Harleen wanted to say that she slowly came back to her consciousness, that the sounds around her and the chill of the bed she was laying on brought her slowly out of her state of stupor. That she was calm and collected, trying to figure out as much information as possible while still pretending to be asleep before she decided to reveal herself to whoever was around.

However, the truth was always much harsher and much more embarrassing. Both sensations seemed to come upon her in an instant: the freezing cold and the crushing feeling of being unable to breathe, as if her body remembered what had happened in the last few seconds before she passed out and decided to play catch up, and she came away at once with an explosive bought of coughing.

She heard a yelp of surprise nearby, along with a bit of a clatter and a strangely high voice yelling: "Batman!" Then a force pressed down on her shoulders, sending her back down without slamming her against the thing she was laying on (definitely not a bed or anything like that, a part of her brain puzzled out) and holding her there effortlessly.

"Doctor Quinzel? I need you to breathe for me," a deep, rasping voice spoke her her and made her stop because oh Lord it wasn't it wasn't it wasn't—

She finally opened her eyes to look up at the white, narrow slits gazing down at her and Lord really help her it most certainly was. Of course finally meeting Batman again after all these months the only thought her stupid brain could conjure up at the moment was: wow he's big.

Seriously, what was that even supposed to mean? Was he tall or was he wide or whatever?

Actually, with more than a second of looking she observed that it had to be a bit of both. Batman was looming over her in the truest sense of the word and she could clearly see from how tight his suit pressed against him and how his cape hung on him that he had to be stacked. With shoulders like that he could probably sling a horse over them and keep on going like usual. Did he do that to her? Oh God she hoped so but she also didn't.

She was being an idiot. She was being such an idiot what part of the brain was in charge of all this fangirling? Dopamine overdose, the adrenaline, all of it? The limbic system, right. And the amygdala that bastard. At least this this time it wasn't reducing her to a crying mess, so that was a good start. The hippocampus too and—

Her lungs were on fire she wasn't even breathing—

Just like that she sucked in a breath of air and noticed right away that it was horribly cold and dusty, and smelled unmistakably like rock and earth. Where in the world was she for a place to smell like that? Some sort of cave? She took another breath and another, feeling the ache subside and she used the moment to glance around with her eyes.

Oh, she was in a cave, actually. Go figure. A cave filled with computers lining the wall and metal tables and really it was an utterly bizzare scene of a medical lab right in the middle of a dimly lit cave.

Batman was still there and still looking at her, his face impassive. Well that was good because honestly if Harleen had been in front of someone who had been as silent as her then she would have started to think they were a little crazy. He must have saved her though, so—

"Um," she started, her voice croaking due her throat being horribly dry and she tried to swallow it down. "Thank you for saving me, again," she said, trying to smile a little at him but it was coming out mangled and sheepish.

After a moment of scrutinizing—Harleen didn't see Batman's expression so much as twitch but she felt the attention raking across her—he let go of her. She felt a brief moment of surprise, for some reason the fact that he could move surprised her, even though she knew that was ridiculous. It was just his posture and how he stood, he could give a mountain pro tips on how to be still.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice somehow blending in perfectly to the shadows and stone and made this whole scenario feel much more real and less like a fever hallucination. As if he did this sort of thing all the time and she got herself into these types of situations all the time. "An untrained woman attacking a mugger? You're lucky he used his toxin first and not his knife."

"And yet I still saved her," she grumbled back, a part of her rankling in wounded pride. Another part of her cringed under his scolding, suddenly feeling very much like she was a little girl again being told off for doing something stupid by her understandably irate father, before her curiosity came back to life again. "What did you say he used?" she asked.

The slits narrowed a little, but Batman decided to answer her question. "Fear toxin," he explained. "It's what Scarecrow uses to torment his victims with: a mix of chemicals and drugs he disperses in the form of gas. It targets phobias specifically, and brings them to life with hallucinogenics that are added into the mix. Thankfully what you were dosed with is a far less potent version that's available on the black market. If it had been true fear toxin you would still be under its effects."

