Chapter Fourteen: Right Words
The night manager at the hotel was very sympathetic, listening to Harley's bullshit sob story. The large woman, in her mid-thirties, held her hand to her mouth as Harley explained about the abusive boyfriend she had just run away from. Too scared to remember everything after he nearly killed her, she had left her identification and credit cards behind. She couldn't go back to get them but could the manager please just take her cash and give her a room for night? The bruises and cuts on her face sold the story more than her words. The female manager was shocked by the pitiful guest's condition, agreeing to give her a room off the record, as Harley figured she would. The trick to selling a lie was to keep it as close to the truth as possible.
With a keycard in hand, and a promise to consider calling the police on her ex, she went up to her newly acquired room. As she fiddled with the keycard in its slot, Harley amused herself by thinking how a phone call to the police, reporting Mr. J's domestic abuse, would go. Setting the bag on edge of the bed, she looked around the unsurprisingly average accommodations. It was typical for a hotel, king bed, nightstand, dresser, desk, TV. The smell in the air of chocolate, from the factory down the road, tickled her nose and heightened her hunger. While not as luxurious as Thomas' guest room, it was still nicer than her bedroom with Mr. J. A pang went through her as she thought of him again, but she dismissed it to focus on more important concerns. Slipping her cell phone out of the bag, she reluctantly called the one person who might aid her.
Thomas' voice was alert. "Hello?" Probably hadn't gotten a wink of sleep with Geoffrey's death looming over his thoughts.
"Hi," she said, trying to not to betray her exhaustion.
"Harleen." It was obvious that he wasn't happy to hear from her. "Why are you calling me this late?"
"I'm sorry. I just didn't know who else to call." She sat down on the bed. "I'm hurt and I need a doctor." Harley sighed. "No those aren't the right words. I need you, Thomas." Tears began to well in the corner of her eyes and she wiped them away with shaking hands. "I did it. I left him. I left Mr. J."
"Where are you?" His tone changed, concerned, urgent, sharp. She breathed a sigh of relief that he could put aside the conflicts in his head to help.
Harley gave him the name of the hotel and her room number. Ending the call, she sat there, listening to the hum of the heater while ignoring the tears that forced their way down her cheeks. Her mind was in a state of mild shock, numbed and unable to believe what she had done. She really had left Mr. J. Images flashed through head, settling on that final moment when she shot him. The look in his eyes just before she turned. God, she was so stupid to do that. And now, she was on her own, a wanted criminal without a plan or any thoughts of the future. The act had been too impulsive. Harley had no idea what she was going to do. Before, her life had a purpose. Sitting there alone, staring at an ugly painting of a duck, she had to wonder "what next?"
She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was laying sideways across the bed, her feet slung over the side like a child. Her winter coat was still wrapped around her body and there was pounding at the door. Her groggy mind barely registered that Thomas must have arrived and she went to open the door for him, turning her face away when his startled eyes took her in. The gesture wasn't out of shame, but rather out of her guilt for plunging him back into the incredible mess she called a life. Thomas didn't deserve to be in the middle of this again. His hands might be stained as red as hers, but he was still the best man she knew. He deserved so much better.
"Harleen." His voice was almost a whisper. He stepped into the room, the door closing behind him.
Her back turned to him, she could hear his empathy for her. Harley closed her eyes as he closed the gap between them, his hands gently removing the heavy coat from her shoulders. As it dropped to the floor, his tension was palpable, noticing the fluids that seeped through her shirt from her wounds, the streaks of dried blood in her hair. She felt his fingers at her waist, tugging her shirt upwards and she raised her arms, allowing him to pull the soaked fabric off her. Her eyes sealed, she imagined what the expression on his face might have looked like.
Thomas' breath hitched as he read the word carved into her back. "God, Harleen."
