The Dark Knight and all its contents are the copyright of the Nolan Brothers and Warner Bros. I own nothing.

Tide

Prelude: Harley's P.O.V.

"We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves." -- Lynn Hall

The year I was fifteen, summer was late. During that time the air always smelled of berries and pine and sea, but a week after my mother died, July came abruptly. It was fire season. The air became both stagnant and febrile. I would sometimes sit on the roof of my grandmother's house and watch the fires light up the night sky.

That was more than seven years ago, but sometimes, when I lay awake in bed at night, that same ashy scent permeates my room: A suffocating smell, a gritty smell; a scent that burns my eyes and throat and leaves me gasping for better air.

The smell always reminds me of him. Coffee grounds, cigarette ashes, spice. I can smell all of those things and be reminded of him. I remember when he used to stand over the kitchen sink and scrub, scrub, scrub at his clothes, but the smells must have become a part of the fabric because the scent never changed. Yet the smells were always comforting to me, because they meant he was home. With me. With all of us, just like one big family.

I had known him for so long that I sometimes forgot there was a time when we didn't. I met him in a bar on my seventeenth birthday, getting in only because my friends found me a fake ID. I tried my hardest to act grown up but failed miserably at it. I know he noticed; I could tell by the way he looked at me and laughed. But then he pushed a beer my way and the world shifted a little.

Looking back on it now, I realize that that was the moment when my life changed forever. In that instant, when I first laid eyes on him.

He was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. Big brown eyes, almost like honey. A perfect smile. He was tall and lean like an athlete, with broad shoulders and long legs. His tawny hair - Beautiful, soft, ashy hair- fell in soft curls a couple of inches above his shoulders. I remember when he used to tie it in a small stub at the base of his neck. A few hairs would escape regardless, but it helped when he was bent over a pad of paper, as he so often was, writing down all of his thoughts and ideas and plans. His beautiful plans. He had notebooks full of 'em.

It took me months to realize that he had freckles, but when I looked closely at the faded spots placed thinly across his nose and forehead, my stomach would do flip-flops. But that was a secret meant only for myself. A secret that I kept hidden away within my heart.

Against my grandmother's wishes, I moved in with him and his friends once I turned eighteen. There were five of us. Jack, Eddy, Tyler, Noah, and their little Harley Quinn. We were family, and for once I felt like I actually belonged. They welcomed me into their home with open arms.

My life began again with them. With those boys, the world is always new. Before history and war, new.

With them I was just an American girl, clean and healthy as a baby. I'd never felt so loved, so cherished, before.

At night they would go out and make money. I never knew how, but I never asked questions because in my mind they could do no wrong. They gave me cash for school and clothing and food, and for that I will be forever thankful. I had a job too of course, but I never made money like they did. They always seemed to have a constant flow of cash coming in, whereas I would have barely gotten by if it weren't for them, getting paid minimum wage for hard work. They told me that I didn't have to work anymore, but I wanted to feel important. I wanted so badly to support them as they had so lovingly supported me.

But real happiness never lasts forever, and my life is a true testament to that fact.

I remember coming home one night to an empty house. I searched and searched, but no one was home. I sat and watched TV for an hour, lazily flipping through channels until I heard the front door click open and slam shut. It was Jack who walked inside, but he didn't even look at me as he stomped up the stairs, the heels of his shoes clattering against the wood flooring like castanets. I followed him as he pushed through heavy doors that opened up to the roof of our apartment. It was cold that night, but he threw off his coat and sat himself down on the grey stucco flooring. When I sat beside him, he turned to look at me. His eyes were sad and regretful, but there were no tears. There were never tears.

"Tyler's gone," He said. "I screwed up real bad. I really screwed up." He raised his eyes towards the stars, his face hard to read.

I stared at him, studying his profile. "Screwed up how?"

He began ranting, fast and incoherent. "Tommy sold us the Blow, we had no idea that it was bad, and Tyler sold it to fucking Sam Rizzo. Rizzo's brother is dead, Harley, and now they're out for blood. We're not safe here anymore."

I could hardly keep up with what he was saying, yet I knew. I knew what he was trying to say to me, I knew, but I didn't want to listen.

"Please don't go, Jack."

"You're not safe around us, Harley. We can be together again when all of this blows over, but not now. We need to lay low for a while."

I sat with my arms pressed around my shins, my forehead on my knees and my eyes closed. "I don't want to be alone," I said.

I knew he was watching me, but I kept my eyes closed. It was cold. I struggled to control my crying as I sat hunched, hugging my legs, my tears wetting the dark fabric of my jeans. I couldn't stop it. I was still crying as he scooted closer to me and put his arm around my shoulders, the skin of his arm warm against my neck as he held me close.

We stayed like that for a long time. He placed his hand on mine and brushed his thumb back and forth across my skin. It was the first time in my life that I ever felt so real, so right, with anyone.