Chapter Three: Like Old Times

Hands ran over her body, seeking, searching, peeling back her clothes to feel the lining. Harley had so often been insulted by lackluster goons who either didn't know how to do a proper body search or were simply aiming for a quick grope of her goods. This was a professional. Quick, efficient, and smart, even checking her hair for hidden weapons. Carmine had certainly beefed up his security detail since the last time she'd met with him. Paranoia had become his new mistress, and rightfully so. Everyone was truly out to get him.

The underground bar, which had once been the hot spot for the corrupt, was looking a little worse for wear. The stories said that the place was like a 20's speakeasy with girls and booze, everyone having a grand old time. But this night, it was practically empty. The downfall. A couple of off-duty cops sat at the bar. Falcone's men lined various booths. Even a familiar politician with some redhead floozy was gracing the corner. It wasn't dead. But it was close. Ghost town. Cobblepot had stolen Falcone's control of the city and his former payroll was moving on, feeling safer with the new king than the old. Perhaps tonight would be an easier sell than she thought.

Once the frisking was over, she was allowed to approach the man in charge. Carmine Falcone. He had changed quite a bit from the first time she met him. His Arkham reds had been replaced by a tailored white suit. Casual and welcoming. The ingrained frown on his face, however, wasn't as welcoming. From her experience in working with him, it was a permanent attachment to his face. It didn't concern her. No, what worried her was the tired look in his eyes. The exhaustion of the fallen. Even so, he was still miles away from the terrified man who once graced her office whispering the word "Scarecrow" over and over.

Harley waited until he extended a hand for her to sit. Sliding into the chair, she crossed her legs and inclined her head to him. "Hello again, Carmine. You look well."

"And you're not looking so good, Doctor Quinzel," Carmine said, waving a hand towards her throat where the bruises from Mr. J's rough treatment were visible over the top of her turtleneck. "So, what warrants a personal visit from you tonight?"

This was part of the reason she liked Carmine Falcone. He was direct and didn't waste time on silly small talk. Right to business. At times, he reminded her of her father with the lack of bullshit and the stern way he talked to anyone around him. Even had similar voices and vocal inflection. But, unlike her dear daddy, Carmine could take it to the edge. He'd look someone in the eye, tell them they were about to die, and then go back to drinking his scotch as if he didn't just sign someone's death certificate. And while Mr. J had made no bones about his hatred for all the mafia of Gotham, bringing Harley into his same line of thinking, she couldn't help but admire Falcone. She made a private promise to keep him alive if she could.

Harley didn't bother correcting his use of her former title. Carmine knew she was no longer a doctor, but his addressing her as such was a sign of respect and she didn't want to lose what little influence she had over the man. "The mister and I had a nice to-do with the new kingpin of the city. Wanted to get your take on him."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Falcone said with a gruff chuckle. "You and your boyfriend got a lot of cojones, I'll give you. Wish I could have seen the look on the Penguin's face when you blew up the building next door." He raised his glass to her, before downing it. A salute. "Well played, if stupid."

"The Penguin?" she asked.

"That's what the boys call Cobblepot," he answered. "Short, fat, and wears a tux."

"Just add some red all over and you've got the perfect punch line," she grinned, leaning back in her chair to seem at ease. "Or is that a nun? I can never remember that joke."

Carmine gave her a brief look. The one she had grown accustomed to and started to love. The one that questioned her sanity. Normally, she'd play to that strength, give a wild grin, maybe say something completely irrational. Tonight, though, she needed to play it cool and keep his confidence in her. A quick gesture of her hand to wipe away what she just said. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter." And back the original subject at hand. "So, what are your thoughts on Cobblepot?"

His expression changed, as if he was weighing whether or not to speak his mind. To encourage his forthrightness, Harley folded her hands over her crossed knee. It was a gesture she had used a lot in her therapy sessions and it gave her patients the sense that she was an open listener. She wouldn't judge. Every shrink had their tricks and this was one of hers. Only person it didn't work on was Mr. J who saw through her pathetic attempts. But Carmine was susceptible. His mind made the subconscious connection and opened up to her again, like the days of yore.

