Break my Heart Once More Mister Joker

by egwood

The Friday night shift started the same as any other for Harley Quinn. Since her conditional release for good behavior and community service, she had been working at the Midnight Cowboy bar. In full barmaid mode, she was now running back and forth between the clientele lined up at the bars - an eclectic collection. Working moms enjoying a glass of pinot grigio and girl's talk while

Break my Heart Once More Mister Joker

The Friday night shift started the same as any other for Harley Quinn. Since her conditional release for good behavior and community service, she had been working at the Midnight Cowboy bar. In full barmaid mode, she was now running back and forth between the clientele lined up at the bars - an eclectic collection. Working moms enjoying a glass of pinot grigio and girl's talk while the dads were babysitting, students avoiding their homework, and the usual crowd of blue collar workers celebrating the end of the week. Smiling, listening, and providing her occasional piece of advice, she didn't envy them: raising children and paying an endless string of bills seemed such a chore and the rest of it… boring. And she was bored, juggling bottles of beer like old wild west pistols, capturing her clients' attention and lose change, zipping her way from one side of the counter to another on her roller skates. This was the only job she had been able to find so far. And she had to keep a low profile given that she was still on probation. Batman couldn't let her go, despite all the efforts she had made to redeem herself, including suicide missions and trying to forget everything about The Joker. Her beloved Puddin'.

Oh well, she could have ended up worse with two snotty kids, a dull office job and a boring husband like Selena. In her way too tight sparkly pants and low cut lace top, Selena seemed out of place in this fake saloon decorated with plastic cow skulls and dusty cactus wrapped in bright blue lights, where everybody was dressed in jeans, t-shirts and plaids. She was definitely trying too hard, estimated Harley Quinn while serving tequila shots to an overly excited bachelorette party. The poor woman needed a lover and a decent one. How to make it happen? Just for fun? Did she still have it?

Selena was following her every move and complaining about her life, "I wish I could look like you in a mini skirt… Can't exercise with all the kids' stuff… Not enough time… Oh my God, I have to go now… Laundry." At least, she wasn't a full time housewife. She had a break. And a pay check.

Don, another Friday night regular, was now making his way to Harley Quinn, sitting by the bachelorette party. With a wink, she got a cold Budweiser for him, making the bottle flip and fly in the air, twice for squinty eyed Don. Poor guy, so tiny and ordinary-looking with his receding hairline and tanned face, but sweet. As with Selena, he was trying to mix in with the crowd and doing a better job of it. He could have dropped the red t-shirt and the yellow belt though. "Thanks, Harley. Did you see the news? There was a big accident downtown with injured people. A young couple passed by without assisting or even acknowledging them! Why is the world so cold? Can you tell me?"

Shaking her shiny blond pigtails with Popsicle Rocket colored ends, Harley Quinn was already pouring Marco's whisky well over the official set limit. She had been waiting for him since the beginning of her shift, the sexiest bricklayer in town. Then, a dark shadow at the back of the crowded room caught her eye. Don had noticed it as well. "Oh Harley… Don't tell me you're in trouble again…" A sweetie, really. If he knew half of it… But she didn't need sweet. She didn't need anything. What was Batman doing here? Sitting at that table?

A blur of black and red lightning, Harley Quinn bounced to his side in two or three dazzling moves, as swift as ever. Facing her, he could clearly see all the hatred she still harbored for him. Except that Batman didn't care. He was on a mission. Apparently, he wasn't the only one: everybody returned to their drinks, nursing whatever sorrow, leaving them alone.

"Batsy! Again! What did I do wrong this time? Can I catch a break?"

If only she knew! Not as crazy as the rumour had it, far from it actually. Deceitful, lethal, immoral, yes, but not crazy. He could see her game now, playing the innocent one, her wintery blue eyes wide-open. "I have a special assignment for you."

"Honey, I don't do special assignment anymore! I'm done, remember? I paid my dues and…" She didn't finish her sentence. What did she just sense?

"As far as I'm concerned, you're not done." He needed her. And he had the right bait to offer. "It's about The Joker. I want you to assess him. At Arkham Asylum." Trying to conceal his need, he kept his voice flat, which didn't deceive the highly perceptive Doctor Quinzel.

"Oh…" At that very moment, a couple of empty martini glasses left at their table were knocked over by a tipsy Selena, who was trying to give a good-bye hug to Harley Quinn but caught Batman instead. Gently pulling out from that drunken embrace and catching the glasses at the same time, Batman felt a light touch on his left side. What a fool! Harley Quinn was now laughing her way outside, under the silent and appreciative look of her clients. Even their beers couldn't hold their attention anymore. "Still carrying keys around, Batsy? How old-fashioned of you! Unless you came with the old model because I've already wrecked a few ones!" That exasperating laughter.

What could he say? She was annoyingly right on that last point. Before getting in the Batmobile, she paused and looked straight at him: "I'm going to do that assessment right away, Batsy! What have you done to him this time?" That was an excellent question. If only she could get the answer for him.

So cool, so fast, so easy! For a second or two, Harley Quinn forgot all about Batman, Mister J and the life she left behind to truly enjoy the ride. To drive the Batmobile, you didn't really need to pay a whole lot of attention with all the add-ons and automation. What an enchanted life! Lowering her window, she breathed some fresh fall air for the first time tonight. Speeding up in the deserted streets leading to Arkham Asylum, she finally noted a couple of dark bikes following her on the security screen by the wheel. Uh oh. She had company. Why not test the engine then? And a few curves?

Easy, way too easy. Whatever was following her kept its distance, and let her drive to Arkham Asylum without intervening. What was this about? Harley Quinn could smell a trap, however, her curiosity was overriding everything else at that very moment. And maybe… No… Not love. Not for Mister J. She was so over him. Or was she? She had to. But why was she obeying Batman and coming here?

Crashing through the entrance gates of Arkham Asylum, Harley Quinn was now suspecting the worst. At the very last minute, someone opened the gates to let her in, which made her panic for a second or two. Something terrible happened. Mister J was dead. She was too late.

In a wink, she parked the Batmobile right at the front door which was surrounded by spidery, naked trees. She had seen that door so many times before, a long time ago, with excitation at first and then, disgust. Without a second thought, she opened it, or someone opened it for her, she couldn't tell anymore. Her heart pounding in her chest, she zipped through the dark hallways with her roller skates, jumping over a gurney here and avoiding a silent patient there and skipping the stairs. She still remembered her way around. Nobody was stopping her. The staff was staring at her with that same sleepy face, as sedated as their patients. Where did they put Mister J again? Probably in the most guarded area of the asylum. Just like the old good days. What a lack of imagination! And there she went, on her own, slowing down, expecting...

And there he was in the most guarded cell of Arkham, sitting on the floor, writing furiously, raising his head, his white powdery face, his sexy smirk, his piercing black eyes… Oh no! "Puddin'! You're OK!"

Startled, The Joker got up, came closer and examined her. For a few seconds, she could have even sworn that he didn't recognize her. Wait… What was this about? How could he? After all she had done for him! "Oh… Dr. Quinzel… What are you doing here? You'll get in trouble again! Because of me!"

That velvety voice she had heard so many times before… Except tonight… No allusion, no hidden threat… Why was he acting so different? "Don't worry about me, Puddin'! I don't really care if I get in trouble for you! You know what I mean…"

No, he didn't. "Harley… Those times are gone… I'm feeling different now, I'm a new man! And I don't want to hurt you anymore." Noticing her shock, he quickly added, "No, this is no joke… And I'm so sorry for all the bad things I've done to you in the past! Or I've made you do…" He wasn't smirking anymore. And his beady eyes were looking almost… teary.

Seriously? What was going on? Was he going to…? "Oh no, Puddin'! You don't need to worry about me but… I'm starting to really worry about you! What happened to you? How did you get… like this?" Overcoming her initial shock, the therapist in her was resurfacing, wondering…

That disturbing, familiar grin. Was he trying to trick her? Was this freakish meeting a bad dream? "I don't know, Dr. Quinzel… I woke up like this one day and… Everything felt so different for me. Before, I could guess others' feelings, although I didn't care about them, I wasn't connected to anything, except now… I'm feeling everything, it's running through me, it's painful, sometimes, I just hate it, but it's there and… Now, I understand things much better. I'm finally part of something bigger."

He was in pain, she could perceive it in his voice. This was real. And this wouldn't get better. After all, he had been a hardened psychopath most of his life. "Do you remember… someone giving you something to drink or eat?" Something was beginning to stir at the back of her brain. Oh no. Not this. Not after all these years.

That unnerving cackling. "No, Dr. Quinzel. I mean, yes, everybody gives me food and drinks and drugs here! You know this place! But nothing out of the ordinary… Not that I can recall."

It was her turn to swallow her sorrow and a few bitter tears. Could this be happening?

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't talk to you that way, I'm feeling so much guilt about you and everything." And what else? No love? "You should leave, continue to put your life together as you've been doing lately, and forget everything about me! Do you hear me?" His voice kept raising and piercing her ears and echoing all over the place, no… He didn't seem to be faking it. Something truly extraordinary had happened to him.

As if she had been struck by thunder, Harley Quinn finally left The Joker in his cell. In her retreat, she finally hit a wall, and fell on the cold, concrete floor where a dark shadow was waiting for her. To her surprise, it wasn't Batman. It was something else. Whatever. Nothing really mattered at this point.

