AN: I have yet to own a thing. Lots of fear toxin in this chapter.

It is a curious thing, the mind. It lies to itself constantly. This could be manipulated. The toxin did this. The fear they felt was real - the truest thing there was. It was honest, vulnerable and very revealing. The cause of it was fiction. Jonathan exhaled, trying to steady his own nerves as he dug through his supplies. They had to gag her. The screaming would have alerted someone. Leonard would likely lose the finger. Even in her deepest terror she fought. That was admirable, but had it been an intentional dose Jonathan would have enjoyed such a response less. Not that he was enjoying this.

In fact he was trying very hard not to take any sort of scientific interest in this mishap and instead attempt to end it as fast as he could. It would of course pass on its own, but if he could prevent this route it would be best. He had no real idea of the effect this would have upon Harley. It was true, he knew a great deal more about her nature than he usually let her know, but even he was not omniscient. What demons she fought was, unless explored in depth, only for her to know. The howling was getting worse behind his back. Even through the gag it was quite noticeable. He finally found the vial in question and dug through their newly acquired equipment until he found a syringe. He put her to sleep entirely. It would help them avoid detection, but it would leave her in the darkness. Her dreams could do as much damage as hallucinations could. Jonathan was not currently in possession of an anti-dote. There was no point to it as he didn't need it for the experiment. He hadn't foreseen this. He turned.

'She did this to herself!'A part of him thought.

'I should have been careful. I should have secured the lab better,' said he to that part.

Her blue eyes were wide as saucers. They had hastily tied her legs together with a sheet to prevent her very forceful kicks to injure anyone further. Tim held her arms as best he could. She was halfway curled up in the armchair. Lenny stood to one side with his hand wrapped in paper and looked very ill indeed. Jonathan stepped towards her and to his surprise her screaming was replaced with whimpering. As he got nearer he could make out the muffled words: 'Go away! Don't hurt me!'

"Hush, Dr Quinzel," he said as gently as he could. "It is only a sedative. No one will hurt you."

Initially she knew what it had to be. She'd heard the concern in his voice. She'd notice, just as he had, that she was covered in something. You'd be surprised how far away that knowledge seemed now. Seeing is believing, they said. She saw them there, slightly blurry figures but she knew perfectly well who they were.

She heard a voice from the shadows. Sometimes it materialized as a grotesque monster with long, clawing fingers. It's voice was snarling and hissing, chilling her core.

"Try to stay calm," it would say and her brain would register the words and yet it terrified her.

The darkness shuddered and convulsed. Like muscles and tissue, constantly pulsing, it surrounded her. In the belly of this beast she heard dozens of voices. The shadows shot out at her, trying to grab her and pin her down. She scarcely thought that it was so like Pamela's vines before they seemed to take on this form. Harley only ever saw flashes of her eyes, the way her brows would arched when she was agitated and whispers of her words.

'You're pathetic. Don't go near me.'

And she would plead, cry, scream at Ivy to help her but the words would not come out as anything recognizable. The laughing was worse. That meant she would see him. The Joker would stand there with a smile on his face and that look in eyes which conveyed her insignificance. She was reaching for him. Green everywhere. The lime fluid oozed from the walls, his body, the floor. She was drowning and she reached for him.

"Puddin'!"

But he still laughed at her with his particular mixture of joy and malice. There was no hand to take hers. He grew distant as the acid melted and destroyed her.

"Don't leave me!" She screamed.

So she cried and begged the darkness to release her. Submerged in it she heard a voice again:

"Dr Quinzel! You are stronger than this!"

It was commanding and no doubt as disgusted with her as everyone else. She was no one. A nobody to everyone. Unlike them, this voice had not left her yet and she clung to it.

"Don't leave!"

The shadows formed into a winged monstrosity before it lunged at her, stabbing her in the arm. She cried out but Harley couldn't take it anymore and she scratched and grabbed at the shadow, trying to hold onto it. If it killed her now, at least she would not die alone.

It took a little while for it to work. Harley Quinn was calm enough to leave unrestrained. She was asleep but it was a false sleep. She muttered, whimpered and shuddered - once in a while tossing and turning violently. Lenny had gone to the emergency room with three of the others. The last man guarded the door below. He needed the tranquillity to focus. He could not very well fight Harley off and attempt to make an antidote at the same time. It might not be possible. He had not planned for it. He rarely did. Some might find that odd, but Jonathan did not truly fear his own gas. It certainly still had an effect on him and was unpleasant in the moment but he enjoyed the memories of it. It was a cherished sensation. It was admittedly difficult not to perk his ears whenever she mumbled something understandable. Normally he took immense pleasure in the pleading of others but he was partly saddened by what he heard, partly disappointed. Fear of being unloved, unwanted, alone and insufficient were some of the key points, he surmised. That was underwhelmingly mundane. It was also unbecoming of her. Especially so, because Dr Quinzel had every opportunity to be as appreciated as she truly wanted - provided she would cease to lavish her affections on the undeserving. He had very little knowledge of her background - save from what she might have occasionally blurted it at Arkham. Despite her exuberant personality, the harlequin was quite guarded about what she considered an entirely separate life. The Joker, he knew, had thought her plain and desperate from the moment they met. Perhaps this was true in some aspects, but Dr Crane knew there had to be more.

As he suspected, Jonathan found not nearly everything he would need. Still, he would be able to counteract some of the effects, he surmised.

"Let her be," said a voice in the back of his mind. "She is harmless this way."

