I had a few brainwaves with this chapter. My first one was that this will be one of the last chapters before Harleen makes her delightful little transformation. Secondly, I have a couple of original characters in this story (Doctor Vahns, Patricia, Ed Geralds, Marshall Banks), I think I'll try to include pictures of them in my profile. If I can. Whenever I include a new character, I'll try to do the same. Third brainwave: including the Muse lyrics and chapter title. I dunno, it seemed like a good idea. It might end up becoming a trend for future chapters too.


Chapter Seven, Time is Running Out

'I think I'm drowning
asphyxiated
I wanna break this spell
that you've created
you're something beautiful
a contradiction
I wanna play the game,'
Muse

They didn't speak of Harleen's reaction to the costume that night. It was too strange, too out of character for it to be comfortable conversation material. Instead, they had discussions about shallow, meaningless topics like actors, fashion and what Bruce Wayne had last done (he always seemed to do something new each week, if not every day). They laughed and drank entirely too much. By the time dinner was finished, they had to call two cabs to take them home.


When Harleen got back to the hotel, she was nervous. She'd suddenly remembered the implied threats the Joker had made and she knew that if he should act upon them, she'd be incapable of defending herself in her intoxicated state. Maybe she should just call a friend and stay the night with them… Maybe Pam would-

No. Harleen's stubborn nature came to the foreground. She was determined not to let her fears get the best of her. She forced herself into the elevator and into the seventh floor hallway where her apartment was.

She was number twelve. Harleen stood, swaying slightly, in front of the door for awhile. Slowly, she reached out and unlocked the door. She opened it with her eyes clenched shut, as if expecting an explosion.

There was nothing. Harleen stepped over the threshold, giggling quietly. Silly her! As if the Joker would carry through with his threats… He was just joking…Silly…

She closed the door behind her (even drunk she was security conscious) and staggered into the kitchen. This was the second night in a row she'd been drunk, and after avoiding alcohol for three months, it felt like she'd lost her ability to withstand intoxication. Everything spun and she felt ridiculously amused by life in general.

Harleen suddenly realised that she had a balcony that lead off from the kitchen. She'd never noticed before, never even bothered to wonder. Grinning in delight she opened the glass sliding door and stumbled onto the little balcony. Gotham City was exquisite beneath and before her, a dark, swirling chaos brightened only by tiny pinpricks lights of offices, cars and homes. All there for the admiration and for… for the taking?

That thought struck her as hilarious. Harleen began to laugh. The mirth slowly grew in momentum until she had to sit up against the railing to support herself, face aching from laughter and comical tears trickling down her cheeks. Suddenly lights came on at the next balcony to the right and a fat man dressed in pajamas walked out.

"What's yer problem?" He demanded in a thick, ugly voice that matched his appearance in Harleen's problem, "Some of us are tryin' to sleep!"

Harleen stopped howling with laughter and restrained herself enough to speak through hysterical giggles.

"Beauty sleep is it?" She asked, head tilted to the side and a rather perturbing grin on her pale, tired face, "'Coz I don't think its working."

The man blushed a nauseating pink and scowled.

"Drunk bitch!" He snarled, "I'm gonna complain to the desk downstairs! What's yer name?"

A sudden brainwave struck her and she let it take over her response.

"Harley," she giggled, "Harley Quinn. Pleased to meet you fatso. Or is it ugly? I forgot…"

The man looked ready to jump from his balcony to hers and punch her face in. Amused by the idea, Harleen moved closer to the railing that divided their balconies.

"Do you have a wife?" She asked sweetly, knowing just how to send this man nuts. It was like the Joker had said; she knew just how to exploit everyone's flaws and weaknesses instinctively, like a predator.

"Yeah, but that's none of yer business," the man growled, "'Less yer some kinda lesbo…"

"Because I don't think she'd love you." Harleen continued giggling, as if she hadn't been interrupted, "I mean, look at you. I betcha a hundred bucks she cheats on ya… Sleeps 'round and stuff."

Harleen had barely finished her sentence before she felt two meaty hands close around her throat. The man shook her angrily, snarling obscenities. When she giggled in response, she felt one of his hands leave her throat and smash into the side of her face several times. The same side she'd bruised falling over in the bathroom as coincidence would have it.

Seeming to feel he'd made his point, the man promptly let go of her and stalked off back into his apartment, muttering something about Gotham being full of psychos these days. That sent Harleen into further hysterics. When a beer bottle sailed out of a window at her, she caught it in mid air and promptly hurled it back at the man's apartment, where it shattered. Howling with laughter, Harleen quickly darted back into the relative safety of her own apartment where she locked the balcony door.

Then, she stumbled down into her bedroom and collapsed onto the large, double bed where she laughed herself to a disturbed sleep in which psychotic clowns chased her, laughing in triumph.


Harleen did not feel like laughing when she woke the next morning. She was in far too much pain for that. Her entire face felt swollen and she was surprised she hadn't lost any teeth. She would have cried, but there was a graze on her face from the fat man's wedding ring and the thought of getting salt water in that immediately closed down the waterworks.

