Contrary to popular belief, Harley Quinn had not dropped off the face of the planet.

Although, for all intents and purposes, she may as well have.

After the Joker tossed her off the Ellinstad's roof, she awoke to find herself in a strange motel room on the outskirts of Gotham, without any memory of how she'd survived the fall or how she got to the motel.

Furthermore, there was a chunk of about three months of her life just missing.

She remembered clearly waking there and being more than a little bit confused when she saw the calendar on the wall proclaiming that it was the middle of May, rather than the end of April, and her disorientation just got worse and worse as she tried to piece together what had happened.

Puddin' had thrown her off a roof.

Puddin' had tried to kill her. And not in that nice "Let me give you a nice new purple necklace, Harley." way that she was used to.

Using what little reasoning ability she still had left, Harley put together as much as she could.

Clearly, she'd wound up in a hospital somewhere, because there were still bandages on various parts of her body--of the paper tape and gauze variety--and given the fact she was in a motel, that meant she must have escaped where ever it was that she had been held.

Given the fact she'd survived a fall off a twelve story building, Harley figured that the reason for her amnesia must've been the horrible injuries she had to recover from.

Maybe she'd been in the hospital, unconscious for all that time? Maybe she just woke up

Yes...yes, that struck a chord inside her. That caused something to flash in her mind. If only she could grab hold of that trace of a memory and force it to the surface...

She shut her eyes and tried to recall.

Hospital. Yes, she had been in a hospital. Not Arkham...not any of the other places she'd ever been before...but it was a hospital.

There was a nurse...she couldn't remember all the details, but...a nurse...a black haired nurse...

A nurse who had leaned over her and happily proclaimed that she was awake.

She'd been in a coma?

She'd struck at the woman in the white uniform with her left hand. That she remembered clearly now. The IV in her arm had made a sharp 'thwum' noise as it tore through the air and connected with the nurse's face. She got out of her bed...she knocked the nurse unconscious with her IV stand...

She traded clothes with the nurse...

And then she ran.

But how did she get here? The rest made some kind of sense, but how did she get to the motel?

She didn't like the way things were still so disjointed in her head, but now that she was conscious, it didn't much matter, did it? She had to go find the Joker...he must've been lost without her...

She certainly felt lost without him.

Harley got up from her place on the motel room bed and glanced around, trying to spot anything that could be of use. She couldn't very well head out to find the Joker without some kind of plan in place, or weapons, or--

Harley stopped shuffling around the room when her eyes landed on a strip of dark metal, leaning against one of the walls.

A tire iron?

A bloody tire iron?

Why was there a bloody tire iron next to the bedside table? God, what had she done? And to whom?

Gingerly, Harley took a few steps towards the piece of metal and she picked it up.

The blood was dried.

Well, whatever she'd done, she did it quite a while ago, so it was hardly worth worrying over...and this did make a nifty little weapon. Best keep it, just in case she'd need it.

Next on the list...

Clothes. She needed clothes.

Harley found that the motel closet was stuffed full of them...

She dropped the tire iron as a memory rose unbidden to the forefront of her mind.

Dear God.

She'd killed the resident of this room, hadn't she? Why else would the closet be full of unfamiliar clothes without a trace of her costume to be found?

That explained the tire iron...

Harley eyed it warily, not really wanting to pick it up again. The evidence might have all been there, but she couldn't believe she'd just...murder someone for their room...

She had to get out of here.

She shook her head, trying to force all the muddle to come together into some kind of order that made sense.

But it was all so confusing! She couldn't think straight!

Puddin'. She needed Puddin'. He'd know what to do. He'd help her.

She turned bleary eyes on the closet again and tried to force away the thought that these were the clothes of a dead woman.

Ball gowns, cocktail dresses...had she bumped off a socialite?

Coat. There was a long mink coat. Perfect. That would conceal the tire iron well enough.

Harley slunk it off the hanger and slipped inside it to find that it fit rather well before she leaned over and picked up the tire iron, sliding it up inside one of the sleeves while keeping the bottom most part of it still in hand.