"It's no secret that he's trying to run me out of my own town," he said. "It's insulting, doc. I know the word is that the other families took over when I was at Arkham, but that's a lie. My guys were out there running the show. They just weren't as good at keeping it solid and god knows Alberto's been a disappointment." Referring to his son and heir. "And now we got this new small time player in town with all these mysterious contacts. No, Cobblepot's been working his way up to this. And then all the heads of the other families die? I don't believe in coincidence."

Harley quirked an eyebrow. "You think he killed them, or rather, had them killed?" She maintained her composure despite the dark laughter in her head, remembering the screams and terrified looks of the dead mob leaders as she slaughtered them one by one.

"I'm not an idiot and I'm sure the new bosses of the other families aren't either." He waved a hand to the bartender to get a refill on his drink. "But they're green. They've watched from the sidelines never expecting to be in charge so quick. They might guess that Cobblepot's the hitter but they don't want the violence again and he's done a good job of shoring up the holes left when I was away. Man's all charisma. Could talk the panties off a Catholic school girl."

"Doesn't work on you, though," Harley commented. Time to work the plan. "How did he do it? How did he convince them to lay down arms and stop the war?"

A pretty waitress stopped by the table and put a drink in front of Falcone. He lifted it, looking at its contents. "You think the mayor or the politicians came up with the Dent act on their own?"

"Hold up," she said, raising a hand as if to pause the conversation and talk it through aloud. "You're saying that Cobblepot had all the major mafia heads killed, except for you, then once the expected violence happened with the finger pointing, that he put a bug in the ear of some politician to get the Dent Act broached? Using that future state as leverage, he was able to convince the families to lay down arms against each other and create a vast empire, one that any arrests under the Dent Act would mean nothing to." She let out a breath of admiration. "Clever."

All the while as she spoke, the wheels inside her head were turning. Mr. J was a planner, regardless of anything he said. He had told her that the assassination of the mafia heads was something to create chaos on the streets but he always seemed to be one step ahead of the curve. He might have seen this end game. What if he had designed this entire thing, somehow knowing about Cobblepot's ambitions and exploited them? He had a network of followers that could pass ideas along to the right ears. But then, if Mr. J wanted Cobblepot in position to take over the mafia, what was the goal? It felt like she was the middle of a long con where she was the mark. Then again, she might be on the wrong track. There were too many possibilities.

Carmine's lips turned up into a small smile before sipping his drink. "You've still got one hell of a mind," he said. "Always figuring things out."

"Contrary to public opinion, I haven't actually lost my mind. It just likes to take a backseat to the crazy every now and again." Nuthouse humor. She figured Carmine would appreciate it.

And he did, with a low chuckle. "Honestly, never thought I'd see you on this side of the law."

"You may have had me vetted, but there's a lot you don't know about me," Harley said. "Besides, hard to keep my hands clean when I'm in love with the country's biggest terrorist."

"He doesn't seem to treat you well." His eyes landed on the bruises on her throat again. "You say the word and he'll be a grease stain. I'll set you up with someone who will treat you like the lady you are."

It took Harley a long time to understand Falcone's fondness for her. There was always a bond between psychiatrist and patient, especially when the doctor had been successful in healing the patient's mind as she had been. But for him, it was something stronger than usual. Not a form of transference. Nor was it about the trust he gave her when he spoke of his personal life and family. No, he had seen something in her. Something familiar and treasured. And when piecing together the bits of his life from their sessions, she was able to make the link.

