I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments.

Chapter 5.

Figure It Out.

Nothing'll make you feel more like vomiting than your Momma and your boss in the same room with the intention of discussing you.

Double vomit if it's a party.

Double double vomit if it's in your Momma's new husband's swanky ass mansion where everything is a new and exciting shade of cream and someone takes your coat when you come in the door.

I wondered if Momma would like the roses I'd for some reason taken back to my apartment, to brighten her place up a bit. At the moment they just sat there on my kitchen counter, in all their purpleness. Staring at me.

The brightest thing here was probably Bruce Wayne. Mom's husband was a big cheese in Gotham, a shareholder in multiple jewellery stores and with a finger in the pie that was Wayne's steamship company. I didn't like to admit my current digs in Gotham Tower were courtesy of Edward Graves-through-Momma. They hadn't been married long. I'd only met the guy a handful of times but had him measured in a second—older guy, looked young enough for his age, on to his second wife as a result of a mid-life crisis and about ready to settle in his home life as long as he could keep growing business-wise. Satisfactory. No temper like Daddy, at least. Graves seemed happy to let me do my own thing and I was more than happy to leave them to it. The apartment played as a 'keep the kid happy, and the Mom's happy' kind of deal. Hey, you didn't hear me complaining. Except when forced to attend events like this. Shudder.

Music and chit chat swelled the room. Urbane socialites mingled to tinkly piano music, congratulating each other on their mutual amazingness. It was nauseating. Doctor A looked as uncomfortable as I felt, tugging at his collar. It was the first time I'd seen him since the breakout. His five o'clock shadow had gotten worse, now more of a ten o'clock smudge, although I had to give him a break seeing as he was on crutches.

Are we holding a grudge? Psychologist Harleen had her clipboard out, tapping her pen against the top. He didn't stand up for you, when the Jo—when he gave him the chance to.

Mmmmm, I don't think so. He barely knew us then. Besides, the guy's got a family. Family comes first. Secret Harleen set herself up for a cartwheel, cheering when she stuck the landing.

Decision made.

"Want a drink, Doc?" I hailed a passing waiter, taking two glasses from his tray and handing one to Doctor A. "I won't judge."

He took the glass, gulping a little hastily. "Remind me why your mother invited me again?" His eyes moved back and forth, taking in the dresses, the jewellery. His own suit wasn't half bad—the guy was the main proprietor of Arkham, for gosh sake—but his discomfort spoke of a psychologist more at home in the asylum analysing patients than schmoozing at a party.

I took a breath. "To thank you for not firing me—"

"Of course not—" His brows drew together.

"—and also for me not dying a death at the hands of a psychotic clown." I ticked the reasons off on my fingers as I parroted my mother. My mouth tingled at the last part, like the words didn't want to come out.

Because you're speaking in a derogatory way about a patient. It violates code. Psychologist Harleen chastised.

Plus, he could've killed you if he wanted. Secret Harleen supplied, snapping her bubblegum. But he didn't. I wonder why? Psychologist Harleen looked thoughtful. Never a good sign.

Doctor A had the grace to look shame-faced at the reminder of events. "Well, I didn't stop him, did I?"

"No harm, no foul." I shrugged, taking a sip of my champagne. "Besides, it's psychologically unhealthy to hold grudges." I winked at him.

He smiled, almost overbalancing on his crutch as he went to place his glass on a passing tray. I reached out to steady him.

"Too much already?" I teased.

"Just inexperienced on these things." He waved a crutch in the air, shaking his head. "I'll admit, I'm surprised the Joker didn't cause you more permanent damage." A small frown creased his forehead.

Uh oh. Abort, abort.

I laughed uneasily. "Yeah, you and me both."

"After he took you to the roof, I was concerned for your life and yet... here you are."

"Very strange." I knocked back the contents of my glass, feeling the bubbles swell in my nose.

Doctor A continued, oblivious. "In previous similar instances, those involved have rarely gotten off so...lightly." He was leaning in closer now, his voice lowered.

I sucked my teeth. Nightmares and possible concussion. Yeah, I suppose you could call that light. But individuals view their own experiences to be more psychologically significant than the experiences of others—my pain is as important as your pain, and all that—so on a visceral level what he said peeved me off a little. I swallowed it, because I'm a psychologist.

"Did he say much to you?" Doctor A pressed, oblivious to my internal doctrination.

"Not really." Which was true. Kind of. I rubbed at my bare arms. Was it cold in here?

He pursed his lips, unsatisfied. "Nothing at all?"