"Ooowww." She whimpered, feeling exactly like the previous morning, only a million times worse, "What was I thinking….Was I thinking?!"

Well, the answer to that was a big, fat, obvious 'no' in red, capital letters. Last night had been one of the worst in recent memory…She's been in a bad state anyway because of work and then she's gone and gotten rip-roaring drunk on top of all that… Well, at least know she knew it'd been a night always destined to end badly.

Actually, everything felt like it was ending badly these days. Even just ending. Harleen couldn't shake the impression that the time she had was limited, tight… Everything felt like a piece of string, stretched and stretched until it wouldn't take much more to make it snap.

Getting off the bed, Harleen was just shambling into the kitchen when the phone started ringing. It's shrill, incessant noise was enough to send a bolt of pain through Harleen's head. Wincing, she hastily answered the machine.

"Mmm. Hello?" She mumbled.

"Harleen, it's Ramirez." The woman seemed to pick up on her condition from the first uttered syllable. "A report came in this morning from the guy in the apartment next to you… Something about you being drunk and abusive and just generally disturbing the peace. Just thought I'd call and ask if you're alright?"

"I'm just marvellous," Harleen replied, managing to exclude most of the sarcastic drawling from her voice, "Just have a teensy-tiny little hangover… I went out to dinner with a colleague last night, that's all. I dunno what the guy's going on about."

"Mhm, sure." Ramirez had no such qualms about sarcasm. "Just keep the lunacy to a minimum… I understand you're probably feeling stressed over the Joker and over life in general, but Gordon really doesn't want to have to kick you out of the apartment."

Harleen's heart sank.

"Gordon knows about this?"

"Yep." Ramirez replied in a sort of 'tough-love' voice. "The guy you bothered is on Gotham City Council, he raised all sorts of hell saying that Gordon should think twice about giving deadbeats help next time."

"Lovely." Harleen muttered to herself before sighing. "Yeah okay, sorry Ramirez, I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Good." Ramirez said flatly, "Because Ed Geralds is a nasty piece of work. If I have to put up with him bellowing at me and getting his spit in my morning coffee again, I'm gonna come looking for you, okay?"

"Sure thing." Harleen winced as both her face and headache gave a brutal throb. "I don't suppose he mentioned the hiding he gave me?"

There was a brief, uncertain pause. Even if she was a police officer, trained to accept evidence, not groundless claims, Ramirez was a woman and was given to banding with any other woman who'd been hit by a man.

"No." She replied quietly, "He said he'd had to defend himself because you came at him."

Harleen laughed bleakly.

"Figures…" She said, "Never mind I'm almost a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter then him. Whatever… I'll talk to you later Ramirez."

"Okay, see you."

As soon as she'd hung up, Harleen made a rush for the toilet to throw up. Afterwards, she took several of the super effective aspirin and decided that she definitely wasn't getting drunk again.


"Jesus!" Patricia swore when she saw Harleen. "What happened?!"

"Um, those three beers, two glasses of red and one martini weren't such a good idea." Harleen mumbled, "I, uh, provoked this guy…Ed Geralds."

"The fat guy on the Gotham Counsel?" Patricia's face took on a new expression of alarm, "Harleen, you didn't! Ed Geralds is the main guy in regulating Arkham's budget!"

"Oh shit, really?" Harleen gasped, "Really?!"

"I swear I'm serious." Patricia looked frightened. "Harleen, what if he finds out you're an employee here?"

"I dunno." Harleen found that it was hard to contemplate potential doom when her head felt like it was going to split and her face felt like…Well, just like a big fat guy had smashed it with his rock hard fists. "I'm hoping he doesn't I guess."

Patricia grimaced but let the subject go, seeing the pained expression on Harleen's face.

"Hey, are you sure you should've come into work today?"

"No, but that doesn't matter." Harleen said flatly, "Because I have to. I have a mountain of reports piling up and besides, if you know I'm treating the Joker, you know about his threat. Either he sees me every day or he attacks staff and himself."

"Harleen," Patricia still looked worried, "You're getting obsessed with the Joker, I swear. You realise you spend almost all day with him now? And that you couldn't stop talking about him last night at dinner? You kept calling him something weird… 'Mr. J' or something like that."

"I…I didn't, did I?"

"You did." Patricia said grimly. "Sure it was only once you'd had a few drinks, but that's what scared me even more… If you're so obsessed with him without even realising, there's got to be something wrong."

That brought a sudden flare of temper. The idea that there was something wrong with her and her…interest in the Joker just got Harleen's hackles right up.

"How would you know?" She snapped, "You're not a psychologist, you haven't been in the room with this guy, so you have no fucking clue what you're talking about!"

The room rung in the sudden silence that followed that outburst. Patricia opened her mouth for a moment, but then shut it. She shook her head and simply went back to typing at the computer. Harleen stayed standing in front of her for a moment, wondering if she should say sorry. In the end, she decided against it. She just didn't feel like it.


To Harleen's relief, Doctor Vahns was away from work that day. It seemed he'd gotten a good dose of the flu and had called in to say he wasn't coming in today. So, Harleen was pretty much the highest ranking staff down the Joker's end of the building. She was able to get that day's session set up without any hassle.