Sophia Falcone, his lovely but scarred daughter. She had been the victim of her father's work, grabbed by rivals and set on fire in retaliation. Likely raped as well. Brutal, horrific, and all about their own greed. Brutality was fine for its own sake but for money? Harley detested it. Poor Sofia had been through so much and had shut herself down, a shell of a woman she had once been. She went through the motions but didn't have a real life anymore. Carmine was helpless to relate to his own daughter but somehow, he sensed that same sort of spirit in Harley despite the fact that the two women were very different. Harley had chosen her shell. Sofia had no choice. And the former doctor supposed that talking out his feelings with her was akin to being able to communicate with his daughter again. It spoke volumes as to how familiar bonds could affect the world.

There were many ways to address his good intentions but Harley stuck with the easiest. "Thank you, but no. I'm happy where I am." And the lead in. "But are you happy where you are? Right now, you're in a losing battle. Cobblepot's got the men, the influence, and the money to remove you permanently from the game. I know you don't want that, and I certainly don't want it. I like you. And I want to help."

Another sip from his drink. "How?"

The big sell. The plan. She was the barker at the carnival, letting loose Mr. J's words without an inkling as to what the end game was. Likely, this was only one of many scenarios playing out and he had other options if she failed. If he didn't, she'd be sorely disappointed with him. She would speak the words because this was what Mr. J wanted and she had to be the one to do it. Falcone would spit on anything the psychotic clown had to say. But not Dr. Quinzel, his respected confident. She knew more about the mob boss than anyone else. It could eventually get her killed if she didn't play her cards right, but she felt like she had a decent grasp on Falcone's mental state, at least in regards to his thoughts on her.

"How would you like to take Cobblepot's place? Run the empire?" She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "We can make that happen."

"After what he did last time, no one sane would want to work with your boyfriend. He's lucky we've been too busy to go after him."

"You wouldn't be working with him. You don't even need to talk to him. You'd be working with me, Carmine." She took the drink that sat in front of him, taking a small sip to show unity. "It may be his plan but I believe in it and I'll be your contact. The mob is a necessary part of Gotham's infrastructure. We both understand this. And I'd rather have someone with a proven record running things than this unknown."

"The devil you know," Carmine said, extracting the drink from her hand. "Listen, doc, I like you. You've been good to me and I don't mind doing you a favor every now and again, but I'm not going to ruin my reputation by getting into bed with the man that screwed over most of the families in the city. I'm not that desperate."

"Cobblepot will kill you, Carmine," Harley began, trying to play on his survival instincts, but she could see by the look on his face that this was the wrong track to take. She stopped herself and began again. "No, you're right. It would kill your reputation to work with my guy. I know how important that is to you."

"You always get it, doc."

"I do. So, what if we make sure no one finds out about our involvement?" Harley decided this was the best course. Carmine would never agree to an open relationship, but something discreet he might consider. "You don't even need to commit any resources or money towards this. It's all us. Beyond tonight, we don't have to meet if you don't want to. But there is one thing that you are required to do for this to work."

"And what's that?" Carmine was barely entertaining the idea and he was looking for the quickest exit without being disrespectful to her. She was about to give it to him.

"You need to accept Cobblepot's offer to join his organization." Harley kept her face calm and professional.

Carmine's face turned slightly red. "Forget it. I am not bowing down to that-" he said some word she didn't know, maybe in Italian. But the gist was clear. "This isn't going to happen. Thanks for the visit." He began to stand.

"Just hear me out," Harley raised a hand in request for him to stop. She could already see his bodyguard moving her direction from the corner of her eye and looked up at Falcone with desperation in her eyes. "Please Carmine."

With a sigh, he sat back down. "Always was a sucker for blue eyes."

"Thank you," she said with sincerity. "Let me finish the proposal before you completely shoot it down." With his nod, she continued. "It's all about play-acting. From Cobblepot's standpoint, you're still strong and he's not wrong. You have a lot of sway that he doesn't yet have control over and probably never will. If he kills you, then he loses all that potential influence over the city because your people will scatter as if they were never on the take at all. So he wants you on his side."

"Not telling me anything I don't know," he said.