"Nope." I popped the 'p'. "Hey, maybe we'll get lucky and Batman will throw him back in Arkham. Then you can ask him."

I expected him to frown, or laugh. What I didn't expect was the look in his eyes.

"Would you be amenable to that?"

I choked on my drink. "To what?" I coughed. He patted me awkwardly on the back.

"To sitting in. On a therapy session. Should he return, of course."

My mouth fell open. "Isn't that—do you think that would be a good idea?"

"It seems he responds differently to you." If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked a little too fervent. "To observe that in a clinical environment would be...beneficial."

And what about my psychological health? Putting me in an environment with the man who'd pushed me out of a helicopter did not scream responsible psychiatry.

Now, now, let's not be hasty. Psychologist Harleen was near-glowing with the same fervency as the Doc. He probably thinks you're strong enough to handle it.

She conveniently ignored Secret Harleen, currently practicing backflips in her underwear.

"I don't know, Doc. I haven't even had a practical session yet.." Plus I'd made a promise to Pam. And I didn't like the funny feeling in my chest at the thought of seeing him again. Like motion sickness. Maybe PTSD.

The light in Doctor Arkham's eyes faded, replaced by contrition. "Oh, of course." He backtracked, fiddling with the tie at his neck. "Possibly something to revisit at a later date?" He sounded hopeful. "A moot point for the moment, though," he added hastily at my expression, not forcing me to answer yet. "The Joker is far from Arkham, for the near future, I'm sure."

He was right. The Joker was far from the asylum. Doing God knows what, God knows where. But still, far away from me. Good.

Not good. Psychologist Harleen.

I groaned inside. You're supposed to be the sensible one!

He could be killing people. She frowned, adjusting her glasses. He's disturbed.

Yeah, like people who put their seats back on planes. Secret Harleen nodded.

Helpful.

I was saved from my selves, if you could call it that, by the appearance of Virginia Graves, AKA;

"Momma." The relief in my voice was palpable.

"Hi, Pumpkin." Her voice lilted like my own. You could take Momma out of New York, but you couldn't take New York out of Momma. "Doing okay?" She kissed my cheek, her vanilla smell enveloping me. Ever felt safe and suffocated, all at once?

"Great." I leaned in to the affection anyway. "This is Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, my boss." Momma extended her hand, which Doctor A shook. "We were just talking about my going back to work."

Momma frowned, sighing. "Already, Harleen?" She turned to Doctor A, shaking her head. "So stubborn. When she was a little girl only her father could get her to behave." She rolled her eyes, the same blue as my own.

I tensed at the mention of Daddy. "I'm fine, Momma. Not a scratch on me." Not like I was gonna mention the dreams.

"After talking with Harleen, in all honesty she seems fine to return whenever she feels able," Doctor A backed me up, probably feeling guilty about our little conversation. Nevertheless, I felt myself warming to him. "I'm confident she'll excel in practical patient work."

Momma beamed. "That's my Pumpkin. Top of her class, right through school. Not that her father would've allowed anything less." Her laugh tinkled with the piano music, souring my mood.

"Anyone want a drink?" I asked.

Momma and Doctor A shook their heads.

Good. More for me. "I'll be back in a sec."

Momma touched my arm as I made to leave, making me pause. "Mind you say hello to Harvey, if you see him." She looked me in the eyes, both a heads up and a warning.

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes to count to three. "Harvey's here?" It wasn't really a question. Of course Harvey was here. Why wouldn't Harvey be here?

"Of course he's here." She mirrored my thoughts, squeezing my arm. "Everyone's here."

"Did you invite him, or did Edward?"

She raised a blonde eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

Kind of, yeah. "I guess not." I conceded.

"Go." She patted my butt, discussion over. "Mingle. I'll keep the charming Doctor here company." She winked at him and I was reminded of myself in a disturbing way. Shuddering, I headed for the bar.

My shoulder bumped against someone. "Sorry," I stopped to apologise. My tall, dark haired victim turned.

Crap, I just shoulder-barged Bruce Wayne.

"No problem." He paused, head tilting as he scanned my face. "Apology accepted, Ms...?" His voice was deep, untouched by the free-flowing alcohol.

"Quinzel. Harleen Quinzel." We shook hands. His was calloused. Huh. Not what I expected from a billionaire.

Recognition flashed in his dark eyes. "You're the new doctor at Arkham." He stated.

I blinked. "Uh—"

"I'm an investor," he filled in. "Jeremiah... likes to keep me updated." I didn't miss the humour in his voice.

