A/N: This chapter name is terrible but oh well.

Chapter Four: Harlequins and Coffee

Harley registered the pain before she even fully woke up, a dull thud that was quickly worsening with every heartbeat. She swore quietly as she opened her eyes. A harsh glare met her gaze and she clenched them shut again, her head thumping even worse than before. Taking a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes again, much slower this time, and was careful to look at the white pillow next to her. It was nice, much softer – and cleaner – than anything she'd slept on in a long time. If her mind hadn't been so foggy, she would have registered that these bed clothes had clearly cost more than anything she used, either.

"Puddin'?" She called out weakly, her limbs feeling like lead weights as she tried to move. "Mistah J, you there?" When she received no reply, she braced herself for a moment, before pulling herself up into a sitting position. The pain was almost unbearable, even for her, but she gritted her teeth until it had subsided enough for her to figure out where she was.

It didn't take long for her to work out the Joker wasn't there. This was, without a doubt, the nicest room she'd ever been in. It was large and spacey, with simple wallpaper and décor. It was dark, the heavy curtains letting very little light in, but from what she could see, everything around her was more expensive than anything she was used to.

She reached up to touch her face and was relieved to find that her white makeup had remained on, though no doubt smeared beyond belief. To her shock, however, a large bandage was wrapped around her forehead. At least that explains the headache, she thought ruefully. She tried to swing her legs down from the bed, frowning in confusion when they didn't move.

When she pulled the sheets off of her, she gaped at her arms and legs in surprise. They were covered almost completely in bandages – which, for some reason, were pink – hiding injuries she wasn't sure she even wanted to see. While a small part of her mind appreciated the colour choice, the rest of her was beginning to panic. Even for her, being incapacitated in an unknown location was not ideal circumstances. Before she could dwell on her whereabouts, she noticed what she was wearing.

Instead of her costume, she was dressed in a simple white shirt – it was clean and very, very large, reaching to the middle of her thighs and engulfing her torso and arms. The Joker wasn't tall or broad enough to wear a shirt this size, and she was almost scared to wonder whose clothes she was wearing.

Just then, the door of the bathroom opened, and a man Harley didn't recognise came in. He was quite old, with white hair and a small smile. "Good morning, Ma'am. How are you feeling?" He was British, to her surprise.

"I, uh, I'm good, I guess." She looked at his fancy suit. "Is this your house, Mistah…?"

"Alfred, Ma'am." He supplied helpfully. "And no, I don't live here. I work here as the butler."

"Oh." She looked down in embarrassment. He walked across the room and pulled the curtains open. Light streamed into the room and Harley blinked rapidly, her headache even worse.

"May I take a look at your legs?" He asked politely, and she noticed a first aid kit in his hands.

"Go for it." She thought of offering to do it herself, before realising he probably knew better than to allow it. Instead, she watched as Alfred peeled off the bandages on her leg. It wasn't a pretty sight. "What happened ta me?" She asked, staring at the bruises and gashes all over her legs.

"I'm afraid I have to leave the explanations to Master Bruce, he will be up shortly to speak with you." He looked up from cleaning her injuries and shot her a small smile. It did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves.

"I got no clue who that is." Harley's mind began to drift as she wondered where she was. The last thing she remembered was planning something in the park with Mr. J, although she couldn't recall what the plan had been. How she had woken up in a fancy place with a butler was anyone's guess, but there was only one Bruce – that she knew of – who would have a butler. "Ya don't mean Bruce Wayne, right?"

As if her words as summoned him, the door opened once more. He was even taller than she remembered, maybe because she was sitting on her bed, and his smile was warm. "Ah, Harleen, I see you're awake. Good, I was hoping to speak with you for a while." His voice was much deeper than she had expected, almost as deep as Batman's, if that were even possible. He nodded to Alfred, who had just finished re-applying her bandages, and the elderly butler gave Harley one last smile before nodding to Wayne and slipping from the room.

