A/N: And yet another bad chapter name (can you sense a theme?)
Chapter Six: I Don't Need Your Help
Bruce was so engrossed in the newspaper that he barely noticed Tim until he spoke. "Is Harley not joining us?" He didn't look up.
"No."
Tim sighed in what sounded like annoyance, but the older man brushed it off without much thought. Tim might be unusual in many ways for someone his age, but all teenage boys got moody every now and then – even superhero ones.
"So you're hiding her away."
Forcing himself not to raise an eyebrow, Bruce slowly folded the paper and placed it next to him. Tim had taken a place at the table and was staring at him intently. "No, Alfred is bringing her some food up later. She wasn't hungry." He watched Tim pour himself a coffee and drink the hot liquid in one gulp. "How much sleep have you been getting?"
"Would you let her eat with us if she was hungry?" His adopted son asked, avoiding the question.
"No."
That clearly wasn't the right answer. Tim's scowl darkened considerably. "So you are hiding her." Bruce wasn't sure why this mattered to him so much. Tim had never particularly cared about the care given to Arkham inmates, and he idly wondered how much of an effect Dick was having on his younger brother.
"Tim, you saw how she was the other day," Bruce replied patiently, trying another tactic. "She's not going to get better for a long time, I don't want you in the middle –"
"Bullshit." Tim glared at him. "You just don't want to be near her."
"That's not true." The muscle in his jaw clenched involuntarily. "I brought her here to rehabilitate her."
"Then why aren't you doing that?" Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but the teenager continued without letting him interrupt. "Bruce, she's been here for four days and you've visited her once. She won't even hurt us. She's messed up, yeah, but she doesn't hurt innocent people on the streets. If you keep her here and don't talk to her, it's not rehabilitation – it's prison."
"I am talking –"
"The only person you're kidding here is yourself." It was rare to see Tim quite so impassioned – normally he lurked on the fringes while Dick and Bruce argued over the best cause of action. "I'm going to school, maybe try and actually help her while I'm gone." He grabbed his bag and another flask of coffee and walked out without looking back. A few seconds later, the front door opened and slammed shut again.
Once he had left, Bruce picked up the newspaper again with a frustrated sigh, hoping for some peace this time. Alfred, however, had other ideas. "Master Wayne," he began, almost as soon as entering the room, "is it possible that Master Timothy may have made a valid point?"
He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again after a moment to consider. It was true that he had spent less time than he could have with Harley after he had visited her as Batman, but that wasn't because he had been worried about seeing her again – was it? The sudden doubt confused him, and he looked up into Alfred's knowing eyes. "Maybe he's right."
Alfred nodded, no doubt pleased at the lack of resistance Bruce had put up. "I gave her the clothing we ordered for her earlier, perhaps she might appreciate you checking that everything is to her liking?" When Bruce nodded and stood, he quickly continued. "If you wait a few moments, sir, I can accompany you with her breakfast."
"I can take it up with me." At the butler's widening eyes, he tried to backtrack on any offence he had caused. "You and Tim are right, I might as well talk to her for a while before I head into the office. It would make more sense for me to take up her breakfast." Alfred nodded hesitantly, still evidently displeased with the idea of entrusting breakfast to someone else, but he let Bruce remain in the kitchen while he made Harley's food.
As he left the kitchen, Bruce wasn't sure what to say or do, and several times he almost turned around and walked back to his newspaper. His legs had other ideas, however, and continued to carry him along the corridors until he reached Harley's room. It was a simple guest one, and – with the glaring exception of the coded lock on the door – looked exactly the same as any other room around the manor. He knocked and waited until he heard Harley call for him to come in. Once she did, he typed in the code and opened the door.
She was cross legged in the middle of the floor staring at a large box in front of her. Bruce couldn't help but smile slightly at the look of pure, childish joy on the young woman's face. Alfred must have given her the makeup she had asked for, as well as the clothes Bruce himself had requested for her - after all, she couldn't just wear his shirts for her entire stay. Harley looked up as she heard him walk in, and she grinned at the man in front of her.
"Hey, Brucie! Thanks for the stuff ya got hold of for me." She eyed the plate that he held and her smile grew even more. "Whatcha got there?" He reached down to hand her the tray, and she licked her lips before quickly digging into her scrambled eggs on toast.
"I'm glad you like your things, are they suitable?" It should have been; the makeup was just as garish as what she used on her heists, and she clothes were mostly casual shirts and jeans, with a few dresses. They had ensured that the none of the clothes were black, red, purple or green. The underwear had been a little bit more difficult – Bruce was slightly embarrassed to admit they had used a body scanner to ensure they knew her measurements for all clothing, and, after much persuasion, Barbara had jabbed her finger at some items from a women's catalogue. Apparently, her dislike of Harley Quinn only extended so far.
