This was without a doubt the most insane thing Harleen had ever been to in her life. And probably ever would be, too. Of course she was no stranger to charity events. Heck, a long time ago (okay last year, but that was still a pretty good stretch of time by human lifespan) she would have hated to be invited to such a thing. She liked her work far more than she liked socializing and talking about it, but she knew the necessary evil that was being on the good side of the public eye and occasionally beg them for money via means of throwing a fancy party and bribing with food and drink to hope they donated. In her opinion this money didn't need to be asked for, since it was obvious to anyone that helping a bunch of sick people tormented by their own minds was an amazing cause that needed no convincing to marshal behind.

Well, should have been, she guessed.

But this one was...different. And even as much as she might have liked in principle to not go, she couldn't find herself really putting any heart behind her idea of refusal. And one didn't just say no to a personal invitation from Bruce Wayne to attend the event that he was so kindly throwing for them and dumping his millions of cash into. God, how much money did he have anyway? He could probably buy his own island (right, like he didn't already have one, that was a good joke, Harleen) and float it atop of his money.

So it was more than a little surprising when an envelope had been addressed to her in her mail, written in a hand she had never seen before that was impeccably beautiful. She hadn't even known at first it was addressed to her, mostly because she had been oogling the beautiful paper and golden filigree decorations covering the edges before she tried to read the name, and also because she had trouble reading it at first. Harleen had never been the best at cursive, her attempts being passable in school, but this calligraphy was so incredible and gorgeous that it didn't matter that she could barely read it, it was fantastic.

Until she opened the envelope and read what was inside, though. A card much like what was on the outside of the envelope, personally inviting her to the Arkham charity event being help by Bruce Wayne for raising awareness of the mentally ill, but also to raise more security and compensation and care for the victims of attacks from the prisoners and former prisoners of Arkham Asylum.

Which at least answered the question of why her in particular. Wayne had probably heard about Joker's attack and Batman's rescue of her, and reached out to her.

And even as she had been contemplating whether or not to go, standing around in her kitchen, that sudden tidbit of information came slamming to the forefront of her brain like the force of a freight train. Thank the hippocampus for storing that memory away to be useful later!

Bruce Wayne knew Batman.

The revelation and memory had her standing stupefied for a good ten seconds as her mind remembered and connected all the dots. She remembered scraps of news reels half-paid attention to while she had been busy doing something else. Magazine articles with bold headlines that were impossible to ignore. Gossip from coworkers and friends. Bruce Wayne publically funded Batman. The one and only connected the Caped Crusader had to any single resident in Gotham. They had met, they had talked, and they even made some sort of plans together.

Harleen briefly wondered about that, as she could hardly imagine Wayne staying sober enough for any sort of hard and official planning to even sink in. But perhaps he just had a good heart and liked to see justice being done and having a way to help in even if that was in a small way. It would make sense, after all, given what happened to his parents.

At that Harleen sighed and shook her head. Poor, poor Bruce. She couldn't possibly imagine any worse thing happening to a child, especially right in front of his face. His parents ripped away by a criminal, having been witness to it all...it was hardly any wonder why Wayne turned out the way he did, ruining his life and health by drinking and partying and having wild sex every single night. How he hadn't actually pissed away his whole enormous fortune was really anyone's guess. She knew that was what a lack of parenting did, though she knew his...butler, she guessed? He was the guardian after both parents had died. He should have been that parenting role for Wayne, but she didn't need to be told that a servant who was obligated to follow orders becoming a guardian was a terrible idea. It was his duty to serve his employer, so naturally no one had put a foot down to rein in Wayne's worst impulses.

But still...he knew Batman. And he invited her personally. Harleen was not so unbelievably stupid to pass this opportunity up, and immediately began looking for a halfway decent dress.

Alright, she had to admit. As much as she still disliked social settings as she found out, and gaudy chandeliers and people poking and prodding her again and again by asking her opinion on this paper or this bit of gossip—this one was not actually that bad.