Something about the way he was speaking was utterly relaxing, although Harleen could tell he wasn't trying to be. His manner was dry as a sponge and cold, but it was so perfectly logical and assured that Harleen felt absolutely confident that she was in no real danger, even though she didn't understand a good part of what he was talking about.

It allowed her brain to think a little, and think it did on this particularly interesting piece of information. She felt her brows pulling into a confused frown as she tried to puzzle out what Batman had said. "That's very clever of him," she murmured, "how he can activate the parts of the brain that harbor our fears in such a narrow, specific way. Rather than simply making a victim feel overwhelming fear his drug affects phobias themselves, which are specific to each person. It's masterful."

"Indeed, Doctor Quinzel," Batman said dryly (oh God he did remember her) and held out his hand. "Flashlight."

For a moment Harleen was utterly perplexed. His tone was clearly asking for a flashlight, but his hand wasn't even pointed at her and what in the world made him think she had a flashlight of all things when she noticed movement from the corner of her vision. Oh goodness it was Robin, how in the world did she miss him standing there the whole time? Was she really that mesmerized by Batman or was Robin just that good in being unnoticed?

Robin slapped a tiny flashlight into Batman's palm and immediately he approached her. "Look up," he ordered, not even waiting for her to obey while his hand grasped her chin and tilted her up.

She didn't even have time to think about how his touch was somehow both gentle and firm and whatever the fabric on his gloves were it felt great when a bright, glaring light shone right in her eye. "Hey!" she protested, trying to jerk away but his fingers held firm.

The light moved to sear the retina of her other eye, now thoroughly blinding her while Batman took his sweet damn time trying to find out whatever he was looking for. "Your pupils are still a little dilated, but not enough that I would say you're in any danger of having an attack." He stepped away and she heard a clink as he (presumably) set the flashlight down. "Unfortunately, because this is a poorly made version of the toxin, it can linger in your body for much longer. Real fear toxin can leave your body in hours with no trace afterwards, but with this you can be feeling echos of symptoms for weeks."

She rubbed her eyes and found that it was useless in getting rid of the globs in her vision and instead focused her attention to where she thought she heard his voice coming from. "Does that mean I'll have to stay here?" she asked.

There was a snicker, one she knew had to come from Robin because at this point she was having a hard time imaging Batman doing so much as cracking a smile, let alone a laugh. Then there was a silence and oh, it was one of those silences. The ones where she regretted ever learning how to speak in the first place.

"No," Batman said at last, like the blow of a hammer. "I will take you back to your apartment and you will get some rest. I have a medicine you can take against the effects—"

Something about the finality of his tone made her heart leap. It was like a professor wrapping up his lecture in the last five minutes before the bell rang, to a lesson she would never receive again. "Wait," she said, swinging her legs off the table and sliding off, nearly collapsing to the floor because she was still half blind and her foot banged against a stool on her way down. Yet she shoved herself up, trying to fight off the dizziness and weakness that sapped at her limbs, while a hand gripped her elbow and steadied her. "I can help you."

She had no idea why she just said that. It was desperation, throwing out any words she could imagine that could possibly make Batman pause even for a moment and consider his options. Her vision was clearing and she could now see the shock plainly written on Robin's face as he stared at her, despite the mask that covered his eyes.

The shadow in front of her turned and she saw the profile of Batman's face against the glare of a computer screen behind him. A jutting, square chin, with a jawline that could cut steel. The rest of his features were obscured by his mask, but she had the impression that he had to have a long, straight nose if the nose on his mask was conformed to it. Yet it was all thrown into the deepest black from the light behind him and all she saw was a sentinel, a figure out of Gotham City's mythology come straight to life only dump her back into her ordinary life and pretend nothing had happened.

Dammit, Riddler had been right the whole time. Of course he had been, the bastard. But if to consider the rest of his words, Harleen would much, much rather be here right now, more firmly under the influence of Batman than Joker coming for her again. She was indeed trapped with no way of escape, and the only way to go now was deeper down, right into the center of the spider's web. Or the bat and his cave, as it were.

