Scarecrow jumped when someone banged on the heavy metal door of the Arkham operating room. He looked up from the zombie he had strapped to the old rusted table and stared at the door for a moment. Placing his tools back on the table, he went over to open it, wiping his hands nervously on his pants. He cracked the door a little and a wave of relief washed over him when he saw it was Harley.
"I need a favor." Her jacket was zipped up to her neck despite the summer heat in the unairconditioned building. She tugged at the zipper. "But only if you promise not to get mad."
"I can't get mad at you, dear," he said quietly, guiding her into the room before he closed the door. "What do you need?"
"I, uh," she looked down at her shoes, "you have the medical supplies... so..."
"What did he do to you?" Crane's voice turned grave, gray eyes fixed on her. Harley opened her mouth to argue but closed it meekly. She took a deep breath and slowly unzipped her jacket. She winced; the bleeding had slackened off, but the jagged edges hurt when the jacket rubbed against them. She wouldn't meet Crane's eyes, folding the jacket over her arm and meticulously smoothing a crease out with her thumb. He sighed quietly and held her pigtail out of his way as he examined the jagged 'J' carved into her skin.
Dick waded through the rain water, holding his breath against the stink of the stale sewage. The only thing keeping him moving forward was the occasional scream, and the thought that he'd get first dibs on a shower once his shift was up. Something thick and wet dripped from the ceiling of the tunnel and onto his head.
Ok, maybe as soon as I get out of here, he thought, fighting the urge to throw up as the glob of whatever it was- he didn't want to know- dripped down his head and slipped off his shoulder. He shuddered and trudged on. He could hear scuffling somewhere down the tunnel, and he wasn't sure if it was behind him or in front of him. The green haze that was his vision through the night lenses was still too dark to see, and useless when it came to the Infected; they were technically dead. Their bodies didn't register on the lenses because they gave off no heat. Which also made it incredibly unsettling as Dick could hear the scratching growing closer, yet he could see absolutely nothing in the darkness of the tunnel. The thick paste dripped on his head again and he groaned, gagging as he waded towards the sides of the tunnel and attempted to wipe it off of his head. He glanced at his hand before attempting to wipe it on his pants, but he froze and lifted it up to his face again. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of the thick, black blood spiderwebbing between his fingers. Swallowing hard, he looked up.
"How long ago did this happen?" Crane pushed his cracked glasses further up his nose as he gently ran a thumb over the cut on Harley's skin. She bit her lip at the pressure.
"Half a day give or take."
Crane sighed slowly. "I'm afraid we'll have to stitch it, I don't want to leave it open. I'm sorry. I'm going to give you something for the pain," he said gently. "It's strong, if that's alright?" He shoved through some drawers. "Like, leftover Arkham strong."
"That's fine," Harley sighed. It had taken her a while to reconcile the fact she wouldn't be able to hide it. She'd still worn her jacket here though. "No chance it's not gonna leave a scar, huh?" she joked, giving a forced laugh.
"None," Crane responded sadly. She sat on a free examination table, glancing over at the zombie.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I mean, of course you're doing something, I'm just... I'm sorry." She felt like she was screwing everything up with everyone.
"He's dying," he glanced it the zombie. "I'm trying to figure out why. He's not badly decayed, and he's one of my test subjects. He..." The zombie groaned pitifully. "He's in pain and distraught," Crane watched it for a moment before walking back to Harley. He carefully injected her with the needle in his hand. "This should take away the pain and fight infection," he explained, and then moved over to her shoulder so he could better examine the cut.
Dick sprinted as fast as he could. The walls of the tunnel had a small ledge above the water, maybe six inches wide, and it was his only option. He'd be too slow if he had to wade through the sewage, but the ledge was slimy. It was difficult to keep his footing even with his high wire training, and he slipped, catching himself along the wall. The Infected was scurrying behind him, somehow crawling along the ceiling. Dick rounded a corner, running down another tunnel.
"Batman!" he pressed his comm. "I'm being tailed by two Infected in the sewers, maybe more-" a scream sounded ahead of him in the tunnels, the same as before- the scream of a small child. Dick pushed forward. "Batwoman. Locate my tracer, I need backup."