A great deal of it was in the food, of course, and the wine. The wine was unrealistically good and now Harleen felt ashamed to even admit that she liked to open a bottle herself at home once in a while, since what she drank regularly was swill compared to this. And she didn't buy cheap, either! She was paid more than well enough for working in Arkham. The cheese was fantastic, too, and there were even oysters! Massachusetts oysters, at the start of winter! But they were fat and salty and almost buttery in their taste, and she ate nine of them just by hovering next to the platter and not interacting with anyone before she realized what she was doing.

There was also a chocolate fountain, too, because of course there was. It was just so good and yet so unfair, at least that was what a petty corner of her thought.

But she couldn't avoid interaction forever. She was caught up not by one, but a group of four colleges who, while not working at Arkham (not crazy enough, she thought somewhat bitterly) had enough of an ear to the ground to know about the Joker incident, as they were calling it. And they knew that Joker was a favorite patient of hers, so of course there was no end to their questions. All the pleasure of learning about Joker, without having to be anywhere near him. All gain, no pain.

Harleen tried to think of the least rude way to extract herself from the knot, and silently fumed that she was the center of attention and not someone else so she could just slip discreetly away. But thankfully, someone else came for her before she could scream.

"Doctor Quinn, a moment if you would please."

The voice was knee-quivering handsome, it could have melted butter. Rich and smooth and a gentle baritone, washing over the assembled like a wave rather than piercing in its interruption, and Harleen was turning with an amount of desperation that she hoped wasn't visible.

Ohh he's so good, that little Harley Quinn part of herself sighed dreamily, and she bit her cheek a little. Just when it had been quiet for the entire night. Not she was going to have to put up with a running commentary

But she turned, and she was pretty sure her jaw wasn't on the floor, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't have to guess. Anyone who had ever looked at a magazine in their life knew who he was.

Bruce Wayne had striking, incredible steel gray eyes that his pictures did not in any way do proper justice. She all at once felt pinned, but in a way that made her want to ooze and shiver from it. Now she understood the women hanging off his arm all the time much more—she had always thought they were after his money and had bene paid, but honestly she could imagine some women going with him on a look alone.

Oh, he was also unfairly hot. That didn't help either. That jaw was a razor.

He was looking at her expectantly, then with a start Harleen remembered what he actually said and she slapped a sheepish smile across her face. "Oh—of course!" she made a hasty nod to the other doctors, who were glaring jealously, she was more than happy to see, and she followed Wayne as he made his expert way through the crowd.

She saw some stares and that made her heart race. And for the first time she noticed a distinct lack of a woman hanging off Wayne's arm, which must have been obvious to everyone else too.

Wait a moment, did that mean that she was the woman on his arm now? Oh god she hoped not. But at the same time the idea was... nice?

Abruptly Batman flashed into her mind, all hulking and dark against the night sky, with his slit white eyes staring at her. His gravelly, rough voice and huge hands, the way he moved with such grace and fluidity even though he was built like a truck...oh she could fantasize about that for days. Had been, really.

And nights, too. How could she forget the endless dreams she was plagued with of being pinned down by Batman, legs spread wide as he pounded into her better than any man had given it to her before? It was actually embarrassing how often that fantasy came up in her mind, and in small part because he was still wearing his stupid cape and bat hood over his head while being completely naked! Though to be fair that was entirely her fault—she had no idea what he even looked like so her brain couldn't fill in the gap.

This was pathetic. But she still woke up wet and frustrated and wanting, so it wasn't nonsensical. She knew she was thirsty for him, and that kiss didn't help. She kept thinking about the thin, rough line of his mouth, how it felt against her lips and—

What the hell are you doing? The actually smart part of her brain cut through her thoughts like a bucket of water being thrown over her. You're at a party for crying out loud! Can you keep it under control for five minutes!