Without so much as a backwards glance, she left, intent on returning to the playing card factory where she and the Joker had been holed up before the fight at the Ellinstad.

But when she reached it, the place was abandoned, and looked like it had been for quite a while. There was no indication that it had ever been the lair of the Joker (or any other criminal, for that matter) and disheartened, Harley wandered the street until she found a bus stop bench where she could sit and think.

But she never got the chance to get to that bench...

She passed by an electronics store with televisions set up in the window and made the mistake of glancing at the source of the bluish light that was filtering out onto the sidewalk.

Harley froze in place and her eyes went wide.

Puddin' was on the boob tube.

And Puddin' had a new girl on his arm, looking oh-so-very content.

A new girl that the newscaster called "Columbine".

The electronics store's alarms started wailing as Harley's tire iron smashed through the plate glass window, slamming into the image of this Columbine woman and making the television screen go blank.

There was no way that she'd been replaced...

No way in hell.

The whole universe was painted red with the sheer force of Harley's rage as she tore down the street, away from the electronics store and towards the nearest phone booth.

Puddin' had replaced her!

Oh, no, no. He'd tried that once; it was bad enough when he got someone to dress in her costume--but to have a whole new henchgirl, one whose costume was modeled on his own purple ensemble, as though she were some kind of extension of him…

Oh! That was taking things too far!

Harley tugged the phone booth door open so hard she nearly yanked her own shoulder out of its socket.

She didn't care. She just lunged at the phonebook and started flicking pages wildly, looking for anything that looked like it might be somewhere that Puddin' would use as a hideout. Since the phone book was almost three years old, Harley knew she'd be likely to find a couple of out-of-business themed joints where the Joker would have holed up in if given the opportunity.

Abraham Ace's Playing Cards. No. Brick's Comedy Club. No.

As she continued her search, she railed on against him in her head. Oh brother was he going to be in the doghouse when she got to him! And that Columbine bitch! The nerve!

Some tiny part of Harley knew she was getting so furiously angry to avoid breaking down in tears due to the ultimate betrayal on the behalf of the man she loved so dearly (or thought she loved so dearly, at any rate) but that tiny part of her was drowned out by the majority of her that was so absolutely livid that she wanted to tear him limb from limb for this.

She turned pages faster, so much so that the tiny words were starting to blur together, and her eyes only registered the more colorful, more noticeable pictures and advertisements.

No. No. No. All of these were all wrong! Either they'd already been used as hideouts or she knew they were still up and running in heavily populated (and therefore patrolled) areas.

Mephisto's Magical Marvels and Museum of Mysteries.

She paused. Harley wouldn't be able to tell you why, but some little voice in her head whispered confidently that this was it and she agreed with its statement. The advertisement--a black domino mask stretched under the lettering--seemed to leap off the page and sear its image into her eyeballs.

That was it. That was the place.

That was where she'd find Puddin' and the impostor henchgirl who'd taken over her post so neatly while she'd been away. She was sure of it.

She ripped the page out of the phonebook and let the rest of the volume hit the floor carelessly as she turned and left the booth, off to seek her quarry and make her pay for what she'd done.

Nobody, but nobody slighted Harley Quinn and got away with it.

---

It took much less time than she thought it would for Harley to reach her destination, though she seemed to be so angry at certain points that she just blocked out her surroundings, moving forward on automatic, and managed to miss seeing certain landmarks as a result.

The missing snatches of time didn't bother her. All that mattered was getting to where she was going and making things right again.

Mephisto's Magical Marvels and Museum of Mysteries was housed inside a brick building in one of the more run-down parts of downtown Gotham, the front doors and windows all boarded up, and Harley quickly made her way around back where she saw something that indicated beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was somebody's new hiding spot.

There were two sentries posted on either side of the alleyway entrance; one large, six foot six at least and wearing battered clothes, and the other, a much smaller man in a smartly tailored suit, complete with spats and pocket watch peeping out of his vest, beneath which was a snowy white shirt which Harley was sure no one in his profession had any right to wear. It was too pure for common hired muscle to wear such a thing.

They reminded her of a mouse and a rat in their difference of appearance and size. Mice were sleek and smaller, rats were larger and scruffier.