"Dick, there's too much interference down there. Do you have any idea where you are?"
Sprinting blindly down the tunnels; he'd turned so many times. He wasn't sure anymore. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I don't exactly feel like dying down here."
His boot caught a pipe jutting out from the wall and he slipped, crying out as he fell forward into the murky darkness of the soiled water.
"What's wrong with him?" Harley watched the zombie more intently. "I thought they only felt blood lust?"
"Hypnosis combined with the fear toxin. The dying was an... unexpected side effect?" Crane cleaned the wound carefully, his jaw set tight.
"Something in the fear toxin or something in the hypnosis?" Harley flinched and then tried to sit as still as possible. "The fear toxin alone didn't kill them."
"No. I'm not sure, I was studying them. Only he began dying, the rest are fine. I don't have a local anesthetic, but the pain killers should kick in soon, and hard; you haven't had a lot of food lately. You're gonna feel a little woozy." Crane finished prepping her and threaded a needle, pinching the cut as closed as much as possible and pulling the first stitch though.
"Whoa." Harley grabbed the edges of her chair. Everything had started swaying. "You weren't lying. Ya gave me the good stuff." Her whole body started to feel heavy all at once, her brain going fuzzy.
"Yes," he chuckled, helping her lay back on a table. "How did this happen, Harley?" he asked, pulling another stitch through. She could barely feel it and giggled at the feeling of it tugging at her skin.
"I, uh, I was naughty. He punished me." She lifted her head up to see what he was doing. Crane glanced at her and then pushed her head back down with a finger on her forehead.
"He shouldn't have."
"I know," she sighed. She started tapping her feet together. "Cuz he was mad cuz I'm not supposed ta see Dick." She giggled. "Sometimes that name is really unfortunate out of context."
"Shhhhh don't laugh too much while I'm stitching," he chided gently.
"Oh cheer up, Scary, my man." She reached up and pushed the corners of his mouth up. "Turn that frown upside down."
Dick came up out of the water, coughing and trying not to vomit. It was in his mouth, it was in his eyes; he spun around, trying to wipe away the stinging as it got worse. Dick gasped and stumbled back. He had to keep running. He could hear the Infected growling, but they hadn't attacked him. Dick coughed and took off down the tunnel again, tearing his mask off in an attempt to rub some of the sewage out of his eyes.
"Batwoman-" he reached up to his ear to press his comm, but it wasn't there. "Damn it!" Dick shouted angrily. It must have fallen out when he'd gotten turned over in the water.
"Hello?! Help me!" a voice cried in the darkness down the tunnel. Dick tried to see through the burning in his eyes as he ran. He could hear them behind him, could feel them trying to tear at his clothes.
If I'm going to die, of course it'd be now. Right when I may have a chance with a girl I really like, it'll be snatched from me. I'll die covered in shit and ripped apart by God damn zombies, he thought in a panic. As he rushed down the tunnel, he thought that he could see light up ahead, but it was fuzzy through the stinging in his eyes. He could see the figure of a child, a little boy; he stood in the light, watching Nightwing race towards him. The end of the tunnel came fast and Dick tripped on the ledge again, catching himself at the boy's feet. He quickly stood and grabbed the kid's arm, dragging him towards another tunnel entrance. they'd come to a central maintenance station; there were many tunnels leading in different directions from a large, circular room. The boy pried Nightwing's hand off of his arm and stepped back, and that's when Dick looked around the room for the first time.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, no…"
"Why did you go see Nightwing again?" Crane asked, watching Harley in confusion as he continued to sew the cut on her skin.
"I didn't mean to." She dropped her arms back on the table. They felt suddenly heavy. "He just... showed up!"
"Of course," he spoke like a psychiatrist, smirking down at her a little. He finished what he was doing, a neatly stitched 'J' just under her collar bone.
"See! And that's what I tried ta tell Mistah J." She shook her head incredulously, blinking slowly. "Apparently that is not what he wanted ta hear."
"Yes. You should stick around here until that medicine wears off. I'll radio to Joker where you are, so this doesn't happen again," Crane cleaned his hands off, watching her. "You're not in any pain, correct?" Harley laughed at his question.