She was right. Well, of course she was right, she was talking to herself, but with how often Batman had popped up in her mind as of late, she probably deserved a good scolding. Harleen tried to shake her head clear, and saw that she and Bruce were heading to some sort of balcony. That was great, actually. Perhaps some fresh air would help her out.

Bruce stood against the railing, his champagne glass held loosely in his fingers, and Harleen hoped that he wouldn't drop it. "Sorry about that," he said promptly as she came to stand next to him, flashing him the charming grin. "I didn't want to just drag you away so abruptly, but you looked as if you wanted to scream so I came in."

"Knight in shining armor?" Harleen said with a chuckle, shaking her head. He'd have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted to get her in his bed. "Thank you for that, regardless. I'm not very good at social events."

"More of a professional than a socialite," he said, nodding. "I understand, and it's admirable. Especially so when that devotion to your work put you in the Joker's radar."

Ah, here it was. She tried not to brace herself for what she knew was coming, but it was hard not to. It was one thing to hear it from colleagues, but the host of the party who she couldn't so easily brush off, it was a whole other game. "Such is the hazard of my line of work, or perhaps just my place of enjoyment." She gave a humorless smile. "Joker is just the worst of the lot, but Riddler likes talking to me too, even if most of what he says is complete nonsense." Which was completely untrue, but she felt suddenly awkward about admitting that she spent a lot amount of time around the most insane inmates of Arkham, and sometimes it wasn't even strictly professional. It was a secret her and Riddle shared, their talks. "And Scarecrow, but no one is allowed o talk to him for more than once a week unless they have special permission. He gets into everyone's heads too easily."

Wayne was frowning heavily at her, which was both terrible and amazing at the same time, and she was just on the verge of wiggling nervously when he looked away. "Your job is very dangerous," he said at last, softly. "The fact that you are still there after what Joker did to you—I do not know whether it is bravery or foolishness."

"I'll answer for you right now," Harleen said, trying not to sound too cool as she said it. "I do it because it is the right thing to do. Even if these fiends are all irredeemable monsters, we still need to try to help them."

"And altruistic, on top of that," Wayne said in a particular manner that made her frown, and she wondered why. Was Wayne making fun of her? It was entirely possible, but he didn't seem to be the least bit humorous, from what she could tell. "It is something you rarely see in other people."

Harleen wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but she hesitated, her hand remaining stubbornly a her side. "You're a very good person too," she said at last and made a little gesture to the crowd inside and the party still going. "I mean, look at all of this. And look at what you're promising victims, too. No one can ever say Bruce Wayne doesn't care."

"Unless he was caught in bed with yet another woman in the after party," Bruce remarked somewhat dryly. "But I see your point. It is a refreshing one, too."

Harleen tilted her head to the side, trying to peer at him in question and thinking. She couldn't help but feel that something about him was a little familiar, but it was no tiny that she brushed it off. "Do you like the fact that I disagree with you?" she asked instead, more puzzled than accusatory.

Bruce made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It isn't that," he said. "I don't need people to argue with me. Enough people do that on pure principle. I like it more when people stand up for what they think is right, even if others don't agree with them."

"Like Batman," she blurted out without thinking, and only then stopped herself from covering her hand with her mouth.

Ha! You're still thinking about him! Harley Quinn laughed at her, and she felt her face flushing with heat, and she was incredibly glad for the night air and the lights on behind them so her face couldn't be illuminated that well.

Shut up! she snapped back and looked to Wayne, who was smiling at her. But the smile was of amusement.

"Exactly," he said, as if he had no idea what was raging on inside of her mind. His voice had taken on an odd timber, and even though Harleen currently had two parts of her brain squabbling (god was she developing personalities as a way to deal with the trauma, she hoped not) she was not so inexperienced or blind to not notice that. "Like Batman."

It was odd, distant, and almost...wistful?

He idolizes Batman, her mind immediately told her. And to be fair that was no real earth-shattering revelation. It'd be weirder if he didn't. Batman does what he never could. That's why he helps him all the time.