"What happened to your face?" The Joker asked, sounding uncharacteristically serious. Harleen glared at him, trying to find some mocking or amusement in his voice. There was none, only a muted, almost totally concealed icy fury. It frightened her a little, but by this stage, Harleen was mostly used to the Joker's mercurial emotions. She still noticed them for sure, but she accepted them as an inevitable part of his persona.

"I got drunk and picked a fight with Ed Geralds." She said bluntly, not in the mood to be finicky about her privacy or ego. "Do you know who he is?"

"Yes." The Joker replied. It was a strange reply for him. Not 'yep' or 'uh-huh', like he normally would say. Yes. And no strange inflections to his voice, no smacking of his lips. Just one, flat word… Yes. "He hit you?"

"Mhm." Harleen gingerly touched the side of her face. It stung. "He has a pretty nasty vocabulary too, even better then mine and that's saying something."

The Joker looked at her unfathomably for a moment. Then, he blinked and cleared his throat.

"I'm good with, uh, medicine," He said suddenly, "Lemme have a look. Please."

Harleen didn't move, a little shocked by what the Joker had just said. Then, she shook herself and leant forward. Smirking at her nervous expression, the Joker rolled his eyes and held his hands up.

"See?" He said sarcastically, "No knives or other bad things. I, uh, promise not to hurt you. This time." He added with a playful sort of evil grin. Harleen, not altogether reassured, didn't react nevertheless.

"Ed hits like a girl." The Joker muttered, examining Harleen's face. His fingers barely touched her, but it gave Harleen the shivers anyway. "No offense course. Good he does though, didn't take any of ya teeth out. Still, he got you pretty bad. What'd you say to him?"

"Um, I called him fat and ugly…And I said his wife probably sleeps around because of it."

The Joker laughed and gave Harleen an admiring glance.

"His wife does, uh, sleep around, you know that right?" He asked, "It was in one those trash-loids…"

Harleen's eyes widened in shock.

"No!" She gasped, "No wonder he went off like-"

"-A lunatic." The Joker grinned crazily, liking the simile. "Good job, choosing the, uh, one thing to guarantee getting a beating."

"Like I said, I was drunk."

"Mm, that brings me to question two." The Joker paused, eyeing her speculatively, "I thought you were a vino, why'd ya take up the drink again?"

"Who's the therapist here?" Harleen laughed nervously. The Joker gave her a patient look and gestured for her to just answer the question.

"B'coz I was… bothered." Harleen muttered sullenly, like a child demanded to account for a broken window.

"By…?" The Joker suddenly giggled, ruining any normality he might have just displayed. "Aw, I upset ya!"

"You already knew that." Harleen felt miserable suddenly, like she could see herself how pathetic she was. "You like upsetting people."

"Mhm, I'm good at it." The Joker appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Do ya know the one thing I hate about this place?"

"No." Harleen wondered where the sudden change in subject was coming from. She was curious to hear his answer though, so she didn't voice her questions.

"You're not meant to, uh, call me 'Joker', and you don't let me have my face." He raised a brow quizzically. "Why not?"

Harleen grimaced. Apparently, one of the Joker's biggest tantrums had been over being disallowed access to his face paints and alias. He was simply addressed as 'Patient 6457' by the doctors, because he refused to give any other name.

"It's detrimental to the effects of your therapy." She replied, feeling relieved she at least remembered some of her training for situations like these. "It's a false identity you've built up… Therapy encourages you to embrace your true one."

The Joker sneered.

"Therapy? You, uh, think that honestly makes a difference to my behaviour? I mean… Ever heard the term 'incurable', Doc?"

"I know that." Harleen said quietly, feeling the bleak reality of the Joker's position. He was truly insane, completely incurable and therefore never to be released into society. What was the point of his presence in Arkham if therapy was to prove pointless? All he did was use up taxpayer money and already overstretched staff.

"Then you understand your options." The Joker sounded like he was demanding something of her. "It's one, two or three and much fun as it might be for you or, uh, Gotham in general to play with killing me… I prefer option three."

"I'm sure you do." Harleen said dully, not liking the helpless sensation the current topic of conversation was instilling in her. "Never mind that even if I wanted you out of Arkham, which I don't by the way… I'd have no idea how to do it."

"Uh-huh," The Joker seemed disbelieving, "You're, uh, fairly intelligent…"

Harleen shook herself and gave the Joker an irritated look.

"I am not discussing how to get you out of Arkham."

The Joker nodded innocently.

"Then what are we discussing?"

"You." Harleen decided abruptly. "I haven't done any of the work I'm meant to with you yet, so I'm going to get started. What's your name?"

"Aw now that's no fun." The Joker whined, shifting in his seat. His handcuffs rattled quietly, making Harleen think of ghosts in chains. "Just asking. You have to… I want you to earn information."

"So you will provide me with answers then?" Harleen asked carefully, inwardly excited. The prospect of making real progress with this man gave her visions of promotions…fame…money… "Provided I, in your words, 'earn' them?"