He stepped further into the room, the smile not leaving his face as he looked over her. With a start, she realised he had spoken and likely expected some kind of response. "Uh, sure?" Her discomfort increased as his smile grew. Memories of their last encounter came flooding back, and her face flushed in embarrassment.

"Is the room to your liking?" He asked politely, looking around. She just nodded and stared at the section of wall just above his ear.

"Listen," she began awkwardly. "I don't mean to be rude or nothin', but why the fuck am I here?" She cringed at how rude she did, in fact, sound, but, luckily, Wayne didn't seem to agree.

He came closer to the bed and sat on the chair next to her. His eyes were more intense when he next spoke, making her already high stress levels increase further. "What do you remember about last night Harleen?"

"Nothin'." That I'd tell ya, she finished mentally. She had an uncomfortable idea what all this could be about, and she was in no mood to give him any more ammo.

"Well," Wayne began, shifting slightly in his chair, "Batman and Robin found you last night. As you can see –" he gestured to her legs " – you were injured very badly."

"Can ya skip to the point, Brucie?" She asked with a sickly sweet smile. His smile became visibly forced.

"Of course." He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to use. "It's become clear that Arkham is not helping your recovery in the way that it should, so Batman has brought you here for your rehabilitation instead." She was silent for a long time, and his face grew more concerned. "Are you alright?"

"This is bullshit." She sighed in frustration. "When I'm outta this cast I'm gonna kick your ass."

"I don't doubt that you'll try." She snorted and he raised an eyebrow. "While you're staying here, Batman will be visiting you occasionally, and he has secured the house –" Harley stopped paying attention as his words dragged on and looked at him for closely. He was a huge guy up close, as big as the meatheads Joker employed. Definitely big enough to own what she was currently wearing.

"Is this ya fuckin' shirt?" She asked in shock, barely registering that she's spoken over him.

Wayne scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yes. I'm sorry," he apologised quickly, "I've asked Alfred to order you some clothes, but we didn't have any to hand."

"S'fine," Harley murmured. "That why you keep calling me 'Harleen'?"

"Yes."

"Stop it."

"I understand that it's an adjustment for you." He said sympathetically. His only reply was a glare. "But you'll get used to this. Is there anything I can get you to eat or drink?"

"Just toast and coffee. I ain't that hungry." She didn't thank him when he nodded and left the room with one last smile. Once he was gone, her eyes filled with tears and she leant back down against the pillow. "I'll get outta here Puddin'," she mumbled.

From outside the room, Bruce sighed as he heard her promise. He walked back down the corridors and staircases until he reached the dining room. Dick, Tim and Alfred were all there, staring up at Bruce as he walked in. "She'd like toast and a coffee, Alfred." He sat down in the closest chair, rubbing his temples as the butler nodded and left for the kitchen. Quinn's voice was almost enough to bring on a headache on its own.

"How is she?" Dick's voice wasn't particularly warm – unsurprising after their row last night – but Bruce didn't comment on it.

"Not exactly pleased, but she hasn't tried to escape yet." He tried to keep his voice optimistic, but it had never been one of his strengths.

"I give it twenty-five minutes." Tim's voice chimed in from across the table as he leaned over to grab the coffee pot.

"Nope, that's your fourth cup." Dick snatched it away before his brother could reach it. "And give her some credit – it won't take that long."

"Ha ha," Bruce deadpanned, reaching for the coffee that Dick had set down. "This is just a trial – if I think that things are too risky, I'll send her back to Arkham."

"You won't know if she gets out of hand when you're at work," Tim pointed out.

"Alfred will be here, and I'll only be gone a few hours each day." He'd planned far enough ahead that most work could be done at the manor. "We have to show at least a small amount of trust in her."

"You've got a camera in her room, haven't you?" Dick guessed with a raised eyebrow.

"Not quite." Even he wasn't about to violate her privacy like that. "Her windows and door are locked – there's a camera outside her door." He took a drink of the hot liquid, thankful no one had slipped sugar into it again.