How had The Joker changed that much? Had someone used her previous research? All that work she had done at the asylum to cure The Joker before falling in love with him... Oh no... If the design of her empathy-inducing drug had been finalized and tested…

In the busy bar, Flying Fox, aka Sarah Foster, was staring at Harley Quinn or Dr. Quinzel as she decided to call her, dispatching drinks all around her with a mix of fun one-liners and cool hand tricks. Not much had changed since their first meeting at the asylum for The Joker's assessment. Several weeks later, they were both getting accustomed to each other, now sipping water at the counter. Clearly, Dr. Quinzel preferred dealing with Batman's protégée, and Flying Fox knew very well why. Her boss had provided her with a full briefing on Harley Quinn's criminal career while she was trying to convince him to collaborate with his former nemesis.

What a hard time Batman gave her! She could still remember her desperate attempts, "Harley Quinn hates you. I know you have all this history together, however, she can be useful to us! I'm sure she knows something about what's happening to The Joker and Gotham!''

And his stubborn refusals, "You're so naïve, you have so much more to learn!'' And his lessons continued, "She'll make you believe anything, and then, she'll betray you at the worst time!'' And the ultimate, "I don't believe her. How can I? The Joker can't be good.'' Well, he hadn't seen her on the floor, broken, weeping, like she had. Like someone had just died. There was no denying the raw emotion. No one could fake that. Something was seriously wrong with The Joker. Which was probably a good thing. But something was also very wrong with their city. In the last few days, the news filled with stories about university students violently assaulting their peers on a busy street after a so-called initiation, food banks announcing that they didn't collect half of their usual supplies for this time of the year, a distress centre for kids desperately calling for volunteers because most of its regulars left overnight … Something was going on… What was it?

Batman eventually gave in. That took Flying Fox by surprise. After all, he had a control freak reputation. He was getting old, softer, and more malleable lately, decided Flying Fox. That was probably why he had been taking more and more apprentices and sidekicks in the last couple of years. And while she had benefited from his training, she was still confined to the minor leagues. She felt she would never live up to the likes of Dick Grayson nor replace the hole left by Damian. She was agile but not a judoka or a soldier, she was smart but not a computer geek or a doctor… There was a lot of competition and she wanted to stand out …. And this might be the perfect opportunity for her to shine if only…

Dr. Quinzel kept smiling for her mostly male and white clientele, suggestively playing with a straw stained with scarlet lipstick, her face as changing as an opal with the lights reflecting on it. The smoky bar was her domain. As the only young black woman around, Flying Fox felt out of place, especially with her dark form-fitting clothes. Why had she not worn her jeans? Had Dr. Quinzel noticed? From what her boss said, she would notice all her weaknesses right away. The water and smiles finally dried up. "From what I can tell… With the very little data you gave me… The Joker has no sign of surgery so someone must have given him something orally or by injection… This must have been done through a massive single dose or a series of regular and smaller ones. The brain scans indicate that his mirror neurons are much more active than they used to be. These are the brain cells that enable us to feel empathy. Highly empathic people have very busy mirror neurons system in their brains.''

A social worker by trade, Flying Fox knew about empathy and the absence of it. If Harley Quinn was thinking to lose her with the brain anatomy lesson, she was wrong. In reality, Flying Fox found the subject rather fascinating but with her busy day at the office, she was also feeling tired. Too bad she couldn't enjoy a margarita on duty. Margaritas were too girly anyway. "So psychopaths don't have mirror neurons?"

Of course Dr. Quinzel had to let out a big sigh. "No, psychopaths do have some, however, they're not as active. They understand others' feeling although they can't relate to them. They lack affective empathy, which is located in the inferior frontal gyrus.''

Flying Fox had enough of this talk that was going nowhere. Harley Quinn was getting on her nerves. She didn't even seem real, with her waxy, glossy complexion. "OK, so your running theory is that The Joker took something that reactivated these areas in his brain so he could be empathic. Good for him I guess! On the other hand, the opposite seems to have happened to some other folks in town. They're turning into a mild or sometimes really bad version of The Joker. And I'm kind of wondering if there's a link between these events.''

This time, Dr. Quinzel completely forgot about her blue-collar darlings, "A link?" With a playful grin to a painfully thin and balding guy called Don, she added, "You're watching too much TV, honey!" Her rational reply rang above the counter, loud and clear, to the delight of the few customers gathered in that darker corner of the bar.

So much for the patronizing! "Sorry for wasting for your time and mine, Dr. Quinzel! I thought you'd be more curious about the whole thing." Flying Fox was done.

Almost done. A surprisingly strong and colorless hand stopped her. "Oh well, maybe you're right after all! Maybe there's a link. And I'm so bored." Then, her mocking laughter, "Who are we supposed to watch for? Some regular folks turning into a cheap version of The Joker while grocery shopping? Oh, honey, I've heard that one so many times before!"

Flying Fox stayed up, "They seem to be real mean and evolving and… It's getting worse."

"Great, you finally put all your cards on the table!" quipped back Harley Quinn before reverting to her sweet pie persona. "What's the plan?"

Flying Fox had no clear idea. She had been more or less counting on Harley Quinn for that. "The people acting out… They can be anywhere… And they seem perfectly normal until something happens."

"Great, a challenge!" applauded Harley Quinn, seemingly thrilled.

With a sniff of disapproval, Flying Fox returned to her seat. Damned if you do… Damned if you don't. That summarized her latest impressions.

Life was fun again, reflected Harley Quinn while preparing herself for another "let's go check the bad guys" session with Flying Fox at the end of her shift at the bar.

In the last weeks, they had been forming an unlikely team, despite the fact that Harley Quinn didn't really get their enemy until a few days ago. That late afternoon, she had been rushing for another of their meetings at the bar, waiting at a red light of a busy street, where she witnessed a perfectly orchestrated theft. A pair of ordinary looking people - tired parents with a stroller - bumped into an old lady, apologized, and then abruptly left her, minus her purse. A well-rehearsed trick, Harley Quinn appreciated, while comforting the old lady, waiting for the cops. Wait… Why was she the one helping? Among all these respectable citizens? OK, some people weren't as helpful as before but so what? There was no big danger in this, Harley Quinn kept repeating to herself as she was arriving at the bar.

Of course Flying Fox had already come up with a plan. That type of girl always had a plan. And she was clearly excited, definitely on the hunt. "I did some research and I know where to start! I'm getting that hunch again! Recently, one of the social agencies for which I work got an anonymous tip from a man. His story was straightforward and pretty common actually: he told them that he had been hearing kids' screams at his neighbours. Someone from the agency went to check and everything looked normal. That was what the agent officially reported anyway. However, I decided to chat with this agent, given that the incident happened in a well-off neighborhood. She finally admitted that the parents appeared you know… unconcerned and detached and… very nice but kind of cold at the same time… Anyway, I swear, there's something odd about the whole thing! So tonight, we're going to do a bit of surveillance around their house! Who knows?"

So they had been spending a couple of late nights folded in Flying Fox's compact car, checking for the so-called bad guys or parents, without much success so far. Would tonight be different?

And there was Flying Fox again, parking her car at the bar. "They're not paying you enough, honey!" grunted Harley Quinn as she was taking her place in the passenger seat. "Should have been a doctor. You look smart enough…'' And tonight didn't seem particularly promising with that chilling wind. Apparently, everybody had the luxury of staying at home in that ritzy part of town.

Flying Fox wasn't easily ruffled, "Thanks but I do like my job… And we have to be discreet, remember?''

Staring at the bad parents' massive house sitting in the dark, Harley Quinn rolled her eyes. Discretion wasn't her trademark. "It's Halloween soon… Check all the silly stuff everybody is putting on their lawn… Fancy scarecrows, inflatable witches, glowing skeletons… Must cost a lot of money…'' And she got an idea. A really good one. They would just need to wait a few more nights.

Their fourth surveillance session had been scheduled on Halloween night. Harley Quinn had insisted on it. "Why not? What are you going to do anyway? Collect candies with your nephews? Come on! Buy some at the drugstore tomorrow! They'll be on sale! Problem solved.''

"It's such the wrong night to be sitting here!'' complained Flying Fox as she was zigzagging in the posh neighborhood to avoid packs of overexcited children carrying loads of candies.

Harley Quinn didn't agree. "No, this is the best night ever! You should have listened to me! We could have gone in our costumes, with all these kids around, nobody would have said anything! Some of them are bigger than us! What do they feed them?"

"No! We have to be more subtle! And you're wearing your costume anyway! Whatever I say…"

Such a great feeling to know she could still get under almost anyone's skin! Especially Batman's protégée! But she had to play the game. "Fine, fine… It's going to calm down soon, it's Tuesday night, honey.'' Parking at the corner, they could still spot their hard to miss target, being swarmed by a small army of princesses, monsters, superheroes and… What a nice house, assessed Harley Quinn, with a large backyard full of pricey stuff, a fire place, bbq, pool, and so on… In another life…

For a while, there was nothing to do, except counting the number of Elsas (quite a few) and Batmans (depressingly high). No Joker of course. Thinking about her Puddin' again, Harley Quinn leaned against her fogged window. The night was getting colder and quieter and… All of a sudden, her well-trained eye caught some unexpected movement near the house. Yes, someone was doing something in the backyard, dragging something and… digging?