"Mhm." The Joker dipped his head comically. "Now, what do you and Gotham's…finest, uh, know 'bout little ole me?"

"You're 34 years old." She said quietly, "Which we only know because you mentioned who was mayor of Gotham at the time of your birth not long after you were admitted here. We believe you attended Gotham Technical College with Carla Bertrepp where you first began large-scale crime. You seem to have gained considerable skill in chemistry, explosives and electronics from your education. And medicine, as you mentioned. Not long after however, you murdered Carla Betrepp and disappeared for quite a few years."

"Tut, tut, Harley." The Joker gave her a reproachful look, "You have all this and not only can you not find my name, you can't even get your facts right."

"What do you mean?" Harleen demanded, "They're all right! The investigation may be patchy, but this part was solid!"

"Nope." The word popped from his lips. "You researched Carla for your essay…report…thing."

"Yeah, how did you know that?" Harleen asked warily, feeling her skin crawl suddenly.

"Just do…Clever I guess." The Joker pursed his lips, obviously thinking about something. "Tell ya what Doc, I tell you a little something about Carla, and you do me a favour, okay?"

"Alright…" Harleen didn't like the calculating quality to her patient's voice, "So long as it's nothing illegal."

The Joker ignored the last part of that statement, already speaking.

"I've seen all the reports on Carla… Lemme set the facts straight: she was, uh… Well, nicely put, a real bitch. Not half as good as she's led you to believe. She tried to, uh, blow the college's resident janitor up when he told the school 'bout her drug use… She packed his car engine full of dynamite and ammonium nitrate…"

"None of this was reported anywhere." Harleen said weakly, "There was an investigation… There was nothing about any of this in her school records!"

"That's because I burned all her and me's records." The Joker said slowly, drawlingly.

"You didn't want to leave the police a trail to connect your past crimes to your present identity?" Harleen asked, wondering how far she could push along this line of conversation.

"I'm suspected anyway." The Joker yawned. "I burned 'em 'coz they had my name in 'em. Now, you owe me a favour."

Harleen got a bad feeling, but shrugged anyway.

"What?"

The Joker suddenly gave a wide, terrifying grin.

"Call my lawyer; tell him I want to speak with him. Then, make sure you go home to the hotel on time tonight."

"What are you planning?" Harleen demanded fearfully, feeling shivers run up and down her spine. "I don't want to-"

"It's not going to hurt ya." The Joker said quickly, raising his handcuffed hands into the air "Clown's honour, it won't injure or kill you. Unless you die laughing, and even I've never done that…"

Harleen bit her bottom lip, resisting her silently screaming curiosity. The Joker noted her hesitance and arranged a pleading expression on his face. Harleen felt bad when she saw the insistence in her patient's brown eyes.

"It'll be really funny." He told her, "You'll love it."

Harleen felt her resistance give way at that. She smiled and nodded, drawing a delighted laugh from the Joker. Suddenly, her day felt a little better.


Patricia didn't say a word to her as she walked out the front doors of the Asylum. It didn't bother Harleen though, she was too curious and truthfully, too excited by the prospect of what the Joker had possibly left for her at the hotel.

She was so excited actually, that she managed to nearly kill herself several times on the busy Gotham roads. By the time she reached the apartment, she'd collected herself two speeding tickets from two separate cops. Normally, this would have been enough to ruin her entire week. However, Harleen was not normal today.

The receptionist in the lobby gave Harleen a dirty look as she rushed by, probably a result of the previous evening. However, Harleen ignored that too and went straight up to her apartment. By the time she managed to unlock her front door, her nerves were stretched as thin as possible and her impatience was almost more then she could bear.

Slamming the door shut behind her, Harleen looked around the apartment. It was dark; the curtains were drawn over the balcony windows which usually let in most of the light. Then, Harleen saw a box wrapped in bright purple, shiny paper sitting innocently on the dinner table. Curiously, she moved closer, dropping her keys in her pocket as she did so.

The box had a small tag on it. Harleen flipped it up and read the message. The handwriting was bizarre, simultaneously jagged and curly. Bold letters, written with a pen pressed down hard.

Open it and get ready to laugh. J.

Hmm. Melodramatic, but intriguing nevertheless. Harleen chewed her bottom lip, desperately torn between her instinct not to touch the box and her peaking curiosity. Warily, she prodded the box and then winced, waiting for some sort of reaction. When there was none, she slowly picked it and weighed it in her hands. It was a fairly large package and very solid. Maybe something made of wood?

Giving a sigh, Harleen decided it didn't matter that it was probably a bad idea, she wanted to see what was inside the box. With trembling fingers, she pulled at the emerald coloured ribbon that had been tied in a bow at the very top of the package. It slithered to the tabletop silently, leaving the package easy prey for Harleen hands. She tore at the paper until the object inside was revealed.

A dark, glossy violet cube made of painted wood. On most of the panels were delicately hand-painted scenes of a circus. Well, sort of. Harleen had never seen a circus where the performers had fairy wings and horns and wore flowing gold and blue robes. Entranced by the intricacy of the paintings, Harleen picked the box up and turned it around in her hands, absorbing everything. Then she noticed that on one panel, there was a little sun with a gold button in the middle.