I giggled. "Doctor A is all about due diligence, I imagine."

"Drink?" Bruce asked, taking two from a tray before I could answer and handing one to me. I took a grateful mouthful. "Weren't you the Doctor that got taken up to the roof by the Joker?" he queried.

I swallowed hard, the large mouthful of wine burning my trachea. "People are talking about that?" I tried not to cough.

"Not exactly." He tapped the side of his nose. "I have an inside source, remember?"

"Oh, right." Duh. "Yeah, that was me." The myth, the legend. I took a long drink. If people could stop making his face flash in my mind, that would be peachy.

"Some might say you're lucky to be alive." Wayne's dark eyes were unreadable. Man, that was one serious jawline. Although, it had nothing on the J—

"Some have," I cut myself off. Pull yourself together, Harls. Maybe less of the alcohol.

"Have they." It wasn't a question. He was studying me like I was an interesting specimen in a museum.

My tolerance for people looking at me in weird ways had just about reached its limit.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Wayne." I gave him a big smile, which he returned only briefly. "But I gotta get going. Still a little woozy, you know." I wound my finger against my head in the universal sign for crazy. He didn't laugh.

"Please," he called after me, "Call me Bruce."

I twisted on my heel, giving him a little finger wave. "Bye bye, Bruce."

He was still watching me as I left. The alcohol was fizzing in my veins now. I wanted out of this stuffy party and in to somewhere more fun. Pammy would know a place. On my way to the door, I sighted a familiar blonde haired, blue eyed man who unfortunately spotted me also. Champagne curdled in my stomach as he made his way over.

Oh dear, Psychologist Harleen muttered.

Secret Harleen revved her chainsaw.

My face must have been as sour as my insides. "Hey, Harleen. Not pleased to see me?" Harvey grinned his cover-boy grin, teeth white enough to give sight to blind orphans.

"Not you." I pointed a finger in his face, pissed that my voice sounded woozy. "Not tonight."

He held his hands up in supplication. "Alright, alright." He sniffed the air, smelling for alcohol on me. Weirdo. "At least let me help you home." He went to touch my arm. I stepped out of his reach.

"No, thank you." My voice was cold.

"Harleen, you're drunk. How are you planning on getting back?"

I narrowed my eyes. "On my own, by myself. I'm used to it." I slapped my tag down in front of the coat check girl, who had been watching us with white-faced fascination.

Harvey sighed. "How many times do I need to apologise?"

"I don't want an apology, Harvey. I'd really just like you to fuck off."

The coat-check girl gasped, amazed at hearing someone speak to Harvey Dent that way.

"I'm still sorry." His eyes were bright, apologetic. Too bad I could see right through him.

"You still left me on a stolen boat by myself," I hissed.

Harvey's eyes flitted to the coat-check girl, who blushed and busied herself with finding my jacket.

"Years ago, Harls, come on. Don't you think it's about time you forgive me?"

I considered just leaving my jacket, but he was standing between me and the exit. My hands clenched into fists. I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose. One Mississippi, two Mississippi...

I opened my eyes. "You're a two-faced son of a bitch, Harvey Dent." I yanked my jacket from the coat-check girl's outstretched hands, sending her scurrying to the other end of the desk. "Now, get out of my way." I pushed past him, ignoring his protests and heading for the door when a man entered.

I don't know why I didn't see it coming. My whole night had been going fabulously so far. This was just the icing on the cake.

The man's gaze zeroed in on me. The last time I'd experienced that look and frosty attitude I was being restrained in the back of a helicopter. He muttered into an earpiece. Cold trickled down my spine.

Aw sweet holy fuck.

I spun on my heel, about to take off when I heard multiple guns cock behind me.

"Oh, Harley." An all-too-familiar voice crooned, getting closer with every word. "First you crash my party plans, then you try and take off before dessert?" He tutted. "I don't think so, babydoll." The feel of his breath on my cheek awoke the motion sickness sensation in my chest. I took an unsteady breath, tingling spreading across my limbs. Fight or flight. "Someone needs to teach you some manners." He growled low. My heart gave an unsteady beat. "But, first things first. It's party time!" A rough hand shoved me to the ground as he laughed loud, glasses shattering and screaming beginning as the gunfire started.

AN: Busy chapter, lots of stuff going down! Stop me if it's moving too fast, hahaha. Your reviews give me life and will to keep going, people, even if I should be sleeping right now. Hope everyone had a great weekend!