Harley felt the whoosh of air around her as he circled to her front, a soft touch on her cheek. She opened her eyes to see the dark blue of his, gazing at her with pity. And then the shame came. Not the shame of being a victim. It was the shame of a woman who was weak. Weak enough to be pitied by another. In her entire life, no one had ever once looked at her like that. She had been the strong one, the rock, always able to handle anything that came her way. Her body had survived an incredible amount of damage. Her hands had stolen the last breaths of the innocent. Her eyes had seen horrors that would drive most insane. She was Harley Quinn, the queen of chaos, the consort to death himself. And as his pity encompassed her, the truth became clear. She was worthless.
Hot tears flooded her eyes, creeping down her face as Thomas stared at her. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It'll be alright, Harleen."
He always used that name. Clinging to a memory of a women who was gone, so different from the one that he held in his arms. Her tears fell, dripping from the edge of her chin to the shoulder of his coat. She didn't deserve a man like Thomas in her life. She didn't deserve a damn thing. And her initial tears turned into body wracking sobs, her knees collapsing from under her from the weight of her erratic emotions. Thomas clutched her in his embrace, following her descent to the floor. He murmured soothing words against her head, his fingers brushing up and down her arm in a calming gesture. She folded into his warmth, a desire to envelop herself in his consoling energy, wanting nothing more than to stop hurting. To find some peace for herself.
Her entire life was a series of embracing whatever came her way. Always defined by the trappings around her. Harley never did anything without it fully encompassing her every waking moment. Gymnastics was her life for much of her childhood and adolescent years and time after time, she bounced back from injury and frustration to make herself the best. She dedicated her soul to the sport, only to have her dreams ripped away from her. She drifted, lost as to her purpose until she met Guy. Her world became him, giving in to his every whim and desire as he slowly changed the core of her being. Even when his experiments sent her off the deep end, she always came back to him. And when he died, she followed his passion of the human mind. Her entire career in psychiatry was another way to keep him close, pushing everyone away. And despite her fears of awakening her inner demons, she realized that the real reason she kept everyone at arm's length was because she was still clutching tight to the memory of a dead man.
And then there was Mr. J. She let him absorb her from the first moment they met. No, even before then. The moment she saw his intense eyes staring at her through the video of a previous psychiatrist's session. Offering herself up to him as a sacrifice, she initiated their game, luring him in because no matter what she told herself at the time, she was obsessed from the beginning. Their dance consumed her life until all could think about was his eyes. Even now, in Thomas' arms, she saw those dark eyes peering at her and felt the rumblings of his chaos swirling inside her belly. The gymnast, the experiment gone wrong, the psychiatrist, the lover of a madman. But who was she? Who was Harleen Frances Quinzel?
When her sobs subsided, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder, she glanced down at his shirt, wiping away the wet streaks on her cheeks. "I got blood on you." Her voice sounded pitiful to her own ears.
Thomas softly laughed. "It's fine. I have plenty more." His hand squeezed her arm, voice sincere. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head. "I don't know who I am anymore." She buried her face into his shoulder, wanting to let her mind float away, to not think anymore.
"I do," he said, his chin rested on the top of her head. "I've gotten to know you quite well in the past week and the one things I've noticed is that you're a contrarian. One side of you is always at war with the other, an exercise in opposites. You're mentally strong enough to handle almost anything thrown your way but so weak when it comes to understanding your own emotions. You're tough enough to endure a mass amount of physical damage but your heart is fragile. You're an intelligent woman and yet so stupid sometimes. You're so beautiful and yet you love to show the world the ugliest parts inside you."
She sighed against his shoulder. "With compliments like those..."
"And you're maddeningly closed off while simultaneously being open. You talk as if the world is this terrible place and everyone is a sinner, but then I see you smile at something as silly as a smiley face cupcake and I know you see the beauty and goodness in the world."
"When did you see that?"
"You watched a lot of Food Network," he explained. "But I think the shining quality about you is that when you set your mind on something, you are so determined to see it through to the end, despite any obstacles. In medical school, when that old lady was dying and her family was delayed by a blizzard, you sat there for twelve hours to keep her company because you promised her she wouldn't be alone when she died. You'd just come off a fourteen hour rotation when you made that promise. You fought through all your fatigue and gave a dying woman her last wish."
She smiled. "I'd forgotten about that."