"What pain? I don't even have a body anymore."
"Good," Crane chuckled, turning back to the zombie. Harley stared at the ceiling for a while before looking around in confusion.
"I thought you'd left."
"Me?" Crane glanced up with a smile. "No, dear, I'm still here," the zombie whimpered pitifully at him. "It's so... Odd. I've never seen them so... Human."
"I'll take your word for it it, doctor." She rubbed her eyes vigorously. "I want a pillow," she whined. Crane slipped his white lab coat off of his shoulders and balled it up, pushing it under her head to prop it up. "Go ahead and keep talking," she yawned. "I'm listening. I promise."
"Welcome, Bat-Prince," a man called. He literally stood on a soapbox with his arms outstretched, and Dick blinked hard, trying to figure out where one would have come from. His vision was still hazy and the smell of the sewage drenching his clothes and hair was dizzying. Only then did he realize that he'd taken his mask off, and he quickly put it back over his eyes, wiping the lenses. "Come now, there's no need for that. We're all anonymous here, and we don't have masks."
The gathered group of people kneeling in neat rows in front of the soapbox all turned to look at him, and Dick had to fight the urge to vomit again. Blood was smeared over each one of their eyes, black, thick, pasty blood; the boy tugged his hand, and Dick saw that he, too, had Infected blood smeared over his face. Dick recoiled in shock, falling back into the water. The Infected stalked towards him from the dark, and he scrambled away again.
"Come, brothers and sisters, let us welcome our new member. Let us show him the way," the leader called, a southern accent drowning his words. Dick looked around the cavernous room, dimly lit with half burned candles and a single, open manhole at the top of the ceiling. A ladder led up to it, in the dead center of the room, where the man was preaching from. This had all the markings of a cult. But why hadn't they heard about it before?
"What the hell is this?" Dick shouted, looking around at them. The boy had lured him here. The Infected stayed towards the outside of the room with their captors, in the dark, watching Dick with bloodlust in their eyes.
"It's the truth, Bat-Prince, and we shall show it to you."
Dick screamed as the horrible burning of a taser ripped through his body.
"What are you going to do when the Joker gets fed up with your toy and disposes of it, Harley?" Crane suddenly asked as he picked up a notebook and scribbled something by a poorly drawn doodle of a cartoon ghost. They hadn't talked for nearly twenty minutes. "He's already proved he'll do it, and it's only a matter of time before even I am put down. What will you do when he turns to Nightwing?"
"At least I picked a toy that can fight back," Harley sighed. She pointed a finger up at the ceiling as she counted the ceiling tiles. She lost count and started over.
"Against the Joker?" he said quietly.
"What?" She giggled, lifting her head up to look at him. He frowned a little.
"You think he'll hold up against the Joker? You're throwing a terrier into a dogfight with a mastiff. An experienced one, at that." Crane put his notebook down, crossing his arms.
"I'm not doing anything with dogs," Harley defended. "Dick took the puppy and everything."
"It's a-" he groaned and rolled his eyes. "Do you really think that Dick will be able to fight off the Joker?" He clarified.
"Why are they fighting?" she asked. "Why can't everyone just get along? I just... want... both."
"You can't have both. They aren't on the same team, Harley. Who would win aside, what would you do if one did win? What if Nightwing takes down the Joker? What if the Joker kills Nightwing?" Crane looked unnaturally engaged in the conversation, looking at her with uncertainty in his eyes. "What would you do then? You can't have both. You can't keep this up- oh forget it," he sighed. "There's no sense reasoning with you on a normal day, much less when you're drugged."
"I know I can't have both," she said like it was obvious. "I just want both. I just want it to stay just as it is." She stared at the ceiling. "I don't wanna have to choose. I don't wanna have ta hurt someone. I just want it to be easy. I know it can't be. But I just wish."
"We all do," Crane assured her.
"Batwoman, status report," Batman commanded.
