AN: Bing bong, don't own anything. ALSO: Special TW for this. Quite a bit of fighting in this, including firearms. Not graphic, but still.

Also, also, some angst relating to growing up asexual in this, Jonathan's thoughts in this are not correct but I'm letting him having some angst i myself experienced, it is not meant to suggest being ace is a problem or that ace people are broken. Nor is he meant to be 'cured' of being on the ace spectrum. Might elaborate on it in a part 2, should the amuse arise.

Fear should dull, should it not? With time and frequent exposure - shouldn't it? Harley had no reasonable explanation. She wasn't the expert! And now she couldn't ask.

She'd always been afraid of the Joker, but only in fleeting moments, when his full ire was directed at her. Mostly she hadn't felt a fraction of what Ivy had always said she should feel. Shouldn't she though, after years of it, be completely numb to it by now?

The seconds ticked by like hours as all this speedskated through her brain's mechanisms. She could barely do anything else. Her body would be paralyzed by terror now if not for the stubborn desire to buy Dr Crane the precious seconds needed for a run for safety.

" On three," she whispered as the ominous sound of someone cocking a gun came from behind her back.

"No!" She heard him whisper in return.

They had nothing. The gas didn't work on the J-man. She knew he wouldn't be alone. They couldn't just shoot their way out.

"It's okay. Let 'im take me. Run. It's my own stupid fault!" Harley whispered frantically.

"What's that? Care to speak up?" the Joker taunted.

"Together," replied the professor.

"They'll hunt us down!" Harley protested, too loudly.

"Too right! Hayface! Get your hands off my stuff!" it came from behind him.

The possessive words clawed at her heart, her lips were pressed firmly together in anticipation of a traitorous squeal - but it never came.

"Tut-tut, out of time, shoot through her then, Jerry," said the Joker.

The Scarecrow tensed, slowly lowering his arm. For a moment, Harley thought he'd listen. That he'd let go and run, but his other arm remained upon her as his free hand disappeared into the bag hung over his shoulder - her bag.

"But boss," said an unknown voice.

A furious growl could be heard followed by sounds of struggle.

"I'll…" The joker growled, as Harley imagined him taking the firearm himself.

Her companion held his breath, but Harley knew it was now or never. Harley tried desperately to fling him through the doorway just as the gun went off, but he did not let go, causing them to spin. Instead it was Harley, who stumbled through the open door. Her body turned around just in time to spot something flying out of Scarecrow's hand, before he fell backwards into the doorframe. She heard the small detonator go off but the gas would have no effect on Joker - and if his men wore masks… Still angry cries followed. She grabbed her partner, flinging him away from the door and shut it, just as a cloud of green smoke and golden glitter reached it.

Harley turned. The Scarecrow was almost on his feet. She grabbed him by the hand and ran. He struggled to keep up behind her. There was no plan. No time to see where they were going. She sprinted as best she could until the Scarecrow dug his heels in, almost causing her to fall. In the next moment she was pulled through a door into a supply closet. Panic set in as something flew to her face and she erupted in frightened, muffled squeals.

"Shh, hush!" the Scarecrow whispered.

She ceased to wiggle and this let him finish putting her mask back on.

"Oh, I…" she said but stopped immediately when she saw a dark patch forming on the shoulder of his red hessian shirt.

"Professor! You're bleeding!" she cried loudly.

"Shhh!" he continuously shushed her, finishing the adjustments. "We both have a terrible habit there, do we not?"

"It's not funny!" she protested, trying to grab his shoulder and inspect it.

"As I recall you felt differently then," he replied, swatting away her hands.

"That's different!" she cried.

"Because it was you he hurt then?" he challenged her.

Harley grabbed the fabric on the Scarecrow's arms. She wanted to smack him.

"Y-yes," she admitted, still staring at the blood.

"And do you think I would agree?" he replied, cupping her cheek firmly with his hand on the uninjured side.

"Stop it! Let me do something!" she complained, finally abandoning courtesy and ripping at the fabric with her hands.

It was a struggle, but he let her, until it finally ripped. Harley exhaled sharply. It was an exit wound. He'd been shot in the back while spinning and the bullet had gone through. Only… It sat much lower than she thought it would. That was bad.

"O-okay, keep calm!" she said, pressing the ribbed fabric to the wound and she desperately looked around the room for anything usable.