"Then let me make the point clear. Cobblepot's done a great job in organizing. You get in cozy, get yourself into the prime number two position, and then we pop him like a balloon. Then it's a dawn of a new era in Gotham with Carmine Falcone not only running his own family but all the families." Harley leaned back. "And I want to stress this point. If you do this, we are handing you victory on a platter. We will make sure you have the strength and backing to take over, and we will take care of his assassination. Most importantly, no one will ever know we were involved."

Honestly, Harley had no idea if anything she was saying was even true. She wasn't privy to Mr. J's plot and like the puppet she had once feared becoming, she spoke the lines fed to her. Harley's talent was in making her words believable. It had worked on countless others before, including Bruce Wayne. Carmine was no different. He seemed thoughtful. Her speech was having an impact.

"Dr. Quinzel, I trust you to your word, but I don't trust your boyfriend. And I sure as hell don't want to kneel down before Cobblepot."

She smiled. "If you did, I'm pretty sure he'd know something was up. Like everyone else, he knows you don't like him and if you had a complete one-eighty, it'd look bad. This is about being yourself. Considering proposals. You're a business man. And while I understand that you value your pride, sometimes it's best to swallow it for the greater good. You'll come out on top, I promise you." Another lean forward from her as she continued. "As for my guy, I get it. He did some fucked up things to the other families. But never to yours. Never touched your people once. He sees where the best bet lies and that's you, Carmine. Why do you think he wanted me to come here?"

"Alright, here's the deal," Carmine said, leaning forward to match her stance. "I've been shot at a lot more frequently than usual and at locations that my enemies shouldn't know about."

"So, you have a leak."

"Find the leak, discreetly, bring them to me, and we'll talk again." He stood up.

Harley followed suit, rising along with the mobster. A challenge given to prove their skills. There were good odds that Mr. J already had the knowledge of who was the traitor in Falcone's organization. Probably been sending information their way as well to throw in some entertainment. The good news was that it wasn't a firm no to their plan. Carmine was considering it, otherwise he wouldn't have given her this scrap. And anyone who was weighing something this heavy could be convinced to say yes. The meeting was a success in her book.

No shaking of hands, no hug. This was business at its core. As she turned, she glanced around the bar one last time. The politician she'd recognized was wheezing in his booth, hands under his ribcage as if trying to push the air into his lungs. She'd seen a serious asthma attack a few times but his reaction was too intense. Heart problems, the most likely culprit. Face turning shades of purple, sweat pouring from his body. Not a pretty sight. Probably scared off his pretty arm candy.

Her head tilted sideways to regard Carmine. "Doubt it's the heart attack victim over there." She chucked a thumb toward the politician. "I'll be in touch when I have something."

The troops were gathering to help the dying man as she swept through the room towards the door. Maybe he'd live, maybe he'd die. His fate was inconsequential. As much as she wanted to hang around and start questioning some of Carmine's people, it was best to report back to Mr. J first. He would have a next step in mind and she didn't feel like dealing with his psychotic fury if she began her own investigation. Certainly, she could take his wrath but tonight, she wasn't in the mood to invoke it.

Outside the doors, the stench of true poverty was evident. Wafts of dead fish from the river, urine soaked porches, and body odor. The bar area was clean; too many rich clients to placate, but the dreary street held too much pain and misery, soaked into the very foundations of the pavement. Many dangerous lowlifes came crawling to this stretch of underpass, a place to sleep that was dry. Though Falcone's bar was technically in the heart of downtown, it was located underneath, tucked off a side road that eventually climbed up to the bright lights of the prime city. Good pickings for the scum of Gotham if anyone who didn't belong dared to travel down too far. It felt like home to Harley. Lunatics, homeless, and criminals. This was the sort of haunt she'd dig into back in her past, when she had first become the perpetual chaotic id. She could hurt, fuck, kill anyone and there would be no consequences. The only difference at Falcone's property was that people had to answer to him for all violence nearby. But his control was waning and the attempts were growing bolder, even on Falcone's own people.