"Yup, it's all great. I like blue a lot, so that's good!" She laughed, but it sounded forced, not at all like her usual carefree giggles. He decided not to press the matter, not wanting to overstep any unknown boundaries. She continued to eat without speaking, leaving him to stand awkwardly as Tim's words echoed around his head. The silence, for him, was an uncomfortable and tense one, and he wondered if she felt the same before deciding to speak again. She set down her knife and fork and stared straight at him.
"Do ya think I'm stupid, Bruce?" Harley asked sadly, pouting up at him. It was an unusual facial expression for a grown woman, and he wasn't entirely sure what the right answer was. The truth, in his mind at least, was that she was very ill, and her years of the Joker had taught her to act the part of the idiotic sidekick, but she was also incredibly intelligent – dangerously so, if she chose to use it in the right way. But Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist, wasn't supposed to know that, so he settled for telling her the only thing he could:
"You have a medical degree, Harleen."
"Yeah, that's true." She perked up a little at that and her pout was replaced by a small but toothy grin. Her mood swings werebecoming difficult to keep up with."Youngest eva MD/PhD to come outta Gotham University."
"Wow." It wasn't news to him – though it should have been with the way she acted sometimes – but he pretended for both their sakes. "That's incredible. You should be proud."
She froze for a second, and he could have kicked himself when he realised why she suddenly looked so shocked. After years with the Joker and a childhood that he deduced had not been a happy one, it must have been strange for someone she barely knew to compliment her, Nevertheless, she didn't retreat into herself like he feared. "Meh, ain't got none a that now. Wish I did sometimes," she said thoughtfully, her brows sloping theatrically. "Would be nice to wipe the smiles off them assholes's faces."
"Like who?" Bruce asked quickly. He hadn't been expecting her to open up this fast.
"Goons, the Arkham lot, Batsy –"
"Batman?" He repeated in surprise.
"Yep." Harley nodded vigorously, her eyes wild and childlike. "It's always 'Quinn, Quinn, Quinn' with him." She deepened her voice as she began to mimic Bruce's infamous Batman voice. "'Quinn, don't touch that', 'Quinn come here', 'Quinn stop being stupid' – blah, blah, blah." Bruce wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended by her terrible impression of him.
"I'm sure he just wants what's best for you," he offered, hoping she would agree with him.
Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side. "Batsy doesn't give two shits about me." Harley's voice was blunt as she disagreed. "He jus' wants me outta his hair."
"What makes you think that?" Bruce asked, his voice a careful blend of curiosity and sympathy.
"Jus' the way he is. Gets butthurt over everything." He fought to keep his face straight at her words, silently hoping she never said anything like that to either Dick or Tim. "Tried to ask the guy his favourite colour yesterday – thought he was gonna shove a Batarang down my throat."
Oh. The thought that her question from two night ago would be something so mundane had never crossed his mind, and he almost flinched from the sharp pang of regret in his chest. He thought wildly for any way of making it up to her. "I know it won't be the same – I'm definitely not as interesting as the Batman, I'm afraid," he began, "but you're welcome to ask me any questions you have."
She grinned up at him and nodded enthusiastically, thoughts of Batman disappearing for the time being. "What's your favourite colour?"
Bruce thought for a moment. "I'd probably say black." He laughed as she pulled a face. "Boring, I know?"
She nodded in agreement, before asking another question. "Favourite superhero?"
He thought for a minute, knowing it could have consequences. "Wonder Woman," he blurted.
"Huh." Harley looked at him interestedly for a few moments. "Wouldn'ta pegged ya for a feminist."
Bruce tried not to be offended by her surprise. "What about yours?"
"Not sure really." She cocked her head to the side in concentration, and Bruce couldn't decide if it was immature or endearing. "Batsy's always been nice ta me – not like Superman when he came ta Gotham that time." She pouted angrily, and Bruce bit back a smile as the memory. Clark hadn't been entirely sure what to do with the jester, and their interactions, though limited, had been interesting. "I slept with Green Arrow's girl once, the Flash is weird, Wonder Woman's hot but straight – I'm going with Aquaman." He didn't even try to make any sense of her logic.
They carried on asking increasingly ridiculous questions for the next two hours, and it was with some surprise that Bruce realised he would rather skip a trip to the office than leave. Harley took his departure well, though he knew she was disappointed. "Promise you'll come talk soon?" She begged, her eyes impossibly large as she stared unblinkingly at him.