He chuckled deeply and it made the bleeding worse.

"Stay still!" she cried as Harley took a plastic pack of cleaning rags.

'Why? Where' s da fuckin' first aid kits, when ya need 'em?!'

She ripped it open and pressed the fabric against the wounds, trying and failing to secure this with painters tape.

"Thank you, Harleen," Dr Crane's strained voice said just above her head.

"Don't thank me yet, we need to get outta here so I can fix this!" she countered.

"For coming back," he clarified, causing her shiny eyes to snap up.

Harley blinked, watching him for a moment and wishing she could see his features. What did he mean? Why did he think she wouldn't have? She wanted his company. He pushed her away.

"You saved our lives," he said, gently but with noticeable pain in his voice. "Your colourful little devices are admittedly brilliant."

The sack-cloth moved ever so slightly as he briefly turned his face towards Harley's bag, still hung over his shoulder. A small whimper left her lips as her eyes fully watered. There was something in the tone of his voice, something she didn't like. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"You are very capable, Miss Quinzel, and you are not a child. I apologize for making you feel so."

"Oh, that," she sniffed. "That's a-okay, I mean, don't worry 'bout it. Don't really mind all that. I…"

"Nonetheless," he interjected. "I mean it."

"I just wanted you to… Think of me different' sorta, you know," she explained looking back at her hands.

"I know that," he replied, his voice noticeably weaker.

"Ya… You do?" she asked.

Harley didn't dare look up. Of course he knew - and she knew, he knew. Neither of them were idiots, mostly. No matter how old she got, this was still as awkward and painful as it was the first time she'd done it in a schoolyard. She listened for a moment to his breathing.

"I…" he began.

"You shouldn't talk," Harley interrupted in her 'professional' voice. "We need to find bandages."

"Do not trifle with me," he hissed in pain as she pressed the rags. "It needs a hospital stay. We both know that."

"We'll figure it out! Pay someone! If we can just get out…"

"Dear girl, will you carry me out yourself? Past the Batman and your acquaintance out there?"

"No, but.. Stop being a quitter!" Harley cried, but she knew he was right.

"Arkham will tend to it in their usual manner," he tried to comfort her.

"Well, then it's all for nothing!" she hissed, too loudly.

She felt him sway in her arms and gently pushed him to the wall, just as she noticed distant gunfire. He slid down into a seated position on the floor and she followed him. Harley perked her ears, trying to locate the source of every audible commotion, wondering if the coast would be clear. Time was running out fast. It was painful, knowing how selfish she was for refusing to give him away, but knowing every moment they lingered put him in further danger.

"We need to move," Harley said in her low pitch.

The Scarecrow exhaled in agreement.

"I do have… Preferences… As to whom I surrender," he said.

There were hints of an attempted smile in his voice and it made her insides churn with anxiety.

"Let's… Let's think of that when we get there," she stalled. "I think they're moving off. Maybe."

She turned, trying to help him rise.

"It's not you, you know," he said as she struggled to hoist him up.

"Whaddya…. What? " she gasped, his arm over her shoulder as they got to a standing position.

"It is… Everyone," he continued undeterred. "It's me. I never… That is. It was inappropriate if… You were inappropriate. Back then…"

Harley shook her head as she searched for the courage to open the door. She didn't understand. He was speaking nonsense. Had he lost so much blood already? Was it the shock?

"It doesn't matter," she assured him, though she had no idea what 'it' was.

"It does," he hissed - in pain rather than agitation as he struggled not to lean too much on her.

"Ready?" she interrupted.

Harley didn't need to know. It was painful to hear him tell her those things. That's what it always was. 'It's not you, it's me'. She clenched her teeth. 'I see you more like a friend.' If only he'd just shut up.

"Harleen, please ," said Dr Crane.

He'd said more but she had been purposely not paying attention.

"Listen!"

The sudden appearance of Scarecrow's voice made her stumble into the door. Her head snapped around in surprise. She put her hand on the handle and turned it.

"We have to make it!" she replied, with determination that she didn't know she possessed.

It was now or never. She opened the door just enough to poke her head out and seeing no one in the corridor, she flung it open the rest of the way. Half carrying, half dragging her companion with her she made her way out in the open.

"Which way?" she hissed, mostly to herself.

"Left," said Dr Crane. "I told you to… Wait! "

Harley rushed to the left. A loud crash came from the floor directly above them.