But either way, they were still rodents.

Harley approached them confidently, knowing that half the battle was already won. She'd found the Joker's new lair, now all she had to do was get inside it so that she could talk to him.

However, she found her route obstructed by one beefy arm being held up across the doorway.

"You can't come in," the owner of the arm said, staring down at the woman who was less than half his size.

She glared up at him. "Let me through."

"Can't."

"Can't? Oh, I think you can," she said impatiently. "Let me through!"

"We been ordered not to let anybody in," the one that resembled a brick wall said in a slow, deep voice. "Includin' you."

"Yeah, we like, gotta do what the boss's new girl says," the mousy one said. "And Columbine said that if you was to show up here, we ain't gotta let you in."

"She is not his new girl!" Harley screeched indignantly.

"The Boss tells it different," the mousy one replied. "And ain't nobody gonna argue with the Boss. Nobody what wants to keep breathin'."

"You will let me in!"

"No."

"Look, if we was to let you in, it'd be more than our jobs, see? You oughtta know that, you're a bright broad. He'd have us laid up somewheres with nice big smiles forced on our faces," the mousy one put his forefingers at the corners of his mouth and pulled upwards in a hideous representation of what the Joker toxin would do to his features.

Something inside Harley snapped the same way it had when she buried that tire iron in the image of Columbine and she snarled. "You'll let me in or the Joker will be the least of your problems!"

The two henchmen glanced at each other. The big one seemed to be looking for confirmation and the little one obliged with a wary jerk of his head.

How the big one moved fast enough to catch Harley across the face with his palm without her seeing it, she didn't know; but she staggered back, stars dancing at the edges of her vision.

She recoiled, stunned for a few seconds before she started laughing and launched herself at the behemoth, dealing blows left and right until he lay unconscious at her feet.

She turned her attention on the mousy one as he drew a switchblade.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I gotta!"

His half hearted warning did little to dissuade Harley as she walked towards him, stepping over his fallen comrade in the process.

"You know why your mother always told you not to hit girls?" She asked savagely before she attacked him, yanking the knife out of the startled man's hands and driving it deep into his chest, causing a red stain to spread across that pristine expanse of shirt he was wearing.

She'd punctured his heart.

He hit the ground on his back, glassy eyes staring upwards but seeing nothing and she looked down at his still form with distaste as she spoke.

"We hit back."

With both henchmen either dead or dying at her feet, Harley pushed the door to the Joker's new lair open forcefully.

Inside, it was dark as dark could be, and Harley had to allow herself a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. It took several moments, but squinting, she made out the form of someone sitting behind a desk, feet propped up on the table top, legs daintily crossed at the ankles.

Clearly, this was a female someone…and the only female Harley knew of that kept company with the Joker, other than herself, was Columbine.

"You!" The blonde screeched, swinging a finger to point at the interloper.

"Good evening, Miss Quinn," the shadow replied, reaching out one hand to yank on the chain of the lamp on the desk, casting a yellowish glow over the room.

"Where's the Joker?"

Columbine shrugged lightly before she returned her hand to its former place in her lap. "No idea."

"You're lying! I want my puddin' and I want him now!"

"Don't tell me you're still hung up on him." Columbine's dark eyes rolled as she let her legs drop from their place on the desk. "Don't you see? You mean nothing to him. The fact he replaced you so easily is proof positive of that."

"That isn't true!"

"Please, Harley, you know it is. All he needs is loyal muscle during the day and a warm body at night. It's all any man wants out of life." Columbine got up and sauntered out from behind the desk as she spoke. "You're a smart woman under all that pancake make-up, you worked at Arkham before you became a patient there, you know the all the ropes of the mind--"

"Listen Lady--"

"It's Columbine," the dark haired woman snapped, "Like the nursery rhyme."

"I don't care what your name is, Clownie!" Harley seethed. "You can't take my place!"

"Yes, I can...and I did. You weren't around to fulfill your duties, so I just picked up the slack that you left behind. At your beloved 'puddin's' request, no less." Columbine took two measured steps toward Harley until they stood face to face. "I want nothing more than to use and to be used. It's a mutually satisfying and beneficial relationship. I don't need him the way you do...I'm only here because I want him."