"I promise." She grinned up at him and he smiled back, far less forced than the ones he had given her earlier in the day.
Time at Wayne Enterprises seemed to slow dramatically, and Bruce convinced himself the only reason he wanted to get back was to ensure nothing went wrong. It wasn't necessary that he be there, but it did help, and Alfred had begun insisting that he leave the house as Bruce Wayne and not simply as Batman. So he endured the absurdly slow ticking of the clock and his board members – ninety percent of whom were beyond aggravating – and left as early as he possibly good, arriving barely later than Tim did.
Tim, after discovering Bruce had indeed made an effort with Harley while he was at school, was much more pleasant company that evening. He was certainly more lively than Dick, who had fallen asleep at the table five minutes ago and had yet to wake up. Bruce hadn't wanted to disturb him, considering how much stress Nightwing had been under recently. He had left Bludhaven for a few weeks to visit the Manor, but he was still pushing himself in his training to become a cop. If he didn't stop soon, Bruce decided, Dick would be confined to the Batcave until he had enough energy to fight.
After they had eaten, both boys had headed up to their rooms, Tim to do some reading and Dick to get some rest before his patrol later on. Bruce, meanwhile, made good on his promise to Harley, and went up to check on her.
"Harleen?" He asked, knocking on her door. "Harleen, can I come in?" When he received no response, he gently pushed the door open and entered the room.
Harley was sitting on her bed with her back to Bruce, her pots of makeup surrounding her. For once, she had undone her bunches, and her dyed blonde hair fell in a wave. He'd never seen her hair down before. It was a surprising sight, though not an unpleasant one.
Bruce cleared his throat to get her attention. "Harleen, I'm sorry to disturb you, I was wondering if we could talk for a minute..."
No response.
"Harleen?"
Nothing.
"Is everything okay?"
More silence. This is ridiculous, Bruce thought, walking over to the bed. The jester sat completely still, her legs crossed and her face expressionless. Her makeup and face paint had been meticulously reapplied, both the lipstick and eyeshadow painted on perfectly. But there were tear tracks on her cheeks, and more poured from beneath her closed eyelids.
He stared at her for a moment, studying the pained look on her face. For the first time, it occurred to him that he might not be able to help her. The thought cut through him, before he steeled himself. The Joker had done enough damage, she didn't need to added to the list of lives he'd taken.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she looked around in confusion, before her eyes settled on Bruce and narrowed in suspicion. "Whatcha doin' Brucie? Yanno, it's rude just ta watch a girl like tha'."
He almost winced at her high pitched tone, and was disappointed that it was Harley speaking – he had been hoping for a chance to speak with Harleen. "Are you alright, Harleen? I knocked and you weren't responding."
Harley seemed to realise that she was crying, and wiped her cheeks. She stared at the white makeup that smeared onto her hand. "Stop calling me Harleen, it's Harley. Harley Quinn." She sniffed quietly, her eyes fixed on her fingers.
"No, it's not."
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing with anger. "The fuck do ya think ya are, Wayne? Ya don't know shit, let alone who I am! Just lemme go back to ma life with Puddin' an' Red an' fighting Batsy. I don't need this rehabilitation crap!" She tossed something onto the bed before curling herself into the fetal position with a dramatic huff, her back to him. The action was so childish that he almost wanted to laugh at her.
Instead, he carefully picked up the object she had tossed, wondering how the hell she'd managed to keep it with her. To his surprise, it was a photo. In it were the inmates of Arkham: The Riddler, the Scarecrow, Two-Face, Mad Hatter, everyone. And right in the middle, one arm wrapped around her "Puddin'" and the other one embracing Poison Ivy, was Harley, a smile filling her face with glee. It looked just like a family photo.
A very dysfunctional family photo.
He wasn't sure how she had managed to get them all together for long enough to take a picture – presumably with a combination of bribes and threats – but it clearly was very important to her. The edges were tattered and the colours had begun to fade.
"I don't need your help. I have them."
He wanted to argue with her, to point out that not one of her 'friends' had ever attempted to help her recover from her illnesses, choosing instead to make it worse. He wanted to tell her that he had watched the Joker hit her in front of all of them – barring Poison Ivy – and that not one had done anything but sat and watched. He wanted to make her acknowledge that they were never going to want her to get better, because her getting better meant she couldn't be bullied by them anymore.
But he was Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne wasn't supposed to know any of that, so he left instead.