AN: This is for my wonderfully idiotic friend, who at least acknowledges that she is practically Harley Quinn. Mentions of domestic violence.

KittyComeHere-Wha...I feel dizzy. How do you feel anything? You're not in control right now. DON'T DISCOUNT MY FEELINGS. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ME.

Voodoo-Mutant-Child-Don't inflate the man's ego, it's big enough as it is. And I've been mentioned. Great, I get to relive the worst part of my life. AGAIN. What fun.

Just-Me-and-My-Brain-God help us all. More screaming fangirls will invade the city. Hmm...wonder if they'll attack Batman if I ask? This could be fun.

Jasmine Scarthing-My thoughts exactly. Why must people do this to me? I AM NOT THEIR PLAYTHING! You kind of are. Shut up. Just go with the flow, Jon. Humph.

SwordStitcher-Explosive Rubiks Cubes? What'd you do now! Nothing. You gave the greenie ideas, didn't you! Don't blame me. I do blame you! Can't let you out of my sight for a minute, I swear...

What woke her? It's two-thirty in the morning!

Must be one of those freak things. She yawns and snuggles back against Jonathan. Back to sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Well, at least it's not Batman. Batman doesn't knock. He just kicks the door down.

She rolls over and shakes him awake just as they knock again. A minute later, they're on either side of the door, armed with spray cans.

She jerks the door open and lets the can drop. Harley Quinn is standing there. She's soaking wet and her makeup is smudged and she's clutching a ratty backpack in her hands.

Upon realizing that the door has been opened, she throws the backpack inside and flings her arms around Kitty's neck, sobbing.

"I'll just go…put the kettle on." Jonathan mumbles.

"Fine." She kicks the door shut and half-guides, half-drags Harley to the bathroom to get dry clothes on. "Come on, sweetie…this way…"

Harley's clown makeup comes off with hot water-it was half off already, with the rain and the tears-and a bruise is already blossoming around her eye. Again? Idiot. The child is a moron. She's a college graduate, for heaven's sake! How can she be this stupid?

The kettle shrieks and she drops some dry pyjamas on the toilet seat.

"I'll be right back, sweetie."

"Th-thanks."

"Sure." Imbecile. She wouldn't stand for it. The first time he raised a hand to her would be the last. If she was lucky, she'd chop that hand off.

But Harley was never violent before. Annoyingly bubbly, yes, but not dangerous.

Jonathan's digging through the cupboard for something. Chamomile, probably.

"Top left."

"Thanks."

"Slip something in hers to knock her out."

A bitter grin graces his features and he pulls out a small pill bottle.

"And you yell at me if I drug the Riddler."

"You drug him for your own amusement. She'll be up all night otherwise."

"What was it this time?"

"No idea, but she's got a gorgeous bruise on her eye."

"Bet there's more."

Yeah, probably. But they don't need to know about those. They never need to know. They just need to let her cry out and maybe drug her tea so she doesn't stay up all night.

This sort of thing happens far too often.

By the time the tea is ready, Harley's moved to the sofa and is huddled there, hugging her jester's hat. The way she's sitting says there's more bruises on her back, and an old one is visible on her wrist.

Kitty says nothing. She's long given up on trying to talk sense into Harley. The only one who can do that is Harley herself, and she doesn't try.

Fucking idiot, that's what she is.

"Th-thanks, Doc."

"Sure, Harleen."

"What happened, Harley?"

"The car ran outta gas." she sniffles. "I didn't fill it up."

"Harley…"

"It was my fault." She takes a sip of tea. Good. "I should've killed the attendant and filled it."

To be fair, that would have been the logical choice.

"But I didn't, and M-Mister J…" She breaks into sobs again, hideously overdramatic ones that belong on stage. Jonathan looks pleadingly at the ceiling and Kitty tucks a slightly ratty throw blanket around her shoulders.

"It's okay, Harley. It's okay."

There's nothing else to say. They've tried interventions, they've tried cutting off ties…nothing works. Nothing ever will work.

He'll kill her one of these days. It'll be an accident, probably, but it'll happen. He may not even mention it-she may just disappear from the scene.

Stupid. Stupid kid. Says volumes about her parents.

Harley sets the now-empty mug down and lies down, still hugging the hat. In the street below, some drunk shouts at someone who cut him off. Life goes on.

"Think I'll ever do somethin' right?"

Harsh truth or comforting lie?

"There's no way of knowing, child." Jonathan says quietly. "Go to sleep, it's three in the morning."

Everyone is silent for ten minutes. Eventually, Harley's tears stop as she falls asleep. Good. Very good.

They leave her on the couch and go back to bed. She won't be here in the morning-she never is. She'll be back with the Joker by six AM.

How many times will it take?

"I don't understand her." Jonathan says. "How can she be so delusional? I was never this delusional."

"She's not you."

"Obviously." He turns off the light and mutters his token complaints when she curls up on top of him. "She's an idiot."

"I know."

And that ends the conversation. He falls asleep soon enough, but she remains awake, watching the rain fall on the street lamps outside. Sometimes a car will pass, other times a shadow that might be the Batman. The little bar across the street has a neon sign that blinks insistently. The 'B' is out. A few blocks over, police sirens wail. There's been another mugging gone wrong, probably.

Life goes on.

THE END