Chapter Eighteen: Class Dismissed

Harley was numb. She barely registered the hand on her shoulder or the empty pistol being pulled from her hand. All she could do was stare at the corpse of her lover, a man who had completely changed her life, the one visible eye opened in death. The moans and screams of pain around her were ephemera, scaling down as the time past. Footsteps stomped about, shouts of a secondary exit now that Harley was finished. There was no concept of where she was, what was going on, who was touching her. She ignored it all, focused on the death of yet another man she loved. Again, by her hand. And she suddenly couldn't breathe.

She dropped down to the floor, hacking coughs erupting from her lungs, unable to suck in a single breath. The world was drawing dim she felt a hand on her head, soothing, words spoken in her direction. The room had grown silent except for the occasional groan of the injured or dying. And then other voices came, authoritative, demanding. The hand on her head trailed down her hair to her back, gently rubbing as she continued to choke on her own respiration. Her body shook with the agony of loss, the sweet torture of hell.

And everything turned to black.

Her eyes opened to bright lights and the feeling of fingers on her lids. "She's conscious, sir," a voice said.

She swatted the hands away, a futile gesture, as the voice continued. "It's alright, Miss Quinn. You just fainted. You're in an ambulance and you're safe. Mr. Falcone sent us to pick you up. Do you remember?"

All she could muster was the one thought that continued to spiral through her mind, a whisper. "Mr. J."

"Harley, can you hear me?" Another voice, familiar, Thomas.

She blinked again, the spots in her eyes beginning to clear along with her thoughts. "Yeah."

"We're in the ambulance you arranged," Thomas said, his bandaged head coming into her field of vision. "We got lucky. The police arrived just as we pulled away. And you're fine. You just passed out."

Harley nodded, mutely, her eyes glancing around her surroundings. Her body was on a basic gurney, though not strapped in as normally would be the case. The first voice belonged to a man in a paramedic uniform. He was sitting behind her in a jump seat. Parallel to her, Thomas was sitting on a soft bench, his legs propped up on the cushions, though he showed no sign of injury. The ambulance was moving, the occasional bump startling Harley. She couldn't see the other paramedic from her position, only the side of his or her uniform and the hat that covered their head. But the strangeness of Thomas's position made her wonder why his legs weren't on the ground. Her eyes turned downwards towards the floor and she discovered the reason. A body bag.

She didn't need to ask. Of course, Thomas wouldn't have allowed them to leave without Mr. J. He would want her to say her proper farewells to her former life. Her eyes welled with tears of unspoken gratitude as she looked from the black bag up to Thomas. He only nodded in return, taking her hand and squeezing gently. In his own eyes, there was a sadness as well. Not for the death of Mr. J but compassion for her and her loss. He understood the magnitude of what she had done and how it would forever be scarred on her insides. Her emotions ran a mile a minute ranging from deep sorrow to relief, profound joy to searing anger. So much was wrapped up in what lay in that bag. The cooling body of someone who she loved dearly but also hated fiercely. Harley was free, but she wondered if the cost was worth the sacrifice.

"I can't believe you did it," he said.

She stared into his blue eyes, trying to force all the emotion out of her. It wasn't time yet to feel. She needed her wits about her. "I was keeping my word," was all she said.

"What word?" Thomas questioned, his brow knitting in confusion.

But she just shook her head. He might understand but she wasn't ready to vocalize her last, bitter moments with Mr. J at the house. Instead, she said, "What happened to Wayne?"

Thomas looked like he wanted to press the issue but at the last second, changed his mind. "He disappeared with the crowd after you blew your cover."

"You still think we should continue?" Harley asked.

"I don't see a reason why not. We have more than enough."

She nodded, looking away from him to stare at the white ceiling of the ambulance, her head resting back against the pillow. They said nothing more, waiting for the vehicle to reach its destination. She found it funny that they were in an ambulance and yet the paramedic wasn't doing a thing to help her injuries. Likely on orders from the armed man at her side. Her shoulder and stomach had stopped their bleeding, it seemed, but they still stung in a exquisite way. And the metal plate at her lower chest was rubbing her skin raw underneath, foreign and obnoxious. She couldn't wait to get the damn thing off her.