Harleen immediately thought of what sort of things would be triggered by pressing the button. Massive explosions, leaks of toxic gases… She didn't even think that prospect of a deadly spider packed inside was impossible. But it still seemed bizarre for the Joker to insist that nothing tonight would harm or kill her, leave such an innocent note and then just go kill her anyway. It just didn't make sense. Inwardly reprimanding herself for her foolishness, Harleen pressed the button.

A quiet, chiming tune began to play. Harleen wasn't familiar with the melody, but it was beautiful and she thought that it would make a perfect lullaby for a small child. She smiled faintly, beginning to daydream. Then, the tune stopped.

Frowning, Harleen leant forward to look at the box again. And that was when the top of it flew open and something sprung out at her.

Harleen gave a scream. She realised now that the box was a jack-in-the-box, but like none other. The jester on the spring was a complete, tiny replica instead of just a head. Its hands held a bowl and inside the bowl was…

A bloodstained card, like the sort corporations gave out to consumers. Shaking from fear, Harleen picked it up and looked at it.

Open your curtains Harley.

Truly terrified now, Harleen got up and walked over to the balcony doors. Whimpering under her breath, she pulled the curtains back, only to screech in horror as the body on the other side was revealed.

Ed Geralds. He was sitting propped up against the balcony railing in a pool of his own blood. It was just like finding Stevens in her house, all over again. Only, this time, as well as the facial carving and slit throat, there was a sign hung around the dead man's neck. It was written in unfamiliar handwriting, not the Joker's, which Harleen was familiar with from his file.

I Ed Geralds, do apologise for hitting Harley Quinn!

And then, written in blood by Ed's feet was a further message.

Laughing yet Harley?

Harleen gave two more, deafening screams before passing out.


"I feel that I'm seeing entirely too much of you, Miss Quinzel." Gordon sighed, "At least, under entirely the wrong circumstances."

"Well, that's not my fault." Harleen replied, ignoring the knowledge her answer was a childish one. "And it's Harley, not Harleen."

Gordon raised a brow, but didn't comment on the sudden change in name.

"So, what happened?"

Harleen shrugged.

"Exactly what you'd think from the messages… The Joker killed Ed Geralds."

"You don't sound very regretful." Gordon remarked pointedly.

Harleen gave the Commissioner a sour look.

"He hit me. I don't suppose Ramirez mentioned that to you at all."

"As a matter of fact, she did actually." Gordon replied nastily, increasingly starting to dislike Harleen, despite his inward promise to give her a chance. It was something he couldn't help though, the woman possessed some vague, unquantifiable quality that set the hairs on the back of his neck up and his hackles rising.

Harleen made a disgruntled noise and something bad flickered in her blue eyes. Gordon couldn't help another remark.

"Don't be so quick to doubt my people," He said coldly, "And I won't be so fast to consider you involved in all this somehow."

Well, that at least got Harleen's attention. Eyes widening in shock, she looked up sharply.

"What?!" She demanded, voice transforming into a horrified, furious hiss that escaped like a snake from beneath her teeth, "How can you say that?! I wasn't even here when all this happened!"

"Maybe," Gordon allowed in a hard voice, "But you knew that the Joker was planning something. You knew he would have something set up right here, at this time."

Harleen opened her mouth angrily and started to say something, but Gordon cut her off.

"Yet," He interrupted, silencing her with a furious look, "You neither alerted us, nor even took precautions for yourself. Which rather makes me wonder perhaps if you had some hand in all of this?"

"I didn't!" Harleen snapped, "And if you don't believe me, I…I…"

"You what?" Gordon queried in a bored tone. He actually knew that Harleen was no part of this latest murder; he just wanted to dismantle her a little.

"Don't ridicule me Commissioner," Harleen replied dangerously, "I may be much younger and less experienced then you, but that does not mean I will tolerate being treated as a pathetic amusement."

"Indeed." Gordon paused. "Actually, I think now would be an opportune moment to ask you some questions, Miss Quinzel. Or Quinn. Whatever it is you prefer these days."

"These days." Harleen muttered to herself, "Nothing but lost control and pressure."

"Pardon?" Gordon was alarmed, not by Harleen's talking to herself, but by the expression that crossed the young woman's face. Something wild, unpredictable and volatile. The closest thing Gordon could compare it to was a time, years ago, when he'd been part of a team that had held an armed robber pinned down in a corner. The man had been schizophrenic and to make matters worse, well and truly trashed on a near lethal overdose of meth. The look in that man's face as his inescapable fate registered him was like Harleen's now: a cornered animal, torn between attack and pitiful collapse and submittal to some terrible fate.

Perhaps sensing Gordon's train of thought, Harleen looked up again. Something calculating flickered briefly through her eyes, but was lost before Gordon was entirely sure of its existence. She gave a bright smile.

"I'm sorry Commissioner," She sighed, "I'm tired and stressed… A little out of it."

"That's…entirely understandable." Gordon still felt his instincts declaring that something was horribly wrong with Harleen Quinzel. "Now, about the questions I mentioned."

