Shorter than usual; it's mostly a filler chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and those who read, it always means a lot. Enjoy.
The Laughing Clown
05
In the middle of Harley's living room, there sits a modestly sized black flat-screen television, which she had only bought the night before on impulse as a way of celebrating the Jonathon Crane case and to make herself feel better. In her apartment back home, Holly had been the one to set up any new technology, mostly because she was afraid that Harley would accidentally kick something over the wires or tug something vital out (sometimes, she didn't know her own strength..). So when faced with the prospect of making sure she could view channels, Harley had dutifully ventured out of her own apartment towards one across the landing from hers, seeking help. A nice man, named Jack Drake, had assisted her. She'd learned in the fifteen minutes he was in her home that he lived with his new wife and their new baby.
At present, Harley sits alone, half dressed and eating burnt toast, the news playing on the television screen while she tries to wave the smoke from her toaster away. Toast hanging from her mouth, she opens a window, deciding to let the wind do the job for her and falls onto her couch, watching the news in tired half-attentiveness.
"Reports stating that the vigilante known as Batman has been seen regularly on streets have been flooding in," one man with perfectly combed hair and flawless skin, informs her. "There has been no comments from Commissioner Gordon from Gotham City Police…"
Harley smiles, stifling a yawn.
"… As you may remember, Batman was responsible for the deaths of three civilians and two law enforcers last summer during the long and disturbing Joker terrorist acts…" Yawning, Harley leans forward, reaching for her coffee. "More memorable, Batman was responsible for the death of District Attorney Harvey Dent…" Harley rolls her eyes, sitting back, holding her mug close.
"In other news, it is feared that Gotham may be the next target for the eco-terrorist under the alias Poison Ivy, after research facilities belonging to Wayne Enterprises were broken into last night."
Harley nearly chokes on her coffee, eyes bulging. "What?"
"So far, plant testing facilities in major cities such as Metropolis, Star City and Central City have been attacked by the mysterious young woman-"
Harley turns the tv off, swallowing hard, shakily placing the remote on the coffee table. "Geez," Harley mumbles, getting to her feet, "I guess some things never change." Glancing at the now dark television, Harley lets out a sad sigh. Red.
Biting her lip, she looks at her phone purposefully, walking into the kitchen and picking it up, dialing a number she's now starting to remember by heart. "Hi, Bruce? Sorry to call you so early, I- Oh no, I'm fine! Actually, I was wondering if you could get in touch with Batman," she swallows, closing her eyes. "No, no, nothing's wrong, I just need to talk to him- Tonight, would be- oh, thanks Bruce." She smiles, "yea, you have a good day too."
Jeremiah Arkham, Harley discovers, is someone who likes to surprise people and throw work at them until they can no longer function outside Arkham. At least, this is what Harley thinks as she hurries towards her surprise morning session with Jonathon Crane, skimming his file as she does. She isn't supposed to have any sessions today; instead she's supposed to be reading up on Crane and prescribing medication for the Joker.
She's at least five minutes late thanks to Arkham's long-winding speech of gratefulness and not to let Crane get under skin. Finally arriving, Harley quickly closes over the file and nods to the orderlies, giving a quick smile as she shuffles past them into what Harley has now dubbed "the little therapy room".
"You're late." A bored voice states as the doors close behind Harley. Jonathon Crane looks up at her, eyes narrowing at her behind glasses as he tucks hair behind his ear. "You're my new doctor?" he asks, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat.
Harley is both taken aback, shocked and angered as she looks at him. She walks towards him, her face neutral and takes a seat. He's younger than she expected, and she notices with surprise, much more handsome than the Scarecrow she's used to. She wonders if this world is filled with dashingly good looking men who have the deeply psychotic personalities. His eyes are bright and fiercely calculating and cold as he looks at her- and he has no restraints, she realizes, flipping open his file. He can't hurt anyone without his fear gas, the file states. Harley looks up at him, offering a cold smile. "Good morning Mr. Crane, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel."
"Doctor Crane." He drawls, glancing away from her. "And I know who you are, Doctor Quinzel. The news of Arkham's new miracle doctor has gone by me more than once." He looks at her, frowning. "What are you staring at?"