"I didn't. And when those men came into my home, you defended it like it was your own, not giving a damn about your own self-preservation. And I know you would have tried to save Geoffrey if you could." His voice cracked a little. "And then, you saved my life by putting down your gun. You could have just let me die and saved yourself. In fact, you've told me point blank that you would feel no remorse if you killed me yourself, but yet, you made a sacrifice to keep me alive. Because of all that determination inside of you."
He hugged her closer. "You are an amazing woman, Harleen. Both hot and cold, terrifying and wonderful. I never know what you're going to do next. You told me that I never knew the real you but I think, even though you've changed over the years, the woman I met in medical school isn't that different from the woman here in this room." Thomas moved his head to look down at her, their eyes meeting. "You're flawed, but those imperfections make you the most interesting woman I've ever met."
As close as they were, she could feel his breath breeze across her face, minty with just a hint of alcohol. Their lips were only inches apart, eyes connected to something deeper within them both. A moment that was electric enough to sizzle the air. Harley's lips parted, and the only words she could find were, "If you're about to kiss me, you should know that I have a possessive ex-boyfriend who enjoys placing bombs in random people."
The comment broke the strange tension between them and Thomas laughed, a genuine sound that made her feel happy inside, and he pulled her back into their original hug, kissing the top of her head. "I have no intentions on becoming your rebound guy. I don't think I'd survive it."
"I'm not sure I will either," she muttered against his shirt, thoughts of Mr. J's rage coming into her head. She pushed away from her friend, a smile coming to her face. "Thank you, Thomas." She wasn't sure what else to say, so she got back to her feet.
"Let's fix you up," he said, standing as well. He guided her over to a chair and grabbed the medical bag that he left at the front door. They didn't speak much as he tended her wounds, only the occasional comment about the severity of her injuries. Nothing would need stitches, but he was concerned that she could have trauma from the blows to her head. He bandaged the worst of her damage and handed her another antibiotic pill, instructing her to buy some iron supplements to increase her blood production.
When he was finished, he packed away his supplies and handed her a clean shirt from her bag. Still sitting, she took it but only laid it on her lap. "I should clean up, first." Although the rubbing alcohol he used had wiped away most of the blood on her torso and back, she still had ribbons running down her legs and in her hair.
"I'll see myself out, then." Thomas nodded to her.
"Could you..." Harley stopped herself. No, she needed to find the right words, desperately searching her mind for what she wanted to express. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
Thomas took her hand, kneeling before her. "Would you like me to stay?" The blue in his irises shined clearly in the dim lamplight of the room. Weakly, she nodded and he smiled, gently. "Alright."
Harley headed into the bathroom, stripping off her remaining clothes and scrubbing her lower half harshly. Gradually, the sink water turned a brownish color and when she was finished, she watched it drain, feeling relief that her past was beginning to fade. She used the detachable shower head to wash her hair, mindful of the fresh bandages, keeping her head down over the tub. Securing a towel around her head and body, she went back into the main room to take her forgotten clean clothing.
Thomas was sitting on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV. He had taken off his bloodied shirt and undershirt, his upper half bare before her eyes, and she couldn't help but admire his toned physique. She had felt his hard muscles through his clothing before, but in full view, she had to admit that he looked delicious. "Damn, Thomas." And she whistled at him in admiration. "A girl could cut herself on those lines." He rolled her eyes at her with a smile and she went back into the bathroom to change.
Leaving the wet towels on the floor, she looked at herself in the mirror. Whether it was Thomas' influence or just the knowledge that she was free of Mr. J, her reflection was lighter, as if the darkness of her soul had been banished. She could still feel the urges inside of her, but in this moment, she didn't want to act on them. She didn't want to destroy the bathroom or take Thomas for the ride of his life. Her mind lay elsewhere, contented with where she was. She no longer felt the need for deep contemplation. It was a relief. She smiled at herself, and donned her nightwear, just wanting to fall asleep before the worries of her life decided to resurface.