This was all she needed to trigger her plan. Elbowing Flying Fox who was examining her impressive nails, she got out of the car as silently as possible, barely shutting her squeaky door. "I'm getting a hunch too… That guy over there… I don't like his costume, he's trying too hard… What is he doing outside? Not even a dog in sight.''

With a loud sigh, Flying Fox let her go, which confirmed Harley Quinn's suspicions: she had planted a surveillance device on her clothes. Not a hard thing to do in that cramped car. Well, she wasn't going to be disappointed. "I'll show you how's it's done, honey!'' she whispered while on her way to the house. Did Flying Fox get it? She was still sitting there, pretty and quiet, with that retro eye make-up that made her think of... Now the fun part, Harley Quinn promised herself. She opened her Property of the Joker jacket, showing off her customized Halloween costume. Hopefully they would like it. As soon as she reached the front steps of the house, she fell on her knees, dragging herself to the entrance door, grunting, before grabbing a handful of candies in a carved pumpkin nearby. Her reward. In full character mode, she rang the bell.

An elderly woman with a resolved expression responded almost right away. "Hey, it's way too late for this! My grandchild is asleep so…" Then, looking down more carefully at Harley Quinn crawling in front of her, holding her bloody chest, where she could distinctly see some of her insides, she cried, "Oh my God!"

It was almost funny to see the woman's eyes opened wide in terror and her mouth letting out that big frantic scream. Obviously, she wasn't one of them. Quite disappointing. Was Flying Fox wrong? "My boyfriend… He attacked me… He's in the car over there… He's watching us… Please help me!"

Her delivery was perfect: shaky although dignified, with the right amount of fear. Exactly how they tell you how to behave as a victim in the survival guides. Who could resist that? Suddenly the answer to her question appeared: a chubby middle-aged couple standing over her. The man was the one Harley Quinn spotted in the backyard minutes ago, still wearing a dirty, shaggy panda costume minus the head. The younger woman was clad in some expensive lounge wear, which exposed her belly roll. "Get her out, Frankie! She's staining our carpet!" requested the wifey. Whatever drug they took, possibly the reverse formula of the one that had been given to The Joker, this unremarkable couple was full of it. Insensitive, indifferent. Who had come up with such a plan?

Fat Frankie was moving towards her, mumbling about stupid girls who mess around with losers, when the elderly woman stopped him. "For the love of God, Frankie! What kind of son did I raise? She's bleeding! Call an ambulance right now!"

Oh no, silently implored Harley Quinn, who still needed a bit more time to explore the house. Slightly raising her head, she could see the wifey getting impatient and nervously staring at the basement door while moving towards it. Oh yes, there was something going on behind this door, she could swear it! She had to get there. And she only had a minute or less before they would regain full control of the situation.

Leaving them to their chat, Harley Quinn crawled on the floor, spitting more fake blood from a particularly juicy candy while getting a small needle from her right sleeve. Once the needle secured in her hand, she slowly got on her knees. "You're not helping! I have to hide now! He's going to kill me!" Pushing the wifey away from the basement door, Harley Quinn gently used the needle on her flabby calf with years of practice. As anticipated, she didn't react, all stressed out.

Her next target, the basement door, was locked. "Get me in there!" pleaded Harley Quinn, turning towards the elderly woman. Then, crying and holding her spilling guts, she added, "Please! Once he finds me here…" And it worked! Still agile, the elderly woman unlocked the door before her son could stop her. And Harley Quinn rolled down the stairs before landing in some cold dark laminate floor. Her performance had been epic.

Upstairs, confusion was reigning. Both the son and his wife were admonishing the elderly woman, however, their screaming match was soon covered by other screams, coming from another door, a fortified one. Kid's cries… Young one… No, several kids… Getting up, Harley Quinn turned on the lights. A game room. With a baseball bat by a pool table. Her favorite weapon.

Good thing Flying Fox finally showed up in full superhero mode. She looked kind of cool actually with her black leather corset adorned with reddish-brown fur and her mask. "Open that door now!"

Once more, Harley Quinn found herself at the police station, patiently waiting, munching on some of the bad parents'/pedophiles'/child porn providers'/ kidnappers' candies. For once, law enforcement had been rather cool with her: was it her Halloween/let's catch the bad guys costume or the fact that she helped free some poor abused kids? Whatever. It was hard to tell in Gotham right now.

Sitting by the reception, in the waiting area, she could see one of the beefy cops, who was about to start his night shift, gazing at her chest. "Do you like it? You wouldn't think we have so much intestines! It's anatomically correct, I can guarantee you that! Hey, I'm a real doctor!" Oops, her digestive organs were falling apart… Her craftiness had its limits.

"Tough night…"

Indeed. These poor little kids… Don't think about it, reminded Harley Quinn to herself. That poor little girl with the glossy dark hair and freckles and… Not again… Instead, she took a good look at her surroundings: one of the ugliest in Gotham. Rusty chairs, barf green floors, paper thin fake wood furniture with old newspapers on it, and not a baddie in sight. Where had Flying Fox and Commissioner Gordon disappeared to? What were they discussing?

Whatever, something more interesting was coming up on the old dusty TV of the waiting area: an interview with Jim Webb, the media mogul and Bruce Wayne's business rival. "I didn't know you were watching Webb TV here," commented Harley Quinn before paying more attention to Webb. As usual, he was looking flawless, fit, impeccably dressed, and rather handsome in a boyish way with a buzz haircut, despite being in his late fifties. "He must have a great plastic surgeon!" This time, a couple of office employees exchanged a smile, nevertheless, nobody changed the channel or turned the TV off. It was always the same thing with Webb TV: most people were claiming to be disgusted by its far-right and populist antics but they were still following it.

And no wonder why: Webb himself was fascinating to watch, charming at times and belligerent at others, an unpredictable cocktail that made great TV.

Even the sexy blond Colleen, who was interviewing him, seemed to disappear in his presence. She was now pressing him about the recent firing of her colleague, "So Mr. Webb, do you want to address the controversy about Melissa Jones first?" Of course he wanted to. Their complicit looks. And their well-timed pauses. It was all fixed, decided Harley Quinn. "All right, let's ask this question to get over with: is there any merit to your former protégée's allegations? She alleged she was laid off by Webb TV because she had put on weight."

His fashionable indignation. Nothing disgraceful. A touch comical. "Colleen, let's be serious! This wasn't about her weight! A TV reporter has to be at the top of her game, you know this very well! And she wasn't! It's our responsibility to provide good TV to our listeners!" He almost winked at her. "Can we talk about what really matters now?"

Obviously Colleen had been trained very well: she was sticking to her script and gently alluding to his so-called political ambitions. Hopefully she was planning to maintain a healthy diet. "No, Colleen, I'm not thinking about politics right now, I'm too busy with my business! But you can be assured that I'm keeping an eye on Gotham! Our great city deserves the best and right now, things are awful. People don't have jobs, criminals are running around free, and our politicians are not doing anything except talking! We deserve better than this!" At the reception of the police station, every office employee was staring at their computer screens, pretending not to watch.

And they kept showing off their well-rehearsed routine, "Colleen, please let me restate what I've said many times before - I don't dictate what my newspapers, magazines and TV channels report! They don't always print my opinions! These are lies from the other media outlets and the people who hate me! We air content that most people, the silent majority, want to see! We listen to them! And often, we're the only ones! And these folks are right! This is good business for everybody!"

Still no sign of Flying Fox.

"I consider my job in the media as a very important one. We have to explain how the other media and our current politicians got stuff all wrong! All these social programs cost so much taxpayer money! And sending all these criminals out on our streets again doesn't make any sense… And what about…"

How could Webb the millionaire pretend to know what the silent majority wanted to see? How could he make all these judgment calls? On which basis? Apparently, he wanted to gain control of Gotham like The Joker did at some point, although in a more organized and insidious way. This was getting scary. Fed up, Harley Quinn grabbed one of the newspapers in front of her, which proclaimed, "Is this a joke? The Joker turned good overnight! Confirmed by his long-term accomplice, the infamous Harley Quinn... He could be freed by the authorities pretty soon… Raising opposition from victim groups… The owner of Webb TV, businessman Jim Webb, made a declaration this afternoon...''

"Doctor Quinzel, please pick up your bowels! Time to leave. You're released, however, don't ever do this again! My officers are working day and night on this case and…''

Bla bla bla… With a smirk, Harley Quinn got up, taking care of spreading her fake bowels all over her chair. Enough with that administrative crap! She didn't expect a thank you note but still… "Please, stop trying to justify your salary, honey! Everybody already knows about my new trick anyway! Besides, Halloween is almost over…'' Catching the glimpse of a dark shadow at the bottom of the window, Harley Quinn didn't even complete her thought. "Ciao, Commissionaire Gordon! I love saving the day!'' And she left him for Flying Fox.

Outside, the feline silhouette was waiting for her. "Great outfit, honey!''

Not wasting a second, Flying Fox was extending her hand, "The blood sample. Please give it to me.''

Resistance was futile. And Harley Quinn had better things to do. "Here you go! Can you at least share the results with me? I doubt we're going to learn much from it but hey… And make sure these incompetents check the backyard! I saw panda creep digging, I swear!''

"I'll do my best…" promised Flying Fox. "Thanks for tonight by the way.'' And she was turning her back to her.