But he did not want her incapacitated. He enjoyed her liveliness. Not when it caused havoc and yet…

"I did this to her," he mentally responded. "I hurt her."

"It is her fault! She could have ruined everything we have planned! She is distracting you! She is ruining us!"

"No," he whispered out loud before falling silent again: "I lost control. I should have handled this better."

"Why did you not?"

Jonathan ignored that question. The Scarecrow and him wanted the same. They were the same. Except he wasn't sure of himself. Uncertainty was a sin. She whimpered loudly behind him and he sneered in agitation. Not with her but with the surreal situation. She shouldn't be here. Why had she come here? He knew why, of course. Harley thought he was foolish enough to let her play with him. No doubt there were many men in Gotham who would fall so easily - but she couldn't lure Jonathan Crane with something he had never desired. She should have realised that in university. And yet here she was… And he permitted it.

His hands moved on their own. He knew what he was doing well enough to consider these things as he worked. It was not a massive dosage she had acquired herself. If he overcorrected it might have unforeseen consequences. She had been drenched in it. That itself was not the danger as it did not absorb through the skin - but she was breathing in the fumes. She had been laughing. Laughing at him to be specific. He pushed the reason mentally aside. The thought of how he had acted was shameful. He had done far worse to others and strangely, had he purposely dozed her as a punishment - he should have felt no remorse. This he assured himself of... But she was laughing at him. Laughing, so she breathed deeper when she did normally. It shouldn't last long, but even so he would do what he could.

Finally he turned back to her and found her eyelids slid partly open. Jonathan knew she was not entirely conscious of her surroundings. The first injection had seen to that. He approached carefully.

"Dr Quinzel?" He said as he neared.

Her eyes wandered around the room but did not settle on him. She shook.

"Can you be still for me? Deep breaths. It will only be two little jabs."

She cried out. Not words or at least nothing getting past the improvised cloth gag. He left the syringes on a table and slowly moved behind her before removing the gag. Why? He wasn't sure. She was quiet though a few tears rolled down her face. The effect of his words were evident. Certainly by now she would be able to hear them as they were spoken. Still, she showed no signs of recognition. He took her arm and she pulled it towards her torso with tremendous force. He very nearly let go but the reaction was expected and so he was prepared.

"Stop it!" she cried.

"Hush," he replied calmly. "There is no danger, Dr Quinzel."

As he spoke, he swiftly rolled up her sleeve - knowing the words would be a distraction. You could clearly see where he had injected the sedative. He was a psychologist and a biochemist - not a nurse, and so not the most skilled person with a syringe there was. Not that this was usually an issue. He did not usually care about making it easy on the 'patient'.

"Don't," Harley begged. "Go away!"

Her voice was slurred, sleepy. Jonathan did not respond but swiftly disinfected the area and took the first syringe. She squeaked and tried her best to get away from him but he did not let go before it was over. Harley sobbed loudly and curled up the moment she was released, shaking like a leaf. He watched her. Deciding against making the last injection in the same arm he reached for her right arm, attempting to pull it away from her.

"No! Stop! Le' go of me!" Harley squealed. "No more! Go away! You're ruinin' everything!"

"Dr Quinzel!" he snapped sternly, hoping to quiet her down this way.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it! It's over! Everything's ruined! They're gone! Stop it," she continued.

"Miss Quinzel! Harleen!"

It worked. She returned to quietly sobbing and Jonathan took her right arm. As he did so, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide open and yet he could tell it was not him she saw. The shadows lived like ghosts in her eyes.

"He's left me!" she told him.

Her face contorted into a grimace of sorrow and desperation.

"He has," Dr Crane agreed coldly as he began to roll up her other sleeve.

"H-he's not comin' back!" she sniffed earnestly.

"I know, my dear," replied the professor and disinfected her skin. "It is for the best."

"I ruined it!" Harley cried. "I ruined everything. He hates me."

"He does not deserve your adoration," Jonathan assured her as he discretely took the last syringe. "You are worth more."

"No," Harley shook her head furiously. "I'm worthless. It's why nobody wants me. He was kind to me and I ruined it and now he's gone like all of them."

That comment did not sit well with Jonathan. Despite his calm exterior he tasted anger and bitterness as it rose a little in him.

"The Joker was never kind to you! He used you!"

He punctuated this statement with the last of the injections and Harley cried out in a mix of surprise and pain from his rough treatment. Jonathan stepped away from her.

"I-I ruined the plan," Harley cried into the arm of the chair. "And 'Fessor Crane left me here."

This gave him pause.

"Dr Quinzel?" he asked, astounded. "What are you talking about?"

"He was kind an' I ruined it. He was my friend and he left me!"

She said more but it was unintelligible as her sobs grew louder. She lay draped over the arm of the chair, watering the old upholstery. For a moment he just watched her. In a way it made sense, he supposed. Still he should not be there in her nightmares. He was nothing to her. Perhaps the toxin was wearing off already? Perhaps it wasn't as potent as he believed he'd made it?

"Do not be such an idiot."

Jonathan paid no attention to that.

"I have not left you, child," he replied. "I am here. We will get you through this."

"Don't leave," she mumbled into the fabric.

It is a curious thing, the mind. It lies to itself constantly. Jonathan Crane knew it better than most. It could be manipulated. It was easiest to do when the subject wanted to believe. It was easy to tell himself that she couldn't possibly have the strength to play tricks on him in this state - for surely she had to be, but he did not want it to be so.

"What curious fears you hide," he whispered as he neared her. "You are safe. Nothing can hurt you here. No one."

TBC