This much became clear after she rounded the corner into an alley, her car parked on the next street over in this hazardous underground. Two men, one a scraggly blonde, the other, a thicker brunette, stood from their crouched positions as she strolled near them, noting a defenseless woman had come their way, goof for quick cash or some fresh pussy. Easy target, they would assume. Harley rolled her eyes at the obvious cliché scenario playing out. Were they about to taunt her in a standard movie-villain style? As she opened her arms to show she was unarmed, she realized, with surprise, that she wasn't really in the mood for violence. But with her emotions, that would likely change in a moment.

"Listen boys," she addressed them, allowing them to surround her, knives appearing in their hands. "It's been a long day and I don't feel like fighting."

"Better for us, then." The scruffy blonde had placed himself in front of her, sneering, the sexual implications clear. The brunette man, planted behind her, lifted a strand of her hair as if to inspect it. A typical intimidation move that worked on the weak minded. Instead, it just pissed her off.

Her face grew hard, cold. Her eyes blazed into the shadow of the blonde man's conveying the wild beast that lurked behind her façade. She could feel the other one at her backside, grasping her arms to restrain her. "I'm unarmed and outnumbered but use your fucking lump of a head and look closer at this situation. I'm not crying, not screaming, not running. You should really ask yourself why."

The grip on her arms tightened in warning for her attitude and the blonde stepped closer to her, placing the tip on his knife against her cheek with a barked laugh, his breath stinking of sour milk and shit. "Oh and why's that, chickie?"

"Because I'm Harley Quinn," she said, her wicked energy bursting inside as she jerked her head back an inch before smashing her forehead into his face. A head-butt, not the best use in fighting as it could daze the attacker but the sound was a symphony of satisfaction, the crack of her skull as it collided into his nose. The knife pressed against her left cheek sliced into her, ecstatic agony piercing her core to join the rush of adrenalin from her initial movements.

Her arms fell slack, no longer held by the brunette. The sound of retreating footsteps followed by a shouted "Sorry!" That man was smart enough not to tangle with the Joker's girlfriend. And stupid enough to leave his friend in her sights. Then again, down here, friendship didn't exist. For a moment, she considered her next action, but she really didn't feel like pursuing him when there was such easy game in front of her, clutching a broken nose. The blonde's knife had dropped from his hand and now, he was nothing more than helpless prey to one such as her. The fire inside consumed, wanting blood, death, punishment. She was the apex predator here. Sliding her hands into her pocket, she pulled out her car keys. Improvised weapons were another of her specialties. Anything could create a beautiful mess. Before her, she noted the blonde had some fight left in him, his eyes blazing as crimson poured from his broken nose. He wanted a piece of the action, if only for payback. Men were so predictable. She was more than willing to entertain him.

"I was going to let you walk away but you awoke the sleeping dragon," she said, feeling the first streaks of blood trickle down her cheek. "I think I'm going to make your death last a little longer than usual." She reared back and then extended her leg forward to kick the man in the stomach, same way she would kick down a door.

The blow never landed. Her foot and ankle were caught by strong hands, preventing her from damaging the alley rat further. But her victim wasn't the one responsible. New hands, new body. The interloper said one word to the blonde, "Run."

Common sense hit the blonde. That or he figured his rescuer would be kicking her ass in his stead. Either way, he took off at a staggered run, exiting the alley quickly. The rage inside Harley intensified as she watched her fun for the evening escape. She was going to make this trespasser pay. Her eyes turned up to the intruder, moving her keys in position to go for the throat, but she stopped mid-motion as she recognized the face of someone she would never forget.

"Hello, Harley," Thomas Elliot said, his hands gently squeezing her ankle in greeting before releasing her leg. "Trouble always seems to find you."

