Epilogue for yooooou!

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"Wakey, wakey, it's daybreaky."

Those are the first words to meet my ears when I come around.

"Actually, I – ah, I lied, it's six o'clock at night. But what the hell? Maybe daybreak doesn't have to be a literal thing, maybe it can be sym-bee-olic. Ya know? Like the moment you wake u—"

"Why?"

I stop him in his rambling tracks. There's a shimmery pain behind those watery, puppy-dog eyes, all green and big and soft. His lips purse and pucker a little and the big, obnoxious, threadbare corners of his mouth mash into a collection of scar-tissue wrinkles.

"Why what, Harv-uh-cakes?"

"Why…everything?" I can't bring the words to a logical standpoint. Everything seems to encompass it well enough, everything, like the word is the size of the marshmallow man in Ghost Busters. Like everything is clearly synonymous with rape, impregnate, rip heart out, destroy mental state, take away from only one who cares. It's as though everything happens to mean all of those things specifically.

"'Cause ya ruin everything, toots. I held a knife up to your throat, I—ah, I threatened to rip ya open with a harpy, I even left you a series of drunk voicemails—"

A pause, and I watch him lean over to flick the answering machine. His slurring voice fills the room. This is a song! For the loooneellleeeeh! Can you hear me toniiIIIGHT!? –Come ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-ack…

I don't remember these voicemails.

Whatever.

"I ru-ruin everything, so you rape me in the back of a—"

"Now, you listen here and you listen good-uh. I was reaaaaal drunk, and I didn't know you from Andy Griffith on TV-fuckin'-land in my television set-uh. So don't sit around and pin on me the mistakes I've always come ta terms with, Harvey." There's a flash of malice in his grip, his wavering, shattering grin, but it doesn't resurface up to his eyes. It doesn't float there like a dead goldfish just helplessly buoyant at the top.

I need to keep in mind that, the next time I get 'reaaaaal' drunk, I can rape him because—hey! – it's not like I'm doing it on purpose!

If it were Ivy instead of him, Ivy wouldn't say something like 'I was real drunk' or 'TV-fuckin'-land'. Ivy would probably apologize for hurting my feelings to whatever degree.

"So….no kiddo, hah?"

There it is. The corner of his mouth flinches downward in a horrible twitch, like doing frown surgery on a raggedy Andy doll. His hand reaches up, entwines in his shiny, blonde hair and strokes through anxiously. The limp ponytail it's in goes totally unaffected.

"N-N-N-No."

I'm lying so hard. All at once, the depression comes on back like a megaton hammer to the face. It hurts, but it makes me want to cry more than hurt.

"I was going to name him Richard," Is all I say, and I watch his coffee-stained teeth dart out to take his bottom lip between his teeth and gnaw. His nose twitches, like an intent bunny rabbit, "Richard John, after my dad."

It's unexpected, but he ambles up from the squeaky rocking chair and leans over until he's standing over me like a hovercraft. His lips are less of a frown and more of an uncertain slash, now, like a crooked line sped across his face.

"I'm sorry to hear 'bout what happened—ah—ya know? 'Specially since I was lookin' forward ta—"

After what he did, he even expected mutual rights as a parent?

Honestly, Cleave, don't' make me lauguh-cry.

Somewhere in Gotham, I hope Bat-for-brains is feeding him some pretty tasting brand of baby formula and thinking what a briefly brave person Harley Quinn is.

This isn't home. Home is where the heart is. But is my heart here?

I wish I could do more than just stutter out timid sentences and flee away from his eye contact.

Without warning, his arms snake around my neck and his bony chin digs into my shoulder. His breath feels hot on my face, and it smells like the makings of Nathan's hotdogs, the chili stuff.

"I'm suh, suh sor-ree, Harv-cakes…"

Gotham City is quiet tonight. Why?

I can't believe this.

He stays where he is, not making a sound, not twitching a muscle.

And we mourn the losses of two different ideas there, surrounded only by the dust particles fluttering through the tension-packed air.

He mourns the loss of a child he'll never know. I mourn the loss of a child I'll never forget.

We regret.