Nobody could dismiss Harley Quinn so soon that way except a certain… Grabbing Flying Fox by the arm, Harley Quinn uttered under her breath, "There's something more going on here! And they won't do anything about it, they're too stupid! Look at them!" With a great sense of timing, one of the cops at the entrance door yawned. "The two of us, we could do better than all of them! If only you would let me visit him… The Joker… I could learn more about all of this! And what could happen to me anyway? He's good now.'' Would that work? She could see her face soften.

"I'll think about it.'' And she disappeared among the nondescript office buildings, leaving Harley Quinn hanging but hoping.

To Gotham's horrified amazement, The Joker was conditionally released from Arkham Asylum two weeks before Christmas on a Saturday afternoon with numerous conditions, including constant electronic monitoring and regular reports to his doctors. Despite all the authorities' efforts, his detention for insanity couldn't be justified anymore. Of course the press was having a field day, as demonstrated by their most recent headlines, "The Joker's legal escape: sanity! He's now a do-gooder! Our question today: do you still trust Arkham Asylum and our Justice system?" Webb TV was even broadcasting a special report of his worst crimes.

A few days prior, Harley Quinn met The Joker again. How Flying Fox managed to schedule that meeting, she had no idea. Batman was becoming a softie or the authorities were getting desperate or something even more sinister was at work… To her dismay, The Joker didn't help her, far from it. His new nice personality appalled her more than ever.

Possibly getting frustrated with the lack of progress of the investigation, Flying Fox also shared with her some of the test results from the wifey's blood sample, which revealed faint residuals of an unknown drug. Moreover, her brain scans showed a reduced level of activity in the areas responsible for empathy. Could The Joker provide more answers?

He had to. He must have known something. How could he change so drastically without noticing anything? After this useless meeting, Harley Quinn decided that she had to meet him again and try harder and do something, anything. As soon as Flying Fox told her about The Joker's imminent liberation, she came up with a plan. She could use Flying Fox's car - the Foxcar - and bring The Joker to his condo, the only asset he still owned, because the authorities had been unable to seize it so far. That way she could have more one-on-one time with him. Maybe he would be more forthcoming with her and…

Needless to say, Flying Fox didn't like her plan at first. After all, Harley Quinn was a former accomplice, a partner in crime, romantically involved with The Joker, and so on… Harley Quinn argued back: she was reformed and they had a case to resolve, and who was going to drive The Joker home anyway? At the very least, they wouldn't need to hire someone or pay a cab. And what risk would they be running? With the way The Joker was behaving lately… It took a while and some persuasion, however, it finally worked. Flying Fox was definitely ambitious and on a mission and Batman was letting her run the show. What a crazy world!

And there Harley Quinn was with The Joker at the entrance door of the Arkham Asylum a few minutes before his liberation. How was it possible? Had anybody seen that day coming? Crazy world indeed. "Even Christmas shopping can't keep them busy enough!" Disguised as a nurse with a barely-there mustache, she was watching the large crowd sitting in the parking lot and protesting The Joker's new freedom. Which could be temporary, as promised by the city attorney, who was facing his re-election next year. What bad timing. "We need to do this very quickly! Run and get in that little black car right away! Before this guard wakes up and your cab shows up! You know what I mean?"

Did he? While they had escaped together so many times before, she wasn't sure anymore. Standing by the door, he was still as desirable as ever with his glowing white skin and bright green hair and mysterious eyes and sexy grin and… Oh no… "That's so kind of Flying Fox! Lending her car to us! By the way…" He became serious all at once, "Did you ask for the asylum's permission? To drive me home?"

What? No way he was faking it! This was too much! "Of course not! Batman and Flying Fox are aware, that's enough!" He wasn't convinced. "And they don't care about you anyway, you're a good guy now! Nobody cares about good guys! Let's go!"

"I do understand ordinary people's anger towards me, Doctor Quinzel! That's perfectly normal with all I've done in the past!"

Another one who was calling her Doctor Quinzel! Was it to remind her that she used to be a real doctor a long time ago? Before she wasted everything by… There was no time for regrets. The crowd was getting angrier and… "Pud… Mister… I mean Jack…" The Joker wanted to be designated as "Jack" from now on. Harley Quinn hated that name. This sounded so… stiff. "That doesn't matter. They hate you, period. So let's do this right now before things get out of hand. It can get pretty dangerous very quickly out there." And she pushed him outside.

Their experience showed: they got in Flying Fox's car in record time. Making the engine roar, Harley Quinn promptly flew past the angry crowd and put her Property of the Joker jacket on to hide her uniform. The good old times. "Well, you weren't as rusty as I thought!"

"I guess so… That's very unfortunate… These poor people… They're so angry about everything in this city. The police, justice system, corruption, inequalities, low salaries…" The Joker sounded truly sorry. And saddened.

With a quick glance in his direction, she noticed his hand on the window button. "Don't do or say anything. You'll only make matters worse. There's nothing we can do about it." Driving towards downtown and their final destination, his condo, she was stuck with him as usual. And with everything else, her investigation, Flying Fox, Batsy…

"Now that I see things differently, I totally admire Batman! That's what people need here!"

Seriously? How could he see things so incorrectly? That drug was turning him into an idiot! "It's because of him that we're in this situation!" Maybe not so idiot after all: his silly grin was fading away. "I don't care if he's listening in, that's the truth! When people have a so-called hero, they stop being responsible! They count on him! They think he'll always save them! And this is so wrong!" It was her turn to smile. "Besides, Flying Fox is way cooler!"

"That's a view," reasoned The Joker before staring at his window, apparently absorbed in his thoughts. Perfect! approved Harley Quinn while driving and admiring the downtown landscape profiling the horizon. That silence was better than hearing his feel-good mumbo-jumbo about past regrets and payback and so on. One more time and she would lose it! He was definitely trying too hard. If he was trying at all… It was still so hard to say.

Whoever initiated this empathy enhancing or blocking madness had access to her previous research, she knew as much. As part of her work as a doctor, she had found how to chemically manipulate mirror neurons during some daring and hush-hush experiments on animals. When she started canoodling with Puddin', she was on the verge of creating a drug to stimulate the activities of mirror neurons and thus enhance empathy and then… Little by little, the old Mister J convinced her that he was fine the way he was and she should accept him and… One day…

"About your previous research…" He hadn't forgot! "I'm the one who made you stop… I was wrong, I see that now. I would like to apologize."

And he looked the part, so sincere! What had she done? Keep your eyes on the road, she reminded herself, especially in the downtown tunnel, which was leading them to the not so good parts of Gotham, where nobody was shopping, even at the time of the year. In fact, nobody was around. Except maybe for Flying Fox or Batsy. Whatever, she didn't care if one of them was eavesdropping or not. They must have known everything about her experiments by now. "That's fine, Jack. Obviously someone finished my work at some point. And not in the best way. But I just can't find who it is. All my files… I was told they are gone."

"That's very unfortunate."

Indeed. From her limited and controlled wanderings at the asylum, it felt like her so-called evil presence had been wiped clean. In the absence of hard facts, she had been conceiving all kinds of wild theories: Scarecrow or Poison Ivy or the two of them took her research and developed the drug to eliminate The Joker, who was their direct competition. And then, they created another drug with the opposite effect to cause havoc in the city. After all, there were trained scientists on the premises, however, their movements seemed pretty limited. And this would have required complicity from an insider… What about the staff? This didn't work either: the management had done a good job at discrediting her. None of them would have ever thought that she could make such a breakthrough and discover something useful in the medical field. She was just a poor abused and clueless girl for them. And a cautionary tale.

"We're getting closer! I'm so anxious to get home! Even though…"

What a wonderful drug,appreciated Harley Quinn despite her initial aversion. The Joker still had all his memories! About her, their past together, his apartment where they were going, and his previous crimes. And he was perfectly conscious of what the future may withhold for him. No illusion whatsoever. How much of that thing had they made him swallow? Or had they injected him with? Would there be any secondary effects? There always were. "I really don't know what state it is in. I didn't have time to visit it. After all these years…" They were getting closer, cruising through the downtown streets. Everything felt abandoned to Harley Quinn: the commercial space for rent, the messed-up garbage, and the rare snowflakes… And no light in sigh except for that stark grey sky, which offered a bleak contrast with the dark old apartment buildings and newer silvery office towers…

"What's up there?"

That was an excellent question, noted Harley Quinn while swearing. At the end of the street on which they were driving on, she could distinguish more and more neatly the silhouettes of two men, who were staying still. With a gun in their hands. In a few seconds, she would hit them. Slowing down and preparing to back up, she then spotted a third armed man walking behind them. They were being hijacked. Or kidnapped. Who was targeting Flying Fox that way? Because they probably didn't know they had been borrowing her car. Or did they? In any case, their afternoon was about to get even more eventful.

"Don't hurt them! Please stop!"

What was he thinking? Of course she wouldn't hurt them! After all the efforts she had been making to stay on the right track! But what about their three opponents? With their outdoorsy gear, pricey shoes and well-kept beard, they looked more like hipsters than car hijacking professionals… Something fishy was going on…

As soon as Harley Quinn put the car in neutral, they got out. They knew the basic rules: don't turn off the car, don't turn your back to give the hijackers a better chance of hurting you, lift your arms to show that you don't have any weapons, put your hands in front of you for that same reason, avoid direct eye contact, and more importantly… Be cool. Be nice. "Hey guys! Do you want the car? Please take it! It's not ours anyway! We'll walk, it's healthier!"

"We don't want the car!" flatly stated the biggest one in the middle. If they were surprised to find them instead of Flying Fox, they didn't show it at all. Uh oh.