"No, you cannot," Batman said at last, his rumble brooking no arguments. He turned back and she could physically feel the weight of his gaze lift off of her, like a blanket being taken off her shoulders. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Now she might have been cowed if he had left his first words as they were, but that followup just made her seethe. "Excuse you," she said, straightening herself in a pathetic attempt to match him. But he was no Joker, he really was tall, the top of her head could have barely scraped his nose. "Have you seen where I work? Almost all the inmates in Arkham are people you put there. You have to deal with them only when you catch them—and trust me there is not a single person who is not extremely grateful for it—but I have to handle them every single day. I work in the greatest melting pot of all of Gotham's finest scum, with a fine dash of Joker, Riddle, Two-Face, Bane, oh and Clayface too, and believe me it is a headache trying to so much as feed him while making sure his disgusting gooey clay stuff doesn't crawl out the door."

She was trembling a little, righteous anger pouring through her veins as months of her pent up stress, anger, violation, and despair rose to a crescendo to come boiling out of her in an eruption of words. "And I signed up for it. I was not dumped into this life like you were, I knew what I was getting myself into and now I know even better what I'm getting myself into. So don't you dare treat me like a naive girl. You're not the only one who deals with these psychopaths, and you're definitely not the only person capable of helping this city out."

Wow, that felt good. That felt amazing, actually, to fling all those words into his face and let her justified anger burn out all of those nasty, disgusting thoughts from her head like about how weak and powerless she was when Joker had taken her, when—

No, she told herself, stopping that thought before it could run away from her again. She was not about to let herself keep being a victim. She meant what she said to Batman and she was going to prove it one way or another.

"If you are so certain about what this kind of life entails," Batman began, not even turning to face her this time, "then you should know well enough to run the opposite way."

Harleen gritted her teeth, feeling her jaw muscles clenching and unclenching under the pressure. However she managed to keep her voice pretty calm, which she considered a pretty good achievement since the alternative was to start screaming at him and no one needed that. "So to you it's either don't get involved because you don't know what you're getting yourself into, or don't get involved because you do. Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Sounds perfect," Batman replied, his hands absently gathering up a plastic bottle that rattled with pills whenever he moved it. "We're leaving. Get to the car."

"Don't you change the subject on—"

"The car, now."

Something about that snarl made her snap immediately to obey even thought she was still very angry at him for completely justified reasons. Harleen moved quickly, following him at a fast walk because quite frankly his steps ate the ground and it was all she could do to force herself not to jog to keep up and make herself look even more incapable than she already did to him. How in the world was Robin able to stay at his side so effortlessly? And how was he able to do it while being only half her height? This was so unfair.

She had no idea where they were going and was content to stay a step or two behind so they could lead and to give her an excuse to crane her head around to take in everything she could. They left the medical lab, which put them a small hallway that then widened out into the main room and oh, these caves were a lot bigger than she thought they were. Now she had absolutely no idea where to look, there was just so much to see everywhere!

Along one wall, the entire wall actually, there was an enormous computer with various screens depicting different parts of the city and—wait he had cameras in Arkham?! What the hell?!

There were various other openings along the walls of the main room, no doubt other branches leading off into parts unknown for other rooms for Batman to do his...Batman things she guessed. What did the Caped Crusader need in order to keep all of Gotham City's crime rate in check with his only help being a boy who could not possibly be more than ten years old?

And the cars, not even cars but boats and motorcycles and was that a plane? A plane in the shape of a bat? Who even was this man? A whole row of vehicles just lines up here like it was nobody's business but his, did he ever come screeching out of this cave in a godforsaken plane and no one noticed? Was there a runway outside or were these caves just ridiculously huge? Where did Gotham City even have caves anyway? Harleen had never heard of anything like that.

Unless they weren't in Gotham at all at this point. With all of this crazy stuff crammed into this cave she couldn't imagine them being anywhere near the city, especially not with a plane (she was never going to get over that) needing room to fly once the door opened. Maybe the outskirts? Gosh who knew at this point, honestly.