As grown adults, it was silly not to share the gigantic bed, so after Thomas had taken off his pants, giving her a nice view of his muscled legs and black boxers, they both settled in, turning off the TV and the lights. Silence pervaded the room except for the occasional rustle of the bedding as one of the shifted. Harley felt comfortable, safe even. Thomas would never be the man who protected her body from harm, but he was the kind of man who would protect her soul. She pushed the thought away, remembering how she always clung to whatever came along and made herself a promise to not make Thomas into something he wasn't. A friend, yes. A lover, time would tell. But he wouldn't become her next Guy Kopski or Mr. J. Her first priority had to be to herself, to discovering who she wanted to be.
"Harleen," Thomas spoke softly, breaking the silence and rolling over to face her. "Did you mean what you said earlier? About taking Bruce down?"
Staring up at the shadowy ceiling, she nodded. "I want to help you as much as I can. Breaking free of your fears is the hardest thing to do." She twisted her head to look at him. "You're here for me in my hardest time. I want to be there for you."
"You shouldn't have to feel like you owe it to me," he said.
"I don't. Friends don't do things for each other just because they feel obligated. They do it out of love for one another. Despite everything that's happened, every sucky, shitty thing that has rocked your world in the past week, you still came here to help me."
"I don't blame you for any of that."
"You should," she said, bitterly. "And yet, you don't. Which just proves that we have something real here. I don't know. Maybe it's the thrill of the adventure or the wild emotions that are surging inside of each of us, but somehow, all this hardship has rekindled that kinship we had in med school."
Thomas propped himself up on an elbow. "More so, I'd say. No one has ever tried to understand me. I'm sure you had some twisted motivation as to why you started prying into my life, but it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders that someone else knows my secrets. I feel more alive than I have in years."
"You're living, now, not just existing anymore," she said, referring to their first conversation after she was shot. "You're experiencing life through my eyes. Even when I'm in my darkest emotional hole, I feel alive. After Mr. J did this to me, I sat there staring in a mirror reminding myself that I was alive."
"It feels good to be alive."
Harley couldn't help but laugh. "You sound so hokey. Like some pop song."
"I'm not much of a singer, but I could probably bust out some dance moves," he said.
"You have dance moves?" She quirked an eyebrow at him in disbelief.
"You wound me." His hand touched his chest. "I've spent years training in martial arts so it might be less dancing and more kicking, but it would entertain."
"This, I have to see." She paused. "Wait, you trained in martial arts? I didn't know that."
"There's a lot about me you don't know. How do you think I keep this amazing body?" he teased.
And Harley became silent, thinking on her previous assumptions that he was, for the most part, helpless. Sure, he had a killer inside of him, a darkness, as many men often did. But the will to take a life wasn't the same as the ability to take down an opponent. He seemed so gentle and his previous kills were methodical and planned, not requiring anything else. Assuming definitely made an ass out of her. She had never thought to ask if he had any skills beyond his medical training. She didn't even watch the altercation between Thomas and Crane's man, the one who killed Geoffrey. Her eyes had been focused on Crane. Had she bothered to pay the slightest attention, she may have seen something. Now, she found herself wondering what other little tantalizing tidbits of Thomas were hidden from her.
After several minutes, he broke the quiet. "Do you ever have any regrets?"
She rolled over to face him, considering the question. "I try never to regret anything. It leads to doubt that can cripple you. Everything we do shapes our lives, for good or bad. And we have to choose whether to live in constant doubt, or move on with our lives." She sighed. "And despite all that whiny crap from earlier, I don't regret anything I've done. I know there are better choices I could have made, but we all have to live with the things we do or failed to do and it's best not to dwell in the past."
"I can't decide if you're incredibly wise, or just full of crap," Thomas said, laughing.
Harley laughed with him. "Hey, you asked the question."
"That I did." He moved a little closer to her, his hand closing over her own. "It's good you called me tonight. No matter what happens, I want you to know that I'll always be there for you."
Harley smiled at the rather cheesy sentiment. "Is this the part where you declare your undying love for me?"
A soft chuckle. "Oh, most cherished Harleen, thy beauty doth brighten mine heart." His phony British accent made them both laugh again. Then he grew earnest again. "But seriously, if you're in trouble, call me. I'll do what I can to help."