A myriad of emotions ran through her, from joy to anger to sorrow to hatred. Her relationship with the Gotham Memorial surgeon was complicated, to say the least. Thomas was one of the few men who knew her history, her story, and he accepted her for who she was. Years ago, they had attended the same medical school, and between the classes and the internship, they formed a bond. But he never knew the real Harleen Quinzel, and apparently she never knew the real Thomas Elliot either. She was repressed back in those days, locked up inside a tightly wound frame of control, too terrified to let the monster loose. As time passed, they moved on, their lives separate, until she was invited to the Wayne Manor housewarming. Fancy event with all the wealthy sycophants to celebrate the rebuilding of the Gotham landmark. Thomas, being from one of the wealthiest families in the city, was in attendance and they found a chance to catch up.

It wasn't until after she joined Mr. J that all illusion of pretense was shattered. One night, after an extremely entertaining and dangerous job, she woke up to find herself inside Thomas' home with a bullet in her gut. Mr. J had brought her to the one man that wouldn't betray her to the police and who would also care for her while she recovered. The short stay rekindled their friendship and revealed the depths that had lurked beneath their walls. She learned that he was a killer, like her, murdering his own parents. He learned of her darkness. And each recognized a piece of themselves in the other.

During her time with Thomas, he helped her through the struggle of finding herself. To decide on whether she could truly be with Mr. J. Thomas held her when she cried, witnessed the horrors she was capable of, and made her feel all the aspects of her humanity. Harley had a hard time forgiving him for that last part. He made her weak, frail, and question her love for Mr. J. But he also made her strong, independent, and inadvertently taught her how the world truly worked when she discovered his deception. It was such a shame to discover that everything, from the bullet to his understanding nature, was nothing but a sham. A ploy to get back at Mr. J for some perceived slight. She loved Thomas dearly. And while their friendship may have been true and real, she could never fully trust him again.

Slipping the car keys into her pocket, Harley took a moment to gather her thoughts, breathing deep, as she stared at him. Though there was little light, she could see the blue in his eyes and the twinkle that said he was glad to see her. It had been a few months since they last parted, fairly amicable considering she didn't kill him for his betrayal. But all the emotions that he caused in her came bubbling back to the surface as if his deception occurred only yesterday. There was no leash around her neck from Mr. J, no voice telling her how to proceed. Instinct took over and her rage became her focus.

She snarled at him, a scream erupting from her throat, a feral sound. Her fist snapped back, striking out with furious force. But Thomas was too quick, and having caught sight of her enraged visage, he caught her hand before it could land. Harley was never much of a physical fighter. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in sheer enthusiasm and daredevilry. In a real fight, though, the person with experience would always win. And that was definitely Thomas, skilled and prepared, who twisted her hand with ease, and sidestepped behind her, bending her elbow against her back. The basic lock wrestling move set her nerves on fire as streaks of pain crept into her shoulder and elbow.

Thomas' other arm reached around her upper body, a move that prevented her left arm from doing much damage. It kept her contained. When he spoke, an undeclared amusement was in his words. "Good to see you, too."

"Let me go!" She struggled against his hold, her movements increasing the pressure against her limb, intensifying the pain.

"Not until you calm down," he said, calm, logical. All the things she remembered of him. "I don't want to dislocate your shoulder, but I will if you keep at this."

Harley ceased her efforts as the sensation of pain turning into pleasure threatened to buckle her knees. In an instant, her emotions flashed to another carnal side of herself. She leaned back against him, her voice low and sensual. "You always do know the best ways to hurt me, don't you Thomas?"

She heard him suck in a breath as her hips began to sway back and forth, friction, desire, lust. Once upon a time, it seemed they were destined to be lovers. But he couldn't handle the darkness she craved. He may have been emotionally hard on the inside, but he was far too gentle for her tastes, too careful. Couldn't handle the rough, uncontrollable passion that she offered. Thomas had many strengths but in the end, he was too weak to cope with her. And also, that betrayal thing. Really put a damper on her hopes of a future with him. But it didn't mean she couldn't toy with him a bit.

"Knock it off," he said, obviously affected by her motions.