"I'm trying, damn you," she snapped back. "I found the point of entry, and I'm headed in now. There isn't any sense in you coming out yet, I'm sure his communicator just lost connection like his tracer. There is a lot of old piping down here, a lot of interference…" She turned the night vision on in her mask, scanning her surroundings in the sewer. "Smells lovely down here," Kate commented.
"Be professional. And find him." Batman ordered.
"I am! My computer is already picking up more signals below ground. Feeding them to you," she held up the minicomputer on her arm towards the light of the manhole cover. "Wow, he wasn't kidding, the signal is shit."
"Bruce, can you try hijacking any of the dormant NASA satellites?" Barbara asked quietly. "If we could get a broader range for the signal, we may be able to hold onto the communications for a bit longer."
"Well at least you don't just want to bang one and love the other," Scarecrow shrugged with a laugh. He and Harley had been talking for a while, and he'd barely done any work. Still, it was nice to have someone to talk to.
"Yeah. Wait no." She lifted her head up to look at him. "I wanna bang 'em both." She threw her arms out in frustration. "Do you know how long it's been since I've gotten any?! Mistah J's all busy and won't really even look at me cuz 'a Nightwing. But I haven't even seen him in so long! And I tried to stay away, I really did. But then I can't live without Puddin. And..." She squinted at Crane. "When was the last time you got some?"
"If this is going where I think it's going, I don't think so," he laughed.
"What? Ew, no." She made a face at him before giggling. "Wait. Why? Do you like me?"
"Of course not," he chuckled. "I have... I... No. Of course not you, you have enough men in your life." Crane pushed his hair back. "And that is an interesting line of questioning, Harleykins." She giggled.
"You like me!" She pointed it him. "Scarecrow has a crush! You likeee me." She wiggled around on the table as a form of dancing.
"No! I don't! I mean, you're so nice, but I'm... I'm not," he smiled. "I'm not... I don't like you... like... That."
Harley kept dancing on the table until she smacked her hand really hard on the side. She said, "ow," before she realized she couldn't feel it. She tapped her hand on the table a few times and grabbed her face. "I can't feel anything," she gasped. "Doctor what if I can't touch anything ever again?"
"Then consider your Joker vs Nightwing problem solved," Crane quipped. "Don't make me strap you down."
"What if I can't feel again?" She laid her head back down. "I just wanna be a real boy, Geppetto!"
"Pinocchio frightened me as a child," Crane thought aloud, and then walked to the zombie. He picked up his notebook again. "I'm attempting to establish some form of control by reanimating the fear center of the brain. This reignites the synapses rendered dormant by the disease, if only a few, but enough to utilize the most powerful feeling known to man. It proves they're still human. Fear can drive anything."
Dick groaned as he opened his eyes. In a daze, he thought he might still be at the hotel safe house, with Harley, but as he regained his senses, he could feel the burning pain of the taser burns on his lower back. He also became dimly aware of the light shining down from above him, and the ropes wrapped tightly around his wrists, holding him captive against the rusted steel of the ladder running up into the light. He was alert in an instant, yanking against the ropes as he looked around to assess his surroundings.
"...and the dead will rise and walk among us- This is how it was told- and the horsemen would come and we would go to the promised land but these- self proclaimed gods-" The leader was gesturing to Dick now, and his jaw tightened. "Have kept us from that end! This is how it was written, and this is how it shall be!"
"Insanity," Dick muttered, watching the crowd. They'd been crying out in agreement, a mob of poorly influenced, mentally unsound psychopaths. The leader turned on him.
"It's not insanity, Bat-Prince, it's inhumanity," he turned back to the crowd. "Inhumane to keep us from our proper end! To suspend us in this wasteland, this virtual purgatory, in which we wander without purpose and wait for an end that will never come!"
"What the hell…" Dick breathed, watching the crowd shriek in excitement.
"So we…" The leader's voice trembled with anticipation. "We are going to take our end. By any means necessary. And we're going to show the rest of them that their false gods, these bat idols that they revere are no more than men!"
The crowd roared in excitement. Dick rolled his eyes and coughed, working the ropes to free his hands so he could get away from these crazies.
"Who will be our first to go into the world free of their hethenistic bodies; who will ascend and leave the Infected shell behind?" The leader barked. Dick froze.