Things were getting somewhat hairy. If they didn't want the car, this meant that… There was no time to lose. And still no one around except for derelict houses that could have passed for haunted. Every sound around them was muffled by the failing snow. What were Batsy and Flying Fox doing? Then, she understood: what a convenient way for everybody to get rid of them! Had she been losing all her reflexes? She had to find a way to escape right at this very moment otherwise… On the bright side, their kidnappers were acting like a bunch of amateurs. They weren't even asking them to undress. "Oh… What do you want then? Us?" After pausing for a few seconds, she quietly laughed and taking her cues, The Joker did the same. And his laughter was as disturbing as ever. Next phase please.

"I don't know why you'd like to get us but anyway. We're kind of monitored, you know. And we're supposed to drive right now but given that we're not… In 30 seconds, the phone in this car will ring. And if we don't answer it, in exactly one minute…" Such an action movie cliché! Thankfully it was working. As they were staring at the car, Harley Quinn quickly got down on the ground and crawled as fast as she could under the shaky front stairs of the closest house. The Joker remained still, watching the guys watch the car when all of a sudden… The phone in Flying Fox's car rang as predicted. What a timing!

"Oh… I guess someone is late to the party!'' tried to joke The Joker, however, nobody laughed. Noticing her disappearance, the guys were starting to panic. That wasn't good. And no one was showing up.

"Oh you're so done!" added The Joker.

The guy still knew how to turn up the pressure! Wait… Was her good old Puddin' back?

"OK, guys, I'm done here!" And without any further warning, Harley Quinn pulled an odd-looking gun from her Property of the Joker jacket and shot each of them with a small dose of tranquilizer in the leg. One, two, three, done. Good thing she was still a good shot. And that jacket was so bulky. In no time, they all fell on the street, too lethargic to even scream.

"Harleen! What have you done?''

Getting up, she walked back to The Joker. "I defended us, idiot! I got that thing from the loser at the asylum who can't stop gambling and filled it with all the sleeping drugs I could buy on the black market. Don't worry, they'll be fine, I'm a trained doctor, remember?'' He was still gazing at her with a growing admiration this time. "The effect won't last long. Let's put them in the trunk and call…''

"I'll take care of that, Dr. Quinzel.''

There they were, the two silly bats. Finally. Not even acknowledging Batman's presence, Harley Quinn instantly lashed out at Flying Fox, "Great to see you! What is your superpower by the way? Showing up late? And letting me deal with Gotham scum on my own?"

Flying Fox didn't even blink and started the dirty work along with Batman.

Handling all these ill-treated kids had toughened her up, concluded Harley Quinn. "OK, great, as you wish! And by the way I want each of them to undergo a complete toxicological analysis and brain scan and I'd like to obtain the results as soon as possible this time! Oh, and we'll need a ride.'' Harley Quinn could sense Batman's anger behind his mask. She was onto something. They all knew it. But what exactly? Whatever. She was the one calling the shots for now. How good was this feeling!

All of a sudden, his deep raspy voice resonated in the dead silent afternoon, "Where did you get that gun? I thought we made that very clear: no more weapons for you!"

Before she had the time to come up with a killing reply, the kidnappers were making mumbling noises. Thankfully Flying Fox had the sense to pick up their guns. "Good thing your associate isn't as obsessed by me! And thanks for helping us by the way! What would we have done without this little pain killing wonder that somebody sold me at Arkham?"

Batman remained strangely indifferent.

"I wonder what people would think about it… About the way patients are treated at the asylum or employees sell drugs or whatever. Things in your town are getting out of hands, Batsy!"

His huge shoulders went down, defeated. "Help us tie them up." Without any further words, they secured the premises. Even The Joker participated.

"Well… I guess that's it," sighed Flying Fox while keeping an eye on Harley Quinn's new toy. "We'll forget what happened this afternoon if you give this to me now." Harley Quinn immediately obeyed as Batman was already walking away, clearly disagreeing. Yet Flying Fox was unexpectedly in charge. "We have to make it stop, Dr. Quinzel." Talk about putting pressure. Harley Quinn could smell her watermelon bubble gum breath all over her face.

"I'm trying and pretty hard!" And she wasn't lying. "What about you? What about panda creep's backyard? Have the police checked it yet?"

Flying Fox must have noticed the uneasiness raising in her voice. Examining the drug firing gun, she finally conceded, ''No, they haven't. I'm trying but…"

Harley Quinn knew the rest of that story too well: they needed to fill some paperwork and obtain somebody's permission to search the backyard and she wasn't considered a reliable witness and Flying Fox didn't want to insist too much because she was a good girl and rather ambitious and Batman wasn't lifting a finger and…

But Flying Fox wasn't done. At least not for now. "Let's talk. Tonight before your bar shift." And she left them in the cold greyish afternoon.

"It was fun, wasn't it? It was so much fun! I've been missing that thrill lately…"

Her husky laughter, wide smile, electric blue eyes… Had he really loved her during all these years? The Joker couldn't answer. Since then, his feelings have been awakened and… he still couldn't tell. "We were bad, Dr. Quinzel. So evil."

More than an hour ago, they finally arrived at his former bunker, which someone had cleaned up. They had gotten rid of all his weaponry and other criminal accessories, and filled the fridge with food… Who had thought of that? By all appearances, Harley Quinn was as confused as him, walking around, swearing. For the first time, he noted how scared she was. They were in a bad situation. And all he could do was cooking dinner.

"It's not bad. The pasta." She was demolishing her second plate of spaghetti. Had he ever cooked for her? Not that he could remember. "Flying Fox must have done that clean-up… Or social services… Oh, I don't know… Everything seems fine though… If someone wants to kill us… They'll do it anyway. At some point…"

The Joker wasn't hungry anymore, pushing his half-finished plate away. "You must have some idea who is behind all this."

Of course she did. "The drug wasn't developed by someone in Arkham. They're too short-sighted for that. And they don't want to lose their jobs. So it must have been developed by one of my foreign partners. The Scottish and Dutch university teams had the capability. But why is it being tested in Gotham? And what is the link between the asylum, these universities and our city? I just don't see it."

Her head in her hands, her platinum hair falling all around, she appeared truly discouraged. Although with Harley… Everything could be a well-played act. You never knew with her. And he used to like it a lot. But now… He wasn't so sure anymore. "You should think about something else for a bit. It may come back to you then."

Serving an ice cold beer to Don, Harley Quinn made her usual comment about forcing him to sample another drink. While the expected laughter followed, she couldn't help but notice the deep black circles under his small eyes. Don wasn't a particularly handsome man and tonight, he was looking downright exhausted. With his baseball cap pulled over his face and his bulky hunter green sweater, he seemed to be hiding from something or someone as well. Interesting. "Hard day, Honey?"

"Yep. What about you, Harley?"

So nice, so Don! Except… "Pretty hard, honey. You can't imagine. Give me a minute." Other customers were arriving, rowdy and thirsty. Harley Quinn didn't mind, she could use the distraction. Earlier this evening, Flying Fox decided to go back to the pedophiles' house, and Harley Quinn accompanied her for that dreadful visit. The elderly women was anxiously waiting for them. Her Halloween antics felt so far away when she answered the door, slimmed down but somewhat smiling. "Please come in!" After staring at the toned-downed Harley Quinn, dutifully accompanying Flying Fox, "Look at you! Medicine does wonder these days!"

She didn't have the slightest idea what doctors could do. "Indeed. Thanks for letting us in."

Flying Fox took over, "We'll be quick. It's late and Dr. Quinzel needs to get back to work." While taking a look inside, she added, "How is the little one?" That maternal tone.

"Not too bad given the circumstances. She's asleep. I don't know if you've heard that her mom will be conditionally released very soon. The drug effect was temporary and she's pretty upset about the whole thing now and…" The elderly woman had lost her smile between the entrance door and hallway. "The house is yours. Do whatever you need to do but don't wake up the little one please. She needs her sleep. If there's anything, I'm in the living room, watching the news.'' Glancing back at Harley Quinn, she had that final request, "Please find something to make this nightmare stop."

Her sober plea had the desired effect: both women promptly started searching the bathrooms and kitchen, hoping to find something overlooked by the police, something that could have contained the drug, however, this was no small undertaking. As explained earlier by Flying Fox, the police had already analyzed all the drugs found in the bathroom, including the cough drops, toothpaste, breath freshener, and so on. And all the food in the kitchen cabinets and fridge had been examined too. Without any results. What were they hoping to achieve? "They must have forgot something. They're not the best. Especially in Gotham. They always forget something, trust me."

Needless to say, Flying Fox didn't appreciate Harley Quinn's poor opinion of Gotham police, "We're doing everything they've already done. We must do something different."

Without any further explanations, Harley Quinn disappeared upstairs.

Intrigued and not trusting, Flying Fox followed her foot steps to the master bedroom without much delay. Harley Quinn was going through all the drawers of a massive dresser overshadowing the neatly made bed. "What are you doing here?"

That didn't stop Harley Quinn from digging further in the underwear drawer this time. "They've lost a lot of weight recently… The two of them… Check these!" She turned around, proudly displaying a pair of plus size briefs. "Her butt didn't look that big when I saw her last!"

"That's all you can come up with?" sneered Flying Fox before taking a big breath.

Harley Quinn threw the undies on the immaculate bed cover with a hearty laugh. "Interesting! Why are you so put off with these? Is it their size? Or their function?"