Turning her head to the side to view him, she felt the blood on her cheek continue to dribble down, creating wet stains on her shoulder. "Oh come on. Don't tell me that you haven't fantasized about this a thousand times in the dark of your bedroom. Thought about those nights that it almost happened. Did you speak my name to the shadows as you came?"

With a disgusted grunt, more out of pretense than reality, he abruptly released her from his hold. Harley laughed as she felt him push her away. "You're far too easy, Thomas." Rubbing her arm to regain sensation, she turned to face him.

"No, that I suspect would be you," he commented, maintaining his false indignation at her usual devices. "Always pushing it too far."

With a grin, she ran a hand through her hair. "The envelope is for pussies. I like to shred it." Her fingers trailed down her head to run across her injured cheek. "Hope this doesn't scar." Her face was the only place left untouched on her body and she wanted to keep it that way. It was all about image.

"Come here," he said with a sigh and a gesture.

Harley closed the distance between them, looking up at him. Thomas had tended so many of her injuries in the past year. This was safe, comfortable. Not filled with the tension of moments ago. As his fingers reached up to examine the knife wound, she tried not to smile. Like old times. As if nothing had changed between them. She missed this. And she could admit to herself that she missed him. Besides Mr. J, he was the only one who understood her. In some ways, Thomas knew her better than Mr. J ever would. Her clown understood her darkness. But Thomas understood her light. Two sides diametrically opposed. The good, the bad, the ugly. And both men needed her fiercely. Difference was that all the lies Mr. J told were to make her see the truth she kept from herself. Thomas' lies were for his own benefit. Even so, there was the same honesty in his touch now, that she had felt when they said goodbye.

"Not deep enough to need stitches, so it shouldn't scar. Just going to bleed a lot, which I doubt you mind." He took a step back to give her space, though mostly because he perceived his probing touch was beginning to ignite her passion once more. "What are you doing here in such a dangerous area?"

"Underwater basket weaving," she replied, ignoring the sweet bliss from her face while looking him up and down. "And apparently, you're practicing your ninja skills. Though the red hair is wicked conspicuous."

Thomas, clothed in all black, smiled. The expression lightened his face considerably, a reminder than he was quite the eye-candy. "I find it throws my enemies off. After all, who expects a ginger to bust out fancy fighting moves?"

"Oh, kind of like bullfighting?" She laughed. "The red in your hair distracts them so you can get a sucker punch in?"

Thomas joined in on her laughter. It melted her heart a little to hear the sound. Rich, warm, genuine. His eyes spoke volumes that he missed these moments between them, as well. After a couple seconds, their laughter died out. The loud silence of Gotham pervaded the air, the buzz of the electric lines, the roar of the elevated trains, the screaming cars driving nearby. In the midst of it, Thomas and Harley stood, staring at one another, awkward and tense, seeing the past that could never die.

He broke the quiet first. "I saw you coming out of Falcone's."

"Yeah," she said. "Haven't seen the old bastard for awhile. Thought I should drop by and say hello. You know, for old time's sake." She crossed her arms over her chest. He wouldn't have begun this line of inquiry without a good reason and she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And so soon after meeting with Cobblepot?" he asked.

There it was. Thomas wasn't deep enough to have that information so quickly unless he had a contact on the inside, or was there himself. And suddenly, a memory clicked from the previous evening. Inside the private room of the Iceberg Lounge, when she was walking around the table of mob scum, something caught her eye. A brief flash from the shadowy corner of ivory bandages and something brown, but when she blinked it was gone. She'd dismissed it as an overactive imagination. But it seemed, Thomas had been there after all, in his alter ego of Hush. His head would have been wrapped in bandages to prevent recognition and he typically wore a brown duster over a black body suit. The outfit would have blended well with the right covering. Problem was that Harley knew the costume too well and spotted him in his hiding place. He had no doubt ducked out of the way to avoid her identifying him. The fact that he was mentioning it now either meant that he wanted something from her and no longer cared if she knew of his involvement.