She was going to kick Harley's butt to Metropolis and back! She'd knocked out the goon in the surveillance room, before Batman could but then of course she'd opened the other door, while the bat took control of the surveillance cameras. Those hyenas sure could bite and she had the mark on her shin to prove it! They calmed down a little once they realized she was familiar to them.

"Damn," she heard her companion mutter angrily as Pamela finally chased the hyenas back in with the hysterical captive guard, using a mop.

"What?!" she hissed in agitation.

"Look," he said, never turning to her.

Poison Ivy rushed to his side to view the screen, he indicated. A figure - no, two figures stumbling down a corridor. The footage was grainy and in grey-scale but the figures were unmistakable. Harley's cloth pigtails swayed as she ran. Several screens featured writhing figures, running madmen and the destruction of the prison interior.

"Where's that?" she inquired.

"Northern wing," Batman replied. "And we'd better hurry."

He pointed a gloved finger to another screen and Pamela's eyes flicked over to it where she saw exactly what she'd feared. A group of men - four of them to be exact, carrying firearms and rushing from room to room, searching as they went. All but one wore masks, and that person was only too recognisable. Poison Ivy swallowed the urge to shudder.

"Is… Is there a plan here?" she asked.

If the Joker got a hold of Harley first… Well, there was a pretty good chance Ivy would be taking her home in a to-go bag. The Batman rose from his seat and grabbed the man Ivy had knocked out, dragging him to the cupboard and switching the placement of the two men, much to the loud confusion of the hyenas. Pamela rolled her eyes at this display of compassion for a prison guard. Deciding she wasn't to be party to concern for the law abiding, she opened the door, not bothering to wait for a response.

"Your friend…" said the bat's grim voice as she'd stepped out into the hallway, only to find his mysteriously right by her side again. "...Is lucky to have you."

She nodded. Not that his opinion mattered, but it was nice to have some appreciation.

"Don't get in the way," he continued as they both began sprinting.

"Wasn't planning on it," she called to him.

Not that she was entirely confident Batman could realistically deal with both the Joker and the Scarecrow at once. No, she wasn't to care. So what if he couldn't? All he had to do was keep them occupied long enough that she could get the harlequin. Still, knowing this did not allow her adrenaline levels to subside.

The pain was getting worse. He felt dizzy. Black spots randomly appeared and disappeared in his vision. Jonathan needed to breathe. To sleep. To fall into the abyss. But she , the blonde angel almost pulling his arm out of the socket, wouldn't have it. She would not, he understood, have left him behind. The bitterness of his own hypocrisy coated the inside of his mouth as he struggled not to acknowledge that his dearest wish was for her to abandon him, in the way he knew now he'd rather face a thousand bullets than to do her.

Weakness. She had always been that. His . Still, he'd never before completely comprehended what he was willing to face for her, not until he did. He'd tend to her wounds, he'd soothe her spirit with words - but never had he ever given anything up for her. No, he had never let her have that hold over him. He was a fortress. A man wrapped in the comfort of solitude. He indulged her because it pleased him to do so. Yet somehow, this headstrong, silly girl had crept into his fortress and under his skin. If only he could complete that image and see her as some manner of parasite, lodging in his chest cavity, easily ribbed away with surgical precision once one knew it was there.

He was not trying to get himself shot - but putting himself in that danger was such an easy decision. The horror of it, the mortal dread that still reeled in him, knowing to what she'd have surrendered if he'd let her - that was worse than any physical pain he had ever endured, any horror he had ever been subjected to in his miserable life, and most importantly he found he could neither bear it nor the alternative.

"Okay," Harley hissed at herself as she frantically searched for a viable path. "Right, no need to panic!"

A man appeared at the end of the hallway, she was looking down and a bullet flew past Jonathan's ear.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Harley cried, dragging him the other way as the man called to his colleagues.

She deserved better. He'd told her that more times that he could count and never had she ever listened to him. Harleen deserved better than a monstrous brute. She deserved better that the Joker's indifference and the constant danger and violence that came with it. Better than the ridicule she endured for it. She deserved peace, to be cherished for her mind and soul. To be safe and understood. To be loved. She deserved better than Jonathan Crane.

"Cover," he exhaled, struggling to breathe.