They can't seriously be about to…
The little boy raised his hand.
"Boo," Harley called. "Fear can also awaken your humanity and protective instincts. Boo." She rolled her head and stared at the zombie. "I mean if I gained consciousness scared and alone and woke up as a monster. I'd lose my will ta live too." She wiggled her fingers and made ghost noises by the zombie's face. Crane smiled at her a bit.
"Through hypnosis I think we can drive them towards the Gotham population. It's not control, it's like a sheepdog steering a herd. We're the dogs, and they're the bloodthirsty, fear-confused, murderous sheep."
"Wouldn't it be better to turn them into little zombie sheeple with you as their god?" She giggled. "We've seen that fear just makes them go..." She mimed her head exploding. "Just crazy all over the place with no control. I'd rather have them... like a three year old. Bloodthirsty little monsters running around who don't know right from wrong and do whatever you tell them. They are the puppets on the strings and no free will!" she giggled she stared at the zombie. "Do you like your free will?" she asked it. He stared back at her, his jaw working but no sound coming out.
"That's what they will be, for the most part. The fear is the only way I know to awaken those synopses again, and I need them to get to the zombie's subconscious. There has to be something to hypnotize," he explained.
"Okay, but does he look like he's gonna listen to you?" She pointed at the zombie. "I'm more likely to cause ya gave me this wonderful concoction." Harley glanced around the room. "Do you have any more?"
"He's not hypnotized yet, I'm not giving them commands I'm giving them something to fear, I have more, and no you may not have it," he pointed his pen at her.
"But it hurts," she pouted, trying not to smile.
"What hurts, Harleykins?" Scarecrow cocked his head, smirking.
"Um... my elbow." She grinned.
"Why does your elbow hurt?"
"Because I want more medication."
"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Crane laughed. Harley giggled.
"Does that mean I can have some?" she asked hopefully.
"No." He smiled a little, walking back towards the zombie.
"Wait!" Dick screamed, yanking against the ropes on his arms.
"Are you ready, Kirk, my son," the leader beamed proudly at the boy. He couldn't be more than ten years old. "Are you ready to ascend?"
"Yes, Father," he grinned, speaking with the same southern drawl as his father. The crowd fell silent, nearly thirty faces watching the man and his child standing in front of them. The boy had lured Nightwing down here to this hellish nightmare, and now Dick would have to watch what happened next without being able to do a single damn thing about it. He mentally cursed himself for the situation he was in, yanking so hard against the ropes that the metal ladder creaked.
"Good boy," the man knelt, looking out at the crowd. "He is not the first, and he is one of many to be saved! May god smile on you, son," he beamed. "And say hello to your mother as soon as you get there," he said quieter, his eyes blazing with his misguided faith.
"Stop this! This is crazy!" Dick shouted. He was four feet from them, but he may as well have been four miles. He could see the knife in the father's hand behind his back, a dull kitchen knife, and he screamed as the father raised it and drove it through the boy's chest. The crowd cheered, and Dick gasped for breath, still staring at the handle in the son's Gotham Zoo t-shirt. He watched the blood spread over the fabric, the light leave the boy's eyes; the father cradled him and lifted him to show the crowd.
Dick couldn't breathe. Blood rushed in his ears, his vision blurring and fury welling in his throat.
"You murderer!" he shouted so loudly that the crowd hushed. The father froze, and then he laid his son on the pavement and turned to Nightwing.
"False gods make false accusations," he muttered, cocking his head. "I've saved his soul, and now I will damn yours." He turned to the crowd, shouting again as his son twitched in his arms, his blood clotting black. "We will punish these false idols! Punish the Batman-" he pointed back at Dick- "by taking his firstborn."
After examining the zombie in silence, Crane cleared his throat. "How is… how is Poison Ivy, did she… is she ok? Did she get out?"
"I never get any," she muttered to herself. He looked at her confusedly.
"Of the meds? Fine, take a bit more," Crane sighed, his back to her as he worked. "Don't blame me if you get hooked on the stuff. There's a finite amount. Don't come crying once you've used it up."
"Yay!" she cheered and tried to sit up, falling back. "Where is it?"