Instead of totally losing her cool, Flying Fox froze. "No… Wait…" With a clever grin, "I have to check something with her mother in law…"

In no time, they were both standing in the living room. The elderly woman was watching Webb TV and uttering threats under her breath. "You shouldn't watch this! That's not good for your blood pressure!" advised Flying Fox, playing the mom again.

The elderly woman didn't seem as annoyed as Harley Quinn, "You don't know. How bad he is."

"Webb?" inquired Harley Quinn with her smoothest voice. "Have you ever seen him around? Here?" The elderly woman kept staring at her, not confirming or denying anything. Too bad.

Seemingly disappointed as well, Flying Fox continued, "I have another question for you: were your son and his wife on some kind of special diet?"

Stunned, the elderly woman took a few seconds to answer. "Yes, they were. They bought some cookies and crackers from a new company that was promising all kinds of benefits. A couple of days ago, I threw that junk in the garbage. I prefer simple and real food."

Another dead end again. The police must have checked the garbage unless… "The compost… They must do the compost thing in this part of town! Have you emptied the compost out since your arrival here?"

The elderly woman appeared disgusted this time. "No! I don't bother with that stuff! I'm not sure if…" They didn't even wait for the end of her sentence. They both ran to the garage where they quickly spotted an innocuous green bin with a Gotham city label on it in a dark corner between a tricycle and spare tires.

Flying Fox pulled out a pair of gloves out of her pockets. "Hopefully it's not empty." It wasn't: they found several cookies and crackers with a barely there "W" on them, which resembled the Wayne Enterprise logo. Possibly diet food. Only the analysis would tell.

Harley Quinn was done, "I need to go back at the bar, honey." And there she was, returning to Don, her head full of questions.

"Too bad Selena's not here tonight!"

When had Don started to nurse a crush on Selena? Looking for some fun mindless distraction, Harley Quinn leaned towards him, her eyebrows raised, disapproving. "Selena? Don! What are you thinking? She's married with kids!"

It was sweet Don's turn to make fun of her. "What? No way! She's a workaholic! She spends all her time at her job when she's not in Scotland doing even more work."

Scotland! Was this a coincidence or? On her own initiative, Harley Quinn served another beer to Don. Given his low tolerance for alcohol… "It's my treat for Selena not showing up! What is she doing to keep herself so busy?" And spread lies about it?

"Oh she doesn't talk too much…"

Damn it! Selena probably preferred ripped guys like Marco! Poor Don… Not a single chance.

"But one night… She had more margaritas than usual and she talked about getting something in Scotland and how she didn't like to go there even if it's pretty nice although it's damp and…"

Harley Quinn didn't care about Scottish weather. What was Selena supposed to get? "These people with office jobs… That's not hard work! Come on!"

Don had been growing more tolerant to alcohol than she thought. "I don't know…"

Too bad. She would have to find more on her own.

What to do next? Harley was obsessing over this question as the days went by. There was still no Selena in sight at the bar but did she have a link with the current situation? She had no proof. And Flying Fox was now letting her down. While she gave her the results of their late night food sampling at the pedophiles' compost bin, which revealed that the diet food contained traces of an unknown substance, possibly the empathy-blocking drug, she didn't seem interested to pursue this line of inquiry and investigate the manufacturer and distributor of these yummy cookies and crackers. Why?

"They must have made you swallow tons of this stuff to permanently change your brain cells! How could you not remember?" Once more, Harley Quinn was questioning The Joker during dinner time. Why not take advantage of her daily babysitting duties? Still as good and boring as the day before, he was playing with the noodle letters of his alphabet soup, spelling his new name. J-A-C-K. He was missing the J.

"I don't know… There were always new staff around and experiments going on. The old me didn't care, I was laughing in their face. They'd never cured me, I said. I was crazy and just fine like that."

Poor Puddin'!

He was still searching his bowl for the missing J. "I ate tons of cookies for sure! What else can you do in such rotten place?"

Of course there were a couple of Js floating in her soup. The story of her life. "The diet food… It must have been promoted… Like free samples at grocery stores or free deliveries…" Intercepting his inquisitive stare, she admitted, "Oh, I ate all the Js, honey, sorry." Not really although…

"What about that poor woman who is missing, Selena? Do you think it's a coincidence or?" Pushing his bowl away, The Joker suddenly took one of her hands, which made her jump. "You must do something about her, Dr. Quinzel! Maybe they took her because she knew too much about the drug somehow! Or she wasn't cooperating anymore! Or…"

Harley Quinn wasn't feeling as altruistic, "She may have also participated to the development of the empathy-blocking drug! Have you thought of this? It was only a matter of reverse-engineering… As the project manager or the scientist in charge…"

The Joker was cleaning the table, "Maybe but you tend to see evil everywhere, Dr. Quinzel!"

"I wonder why!" she quipped while giving him her dirty spoon. At least, the soup hadn't been poisoned. Not yet.

"Let's do some research! A search on the internet I mean." He must have noticed the renewed sparkle in her eyes.

As the hours went by, a gloomy reality was setting in: the Selena they were looking for never existed. They had been led on. On the other hand, Don was all over the social media, making comments about how people were abusing the environment and mistreating lesbians and gays and bisexuals and transgenders and so on. Interestingly enough, he was employed as the head of the maintenance crew at the Claremont hospital, which wasn't too far from Arkham Asylum, noted Harley Quinn for herself. And she kept finding more stuff about Don. Status: single. Favorite movies: psychological dramas and comedies. Groundhog Day, Donnie Darko. Favorite song: Stand by me, Black Magic Woman. Favorite sport: martial arts. Krav Maga, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu. Some serious combat stuff. What if?

"I'm not your man, Harley, I swear!" Caught unaware in the parking lot of his favorite Whole Foods by Harley Quinn the night after, Don was grinning while holding his grocery bags against his chest pretty tight. In a defensive move.

Great, a little fear. Just a little. To make him more collaborative. "I'm really worried about Selena, Don, it's just a hunch but… I'd like to check on her, I'm kind of feeling responsible and… Oh, I didn't do anything wrong, I swear! It's very complicated to explain and we may not have time…"

Don was already giving up. He had been worrying too. "Fine, let's go check if you're free. It's cold and my food won't go bad in my car." Not bad: he noted her momentary hesitation right away. "Come on, get in! Don't be scared! Or maybe I'm the one who should be!"

"Thanks! And don't worry! I'm a good little girl now!" In a flash, she took her place in the passenger seat. With a side glance to Don, who was fastening his seatbelt, she added with her usual glee, "Hopefully you're not setting me up, honey!"

Don wasn't. He was just a poor guy madly in love with Selena, who became Gina, as he was driving to her apartment. And yes, they had been lovers. Only a few times. At her place. "So you don't have the key to her place! Great! How are we supposed to get in?"

Don was another stickler for legalities. "Let's talk to the intendant of her building, it's not too late…" Assessing her outfit, he then requested, "Please let me do it."

What were their chances anyway? One in a million, guessed Harley Quinn as Don was knocking at a fake wood door inside Gina's apartment building, a modern Victorian affair. Not exactly luxurious but not shabby either. No answer. Not waiting for Don, she pleaded in her sweetest voice, "We're Gina's friends and we're looking for her! We're kind of worried actually! Can you please open the door of her apartment for us so we can quickly check if everything's fine?"

After carefully half opening the door, a plump forty something woman let a tiny scream out and removed the chain. "Oh this is the boyfriend! About time you show up!" she cried while glaring at Don. "I was about to check on her, I haven't seen her around lately! While her rent is pre-paid and I mind my own business, I was starting to worry and…"

What an unexpected introduction! While Harley Quinn was debating her course of action, the intendant ran out of excuses and reached for a key in a metal box by the door. Without another word, they all walked to Selena-Gina's apartment on the second floor together. Once inside, they quickly realized there wasn't much to see. The place had been meticulously cleaned up: no flyer or bill anywhere, no decoration, no food, no... Everything had been arranged into that neutral and minimal décor praised by design magazines. The intendent appeared as baffled as them. "I don't understand… The last time I came here, there was stuff all over the place! And she paid her rent for the whole year!"

Zooming from the living room to the tiny kitchen and then to the bedroom, Harley Quinn was now swearing. Why had she not checked Selena-Gina before? Why had she been so slow to put all these things together? Don and the intendant were following her, useless and silent. By all appearances, Selena-Gina had already left on an extended trip. "At least…" Glancing at Don's concerned face, Harley Quinn couldn't complete her sentence. At least they didn't find her body in the bathtub or hung somewhere with a suicide note. Or cut into pieces and stuffed into a trunk. Unless…

"Can you come see this, Harley?" What was creepy Don doing in Selena-Gina's bedroom? Had she been wrong about him all along? Joining him, she noticed what he was pointing at: Selena-Gina's dresser. Pictures of herself, Harley Quinn, had been left, stuck between the frame and the mirror. "She was a fan of yours."

"That's silly!" But why not? After all, she had been The Joker's sidekick for ages. How did it feel to have a fan? It didn't change anything to her situation: Mister J became annoyingly nice overnight, several people in town were turning into psychos, Flying Fox and Batsy were letting her down, and she was on her own to resolve this puzzle and make things right. Something she had never done before. "We have to look harder. Something's wrong."

Poor Don nodded, as oblivious as ever. And admiring too. Just her luck: another helpless admirer! "Don… Did you sleep with Selena at your place?"