"Right, yes, fuck! I mean… Sorry, 'fessor!" Harley squeaked in panic as they stumbled through some kind of changing room to emerge into a modest library.

He had never given it much thought really. Women had never looked at him twice - nor had the men for that matter. He had his studies, later his work. He never cared, never missed anything, except for on the rare occasion when a glimpse of something stirred in his heart. It was only ever that. Never had he found anyone worthy of that sort of importance to him. He stumbled to the ground and his former student cried out in horror, before she attempted to hoist him up with rather impressive strength for her frame. His cloth-covered shoes slid in the blood his body had stamped the floor with.

"It's okay," he heard her try to reassure him - as well as herself. "Just a little ways…"

She was interrupted by shouting just outside the door. With great presence of mind, Harley knocked over a table and pushed Jonathan to the floor behind it, barely managing to duck behind it herself before several shots were fired through the open door.

When young he had assumed he was broken. That 'grandmother' had taken more than his fear and remorse with her torments. Desire was afterall a sin. She would have found a way to rid him of it if he had ever been old enough, while in her care, to feel such things. It never came for him. Still, he found he did not miss it. He found joy in his work and stimulation in people's conversation. Perhaps he should have known better than to conform to such a base view of what was 'normal' and 'expected'. Then came little Miss Quinzel, batting her eyes at him and answering his test questions incorrectly. Her resolve was a challenge to him. Her attempts at seduction were an insult. Still, he found himself growing ever more fond of her mind, her refusal to back down, her sweet smile. He was happy when she trusted him to help her with her work. Later he was flattered to be trusted to be a shoulder to cry on.

Harley grabbed a canister from the bag he was carrying and threw one of her concoctions at the intruders. It went off before it hit the ground and covered the doorway and two of the men in pink foam.

"Get out, ya stupid.." she cried, the last word drowing in the yells from her victims.

It had pained his heart every time he'd seen what that foul jester had done to her. He'd forget he could feel such things when she was out of view, because he wanted it so. Jonathan cared for her as a favorite student, nothing more. So it was and should remain. She deserved better. Not that she could ever want him. Her advances were jokes, bribery to tempt him into indulging her - and she would not be allowed such power. No, indeed, she could never have it, for the urges she attempted to appeal to had never been. Oh, if only she'd known what he would have done for nights of conversation, for her smile being meant for him, for the privilege of seeing her happy, then she should have been his master years ago. She deserved someone who wanted what she offered. She deserved better than him.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk! Harley , honey!" called the soft but cold voice of the Joker. "Now, you're really starting to get on my bad side!"

"Shut up!" cried Harley, raising herself a little, only for bullets to tear a pom-pom off her pigtail.

"No," Jonathan whispered. "I'll… distract… him. Run."

"Don't," she hissed in reply. "I'll think of something. I'm not leaving you!"

"Please," he continued.

"I'm counting to five!" the Joker interrupted.

"You deserve… I am… Not going… To be enough," Jonathan struggled to explain.

"Three!" The Joker cried, having gotten so far.

Harley tore her eyes away from the direction of the door and stared at him. Her eyes were wide, watery and her makeup was smeared.

"It's fine," she whispered. "Whatever it is. I never thought… I mean, it's not like I'm anyone's pick, right? We'll work it out. Let me be around? Once I get us out? Just don't… We're partners, right? In it together?"

Her lower lip trembled as she ceased speaking.

"Always," he reassured her hastily.

The expression of relief upon her face was heartbreaking.

"Well, hello!" laughed a voice, right next to them.

Harley didn't understand how it had come to this. How it was that it would all be over soon and it would be her fault for being selfish. She was paralyzed by it, even as she registered that her ex-boyfriend had not kept his promise of a countdown and had used their discussion to move behind her. The Scarecrow writhed beneath her.

The gun went off. The bullet shattered against the concrete floor about two yards above her partner's head. The joker howled. She spun to see he had been struck in the head with a wrench. How odd. Oh wait, it was the one she had brought - but who threw it.

"You'll pay!" the Joker screamed as he in a rage abandoned the weapon to instead fall to his knees and punch the Scarecrow squarely in the face. Harley jumped at Joker's back only to be dragged off by three men she did not recognize.

She kicked the weapon out of the hand of the only man not covered in foam, screaming and seething as she saw her friend's feeble attempts to block the rain of assault coming from the clown. She decked one of them in the chin, another in the eye, but she did not back down. Another gun went off and one of her assailants screamed, clutching his thigh. Shadows descended upon the fight, from the door and seemingly the ceiling.