"You don't love him!"

"Love doesn't even enter the picture. It never has. He never loved you and he certainly doesn't love me." Columbine smiled bitterly. "That's one of the more crucial differences between you and I: I accept the fact that a monster like him can't love...but you...you stupid little lovesick fool, you delude yourself into believing in the impossible. Don't you understand? He tired of you...tired of your antics and your constant begging for affection."

"But--"

"Make no mistake, he'll get tired of me too. That's just his way...but somehow I think I have a longer shelf life than you ever did."

"I won't let him go!"

"But you already have. Accept it, you weren't built to live this kind of life. You just weren't. I was. I was born for it, created for the sole purpose of being what I am. You're just not cut out for this, no matter how much you wish it wasn't so. I've waited a long, long time, Harley...waited an immeasurable amount of time for you to get out of the way so that I could take my rightful place at the Joker's side...and now that you have, I'm not going to let you back into the fold."

"You can't do this, I won't let you do this!"

Harley struck, flying at Columbine with fists clenched. She landed one good solid blow to the other woman's stomach, but Columbine matched her strike with deadly accuracy, hitting Harley in the exact same place she'd just been injured.

"Stop it, Harley...just stop it. You're only hurting yourself. Give up while you're still ahead." Columbine sounded almost bored when she spoke next, pulling Harley's arm up and twisting it so hard something in her wrist snapped. Harley fought the tears and swallowed the cry that tried to rise in her throat, but something gave her away, causing Columbine to hiss dangerously in her ear. "This is what I'm talking about, Harley. You can't kill me, you don't have it in you. You're a disappointment. Face it. Come to terms with it. Embrace it. The sooner you do, the sooner life will get easier for both of us."

The tears finally ripped free from Harley's eyes, slipping down her cheeks and wetting the fabric and greasepaint to be found there. "Let me go, you bitch!"

"Temper, temper."

Harley didn't seem to hear her and she tore her arm away from Columbine so forcefully she dislocated something. "He's my puddin'!" She insisted forcefully, ignoring the tiny sobbing noises she was making between words. "He's my puddin' and he loves me!"

Columbine tsked, shaking her head in disappointment. "You're so naive Harley, and you're so easy to hurt. This is why he needs someone like me. I'm not emotional, and I'm not easily injured. I'm everything that you're not."

"Why do you want him back, anyways?" The dark haired woman struck again, leaving Harley on her knees with her arms clutched over her tender abdomen. "Aren't you tired of being treated like an appendage and not a person?"

"He loves me!" Harley cried, launching herself at Columbine and knocking her down.

"That's not true and you know it," Columbine spat, fist flying up to meet Harley's jaw where it connected with the bone and made a sickening crunch. "He doesn't love anyone but himself."

Harley belted Columbine again and the woman had the audacity to laugh even as her lip split under her rival's attentions.

"You idiot. Idiot." Columbine punched her back, sending Harley reeling as she hit the ground, jostling her spinal column in the process. Harley's nemesis dragged herself off the floor, spitting blood from her mouth as she did so. "You don't understand what's going on here, do you?"

A black boot made contact with Harley's side and pain exploded there. "Why can't you just let me take over for you? Life would be so much easier for you if you just let me take over! You'd be saving yourself so much grief! Why do you have to fight it?"

Harley grabbed Columbine by the ankle as she drew her foot back to kick her again, throwing the other woman off balance. With a grunt, Columbine was forced to join Harley on the floor, where the blonde pounced on her enemy as vigorously as she could.

"Because I love him!" She shouted angrily as she started tearing at Columbine's clothes and hair, blind fury fueling her when she should have been thinking more about the moves she was making.

Unfortunately for Harley, her adversary was thinking on her feet (so to speak) and Harley didn't see the pipe that Columbine had managed to grasp and pull from its hiding place under the desk until it connected with her skull, quite effectively knocking her silly.

With Harley unconscious, Columbine rolled her body off herself and shoved her aside. "A shame he doesn't share the sentiment."