AN: Between Granny ('you will not sound like the rest of these hicks!') and himself ('I will never be associated with these...nngh') he's gotten rid of it...mostly.
I was actually going to have Eddie pop by, but I think he might actually get himself murdered, and that's bad, so Harley came by instead.

McStaken-Edward Nygma must die. He can't stay out of Arkham forever. Very true, very true.

Christineoftheopera-NYGMA! I vote we behead him and stick his head on a pike.

"Jonny?" Harley juggled her box o' stuff up a bit, raised her leg, and tried the knob. She was expecting it to be locked.

It wasn't.

"Jonathan? Kitty asked me to make sure you weren't dead...you okay in there?"

She nudged the door open and set her box down as noisily as possible in hopes of getting his attention. Still no answer. No sign of him, either-maybe he'd moved?

But Kitty'd said he was sick...shit, maybe he was dead.

"Jonny?"

Maybe he'd gone out?

She shrugged, decided to see if there was anything to eat-Kraft, maybe, the Spongebob-shaped kind-and headed for the kitchen. She was halfway there when she spotted the lump of blankets on the sofa.

"Hey! Why didn'cha answer me, huh?" She marched over, the bells on her jester hat jingling wildly, and yanked the blankets halfway down.

Jonathan started awake, coughing thickly. Not dead, then. Good! Now she could get food.

"Mornin', sleepyhead!"

The blankets were yanked from her hands when he pulled them back over his head.

"Go away."

"Kitty said to make sure you weren't dead."

"I'm not, get out."

Eh. Food first.

"Want food?"

"No, Harleen, I do not. Out. Now."

Fine.

Hang on.

"Jonny?"

An exasperated groan came from under the blankets.

"My name is Jonathan, now please go away."

Harley chewed her tongue for a few seconds before gripping the blankets again and pulling. He was quick to grab them, but not strong enough to keep them over his head-he ended up gripping them under his chin and trying not to cough.

"For God's sake, child, what do you want from me? Go pester the clown."

"Puddin's in a bad way." The bruises on her upper arm would attest to that...he just needed some time to cool off, that was all. "Y'know."

"That is not my problem, now jes'-"

Gotcha.

"Jonny, where are ya from?"

"Why."

She'd seen his file, when she was an intern, but only briefly and there'd been blank spots in it. Had it said...she didn't think so...

While she was trying to remember if it had or hadn't, he pulled the blankets out of her hands and over his head.

"Leave."

"But it's bugging me!" She shoved his legs off the couch, ignoring his hiss of irritation, and plopped down. "There's no way you're from Gotham, but I can't place-"

"It's none of your business, now get out."

Kitty might know. But she'd either have to wait or go back in there, and she wanted to know now.

"But Jonny-"

He struggled up, yanked her off the sofa, and marched her to the door.

"Out."

"I gotta know! C'mon, Jonny, pleeeeeeaaaase?"

No luck. Two minutes later, she and her box o' stuff were firmly on the other side of a locked door. She pounded on it for a few minutes, got no answer, and resigned herself to having to either pester Kitty or raid Arkham's records next time she was in.

Rats.

THE END