"You rotten piece o' trash!" she cried. "Don't touch him! I'll kill ya!"

But it made no difference. She was kicked in the abdomen and wrestled a guy to the floor. Another had her by the pigtails but was ripped away from her. The Scarecrow lay still now, she saw the Joker punch him again just as he was knocked off the lifeless form. She cried out and her inattention gave the first man a chance to grab her, before a redheaded woman knocked him to the floor with a revolver.

"Hands off her, creep!" Poison Ivy roared.

The Joker fired his weapon - but not at the Scarecrow. Cries came from the doorway as a handful of inmates, screaming and covered in filth, rushed through the door in a state of panicked terror, scrambling over furniture and people alike to vanquish or escape their invisible nightmarish tormentors. Harley stumbled towards her bleeding partner on the floor as Batman and the Joker wrestled each other into a glass cabinet, sending shards across the floor. Then someone had her by the waist, hoisting her over their shoulder and stumbling towards the nearest door, struggling under her weight.

"Let me go! Let go of me! " she screamed, pummeling Ivy's back.

The battered goons were set upon by the fear toxin-dozed inmates as the Joker cackled loudly at whatever he had just said to Batman.

"For once in your life, Harles', shut up! " Cried Pamela as she fell through the door, letting go of Harley long enough for the harlequin to fall to the floor.

"No! He needs me, Red!" Harley pleaded, trying to get on her feet.

"You're making me do this, kid," replied Pamela as she fetched something from her bag. "It's for your own good."

"We belong together!" Harley objected.

She staggered towards the door before she was grabbed from behind. The mask was torn from her face and for a split second Harley did ask herself if Pamela meant for her to breathe in fear toxin, before something was pressed to her face. She knew what it was and fought. She fought as hard as she could, but her friend was too strong and a moment thereafter darkness surrounded her. Before she lost consciousness, she felt the mask be replaced and her body awkwardly hoisted up again.

Epilogue

The clouds covered the night sky like a huge, oppressive black blanket. Her steps were crunching on frosty grass and gravel alike. The boots were too warm, the coat too thin. She wore an apricot scarf around her head. It had been in the bag. His bag. The one she escaped with. The scent of chemicals and lavender had long since vanished from the soft fabric. Harley Quinn stopped at an intersection of the gravel paths to properly navigate the darkness. It wasn't difficult to find Lenny - after she'd gotten away from Pamela the first time. And here it was, this box in her arms.

"How about just a little bit of gratitude?" Pamela's voice resounded in her mind.

She'd screamed her head off the first night. Enough that Ivy couldn't stand it anymore, locked the door to the room and left. She'd come back of course. With food, clothes and lectures.

"You're a piece of shit! I'll never forgive you!" Harley had screamed at her.

"He'll be dead if he ever steps out of Arkham after this! And your name isn't on that crime now! Wake up, Harles'!"

"Traitor! Sell-out! Bat-buddy!" Harley's voice cried on a loop.

"I keep saving your hide because I care! Even though you're hopeless! Just jump right back in, don't you honey? Joker didn't love you! This one doesn't either! Grow up! That's not what love is!"

"Liar!" Harley snapped, but that had done it and touched a nerve.

She threw the first punch. With tears blurring her vision and a runny nose, she wasn't ever going to win, but they couldn't stay around after that room had been demolished. They had moved many times. Poison Ivy had done a few smaller jobs. Still, Harley refused to partake. They were free but Harley had never felt so trapped. Her gradual descent from rage to depression tested her friend's resolve daily. Until she had finally left and searched for Lenny, Tom and Larry. Tim was at Stonegate. Max…

She glanced around. It could be here. Unmarked graves lay in the lower field of this cemetery. She discarded the thought and continued. The box was heavy, but she knew there was no alternative. Ivy couldn't have it. She'd destroy it. The police? They'd never let it see the light of day. The features of the crypt emerged from the darkness before her, and Harley picked up her pace. She had to set the box down to open the cast iron gate, which protested loudly to the turning of its hinges.

