AN: Still own nothing.

The sun was in her eyes. She pulled the borrowed coat tighter around her shoulders. Marvin and Terry were alright. They worked for the Penguin, but still. Alright. It was definitely more than a broken rib this time. Her chest, abdomen, arm and face all arched. Hopefully there was no internal bleeding. At least the costume wouldn't show the bruising. The white paint of her face covered most of it. That was good. She couldn't show up looking like a murdervictim. The hood of her costume was down and she could feel it as a bump between her back and the coat. The makeup would draw attention if anyone looked too closely at her, but Harley kept her head down as she limped through the lesser populated streets. Damn it, she was sore. Her legs were stiff from the cold as well. She'd been spending the night in a storeroom, trying to stop the bleeding from her nose with tissue. In her hand was a crumpled post-it note with an address.

This had better be the right one. Terry had dropped her off a few blocks away. He couldn't be seen with her. His boss wouldn't like it. Mr Cobblepot didn't like people touching his things. That reminded her of someone…

"Stop it," she hissed out loud at herself.

Only a little bit further, if she had it right. This was a suburb of Gotham. Not a fancy neighbourhood though. Old, ill maintained row houses here, industrial buildings there and the occasional remains of public spaces that reminded you of the village that had been before it was swallowed up by the city. You could probably see the countryside if you got up high enough. It was honestly not the kind of place she would have expected to find him.

He should be in some kind of library somewhere. Or maybe in a cornfield.

It was a good thing Marvin liked her so much. Who knows what he had to do to find out about this place. Information about where people were hiding out was not cheap and God help anyone who ratted someone else out to the big batty man. Well, her p… The Joker had done that before and no one had dared take vengeance.

"Shut it, shut it, shut it!" she squealed in frustration, stomping her foot and immediately whimpering as a result.

Harley looked up and down the street. No one was in sight and a sly smile spread upon her broken lips. She expertly pulled up her hood and guided her pigtails into it before she continued, humming as she went and only forsaking the skipping due to her injuries.

"Lost?" said a voice suddenly.

A large man had stepped out of the front garden of a dilapidated house. To one side of it lay a vacant lot where the next in the row had been demolished and to the other, an abandoned shop.

"Hiya there," Harleen greeted him as he blocked her path.

"Scram kid," he warned her.

"Tell Professor Crane, it's Harley Quinn ta see him, won't ya sweetie?"

The man paused as if she'd smacked him in the face with those words. She placed her good hand on her hip and gave him a wink.

"Don't move," he finally said.

His eyes darted around as if he expected the Joker to jump him any moment. He backed away from her and walked to the front door of the house. Harley tiptoed after him.

"Hey, Lenny," he began. "Oi! Stop it right there you!"

He grabbed at her but she ducked and went through the door, wheezing slightly. Immediately there were four guns aimed at her.

"Aww, come on, fellas!" She grinned. "Is that any way ta treat a lady?"

The goons looked as surprised as they seemed hostile. The first man stumbled up a set of stairs, while the rest held her at gunpoint. He wasn't gone for long.

"What's the boss say?" asked one. "Can we take her out?"

"Nah," replied the first man. "The 'fessor wants to see her."

The men groaned and Harley took the trouble of blowing a raspberry at them as she climbed the narrow staircase.

"End of the hall, to the left," she heard one call after her.

Someone suggested that they should follow her up. Evidently they had been told not to but Haryley didn't catch the reason given. Never mind. Crane wasn't afraid of her. He liked her. She was almost the only person he liked. Apart from Jervis Tetch, she was pretty much the only person who could get any conversation out of him at Arkham. That was good. All she'd have to do was promise him things without promising it and that was that. He'd be wrapped around her finger.

The old floorboard creaked under the mouldy carpeting. This place was awful. Mistah J would never stoop to this. He had class. He had… A rotten, mean heart.

The door was closed but Harley didn't really need directions to find it. You could smell it. What was it with Professor Crane and his chemistry set? Was the man only comfortable in constant fumes? Harley didn't knock. She slid the door open cautiously, not doing a loud, grand entrance as was her custom.

He stood bent over a table full of various conical and cylindrical glassware. Something in a funnel drip was taking his attention. The burlap mask lay on the table at his side. Harley gulped slightly. It couldn't be the gas then, but if it had been… She should have knocked. He looked so focused. Where did he even learn how to do this? He was a psychology professor - he never taught chemistry, did he? She'd been in one of his classes when she was still at university. She'd enjoyed it, though she'd never really considered him anything more than a rather lovable, dorky man then. She'd not really done very well in his class but he had been very kind to her - offering extra credit assignments and extra time for papers. He didn't have a reputation for that with the other students. Harley had just assumed he was an easy fool. Not like Professor Hawkins - she'd had to do more than smile and bat her eyes to get an 'A' with him. It had served her well. She'd had excellent grades when she graduated and she'd had her fun too. She raised her hand and knocked on the already open door.

"Hello, Professor Crane!" she said sweetly.

He looked up and immediately a hint of a smile flashed in his eyes.

"Goodmorning, dear child," he replied, standing up at his full height. "What a pleasant surprise."

Harley giggled.

"Always is a pleasure, Professor!"

He pushed his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose and made his way around the table to her. His suit had definitely seen better days but was infuriatingly neat despite this.

"Forgive me for asking but is this a social call or would you be here on the Joker's…"

"Geez," she interrupted him. "Can't a girl come ta see 'er old friend on 'er own?"

"So he is not here with you?" Dr Crane asked her.

"No," Harley replied, swaying her hip as she stepped closer to him. "We split as a matter of fact. I'm bored with 'im! He's…."

"Not intellectually stimulating for you, I would imagine," the professor completed her sentence for her.

"Yeah, that," Harley beamed.

"Well, you have my utmost condolences," he nodded. "Though I will admit I am happy to see you away from that monstrous brute."

Argh! Jonathan Crane was nice enough but he was honestly such a bore at times.

"Let's not talk about 'im," Harley said. "Let's talk about you! Could ya use a little help?"

He glanced at her. Was he looking at her figure or…

"Hmm," he said and pensievely steepled his fingers. "I do not believe I do. Forgive me, my dear, but while you are always welcome, I am afraid I cannot have the Joker coming around here to disrupt my plans."

'Aww shucks. Plan 2.'

"Professor?" Harley called quietly and stepped forwards again. "I really mean it this time. E's not coming for me. We're through. Really! Promise! I just… I didn't know where ta go. And I thought of you - and I thought, hey, there's a man who gets it!"

She stepped forwards again but Crane stood his ground.

'Activate tears, Harl.'

Her eyes watered. Any moment she'd feel a tear running down her cheek. The perfect picture.

"Ya always said I was bettah than 'im, didn't ya? Well, you're right! But it was hard, Professor! It was hard and I'm afraid…"

"You are afraid?" he prompted her, his face remarkably stoic.

Harley sniffed loudly.

"I'm afraid that… That I won't ever find someone who gets me. Really gets me."

She looked up at him. The perfect blue puppy dog eyes. She pouted ever so slightly. Men like Crane liked that stuff. They liked saving her. His face was almost unreadable. Why did he have to be like this? Then to her utmost triumph and satisfaction, she felt his hand gentle cupping her white-painted cheek. There came the tears. Perfection.

"My dear girl," he said quietly.

"Y-yes, Professor Crane?" Harley fake-whimpered.

"You are bleeding."

TBC