"Did you hear about the new vigilante on the streets, actually?" Wayne asked her, steering the conversation in almost a complete 180. Harleen blinked at that, stunned, but then shook herself internally. Perhaps Wayne saw that he was being vulnerable and shoved everything in the complete opposite direction, away from himself. Which would make sense, given his childhood trauma, and really she was certain he had to have a whole nasty bunch of bad coping habits that would take the best of psychologists years to untangle.

But she wasn't here for that, and if anything poking into his business and psyche like that would be terribly unprofessional and rude. Instead she brightened up and not in the least because her heart was pounding several miles a minute. Bruce Wayne had taken notice of her. Well, Harley Quinn, but still. That might get her to be just one step closer to being in the good graces of Batman and for him to take her seriously. If she couldn't come at the Bat directly, she would go through his friend instead. His handsome, rich friend, and wow that came out scummier than she thought.

"I did!" she said, making her voice sound only a little excited, the same amount one would have about hearing a juicy piece of gossip. "Dressed in a lot of heavy makeup, the news say, though none of it is really solid."

"Of course not, Gotham doesn't want to stir people up," Wayne said with a nod. "It's all very hush hush at the moment, but we'll se what happens. Other than that we know the person is a woman, and apparently a highly capable fighter, but that is pretty much a given I suppose for the work she does."

"Why does everyone keep quiet about it?" Harleen couldn't help but ask. She kept for tone as innocent as possible, and sipped her champagne casually. "It seems that the crime fighter is the gossip of every other person I meet, so it's not like official sources haven't heard anything."

I bet there are pictures somewhere, though, that playful part of her sighed wistfully. With how tight that suit is, my ass has got to be looking amazing in it! Especially after all of those workouts!

God her head was embarrassing. If the Justice League ever swooped into town she would make sure to go on vacation. There were mind readers among them, right? What if one of them heard and told Batman and—her mind was running off again. What chance did she have of that happening, really?

"Of course not," Wayne said, shaking his head to the question she had briefly forgotten she had asked. "But imagine if all of Gotham starts talking about her, another vigilante, then every other citizen with a vendetta is going to take it into their head to go put on some sort of disguise and start their own vigilante work. Things will then start to get very messy, very quickly."

Harleen nodded sympathetically, understanding the problem. If a whole bunch of people decided all at once to be a bunch of clowns and go out beating random people that they thought were criminals, then there would just be more criminals in the streets. Maybe that was why Batman was such a low-key thing at first, actually. A specter of only whispered rumor, a terrifying figure in the night that frightened the criminals he was catching and the people he was saving in equal measures. Maybe it was part intimidation in his appearance and manner, everyone too terrified of him to get close. Harleen certainly knew that it would take a lot of guts to stand up to him when he became confronting—heck, she knew first hand what he thought of anyone else joining him on his nightly adventures. Not many people had that sort of spine.

Though her bravery was also shot through with a ton of stupidity and outright obsession, and she figured that she was simply too crazy to really care at this point. She couldn't stop now, not when fighting these criminals felt so good, and not when Batman could potentially show up at ay moment.

He came in her mind again, all gravel voice and burning eyes, and his hard, hard mouth that yet felt so soft, and the huge arms she knew could crush her to him if he dared. And she knew he did, somewhere deep inside of him. Perhaps that was just her insanity talking, though, but something in her gut told her that it was not.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she said, thinking, and then smiled a little. "That's why you help the Bat also, right? To kind of show public support but also make him more official. Or rather, some sort of unofficial police force."

At that Wayne's expression did not flicker, which Harleen thought was a little strange. But maybe he was drunk, as his expression was just an easy smile. "Pretty much," he confirmed, giving her a nod. "Although he came to me for help, first, but I saw the merits of his ideas when he explained them out to me. I am still one of the most influential people in this city—or even the world, if we want to be blunt and honest about it. Me endorsing him and setting down hard lines on what vigilantism should be like deterred both people from joining him, and police from arresting him."