"Of course." Harleen's smile fluttered across her pink, innocent lips once more. "Ask away."

"Well, a number of your friends have begun to become concerned about you." Gordon began carefully, thinking that maybe the realisation that she was causing her loved ones concern might get through to Harleen and shake her out of whatever bizarre state she'd gotten herself into.

Harleen's expression briefly showed annoyance. Then, that smile, simultaneously coy and dangerous, returned.

"See, I think there's been a misunderstanding," she said sweetly, "I'm not particularly social, I can't think of any friends I have…At least, no one close enough to grow concerned about me."

Gordon stared at the woman before him. What the hell was wrong with her? She was denying that she had any friends, and in doing so, gave the impression she found the idea of friendship to be distasteful and undesirable. Gordon took a bracing breath in and allowed himself a moment to think. He watched the forensics team over Harleen's shoulder, examining Geralds' body.

"Well, your colleagues then." He said firmly, "Although, considering you went out to dinner with one of them last night, I find it odd you do not consider her a friend."

"Oh, Patricia." Harleen said flatly, suddenly cold. "I thought she was a friend. I changed my mind though. She took an interest in an area where she had no right to."

"Which was?"

Harleen levelled her cold, hard glare in Gordon's direction now.

"Let me rephrase that: she took an interest where no one has a right to."

Gordon resisted the urge to snap back at Harleen. Instead, he decided to stop walking on eggshells and just bludgeon the woman with questions. She'd abused his attempted tact and kindness, so he was done playing games.

"Several of your work colleagues have voiced a strong concern for your relationship with the Joker." Gordon said bluntly.

Harleen froze for a moment, mouth slightly open in surprise. Then, anger flooded back.

"What relationship?" She demanded, "I attempt to treat him, that's all! That's hardly a 'relationship'!"

"That's not what I have heard." Gordon replied warningly. "And from looking around right now, it's not what I've seen either. There is obviously something else going on if the Joker would arrange to have someone killed, just because you mentioned he hit you!"

Harleen gave a chilling, mirthless laugh that made Gordon's bones feel cold.

"The Joker is inherently selfish," She said grimly, "He does things like this for no one's sake or amusement but his own, Commissioner. So, to consider this murder as some sort of twisted good deed on his part would be a true mistake, considering his nature."

"If that's so, why would he involve you so closely?" Gordon shot back at her, gesturing to the scene around him. Harleen smiled in cynical amusement and shook her head slowly.

"Because I'm his witness, his audience." She replied, more quietly and sadly this time. "He might have been a decent man once, but not now. Now, he needs…craves someone to see what he does… Indeed, what is the purpose…the point of destruction and death for him unless there is someone else to watch?"

It was true, Gordon knew it instinctively. Everything that the Joker did, he did for an audience. If there was no audience, the Joker forced one to exist. That'd been why when he'd attacked Gotham, he merely started off with a bank robbery: because he needed to catch Gotham's attention so that when he did turn to mass horror and chaos, he would have his desired audience.

"Why did he choose you though?" Gordon asked, almost to himself.

Harleen suddenly giggled, as if laughing at a person's sheer stupidity.

"Because I'm all he has!" She said girlishly between giggles, "He's a clown in a box, he has no other audience! At least, not the one he prefers."

"Batman." Gordon said dully, knowing what Harleen meant. "He really wants Batman, but since he can't have him, he's made do with you."

"Uh-huh!" Harleen nodded brightly. Gordon was struck by the sudden change in her. Her voice was different, higher pitched and with a stronger Gotham City accent. She seemed better humoured too, if inappropriately so. And it had all been prompted by the fact that the Joker was interested in her. "Exactly. That's why he refuses to have any other therapist but me, because he knows no one else would be able to tolerate witnessing him!"

"And you can?" Gordon asked doubtfully.

"Well, so far so good." Harleen replied. "Sort of."

Gordon shook himself. Enough was enough; this whole situation was losing control. Just like Harleen herself apparently. He needed to do something, anything.

"Miss Quinzel, I've seem and heard enough." He told her firmly, "The Joker's influence on you has proven to be a negative thing. As soon as Doctor Vahns recovers from the flu and returns to work, I'm asking him to take you away from the Joker."

Gordon deliberately worded his sentence so that Harleen was implied to be the Joker's property. He wanted to see Harleen's reaction. She didn't disappoint him.

"You can't!" She hissed, "I'm the only one who's capable of making progress with him, who can get…have gotten anything out of him!"

Gordon raised his brows at that.

"You've managed to get some sort of information out of the Joker?"

"Yes."

"Pertaining to what?"

"Pertaining," Harleen said, "To his true identity. He's given some information already."

Gordon was furious.

"Why wasn't this reported to me?" he demanded, "You are aware that I could legally charge for deliberately withholding information?"

Harleen looked angry enough to spit. The officers near to the pair briefly looked between her and Gordon before returning to their respective tasks. The atmosphere was tense and volatile; no one wanted to trigger an explosion.