"On the desk by the windows." Harley lifted her head up to look toward where he'd indicated.
"Can you bring it to me?"
Crane let out an exasperated sigh and walked over, grabbing the bottle and the needle, and taking it to Harley. He slammed it down on the table beside her and went back to his work. She stared at the bottle then at him.
"Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, of course not," he laughed anxiously. "I'm just trying to- I'm working. And you're… you're… are you hungry?" Crane suddenly looked up, looking over his shoulder at her.
"I don't… think so." She couldn't tell. "I just feel tired." She closed her eyes before opening them again. "Am I in the way? I'm in the way." She rolled to the side of the table, her head still woozy. "I can go."
"You're not going anywhere in the state you're in," Crane caught her before she could roll off of the table. "One, because I'm worried you might go back to Nightwing, and two, because I don't think you'd make it there."
"I can make it," she insisted although she didn't believe herself. "And this table's really hard."
"Then come with me," he smiled a little, helping her up and picking his lab coat up from the table before guiding her away out the door.
Dick's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the crowd around him. The dead boy had been placed at his feet in a grotesque sitting position, still twitching as his infected blood began to reanimate his corpse. The father backed away, walking amongst the mob who watched the kid, mesmerized. Dick almost had his hands free, but the ropes were tight and he still felt numb and sick after watching that happen. No amount of violence could desensitize one to the complete brutality of the situation, and it was as if the entirety of the past year was crushing him. The boy moved his hands a bit, the lifeless soul that inhabited Infected bodies working his limbs like a marionette warming up a puppet. Dick had lived through an apocalypse, yet the horror of the mass pandemic and deaths that followed couldn't prepare him for the moment when a new victim turned; it was a scarring experience to watch lifeless eyes, once human, now dead as the winter; they stared straight ahead as the Infected bit into human flesh.
Which, Dick realized, would be him in less than a minute if he couldn't get those ropes off.
The boy's head snapped up and the people in the crowd gasped. Dick choked on his breath, watching the small face as it sniffed the air, shuffling forward a bit on its knees. The crowd had begun to chant, and he wasn't sure what they were saying anymore. His attention was entirely focused on the Infected as it tensed, teeth bared as it growled and lunged forward. Dick pushed off with his feet and flipped back and up, holding himself up on the ladder and hooking his boots on a rung just as the zombie slammed into the poles. Dick gasped shortly as he worked his hands out of the ropes-
-and then they slid, sending him flying off balance and falling down towards the infected' bared teeth.
"See I knew you liked me," she mumbled. The medication was forgotten; she wouldn't have been able to inject herself anyway. "I told you I didn't wanna play doctor."
"What do you mean by that?" he laughed.
"You don't have to try and seduce me." She giggled. "I have a man… and another man."
"I don't have a- oh forget it," Crane shook his head, guiding her down to his makeshift living quarters. He'd adapted the head doctor's office into a place to stay, with barricaded windows and a couch with a pillow for a bed. "There, sit down over there," he pointed at the couch. "I'll make you some soup." Harley fell face first into the pillow.
"Your place is depressing," she told him.
"The dead don't seem to mind," he muttered, walking towards a tiny kitchenette that he'd set up for himself with a microwave and a hot plate.
"Well tell them they have terrible taste in decor." She wrapped her arms around the pillow, burying her face in it.
"I shall, when I meet them." Crane dumped a can of soup into a bowl and put it in the microwave, turning to her. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Just peachy, doctor," she mumbled into the pillow. "Did you wanna check my temperature?"
"That's not what I meant," he said solemnly, taking the soup out of the microwave.
"Well what did ya mean?" She yawned. "I'm not exactly great at double meanings at the moment."
"Joker shouldn't have done this to you. He's crossed a line," Crane clarified.
"But I crossed a line first," Harley objected. "And I'm the one who's… being different and… changing. He made me who I am, and made me feel special, and look at how I repay him. I didn't even kill someone today! And… he should be mad. I'm disappointing him."