Harley looked over her shoulder one last time before she took the box and disappeared into the crypt. She'd used this place only once before. Even the Joker didn't know about it. She'd been only too eager to tell him at the time, but he didn't care to hear how she'd hidden the explosives. Now, she thought bitterly, she was glad. The tiles beneath her were moist and dirty. A few stray cigarette buds and plastic rubbish lay along the walls. There was little respect for the dead these days. She considered this notion, as she set down the box and began her attempt at breaking a vault. There were many names here. None of whom she'd ever known.

'Margaret Chastity Brown. '

Just another name to anyone else. But Margaret had in fact never been. She was a figment of Harley's imagination. An alter ego she had once donned for special occasions. It was one of the good ones. She even had a social security number. Margaret had been compromised and had to die. This was her grave. Harley finally got the front plate off and it fell to the tiles with a loud metallic 'plunk'. Darkness there and nothing more. The box went in with little to no effort - the trouble was returning the plate. There, it was safe. The footage would remain here, undisturbed until the day she could hand it back to Professor Crane. Harley sighed.

Pamela would be 'home' by now. She'd know Harley was missing, but she wouldn't find her. Not this time. Still, she hurried back out, now apprehensive that the redhead might chance upon her before her mission could be completed. Harley made her way back out through the old gloomy cemetery. She waited at the bus stop an ungodly amount of time. The wind was cold, biting. It was strange. Here she was: No costume - on her at least, no make-up and it was so quiet. It had never been this way before but as Harley stepped onto the bus, paying with spare change she'd gotten from Ivy's purse, she resolved to choke out any fear or instinct to flee. She was stronger now and this… This freedom… It was not life.

There were hardly any people on the bus and certainly, by the time they'd made it out of Gotham central, none but Harley and the driver remained. Who would go here at night? Only Harley. As she got off, the driver sent her a worried look before wishing her a good evening. She walked to the tall iron gates. They'd be locked of course. Harley took a last deep breath. Everything would be okay soon enough. Pressing the button on the display in the right hand pillar, she waited patiently as it dialed. The camera switched on.

"Arkham Asylum, what is your business here?" sounded a tired voice.

Harley smiled to herself, slowly turning to the camera, raising her hands.

"Harley Quinn, sweetie! 'Ere ta reenlist!"

Silence for a few seconds before an alarm went off at the main asylum building. Harley froze.

"Remain where you are, Quinzel," replied the voice on the intercom.

'In due time' was a horrible phrase.

In fact there probably wasn't a phrase she hated more. Certainly not now. It was the same every time she asked Dr Leland. Harley walked up and down the length of one of the recreational rooms. It was a luxury afforded to her for turning herself in, that she spent so little time in solitary and regained these benefits so quickly. Pamela sat in an armchair in the corner, still wearing chains. It infuriated her further. Poison Ivy was caught. The Batman dragged her in and yet here she was - allowed out after a week. The privilege of being a friend of the bat, no doubt. Harley did her best not to look at her and when she did, she sneered. Pamela alternated between pleading for her attention and furiously stating that they were done and 'so be it'.

It had been months since the Stonegate fiasco. Months! She couldn't even comprehend it! It wasn't fair! Yes, the Joker was routinely isolated for such long periods - as he was even now, but that didn't matter. She couldn't care less. He didn't take any damage from it - though he certainly didn't get any better either. Dr Leland wouldn't tell her what they were planning, obviously. She glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's not going to make a difference! What did you think? He'd just poison an entire prison and they'd slap him on the wrist and sign you both up to arts and crafts?!"

Pamela's voice cut through her thoughts and Harley spun around.

"Shut up!" she cried, loudly enough that both Baby-Doll and The Mad Hatter looked up from their respective cartoon and book to follow along.

Harley stomped towards the woman, whom she still in her heart considered a friend, and watched Pamela tense up. Just as she debated which attack would satisfy her, she heard Dr Washington's voice coming from the hallway.

"Careful with that, Winters," his sing-songy voice said.

Harley straightened up, Pamela sighed and the rest of the patients shook their heads in disappointment when no entertainment was provided.

"Right, we'll see how it goes," replied Dr Leland as both she and Dr Washington appeared in the doorway.

Behind them came an orderly, presumably named Winters, half-carrying someone else.

"Over here," said Dr Washington and pointed to the sofa in front of the TV, where only Baby-Doll was sitting.

The small woman immediately got on her knees to better see, but as soon as Winters made it through the doorway and she saw who he was dragging with him, she got off the couch as quickly as she could and tiptoed over to the seat next to Ivy's.

