Harley wasn't integral in the plot to break Dr. Jonathan Crane out of Arkham, but she was more than happy to accompany the Joker. The plan appeared flawless, and the gang broke into the asylum without any unforeseen setbacks. It was at this point in the mission, however, where Harley decided to enact a plan of her own.

"Hey puddin'," she said as she tugged on his sleeve. "I'm going to make a quick detour. Meet you at wing C in a few?"

The Joker cocked his head and gave Harley a funny look. She usually clung to his side like a shadow on outings such as these. "Sure," he said after a moment, giving her one final look before continuing on his way.

Now alone, Harley spun around to face the dark corridors before her. There was no need for a map, as she remembered Arkham's layout well. Like any medical facility, one could easily get lost in the maze of hallways, each turn appearing the same as the last. But Harley pressed forward with confidence, her feet guiding her down memory lane until she stopped at the former office of Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Grasping the handle, she tugged to find the door locked.

"Figures," Harley sighed, then brought up her bat and swung full force at the surrounding glass. When there was enough room for her to safely stick her arm through the open space, she unlocked the door and let herself in.

Harley was instantaneously displeased. The furniture had been rearranged, awards dating back to the eighties hung on each wall, and the place sufficiently lacked color of any kind. In short, it was the stereotypical shrink's office.

"Well, Doctor…" Harley picked up the nametag on the desk, "…Brown. Maybe it's time you redecorated,"

She was about to smash the smug little nametag to pieces when a familiar voice from behind said, "Or maybe this good man just doesn't have as eccentric a taste as you,"

Harley's lips twisted into a smile as she turned around. "I was hoping you'd show up," Sure enough, Harleen Quinzel stood at the other end of the room, her eyes filled with contempt as they bored into Harley.

"Welcome back," Harley said as she took a seat on top of Dr. Brown's desk. "Long time no see,"

"I figured a few months was ample time to observe your progress," the doctor said.

Harley rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that. I know you're just a figment of my imagination. This office," Harley outstretched her hands, "Was just the trigger I needed to bring you out,"

"Perhaps," Harleen took a seat in a nearby chair. "So, is there something in particular you wish to discuss?"

Harley tapped her heels against the back of the desk. She had many questions, but a limited time to ask. Best to start with the most important ones first and work her way from there.

"Why now?" Harley asked. "Why, after years of absence, are you suddenly appearing? Are you, like, the Ghost of Christmas Past without the Christmas part or something?"

"I don't have all the answers," Harleen said. "I'm only as useful as your subconscious allows," Harley began to slouch with disappointment when the doctor added, "But I do have a theory,"

The queen of Gotham leaned forward. "I'm all ears,"

"Whatever alternative side the Joker brought out in you is beginning to falter," Harleen said. "You can never erase a humble beginning, no matter how many vats of chemicals you jump in to. Because deep beneath all these layers of insanity, the spark of sanity will always remain,"

Harley wouldn't admit it aloud, but Harleen's response touched upon a concept she'd always feared: that perhaps she wasn't good enough for Mr. J, and that she truly wasn't like him. Of course, Harley had been reborn that night in the chemical factory, but her transformation maybe only be a cast-iron mold. Under dire circumstances, even iron could be melted.

The two women turned towards the door when a sudden round of gunfire erupted.

"What happened to you?" Harleen asked. "Did you forget that there was once a time you'd run towards violence to rescue others?"

Harley looked down at her boots. It was much easier to look at a pair of designer shoes than the shame reflected in Harleen's eyes. Her own eyes. "It's just background noise," Harley mumbled. "Nothing more,"

"Is that what you tell yourself," Harleen asked, "Alone at night when the Joker is halfway around the Gotham doing who knows what?"

Harley squeezed her eyes shut and placed her fingertips on her temples. "Stop it," she said through gritted teeth. She half expected the image of Harleen in her white coat to appear behind her eyelids, but instead the doctor's voice whispered uncomfortably close to her ear.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Harleen said. "It's not too late to walk away from him,"

"I can't," Harley said through gritted teeth. "I just can't,"

"You can't what?" a low voice asked.

Harley opened her eyes to find the Joker standing in the doorway.