"Your entire life revolves around him!" Crane shouted suddenly, nearly dropping the soup. "It disgusts me! And if you would open your eyes and see that maybe- maybe Nightwing or Dick or whatever- he's changing you and even if it isn't what... Isn't..." He sighed slowly. "Maybe if you changed it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe if you left, you'd be better off. So things like that don't happen." He gestured to the stitched J on her chest.
There sound of gunfire suddenly echoed in the maintenance tunnel as Dick hit the ground, immediately covering his head and tucking into a ball. It continued for what seemed like minutes, but was really mere seconds, and when Dick glanced out from under his arms, the angry mob lay all over each other on the floor, and the boy's vacant white eyes stared straight at him as he drooled. Dick scrambled back, gasping.
"Whoa, hey, Nightwing," Batwoman caught him. "We've got you," she assured him quietly, checking him over. "It's ok."
"What- how did you-?" He stuttered, trembling. He looked around at all the people on the floor. Commissioner Gordon was stepping over them distastefully, a few other officers starting to sift through the people. "Are they dead?" Dick choked, gripping Batwoman's arm tightly. She smiled gently.
"Just tranquilized, they will be fine." She looked over her shoulder and then pressed her comm. "Batwoman to Batman. I've got him, he's ok." She muted it again and put a hand on Dick's cheek, taking his mask off carefully. He flinched away. "It's okay honey," Kate assured him. "Can you tell me what happened? Can you walk?"
"They... He just..." Dick couldn't take his eyes off of the crumpled figure of the boy, white eyes wide open.
"Ok." Batwoman watched him. She hesitated, and then grabbed his arm gently. "Come on, you gotta walk. You can walk."
Dick stood slowly, his eyes still fixed on the boy. He couldn't believe what he'd witnessed, what he'd almost become a part of; he was still catatonic as he walked beside Batwoman. She was saying something, and he shook his head as he tried to focus on that.
"Dick, did they hurt you?" She said again.
"No. No, they didn't," he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. "What time is it?" He asked hoarsely. Kate glanced at him.
"Late," she sighed.
"Nighttime?"
"Not that late," Kate chuckled.
"Damn."
"Don't worry, you're not going back into the field," she assured him, but Dick grabbed her arm.
"No. I'm ok, I can work." I have to work.
"Maybe it's… maybe it's because I'm seeing Nightwing that things like this happen," Harley defended, sitting up and crossing her arms. "Before I started seeing him, things like this didn't happen. I was happy before I started seeing him. Mistah J…" she crossed her legs and stared at her lap, "would actually look at me before. We were happy," she mumbled.
"You were happy," he corrected.
"Why... Why does everyone say it like that?" She looked down at her hands. "I made him happy. I know I did. And I just want to do it again."
"Harley I don't know if you can, dear," he said quietly, handing her the bowl of soup.
"Why not?" She stared up at him, her eyes wide.
"Because…" Crane watched her. She trusted him. What he said now could change her mind for the better or worse. He also knew that she would make her own decision, regardless of what he said. He could only hope to steer her in a different direction. But he had no idea what direction in which to steer. "Because you can't have both. You can't… Making him happy won't make you happy. Sometimes… Sometimes in order to make someone else happy, you have to move on. You can't make them happy because… because nothing makes them happy. Nothing makes them happy but their own work and what they do and their… their motivation isn't you it's… anything but you. Anything but your entire race, anything but- you just can't," he rubbed his arms a bit. Crane pushed his dark matted hair back, falling in greasy waves to his chin. He slipped his dingy lab coat off of his slender shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door.
"He does make me happy," Harley muttered. She set the soup down and laid back as she hugged the pillow tight. "He does."
"Does he? Or is he just the only thing that ever has, and you don't know if you're actually happy?" He said quietly. "You need to just forget it. It'll never happen." Harley mumbled incoherently, hugging the pillow tighter. The medication helped relax her to the point she was falling asleep almost instantly. Crane watched her for a moment before taking his lab coat off of the wall and putting it over Harley's shoulders. "Nice girls like you shouldn't have to have problems like these," he whispered, pushing his glasses up his nose. Crane nodded once and then sat down on the floor by her head, pulling a book out from under the couch. He flipped it open and sat in silence, listening to her sleep behind him.