It wasn't the plane that made her stop in her tracks, though, but something else entirely. Something so bizarre that it froze every muscle in her body as she tried to process it.

"Hey guys?" she finally managed to croak out when she got her jaw to start moving again. She saw the both of them pause and turn in a perfect synchronization that was both very cool and a little disturbing. Refusing to dwell on it though, she gestured vaguely to the structure whose silhouette was thrown against the ceiling from one of the nearby lights. "What's up with the giant T-rex?"

Robin snickered again and she felt more than saw Batman's sigh. "It's a long story," Robin offered, his voice surprisingly light and cheerful in the depths of the cave. Yet it somehow fit in with the whole picture, despite the scowling man standing at his side and the crime world they often lived in. Like a counterpoint of light to add to all the darkness.

Batman's face moved the barest inch, as if sending a quick glare at his sidekick for speaking at all, to which Robin shrugged to and they turned back around. "It's not important," Batman said and kept walking, his posture expectant.

For that alone she grit her teeth, but kept walking anyway. Harleen figured that Batman was exactly the type of person to really sling her over his shoulder and carry her out of here if she felt like being difficult, and she would rather be carried around by him in a much...different way. God she wished she could punch her brain sometimes.

Cheeks burning, she prayed that they wouldn't turn around again when suddenly the duo stopped in front of one of the many Batmobiles parked in the cave and this one she was actually familiar with. It was the one he had driven when he rescued her from Joker, and no stranger to the newspaper articles and lucky footage news cameras could get. Harleen wondered if there was some sort of regular, "standard" Batmobile here or if this one was just the most comfortable to use within the depths of Gotham. It was sleek and beautifully curved, black as pitch and glossy as obsidian, with a pair of bat wing designs sweeping back above the back wheels for no reason she could imagine other than being stylish.

Were they really about to take the Batmobile? Was she about to ride in it? This was all like some crazy dream this had to be she was about to wake up any moment and—

The front door popped open and Batman slid right into the front seat effortlessly as if it was something he did every day oh what was she talking about of course he did this everyday Batman literally had the best job on the entire planet. There was a moment of pause, lasting barely longer than a breath, but she sensed it. So did Robin, as he paused in mid-step from walking around the front of the car. "You stay here," Batman ordered.

So he was that straight to the point with his assistant too. Interesting. Or perhaps he was just being in character because they had an audience? Or, who knows...With someone as deeply affected as she guessed Batman to be, maybe for him, whoever he really was, he and Batman were one and the same. Maybe what had started out as a hidden persona to stand up against the evils of the world and cope with whatever had happened to him in the past turned and morphed into his true self now. After all whatever had happened to him to make him become Batman had stripped him of whatever power he had, like many victims of trauma, and why wouldn't he discard that old, vulnerable self to become the invincible, all-knowing, omnipresent terror in the night that had villains trembling in the darkest alleys?

Robin crossed his arms, just as petulant as his young, boyish self demanded. At least Batman hadn't rubbed off on him yet. "Why?" he demanded in that tone that any boy could take the second he was confronted on something. "We can drop her off and then go back to patrol—"

"Enough," Batman cut him off, his tone brooking no arguments. "You need to stay here and watch the monitors. Notify me if anything comes up while I'm gone."

There was an argument brewing here, but Harleen could see that Robin was making an effort not to say anything and this time she knew it was because she was there. Without another word Robin turned around and she felt, for just a second, his glare as his gaze lingered on her before he stalked off to the giant computer taking up the wall. She watched his retreating figure, and noted that when he was angry he looked startlingly like his mentor: squaring his shoulders and trying to loom and everything.

A part of her wanted to have a word with him on the psychology of children and how their behavior could be affected by the behavior of the adults they were surrounded with, but his voice broken through her thoughts and scattered them to the winds. "Get in."

And that was how she found herself sitting the most comfortable seat she had ever had the pleasure of sitting in. This had to be real leather, there was no way it was anything but.