"I never said anything because I only found this information out today…Commissioner!" She snarled the last word, packing enough spite and disgust into it for even Gordon himself to be surprised. It was obvious that the topic of the Joker was a sensitive one with her, only worsening his fears. He pressed his lips together grimly and regarded Harleen sternly.

"Miss Quinzel, I am going to have to ask you to please control yourself." He said warningly, "Else I will ask for one of the paramedical team to sedate you."

Harleen looked even angrier, if such a thing was possible, but she knew she was bested here. She was alone in an apartment full of officers loyal to Gordon, not her. If she was going to avoid being sedated and having the Joker taken away from her, she as going to need to play by Gordon's rules. For now.

"My apologies," Harleen said stiffly. "I got carried away. It won't happen again. As I was saying though, I did not report my findings to the police as I only obtained my information today, and due to the scanty nature of the information, it can still only be classified as private Arkham data as opposed to intelligence legally required by the police department."

"And I'm guessing as such, you won't be sharing any of the details the Joker was kind enough… or twisted enough to share?"

"Actually," Harleen forced herself to sound less hostile, "You're wrong. I have no problem with you knowing what I've been told… I'm curious if nothing else as to whom the Joker really is."

"Well, you've pleasantly surprised me then." Gordon's smile was cool. "What did the clown have to say?"

Harleen thought about it for a moment.

"Apparently he was enrolled in two courses: mechanics and computer skills. He's 34 years old, so my guess is that if you call up a list of all students taking mechanics and computer skills during the appropriate time frame, it should be easy enough to find the Joker's identity."

Gordon's brows shot up and his expression was surprised.

"That's the sort of thinking I'd praise in my detectives." He said mildly, "Do you have some sort of experience with this sort of investigative process?"

"No." Harleen smiled, inwardly laughing derisively at Gordon, "Just a disciple of Sir Arthur Doyle."

Gordon's blank expression irritated Harleen.

"He wrote Sherlock Holmes Commissioner." She said waspishly. "I would have thought you'd known that."

"Unlikely." Gordon replied, responding to Harleen's scorn in kind. "I failed my university literature course. I was more interested in helping Gotham citizens then reading about a fictional character."

"And a fine job you're doing." Harleen said bitingly. "Are your lackeys done now?"

Gordon looked over Harleen's shoulder again. Indeed they were. Everything had been attended to, including the body, which was currently being wheeled out of the room in a paramedic's body bag.

"Yes, they are."

Harleen glared at Gordon.

"How is you're done so quickly here, but not in my apartment?"

Gordon grimaced. The DA was still throwing a hissy fit over the legal technicalities of their investigation in Harleen's apartment.

"We didn't have to have a warrant to enter here; there was concern for your life and that was all we needed. The discovery of Ed's body just happened to be an unfortunate occurrence. The DA is demanding she have access to all the details from your apartment however, as she thinks we may have lied about items in our reports."

"Bitch." Harleen muttered under her breath before facing Gordon again. "I don't suppose you know yet who the Joker is letting do his dirty work?"

"No." Gordon said grimly. It was bothering him a great deal. "We know that the Joker gives coded, seemingly innocuous orders to his lawyer who then passes them on to this unknown assassin. We've tried putting surveillance on the lawyer, but the man seems to disappear the instant he finishes talking with his clients… We can't find his name; address or business listed anywhere, even our own databanks."

Harleen put her own anger, frustration and fears aside for a moment.

"And there's absolutely nothing on the assassin either?"

Gordon gave her a narrow eyed look.

"I'm afraid you're straying perilously close to classified information there. Given your close proximity to the Joker and the sensitive nature of the information in question, I can't answer your questions."

"Pity." Harleen said flatly. "Now, since everything's finished here, I'll ask you to leave."

Gordon gave her another look, this one less warning and more hostile.

"Asking or demanding?"

"Neither." Harleen replied coldly. "Telling. Goodbye Commissioner."


As soon as Gordon had left the apartment, Harleen gave an angry shriek and threw herself onto the couch. The only good thing that had come of talking with Gordon had been the lies she'd said about the Joker studying mechanics and computers. At least now Gordon would be mislead and she'd have this all to herself.

"Stupid bastard!" She snarled, pummelling a nearby cushion, before throwing it at the ground, "Stupid, nosy assho-"

Clunk

Harleen stared at the pillow she'd thrown. It's made a very loud, solid sound for something made of fabric. Scrambling down from the couch, she knelt by the cushion and unzipped the cover. Inside was… a video.

Barely breathing, Harleen pulled the tape out. She stared at it in shock and excitement for a moment before rushing over to the television and slotting the device into the VCR. Immediately, something flicked into life on the television screen.

Ed Geralds. Sitting in the bathroom of his apartment. Well, the police had already been there too, so that was okay. He'd obviously been tortured there before being dumped on Harleen's balcony.

Ed was bloodied, but not by the facial carving. That hadn't happened yet. No, he'd been beaten, not cut. He looked only half conscious and the look on his eyes as he regarded the camera was dull, hopeless.