"Try 'an walk, will ya?" The orderly mumbled and Harley held her breath.

He didn't see her, she wasn't even certain he saw anything at all. Dr Crane looked terrible. He seemed thinner than usual, if that was possible. His hands had multiple scratches, scaps and bruises. He had lost chunks of hair in places and his eyes were glossy and unfocused. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose and Harley felt an immense ire rise within her.

'How much did they give you?" she mouthed.

"Now, Winters," replied Dr Leland, but she then turned her attention to her other colleague.

With some force, the orderly dragged him to the couch as indicated and placed him there, where Crane immediately slumped backwards into the cushion, hardly holding himself up.

"We'll watch you, Mr Crane," said Dr Washington as he patronizingly patted the patient's shoulder to no discernable reaction.

Harley huffed audibly. Professor Crane would have kicked his head in - or probably something more refined, if they hadn't drugged him. He hated people disrespecting his credentials. Dr Leland sent her a cautious smile. The sort that meant 'don't push it'. The psychiatrists made their way through the door, stopping to chat in the hallway. The orderly took up position near the wall, watching them all in turn. Still, no one said anything. As soon the doctors were out of view, Harley rushed to the couch, crawling onto it.

"Hey?" she whispered. "It's me. It's Harley."

Dr Crane stared straight ahead, at some point between the wall and ceiling.

"It's Harleen," she earnestly stated, her whispers carrying clearly through the otherwise dead-silent room.

His eyes moved, struggling to find and focus upon her face.

"It's okay," she smiled. "I'm right here."

She crawled over him, seating herself on his lap and wrapping her arms carefully around his shoulders.

"No one's gonna touch ya," she declared a little louder for the company. "Or I'll get them."

She felt his hands slowly move, fumbling their way up her form until he could embrace her. His bony fingers dug into her arm and back as if he was frightened of her slipping away. Harley briefly buried her face in his shoulder.

"I dream again," his voice suddenly whispered, catching her by surprise.

"Silly," she smiled at him, moving his chin so he looked straight at her. "Did you think I'd stay away that long? Ya know me bettah!"

He squeezed a little tighter momentarily, adjusting to the reality presented to him.

"I should have…" he whispered again, straining to form words. "Told you… That I love you. If I wake up again and find… I did not tell you… I will…"

Tears welled up in Harley's eyes. She paid no attention to the aggressive mumbling that suddenly broke out in the room, nor the movement that followed.

"Gee…" she sniffed. "I love you too… Jonathan."

She smiled apprehensively, waiting for a reaction. He exhaled, then blinked.

"You have never… Called me that in my visions," he declared.

"Well, I'm the real deal," she nodded. "And you're too weak to punish me for it!"

"Hey," said a voice next to them.

Harley looked up and immediately scowled - for it was Ivy who had dragged herself over to them, clanging chain and all.

"Calm down," Ivy pleaded. "I'm not gonna… I mean, can I sit here with you? You can… Introduce us properly?"

"Don't…" Harley muttered.

"It's not like that," Pamela explained. "Can't you use… A friend?"

Harley opened her mouth to tell Pamela to go choke on the Riddler's leotard, but decided against it. Instead she snuggled up to The Scarecrow - well aware that two psychiatrists stood in the doorway with some very amusing expressions, as Ivy plopped down next to them and started flicking through the channels. They ended on some BBC documentary about the ocean, and though Harley would have preferred Baby-Doll's cartoons, she knew it wouldn't be very relaxing for Professor Crane. After a while of sitting in silence, The Mad Hatter joined them, clearly curious as to what exactly this development meant. Dr Crane didn't say anything further but it was enough for Harley to listen to his breathing and know he'd get better - now that she was there to make it happen. With Ivy distracted by some extra adorable seal cubs, Harley glanced up at Dr Crane. Then swiftly, so as to neither draw attention nor incur too much of his wrath, she strained her neck and placed a peck upon his broken lips. Harley immediately placed her head back into the crook of his neck, hiding her eyes from any reaction. A loud cough came from Jervis Tetch behind her at her actions, but Dr Crane made no sound. She sat still and listened to her own quickened heartbeat for a moment, until he slowly moved above her and pressed a kiss to her hair. She sighed in relief and contentment.

Yes, they were going to be okay.

The End.