"What happens if she does escape?" Tim asked curiously, and Bruce wondered if Barbara had prompted him to ask that.

"I get sent an alert if I'm at the office. Either way we go after her and she goes to Arkham." Both boys nodded without smiling.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that." Dick murmured, scowling at Tim as he lurched for the coffee pot Bruce had abandoned. "You could always sleep."

Tim held the pot up and tapped the glass. "This way I get stuff done." Both men shook their heads at him as Alfred came back into the room with a tray of food for Harley.

Bruce smiled at the butler as he finished his coffee. "Thank you, Alfred." He wanted to say he was sure Quinn would appreciate it, but he couldn't with full honesty.

"Of course sir, I'll take it up to her now."

"Actually," Dick jumped in, sharing a look with Tim, "would you mind if we take it?"

Alfred looked to Bruce for confirmation. Although he was able to reach them quickly if anything went wrong, that would reveal his identity to the Joker's girlfriend – who also happened to be a formidable woman in her own right. Uninjured, Dick and Tim together might not be able to contain her. Thankfully, that wasn't the case today. "That's fine, but please don't provoke her."

"Come on Tim." Dick stood quickly and took the plate from Alfred with a grin. Tim followed, more calm than his brother

"Am I to assume you will be working in the Batcave for today, sir?" Alfred asked once the boys had left.

Bruce nodded. "I'm going down once they're back."

Alfred said nothing for a moment and Bruce had the distinct feeling the next conversation would not be enjoyable. "Do you know how long Master Richard will be staying for?"

Of course. Bruce sighed. "I'm not sure, I think he wants some time with Tim and to be away from the Titans."

"Are you aware that he and Miss Koriand'r are no longer involved."

"No." Bruce felt his chest constrict slightly as Alfred's words sunk in. "No, he didn't tell me that." He wasn't entirely sure why that fact hurt, or even if it should, but it was undeniable and incredibly unpleasant.

Alfred smiled sadly and patted Bruce's shoulder. "Perhaps it would be wise to use the time you have with him, sir. Tomorrow is never guaranteed."

"Right as always, Alfred." He smiled back at the older man, wondering how on earth he was ever expected to make amends with his son.

The man in question, meanwhile, had a very different topic on his mind. "Imagine if she's not in there."

"That's really encouraging." Tim rolled his eyes before punching in the password for the lock on the door. He looked back when he felt Dick stare. "It's the same as the code for his whiskey cabinet."

"I never figured it out," Dick mumbled. Tim only snorted as he knocked lightly on the door.

"Come on in."

It took a moment for either of them to say anything. Harley looked a mess. Her makeup was smudged, her hair in matted knots, and she was wearing a large, white shirt of Bruce's. She sat cross-legged on the bed, her head, arms and legs bandaged, grinning up at them like a demented child.

"Well, I expected a butler from what Brucie said, not two kids." Harley said, her voice loud and shrill.

"Erm, yeah I'm Richard, but you can call me Dick. Everybody does. This is Tim." The older boy walked to the bed and placed Harley's tray of food on it. "Anything else you need?" He was careful not to get too close, more than aware that – even injured – she was incredibly dangerous.

"Nah, I'm good thanks, sugar! Oh, but tell Brucie that I don't need no one to chat to, so he can send me back off to ma Puddin'."

"He's there to help you, you know, not to stress you out. Same with us." Tim finally spoke from the doorway. He smiled awkwardly back as she bared her teeth in a grin at him.

"Ooh, I like this one. Not many little boys can talk to the scary Harlequin!" She laughed, and the sound sent shivers down the spines of both boys.

"Well, I'll tell Bruce what you said, and I hope you enjoy your breakfast. We'll see you later, Harleen." Dick walked quickly to the door and shut it behind him and Tim, hearing Harley continuing to laugh through the door.

Neither of them spoke until they got to the other side of the corridor, when Tim finally broke the silence. "Why are her bandages pink?"

A/N: Please leave a review to tell me your thoughts!