"So, the boss would have liked to do this himself." A voice said on the video, from a point out of sight. It was someone disguising their voice, that was obvious. It still sounded vaguely familiar to Harleen though. She ignored that thought and continued to listen. "But um, he's sort of busy at present, so he said I could take care of this. First things first… Say hello to Harley, Ed!"

Ed's head dipped against his chest, but you could still hear his voice, slow and bleary.

"'Lo Harley."

"Good man." The torturer said sarcastically. "Now, to get straight to things… You hit Miss Quinn, which for some reason, best known to himself, has irritated the boss. Bad move my man. Besides, it's just cowardly to hit a girl, 'specially when she's only like, five foot three or somethin'."

"She was bein' weird." Ed mumbled, blood trickling from his lips. The entire scene was grainy, adding to the air of brutality in the film. "Said stuff 'bout my wife sleepin' with people."

"Well, why not? It's the truth." The torturer was amused now. "But anyway… You need to say sorry Ed, you weren't very nice to poor Harley."

"I'm not sayin' nothin'."

There was the sound of tutting and suddenly, Harleen got a horrible shiver down her back. She knew she knew this torturer, and that scared her.

"Well, if you're going to be rude…"

A person entered the frame. They were wearing a balaclava and bulky clothing, so Harleen couldn't tell who they were, except that they were also a man. They had a large, serrated knife in hand.

"Come on Ed, be a sport." The other man said in a pleasant voice, "Smile at the camera and say sorry."

"F-fuck you."

The other man looked at Ed for a moment before suddenly lunging forward. Harleen could only watch as this man used one hand to pin Ed's flailing arms down. Then, the man held the knife up to Ed's face and without hesitation, pressed it into the flesh.

Ed gave a screech as the blade penetrated his body. Harleen watched, torn between horror and hysterical, uncontrollable amusement, as his individual screech turned into a string of terrifying howls. The other man kept him pinned down as he yanked roughly at the knife to help it tear its way through the flesh. Blood flowed heavily, like syrup almost. Ed's screams began to lose their distinction as the knife turned his mouth into a long, jagged slit to painful and unfamiliar to use. After a minute or two, he was reduced to tears and unintelligible gurgling and throaty whimpers. He looked like he was choking on the blood that flowed from the wounds, down his throat.

"See Ed." The torturer said brightly. "Everybody likes a man who can smile. It's much more… Well, I like it at least and trust me, my opinion is the only one that matters right now."

Ed's tongue looked like a dismembered piece of flesh, writhing in his messy, torn mouth. He twitched and shook, obviously close to passing out and fighting still. The torturer suddenly grabbed him by the throat and held the knife up where he could see it.

"Say you're sorry Ed," He hissed malevolently. "Say you're sorry or I'll cut your eyes out next. Then your tongue. Then your balls. Say you're sorry!"

Ed struggled with his mouth for a moment. Harleen was simultaneously nauseated and intrigued by the way the flaps of skin covered in gore moved around his mouth when he tried to speak.

And then, the words came. They were slurred, damp and agonised, but Harleen recognized them anyway. Sorry Harley.

"Good boy Ed!" The torturer sound faintly approving. "Now say bye Harley!"

Ed looked puzzled. That confusion ended quickly. And violently.

When Ed's screams ended, the sound of the knife sawing through his throat continued.


Gordon was walking down the hallway from Harleen's apartment and into the stairwell when someone appeared from a male bathroom in front of him. Gordon recognised him as Marshall Banks, Arkham Asylum's Max-Sec Director.

The pair stood regarding each other for a moment.

"Nice to see you Commissioner." Banks said neutrally. "Always is. May I ask what you're doing here?"

"Police work… Miss Quinzel seems to attract trouble." Gordon replied, feeling the cool disdain Banks felt for him. "And you?"

"I live here."

"No, you don't." Gordon replied nastily, "Or you'd be using the bathroom in your own apartment. Besides, I've called you at your home before and your number gave a different area code."

Banks paused, obviously irritated. Gordon looked at the man with faint suspicion.

"Why are you really here?" He asked flatly, "If you've had something with-"

"Alright you caught me." Banks snapped, throwing his hands up in the air melodramatically. "I was coming to see Harley, but if she's had trouble tonight…"

"I wasn't aware you and Harleen were friends." Gordon said. "I mentioned friends to her, and she said she had none."

"You really have an amazing lack of tact, you know that?" Banks said angrily. "No, we're not friends… If you must know, I've harboured a… well; I've had an admiring eye on Harley for awhile now. I was going to ask her to dinner tonight."

"Oh." Gordon inwardly cringed. It seemed his paranoia was really out of line now. "My apologies then, I don't think Harleen is going to be in the mood tonight."

"I don't think so either." Banks muttered. Then, he looked up at Gordon and shrugged. "Oh well, maybe another time."

Gordon watched Banks walk off, feeling a nagging sensation that time was running out he couldn't explain.

"Maybe." He murmured to himself, "Maybe…"


So, here's my questions this time for you:

1) Do you guys like the idea of each chapter including a few lyrics at the very beginning?

2)How do you think Marshall Banks is included in all this?

3) When Harleen eventually flips out, should she go after Gordon or Batman first?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

TTFN from vampassassin