"It must be incredible to know him so well," she said wistfully, thinking against back to that fantasy of him pinning her down onto a bed, or the cold metal table of his Batcave, and how hot he would feel in that cool air, and she bit her lip to bring her back to reality and gulped down a fresh mouthful of champagne, nearly finishing her glass in one go.

Don't be embarrassed, the Harley Quinn side of her laughed. He's all worth the attention!

Except now that she was seeing Bruce Wayne, with how smart and well-spoken he was and absolutely not a sleazy creep like she had always been led to believe about him, he was proving to be very fine as well. She wouldn't exactly call him a perfect gentleman (though he did look fine in a suit and why in the world did a billionaire need to be built like a bodybuilder? that was just overkill) he certainly was well-spoken and polite and even charming after a fashion. That smile could make anyone weak at the knees, and he knew it, the bastard.

But, she liked confident men.

"Indeed it is! He is a fantastic person, though I must disagree on knowing him. I don't think anyone in the world can know Batman." At that his eyes turned away from her to look out into the night for a moment, as if he expected the Bat to randomly come swinging in himself at any moment. Considering how often Harleen had seen him just appear out of nowhere, she would not have been surprised in the least if that actually did happen.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I saw him, once."

"Yes, the Joker incident, I remember that." He looked back to her. "You sure you have been holding up well? That can't possibly have been an experience you can just brush off and forget. The Joker is...worse than any normal criminal. And you are around so many other deranged criminals, all the time."

She had opened her mouth to correct him and say no, she meant the other time Batman saved her, then she stopped. It might not be a good idea to blab about how much time she spent around Batman, so she kept her mouth shut for now. It was probably better to play upon what he already knew. "I thank you for your concern," she said, trying to ignore the squeal of her inner self at how he was concerned for her. Getting noticed by the handsome, rich Bruce Wayne was certainly something to be proud about. Especially since he wasn't hitting on her and actually seemed interested in her as a person.

"However," she went on, "as I said before, I will be fine. And even if wasn't, I'd be worse off if I left what I was doing." A sudden flash of inspiration, of want hit her, a desire to admit the crime she had almost committed. But it wasn't a crime, even if it felt like it to her. "I almost did leave, you know," she admitted in a low voice. "Almost transferred somewhere else. To some other, safer Asylum. But I couldn't go through with it. I need to be in Arkham, and that's where I'll stay."

He gave her a look then. A very pleasant and searching look that lasted perhaps a single second—not fast enough for her to think that she had imagined it, but also not slow enough for her to put any real importance to it aside from the occasional flashes of deeper thought that most people had in their lives. "You are indeed a very interesting woman, Doctor Quinzel," he said, and then his smile was back. "Would you like to have dinner together, sometime? After all of this is dealt with." He waved his hand back to the party.

Harleen felt as if she could backflip. Right off the balcony. That was so utterly and completely flooring that she didn't even know how to process that except to let her unthinking brain just take over—which it did, without asking, because she stopped thinking. "I ate way too many oysters already, so not tonight, but definitely yes!"

He chuckled, which was an amazing sound and she suddenly wished she had more wine with her. "You are a fan of oysters? Seafood restaurant, then," he said with a wink. Aha, the playboy wasn't that far removed, but here it felt nicer.

"Any place with you is amazing," she said, still unthinking, and then she clamped her mouth shut before she could say something really stupid. "But yes, that sounds amazing."

There was a sudden cough behind them. Polite, but pointed. They turned to see an old man standing behind them, tall and narrow, with what remained of his silver hair impeccably combed and his whole bearing regal and graceful. "Master Wayne," he said with a small bow. "You are expected."

Bruce gave her an apologetic look, and then went to be led away, mouthing a We'll talk later over his shoulder at her.

Mmm, his shoulders. So wide and...strong.

Abruptly she wondered what it would feel like to be pressed between Batman and Bruce Wayne at the same time. Wayne knew Batman, he could definitely arrange it.