Touched by his sentiment, she squeezed his hand. "Thanks and the same goes for me."
They joked around for awhile longer before finally, sheer fatigue claimed Thomas and he fell quiet. Before long, his breathing grew deep and he no longer moved. Harley watched him for awhile before rolling her back towards him and shutting her eyes. Listening to his soft, rhythmic snores, Harley found herself lulled into a deep sleep, where dreams of clowns and blood haunted her.
The bruises faded, the cuts began to scar over, and two weeks later, sitting in a motel room, Harley was back to her old self. She wiped blood off her leather pants, not quite remembering exactly who it belonged to. The only thing that mattered was that her demons were satiated. The inner voice of Mr. J had dissipated into a minor whisper that she found easy to ignore, especially when she was in the throes of her passion. She floated freely through the streets of Gotham, acting upon any impulses that consumed her. Sometimes destruction was the order of the night, sometimes lust, and other times she was content to lie in her uncomfortable motel bed and stare at the ceiling. Caution guided her actions most evenings, never picking the convenient target for her emotional outbursts, instead waiting to choose someone who wouldn't be missed or who suited her wicked mind. She recognized that her current patterns were much different than those under Guy and wondered why. It wasn't the whispers in her head and it most certainly wasn't Thomas, whom she kept at arm's length to avoid any incidents.
Her friend had once speculated that she could control herself without the influence of Mr. J. He was right, but at the same time, her bloodlust had risen to near appalling levels. She could feel it licking her insides, waiting patiently for its release. Her actions had become more violent than before, and while the blur of the berserk frenzy was an ever constant threat, rarely did she lose herself to it. Instead, she made her moments last, drawing out the breaths of her victims until they were ragged and ready. In her moments of lust, she would fall into sheer rapture, claiming desire as she willed. It was different but Harley liked it.
Between her various affairs, she worked on plans to bring down Wayne. Initially, she went for subtle, arranging a deal with Livingston to have funds siphoned from Wayne Foundation charities and transferred to his personal account. The hacker was enthusiastic about the challenge, but a couple of days later she called to say she could no longer help. Mr. J was severing Harley's ties to his contacts. And in a way, the whole situation made Harley laugh. Even in a breakup between criminals, there was the awkward division of friends. His interference turned out to be for the best, for she couldn't stand amongst her peers without proving herself and she could never do that with his immense shadow looming over her.
Mr. J, for his part, had been unusually active since her departure, as if trying to work her out of his system. But his crimes seemed less malicious than usual and more like pranks on the city. There were the small acts, such as the Gotham Stock Exchange ticker board changing to show the "current prices" of notable celebrities within the city. Harley's name was in red, the price extremely low, showing just how childish he was being about the whole affair. The media had a field day with that tidbit, speculating about her absence from his side. But even the bigger crimes were out of sync with his usual style, going more for an attention-grabbing dramatic flair than testing the resolve of the citizens of Gotham. The incident at the zoo was proof of that.
It was a change. And when it came to Mr. J, change was never a good sign.
She found it best to ignore his antics and continue to focus on the task at hand. And one evening, while studying her target, a stroke of genius came over her. Harley had to stop thinking so far outside the box and return to her comfort zone. She should play to her strengths if she wanted to topple the giant. With that in mind, she began to construct a sinister plan that would shatter the world of Bruce Wayne. She had to admit, it was a risk and had a small chance of succeeding, but if she was dealt the right hand, Thomas would have his revenge and she would prove herself worthy of her reputation. With or without Mr. J, Harley Quinn would be known as a force to be reckoned with.
A/N: There is something so honest and bare about the relationship between Harley and Thomas. I really wanted to convey that in this chapter between the comfort he offers and the light hearted jokes between them, and still keep the tension that something may still happen between them. I do hope I was able to capture this well for you.
Thank you all for your continued support, whether you be a reviewer or a lurker. I hope everyone is enjoying this story. Oh, and the zoo incident...well that's best left to your imagination. :) Cheers!