"So what did Cobblepot do to you?" she asked, shaking her head. Thomas had always been petty. A schemer as Mr. J would say. "Kick your puppy or something like that?"

Thomas' eyes narrowed at her. "Stay out of it, Harley."

"Calling me Harley, now? How refreshing."

"You said you preferred it," he said. "And I'm dead serious. Stay out of this."

Confused by the turn in conversation and trying to hide it, she took two steps back to lean back against the wall of the alley. "Not my deal. It's Mr. J's thing. I'm just along for the ride."

"You're going to get killed." His words were earnest and Harley thought she detected a soft sadness in his voice. "I don't want that."

The whole matter left Harley stumped. What the hell was going on? She wasn't like Mr. J. Couldn't instantly see the pattern. So, she played into it, hoping to get more information. "I've dealt with Falcone time and time again. Nothing out of the ordinary." She pushed off the wall to approach him, looking up into his eyes. "He likes me."

"Not Falcone you should be worried about," Thomas sighed. "God, Harley, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself mixed up in. This is so much bigger than you realize."

"Mr. J knows the score. He'll keep me safe." Her words sounded naïve even to herself but she carried on. "He has to do this and I'm going to help him. You should be more worried than me. You know what'll happen if you go against Mr. J again."

"You said you'd kill me."

"And I meant it. You get in our way and I will end you." Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek. "I don't want that, either."

Thomas took her hand into his own, pulling it down between them. "Then convince him to let it drop."

"Why should I?" she asked. Still so little information given and it was damn frustrating.

"I can't give you the exact reason but please do this. Because I asked you. Because it's important to me. Because you give a shit what happens to me and I don't want to fight with you anymore." Thomas squeezed her hand. "Please, Harley."

"Have you been threatened?" Her eyes gazed up into his, seeking out the truth and only finding one of his many mental walls.

He dropped her hand and took a step back. "It's my deal. I've been working on this for months." He wasn't going to answer. But his serious expression spoke volumes. Too much going on and she couldn't see the paths or why he was so adamant. It was beginning to worry her.

"I somehow doubt calling dibs will stop Mr. J if his mind is set," she said.

"I have faith in you," Thomas replied, unexpectedly turning to walk away. "You'll find a way. It was good to see you."

"You do realize this is emotional blackmail, you ass!" she called after him. The only response she got was his chuckling, before he disappeared around the corner.

Harley didn't know what to make of what just happened. Clearly, Thomas had something going on with Cobblepot. Was he working for him? Was he trying to kill him? Again, she asked herself what the hell was going on. He had said it was bigger. How could it get bigger than the entire mafia structure of Gotham? Resentful of Thomas' lack of answers, she vowed to figure out what was happening. She was no strategist but she had her ways. Sure, Mr. J would have figured this whole thing out in seconds, genius that he was. But Harley was determined and once she set her mind on something, she wouldn't stop until she got it.

Regardless of the mystery surrounding his request, Thomas was right. She did care what happened to him, despite their history. She didn't want to face off against him if she could avoid it. At the same time, she had the feeling that Mr. J wasn't going to drop his newest plan to bring down Gotham, no matter what she said. The only away to avoid the inevitable showdown was to discover the origins of this new game. Knowing Thomas, it would be circles inside circles, hard to unravel. The whole matter was bound to be a huge headache and not the pleasant kind.

As she mentally put aside her thoughts to examine at a later time, a glint of metal caught her eye from the pavement. She bent over to pick it up, smiling like a child. "Hey, free knife." The attacker from before had dropped it and now, it was all hers. "Must be my lucky night."

Putting the knife into her pocket, she stood up, glancing back to where Thomas disappeared. In a better mood, she continued her path to the car. But she couldn't help the foreboding feeling twisting in her stomach. Things were about to get messy. Just like old times.

A/N: A longer chapter to make up for the delay. My life has been very hectic so my apologies. Hope you all enjoy! Questions, comments, feedback? Please review!