Turning red, Don mumbled, "Yeah… Why are you…?"

The intendant went back to the kitchen with a loud sigh.

Harley Quinn didn't waste any time, "Let's go to your place then! Come on!"

Don didn't object.

Despite the lighter evening traffic, the trip to Don's apartment seemed to last forever. Finally stopping in front of a bland-looking apartment building, he took his grocery bags and led Harley Quinn to his unit. An overpowering cleaning product smell was lingering in the lobby and elevator. "I'm on the eleventh floor… Honestly…"

Harley Quinn knew where this was going and decided not to pay any attention to him. Instead, she was grinning and posing for every tenant who was crossing their path, man or woman, like the cat that swallowed the canary. Which made Don's neighbours suspicious or envious.

"I think we're wasting our time, Harley."

"Maybe so but you're still having an interesting evening, honey! For a change!"

After a series of turns in a particularly dark hallway, Don got his keys out. "Here we are… By the way, my place is a mess and…"

"Honey, do you really think I care? Let's go in!" Why did he call this a mess? Once inside, Harley Quinn noticed right away how everything was in place except for…

"Hey, where are you going?" Don forgot to pick up his grocery bags this time.

"Where did you do it?"

Not the response he expected for sure. Poor Don, such a gentleman! "In the kitchen. On the counter top. Besides the flyers. I think they fell at some point, Selena picked them up, and…"

"Of course the flyers! That's the only messy spot here!" In less than a minute, Harley Quinn went through the pile of flyers and extracted a tiny piece of paper from some grocery specials. "Did she give this to you?"

Before answering her, Don sat on a bumpy couch nearby, between a fresh smelling blanket and a few spirituality books. She did the same. "To be honest… I've never seen it before. I'm not even sure if she's the one who left it there..."

Harley Quinn was now flipping the tiny piece of paper between her long, flexible fingers, repeating to herself what was written on it. "Need a performance boost? Check the sign."

"What does it mean? There's no sign!" blurted Don, getting more and more impatient.

"You're wrong, honey, there's a sign." It was discreetly engraved in the paper but visible. A spider web shaped like a "W". Was Wayne Enterprises behind of all of this? Or Webb? "What is this?"

"I don't know but we're not alone I'd say." Don was up, pacing nervously from the couch to the TV. Another creak faintly resonated within the apartment. Where was it coming from? Too bad he was that good at tidying up. Empty wrappers on the floor were excellent movement detectors, as she recently reminded The Joker.

"It must be Flying Fox, she stalks me all the time!" As usual, Harley Quinn was trying to laugh it off. There was no point of getting stressed out when you needed all your calm, energy and resourcefulness.

Surprisingly, Don didn't look convinced. "No… I'd know this." A throwing star magically appeared between his large enough hands. Larger than she thought at first anyway.

Damn it! Who was he?

"Don't worry, Harley. I called her, you see… We kind of work together."

And then, Harley Quinn understood everything: Don was the new Robin. Had he been watching her at the bar during all these months? "Be careful, honey… Whatever you are…"

Another creak, closer this time. Someone was approaching and fast. Judging from the noise, probably a man. How did he get in? The only access points were the entrance door or the balcony. All of a sudden, Harley Quinn had enough of this game. Getting up, she left the living room only to come back a few seconds later with a non-descript beefy security agent type who was holding her at gunpoint.

"Drop it, buddy!" requested Don, sounding more relaxed.

At that exact moment, another creak was heard, a lighter one. Flying Fox. Harley Quinn finally spoke, using her doctor tone, "I'm a bad hostage, honey. They'll let you kill me. And they'll be happy about it. And you'll be the bad guy. So you should leave." And the wannabe agent did.

Staring at the open door, Flying Fox didn't seem impressed. "On which side are you, Doctor Quinzel?"

"That's an excellent question, Flying Fox. No doubt you're on Bruce Wayne's side. Wonder why. That diet food company… Does he own part of it?"

Flying Fox was smart, Harley Quinn had to give her that. The girl knew when she was being outsmarted. Minutes later, they were sitting at Don-Robin's table, trying to make sense of everything. His place felt safer than anywhere else for now, given that it had been recently under surveillance and cleaned.

Yes, Don, there was no point in denying it anymore: Selena-Gina wouldn't come back. Not alive anyway. She probably participated in the development of the empathy-inducing and blocking drugs as evidenced by her trips to Scotland among other things and she knew too much.

Yes, Flying Fox, the diet company that sold the cookies and crackers found in the pedophiles' compost bin was almost certainly owned by Wayne Enterprises. Everybody with a minimal knowledge of the business world could establish that.

"You should have watched Selena-Gina instead of me!" concluded Harley Quinn before meeting Don-Robin's reflective gaze. Poor guy. He knew that all too well. She didn't need to insist.

Not surprisingly, Flying Fox was defending the informal boss of Gotham with energy, "No! Bruce Wayne doesn't know anything about these drugs! Someone else must have gotten access to the empathy-blocking drug and distributed it through different channels, including the cookies! But why neutralize The Joker and then create hundreds of mini-ones? It doesn't make any sense!"

Not a bad reasoning, conceded Harley Quinn. "Does he check all the start-ups he owns? And his divisions? Even if he's not behind it, he can't watch everybody in his company!"

"Sure but where does this take us?"

Harley Quinn didn't have an answer for that. They were going nowhere. The Joker, herself… The empathy-inducing drug, the empathy-blocking drug… No, wait… "I wonder if the empathy-inducing drug was only used on The Joker. It seems that way, however, what if…"

Flying Fox pursued that idea, "Maybe some small doses of the empathy-inducing drug were fed to other people so they would become more malleable and collaborative and less discerning and…"

Like Batman… The police… Maybe even the mayor… Who could pull off such scheme? Somebody who was influential enough, trustworthy to certain people, maybe even powerful… "I'd bet everything that Webb is behind all this. Webb TV, you know… The guy is a total control freak!"

Of course they didn't believe her. So trusting! That was how he got everybody. The figure of self-righteous virtue, fustigating the corrupted elites and their political correctness that endangered society, yearning for the return of good old values… However, he had to create a bit more evil to prove his point and then, come and save Gotham… Not flashy evil like Mister J… Every day, ordinary evil… Like…

"That's a pretty wild assumption, Dr. Quinzel! I mean, that guy… He's a successful businessman and he may be our next mayor… Why him and nobody else?" Once more Flying Fox had to argue with her.

"I can't stand him," responded flatly Harley Quinn. "He's on a power binge." She had witnessed that before.

That didn't impress Flying Fox, "Do you have some type of proof?"

Harley Quinn didn't. That was one of the things she had liked the most about her former life with Mister J: no need for proof or justification. "If only you would have checked panda creep's backyard… We could have gotten our proof." Rather unfortunately, someone had managed to prevent this from happening so far. Someone influential, trustworthy, powerful… Someone like Webb. "Let's set a trap to find out! I can do it!" Don't insist too much, they were biting.

"How? That's crazy! That guy… He has a huge security team and they're always watching him everywhere…"

Such a lack of imagination! She had to explain them everything. "Honey, come on! I've heard that one so many times before! Believe me, everybody has vulnerabilities! Especially at this joyful time of the year!" Seemingly appalled, Flying Fox was slowly moving away from her while Don was listening, fascinated. Like he had been charmed. "We only have to find a moment when our good old Webb is at his merriest! And Bruce Wayne owes us one! Good thing we've been discreet so far and not publicised what we found in the pedophiles' compost bin… I have an idea!"

Harley Quinn could feel her feet getting numb and her legs cramping. The Joker's last words kept ringing in her head, "You look beautiful tonight! So beautiful! Like you don't belong to this world." These perfect words, delivered in that shushing low-pitched voice, which made her shiver. What an exciting and dark promise! And then… "Just like an angel fallen from the sky." Ruined.

"I'm no angel, Jack. That's for our job, remember? Come on."

And there she was, sitting in the middle of the Santa Claus village in the biggest toy store of Gotham, which was owned by Wayne Enterprises of course. As agreed with Bruce Wayne, Webb was coming for his private Christmas shopping session around midnight, and hopefully, he would be mesmerized by this idyllic vision for a few seconds. Still another ten minutes to wait. Even in the darkness, she could see her short Christmas fairy skirt gleaming over her green and red stockings. And the elves and snowmen and reindeers smiling in their immaculate surroundings. Creepy. A few more minutes and she would start imagining things like…

All of sudden, the lights came on, revealing the entire store, a winter land extravaganza. How not to blink? Where to look next? You didn't need to be a child to be impressed: Webb and his flock of body guards and entourage were processing the décor, with an exclamation here and there. "Did you see the suspended rocket? It feels like it's flying right at you! And the snow castle? Packed with elves! Too bad they're not alive! I'd buy these! And the train… And the Santa Claus village... And the…

"Christmas fairy! Merry Christmas, Mr. Webb!"

The frozen look on his expertly stretched face was priceless. And she was looking beautiful indeed: he was now laughing, surrounded by a half dozen bodyguards carrying colorful boxes. One of them seemed oddly familiar. Yes, it was Jonny Frost. "I'm here to enhance your shopping experience!"

His laughter erupted again, "What do you know about toys, Harley Quinn?"

"A whole lot, Mr. Webb. I see you haven't grabbed any action hero figures. They're wildly popular right now. Little Jimmy Junior would love them." Unfolding her long legs, she got on her feet and stretched, stepping on a couple of elves in the process, taking a good look around. The store manager had already retreated. Party time.