Harley can't help the amused smile on her face. "I'd expected you to be taller. And more ugly."
Crane raises an eyebrows. "You're professionalism is lacking. Greatly so."
"You did ask." She states, folding her leg over the other. "Besides, you're the one locked up for crimes against humanity, Doctor Crane, you're opinion on professionalism is void."
Jonathon looks at her furiously for a moment, before visibly relaxing and taking his glasses off. "Touché, Dr. Quinzel." He places his glasses on the table. "I'm sure you have questions."
Harley nods, unfolding her leg. "Actually, I wanted to know about your fear toxin."
Smirking, Jonathon leans back in his seat. "My previous doctors waited at least five weeks before asking," he states, "however, I will answer.
"The toxin operates correctly only when inhaled," he explains, "it cannot work if it is digested or injected. Minor set-back's, but we cannot all have perfect results first time around, can we?
"As you know, once inhaled it causes vivid disturbing hallucinations, caused by the ingredient of the blue flower provided to me by Ra's Al Gaul."
Harley tries not to show her surprise at the name.
"The effects are fascinating. A person's deepest fear can reveal so much, and to watch the way a human reacts when under the pure influence of impulse and fear is simply breath taking."
"You're driven purely by obsession, " she states, voice a little awed, "as opposed to by revenge."
Jonathon frowns, looking at her confused. "Why on Earth would I be driven by revenge?" he asks. "How petty."
Harley looks at him for a moment, then shrugs. "I knew a man like you once. Except he was a lot taller and much more ugly. Loved to scare people, even had a theory that you could scare someone to death."
Jonathon is silent for a moment, then he reaches for his glasses and slides them on. "Perhaps that is the next step in my research, the next time I find myself out of Arkham." He states casually, "definitely, it is something interesting to look into."
Harley gives a knowing smirk and stands. "That's time." She begins to walk towards the door, heels clicking against the stone floor. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jonathon."
He waits until just before she's out of earshot before giving a very small smirk. "Goodbye Harleen."
In the afternoon Harley finally gets time to sit down and breath for a moment before she has to make a million and one decisions over her patients (she still can't quite get over how strange it is to say it) regarding medication.
When she finally gets home that night, she has almost completely forgotten about her phonecall to Bruce that morning, and is only reminded when she walks into her living room to discover her window open wider than she left it and the feeling that someone else is in the room. "Hello?" she squeaks, looking around cautiously.
"Harley." A voice rasps from behind her and her living room slams shut and Harley spins around holding back a scream.
"Geez Louise, Bats, ain't you ever heard of knockin'!" she squeals, hand clutching at her chest. "You tryna scare me half ta death?!"
Batman ignores her outburst as he walks towards her, mouth in a firm thin line. "What is it you wanted?"
Harley looks confused for a second before the news bulletin from that morning flashes into her head. "Oh! I need your help, Bats." She says seriously. "You got any way I can get in touch with- uh, my Earth?"
Narrowing his eyes at her, his mouth forms a frown. "Who." He says very final like, not a question at all, more like a demand.
"Ya know, my roommate, my friends. Let 'em know I'm doin ok."
"You've only been here a week."
"I miss 'em ok?" Harley mumbles, sniffling. "I never really been so far away from everyone I know for so long…"
Batman studies her for moment. "I'll see what I can do. However," he says, standing very still, "I want you're help."
"Oh, with what?"
"The Poison Ivy case."
Harley stares at him, eyes wide and swallows the lump in her throat. "I-I don't know nothin' about her, I-"
"Harley."
Whimpering, Harley hugs herself a little, thinking it over. She could never rat out Ivy, but, well.. It's not her Ivy, is it? With a quick little intake of breath that sounds a bit like a hiccup, she speaks. "Look, Bats. Ivy's a special case for me," she says, voice quiet, "but look up Pamela Isley. You might get somethin' from that." Batman stares her out for a few seconds before he nods his gratitude and leaves her alone. It's not her best friend, she tells herself, but she can't quite shake the guilt in her stomach.