Batman flipped some sort of switch (there were far to many of those for a simple car, Harleen was afraid touch anything) and the glass, already tinted, turned pitch black.

Well great, that's cool and all but how are you supposed to see where you're going? a sarcastic part of her brain snapped, and she was on the very edge of saying it when Batman look out some sort of visor and slid it over his eyes. Then he started the car, the engine roaring to life under them, and she was shoved against her seat as they shot forward.

In the darkness of the car, Batman's hands turned the wheel, and Harleen heard something hitting the car that she could only describe as them suddenly blasting through some sort of car wash, and then they were clearly on the road as the ride was smooth and long and there was no noise except the engine as they drove. Clearly Batman could see what he was doing somehow since they hadn't flattened themselves against a wall like a pancake, and Harleen guessed it had something to do with the visor. Was he really so paranoid that he had this whole setup where he could have someone in his car and they couldn't track him because he blacked out his windows completely?

The ride was exactly as awkward as she expected. Batman was completely silent, almost as if she wasn't there at all. Occasionally his hands moved the wheel, he sped up or slowed down, but oddly he never stopped. She had no idea how in the world anyone could drive through Gotham City without getting caught by a street light or stop sign, and she had never actually heard any tales that went: "Hey one time I was at a red light and no joke the Batmobile pulled up right next to me I swear I'm not making this up."

She stared at her reflection in the glass of the window, and felt her heart beginning to race when she saw that it wasn't quite her. Her face kept shifting before her eyes, going from her anxious, uncertain face to a makeup marked, grinning woman who looked at her knowingly. As if she should know who this phantom wearing her face was supposed to be.

He did say the hallucinations would continue...

"You know—" she started, the silence starting to drive her crazy.

"No."

"No?" she repeated, turning to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"You're about to ask me to let you join again. The answer is still no."

This time her anger was boiling over, snapping like the last bit of delicate thread. "Now you—"

"We're here," he said suddenly, his foot finally hitting the brake and slowing them to a stop. He hit another switch and her door popped open. "You should go back to your apartment, Doctor, and keep safe this time."

She was so furious she could have hit him, but instead she merely snapped her seatbelt off and jumped out of the car, but just as she turned around, mouth open, she saw him holding out the bottle of pills in his hand. "Take these," he went on. "For the symptoms of the toxin."

For a long moment she stared, before finally reaching out and taking them from him. "You know what's funny?" she asked conversationally as she looked for any sort of label and of course found nothing. "How easily our lives can be ripped apart by a single, senseless act."

She looked up at him, at those white, expressionless slits in the mask and this time she did not look away. She forced herself not to. "That's what happened to me with Joker, and I bet that's what happened to you, too. That's why you're like this. That's why you developed Batman, not only as a way to comfort yourself, to prove to yourself that you are strong and tough and powerful and not a victim, but also to make sure it never happened to anyone else." She placed her hand on her hip. "I bet it happened when you were a child, and ever since you always wished you were someone else, someone who would have been big enough, fast enough, and smart enough to stop whatever had happened on that night."

Alright she didn't know if the trauma she was sure he went through happened at night, but that was the only time Batman came out so it was a good guess. "And that's what you've become now, and it doesn't fix what happened in the past, and while you want to make the future better you still carry that old bitterness in you. You were no more a volunteer to this type of life than I was when Joker took me hostage." She squeezed her hip, terrified, but not backing down. "And I refuse to be a victim no less than you do, Batman."

There was a long, pregnant pause, filled with her words that somehow—she felt it—were neither empty nor entirely missing the mark. Then Batman finally moved. "Goodnight Doctor Quinzel," he said, breaking the silence between them but not what lay in silence between them. The door closed and the Batmobile roared and then sped off into the night, gone within seconds as if it had never been there at all.

Harleen watched it go. She scowled, then looked down at the pills in her hand. With a scoff, she threw them into the nearest trash bin and turned to go inside her apartment block.

Let the symptoms come. She would deal with them.