"I don't believe in superheroes. I think they're useless." He was already getting tired of her, turning away.

But she was not done. Not yet. "Well, we are of the same opinion, Mr. Webb. By the way, why did you pick up a doll for Little Jimmy Junior, your only grand-child so far? That seems odd!" Was she on the right track?

Possibly: she got his full attention back. She wouldn't lose it again. "How do you know this?" Webb was still smiling while his bodyguards were approaching. She didn't have much time left.

"Internet, honey." His shoulders, molded in his expensive suit, relaxed. "I'm pretty serious about shopping, you know." Her words echoed in the huge empty store with an eerie long lasting effect. He must have courted countless women in his lifetime and there he was, staring at her, fascinated, speechless. Her time had come. A few steps forward, and there she was, so close, she could touch him. "I'm also looking for my Christmas gift, you know. Someone stole my Puddin'. And I want him back." Raising her arms, she was not far from pleading, "Please… Make him bad again."

Webb's smile widened then vanished. "Don't know what you're talking about, Harley." With a smirk, he added, "You're as batshit crazy as they said. Sorry for the bad wordplay."

Her patience had run out, "Make him bad again!" She was so near yet so far from reaching her goal. She had to find some leverage but where? Searching frantically through her memory, she then remembered the elderly woman's words about seeing Webb around. Had he come to her son's and daughter in law's basement? Where these poor kids had been locked up and abused? That would explain the doll. The pig. "Or I'll tell them why you're buying the doll!" She had guessed right: his entire body shifted like she just shot him. No need for a real weapon with ammunition like that. "I'll repeat myself one more time: make him bad again."

"Crazy bitch! It'll cost you!" His fear. She could feel it.

"Why did you make him good? And all these people bad?" She now sounded as desperate as she really was inside. She wanted Mister J back and yet… "We were fine!'' Stepping back, she bumped into one of his bodyguards. Slowly they had been encircling her in.

"It's all about the money, Harley! You were hurting other people's business! You were too good at being bad and you were out of control!" How much did she hate that conciliatory tone! Like she was another deal to close. "You were attracting too much attention and it's easy to see why."

Harley Quinn completed his reasoning, "Contrary to us, ordinary people don't hurt your interests. You supply them with the drug and they do whatever you want. And you can control them when you need it. And they feed your news. And they make your case for the mayor's office.''

This time, Harley Quinn hit a nerve: she caught sight of Webb's discreet hand gesture. Jonny Frost was already advancing, pointing a gun at her. "Don't rough her up too much. Just do the necessary. And quick." But quick wasn't enough. In a leap, Harley Quinn was climbing the store shelves, reaching the rocket. At the exact same time, one of the pasty and richly decorated Nutcrackers from the Christmas village came suddenly alive, shooting projectiles that looked like needles from his musket, laughing maniacally.

Incredulous, Webb watched two of his seven bodyguards fall down. "Night night! Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite!" The Joker, in all his awakened splendour.

"Have the drugs really worked, honey? What are you thinking now?" taunted Harley Quinn. Balancing on the rocket, she was barely avoiding the bullets from the closest bodyguard at her right, throwing various toys from the top shelves at them. Using that diversion, The Joker had taken refuge behind a massive stuffed animals bin. Things were getting messy.

"Get him! Get her! But don't attract too much attention!"

Before long, a flock of throwing batarangs from the snow castle answered Webb. Flying Fox and Don-Robin were finally helping them out. It was about time. Leaving the bodyguards to them, Harley Quinn took another swing to land on Webb's back. With a grunt, he fell on the ground. She had him secured between her two legs. Did he appreciate the irony of that situation? Probably not.

Was her Puddin' keeping an eye on her as he used to do? Pulling out a toy gun from his jacket, which appeared real enough, he threw it at her after hesitating for a second or two.

Catching the gun, Harley Quinn repeated her request once more to Webb, "Give me the drug. Now."

"You're the one. The devil." Nevertheless Webb cooperated. While well-trained, his bodyguards were falling one by one. Defeating the ex-Joker, a martial arts competitor, and a perfect opportunist was no small undertaking. And the final outcome was getting more and more apparent and bleak. It was time for a deal. With a smug look, he extended two identical bottles containing dozens of white pills without any labels to her. "Which one is which, Harley? You should know!"

He was still defying her. But not for long. Noticing how his eyes were focusing on the bottle in his left hand, Harley Quinn took it. Unlocking his fingers one by one with her powerful grip, she put it in her skirt this time. "That was easy… So which treatment should I recommend for you?"

Elsewhere in the store, things weren't going as smoothly as before: while Flying Fox and Don-Robin had disarmed their enemies, most of them were still hanging on. Demonstrating their best combat skills, they were taking advantage of that well-known Batman's policy: guns had to be used as a last resort. It was mayhem everywhere: shelves packed with toys were falling apart, sending their contents flying all around. Taking advantage of the chaos, The Joker retreated on a kid bike before grabbing a bucket of goo and climbing on a giant Rudolph, waiting for the right moment. During that time, Don-Robin was engaged in a fight involving several sport articles, which gave Harley Quinn an idea. A few more steps, and she could grab that baseball bat.

"No! We overreacted! Don't!"

The bat was now in her hands. She could feel the varnished wood, so sleek, so comforting.

"Don't!"

She had seen right: the bottle left in his right hand was the one containing the empathy- inducing drug. Webb was clutching to it, trying to take it away it from her. With a swing, she hit his hand with the bat. Hard. Screaming, he let the bottle go. "You smashed my hand!"

And the bottle too. Its precious content had been spread all over the floor like a thick fluffy snow. "Lick it! All of it!"

The Joker's goo trick worked: Flying Fox was handcuffing another defeated adversary. On the other side of the store, Don-Robin needed help: Jonny Frost was resisting, deflecting or avoiding his blows. Batsy chose that exact moment for his arrival. To cover himself with easy glory. Not fair. Time was ticking. Maybe it was already too late.

"All of it! Now!" Not wasting another precious second, Harley Quinn seized Webb's head with her two hands and shoved his face into the powdery drug, feeding him handfuls of it. The drug had disappeared into Webb's throat when The Joker and Flying Fox appeared in front of them. Or had they appeared sooner? Just watching her do her trick? Anyhow, the time had come.

Ignoring Flying Fox's hand and silent plea, Harley Quinn offered the other container to The Joker. "Take it if you want. Before I hand it over to her." A long time ago, he had given her the same choice and she was returning him the favor. Actually, it was more like an experiment in her scientist mind. Not far from them, Jonny Frost finally collapsed among boxes of smashed trucks.

A spark ignited his black beady eyes for a second or two and then… "No, thank you, Dr. Quinzel. It has all been done and gone. There's no way back for us."

Why was he including her in his choice? For a second or two, Harley Quinn contemplated the innocuous looking pills in her shaky hands. The ultimate power of being bad without any regrets or even a conscience. For the first time since Batman's visit at the Midnight Cowboy, she caught herself wondering: what would she do with it? How much more powerful would she become? And then… "Yeah, been there, done that.'' What about trying something new? And she threw the container to Flying Fox.

Left to his own devices, Webb was still moaning on the floor, streaks of blood rolling down his face. "What is he talking about?" wondered Don-Robin while catching his breath, oddly sexy, despite all that sweat and spandex.

With a shaky smile, Harley Quinn reached him, her hand over his shoulder, "He's talking about Selena-Gina, honey. She's in the backyard of that house, you know, the one that Flying Fox and I busted a couple of months ago. Panda creep took care of her. I guess it's all my fault. I'm sorry."

Webb was now covering his face.

Harley Quinn squeezed Don-Robin's shoulder harder. "Let's go for a beer, honey. It's on me."

"Mr. Wayne! I'm here for an interview!"

It was past seven o'clock that Monday night when Bruce Wayne decided to pack his briefcase and leave the office. The source of the empathy-blocking drug had been eliminated, however, there was still some circulating. The night would be busy. "There's no interview, you must be mistaken." Raising his eyes, he realized that these efforts were in vain. He wouldn't leave his office anytime soon. That laughter. Engaging although slightly unhinged… That woman. With her bloodless face and her long platinum hair and elongated limbs, she made him think of a giant white spider. The kind he hated the most. But he had to be kind. "Dr. Quinzel."

"Harley, honey! Please! I have a business proposal for you!"

How could his receptionist and assistant let her come in? The way she was dressed… Still the slutty Christmas fairy outfit but in a slightly more covered version. With her old Property of the Joker jacket, which had become I own it.

"I diverted their attention. Not telling you how! It was easy though, they seem pretty tired. You're burning out your staff, Mr. Wayne."

No wonder. She was a master of illusions and deceptions. Except… "Let's do this quick. I'm pretty aware of your qualifications."

Her laughter was totally unhinged this time, "Fine, I want a position in your Outreach Division. In terms of conditions, I'm not too picky. Just pay me better than at the bar. I'm kind of sick of drunks and runaway scientists and broken hearted martial arts experts and whatever else."

Bruce Wayne almost dropped his coat: what was she talking about? This woman was insane! Or was she? Maybe…

"Seriously. I think you need help. And I would love to help."

If it was the only way of getting rid of her tonight… "Office attire for tomorrow."

Harley Quinn's laughter echoed all around him long after she left him.

"Not a problem, honey."

47