad I can help," he added, returning it to the drawer. Alfred came back to the bedroom, knocking on the doorframe.
"Master Bruce, Miss Harley," he said. "We will get the MRI first, the doctor will meet us there in twenty minutes. It's across town, so we should leave now," Alfred said. "And we'll proceed from there to the GYN," he finished.
"Thank you, Alfred," Harley said sincerely.
"You are most welcome, Miss Harley," Alfred answered her. "I am afraid that we do not have any footwear in the house that would fit you," he said apologetically, looking at her bare feet.
"Why would you?" Harley responded gently. But she wrinkled her nose. "I think maybe I'll just go barefoot," she said. "I don't want to put the ones I have back on."
"Wear some socks," Bruce said, moving to his dresser to pull out a pair. "And Alfred can drop us right at the door."
"Ok," Harley said, moving to sit on Bruce's bed to put them on. She reached out a hand for them, but Bruce surprised her by kneeling and putting them on her himself.
"You'll rip your stitches," he said to her by way of explanation when she gave him a curious look. She gave him a little smile which he returned as he looked up at her.
"I shall go pull the car around, Master Bruce," Alfred said, leaving the room.
"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce called after him. As he stood, he said to Harley, "I'll carry you downstairs."
"Oh," said Harley, a little surprised again but not complaining. She hated to be so dependent, but she felt like hell. Bruce bent and scooped her up from the bed and Harley leaned into his chest as he held her.
"You're a good savior," she said to him as he carried her down the stairs. Bruce quirked his eyebrow up at that.
"I am a superhero," he pointed out to her dryly.
"Yeah, but you're the Dark Knight," Harley argued. "Not Superman." Bruce chuckled.
"Don't tell him," he said. "He'll never let me live down his positive impact on my life." Harley giggled.
"Yeah, but he'd be so happy about it. He wouldn't be rubbing your face in it."
"I know," Bruce groaned. "And that's so much worse." He set her down to walk her out of the mansion, pulling the door shut behind him.
"How do you get back in?" Harley asked him, seeing that he didn't lock the door.
"It's thumbprint controlled," Bruce said. "On the door handle. And a retina scanner hidden in the glass."
"Damn, Bats," Harley grinned. "You don't mess around."
"Didn't stop you from getting to me, though," Bruce pointed out with a wry grin.
"Well," Harley said thoughtfully, "I am Harley Quinn. I tend to get what I want."
"I'm noticing that," Bruce said, but not meanly. Alfred pulled up with the car and stepped out to open the back door. Bruce picked Harley up again and carried her down the few steps to the driveway, gently placing her into the back seat. Alfred shut the door behind her and Bruce came around to the other side to join her in the back. He leaned over to buckle her seatbelt for her before settling himself on his side of the car.
In the dark moonlight, Harley quietly reached out her hand for his across the seat. Bruce didn't even hesitate to hold it.