After what seemed like an hour, the vehicle finally stopped and the engine shut off. The driver got out and rounded the ambulance, opening the back doors. Harley's head lifted to look out the doors, her eyes bypassing the bowed head of the driver, surprised at the lack of cool air. They had pulled over in a warmed warehouse. As she peered past the driver, she noticed the tall pillar supports that rose to the high ceiling. Metal girders lined the top of the room and large pallets lined the entirety of the floor. In the center, a desk stood, riddled with bullet holes. She recognized this place. It was the same warehouse from her first solo assignment. Where she killed Falcone's men. She laughed to herself. Carmine did have a sense of humor after all.

The paramedic in the jump seat behind her unstrapped himself and bent down to the floor next to her, his hands grasping the board that the body bag was strapped to. Not wanting to watch as they moved the body of her lover, she glanced over to Thomas, whose eyes were staring down at the body bag, his body tense as if expecting Mr. J to rise up from the grave. It would be so like him, too. Wouldn't be the first time he pulled that trick.

"Hush?" she said quietly to get his attention, using his moniker to preserve his identity from the two mobster paramedics. His eyes lifted to her, his expression strained. It was curious. "Are you alright?"

The paramedic blocked their line of sight as he passed by, the board gripped in his hands. When he passed, the strained look was gone from Thomas' face. "It's just hard to believe that he's dead."

"Everyone dies. It's a simple fact of life." she said, sitting up and throwing her legs over the side of the gurney. She was surprised at how calm she sounded, her insides wanting to scream. "I'll be dead soon enough thanks to my current lifestyle. So will you if you keep it up" She pointed towards the paramedic who had climbed out of the vehicle, placing the body bag on the floor of the warehouse. "Hell, even that guy will die at some point."

"I couldn't agree more," a new, extremely familiar voice said. "How about right now?"

Harley's eyes, locked on Thomas, widened in shock just as the gunshot rang out. She heard the thump of a body hitting the ground and felt her breathing accelerate. Very slowly, she turned her eyes towards the open doors, and gasped as she saw him. Dressed in a paramedics uniform, hiding in plain sight as the driver, a gun in his hand. No makeup, but he wouldn't use it when he was playing the disguise game. His hair under a baseball cap, the carved smile across his lips. But it was unmistakably him. Mr. J.

Her mouth moved, forming words that surprised her. "Oh good, I get to kill you twice." It was a stupid thing to say, considering the only weapon she had was the knife in her pocket, but she couldn't help that smartass impulse inside of her.

Mr. J gave her a sardonic smile before tilting his head to take both her and Thomas in. Then he took two large steps to the back of the ambulance, aiming the gun at her best friend. "Hand over the guns, Tommy-boy."

If Thomas was surprised at Mr. J's knowledge of his identity, he didn't show it. Carefully, he unholstered his guns and dropped them to the floor of the ambulance, kicking them over without being asked. He knew the drill, nerves of steel. Mr. J grabbed the guns and tossed them haphazardly behind him, not bothering to see where they landed. Harley kept her eyes peeled for them, understanding that knowledge might potentially save her life.

Mr. J waved the gun at them, indicating they should exit, stepping to the side of the doors. She met Thomas' eyes and nodded. There was no other choice. Mr. J was not one to be argued with. As mixed as her feelings were before, when she thought him dead, it was nothing compared to now, her internal blender having been turned on. And yet, she couldn't deny the feeling of sheer relief she felt when she saw him. She hadn't killed him. He was alive and breathing and as vital as ever. His intensity was as palpable as ever, radiating off him in waves that consumed her and made her want to laugh in joy. As she stepped out the vehicle, she was torn between kissing him and slugging him. Her mind was at war.

She carefully stepped over the body bag, watching as Mr. J took the cap off his head, his familiar curls falling wildly down to his shoulders. As Thomas exited behind her, Mr. J grabbed him around the neck with his gun arm, knife flashing in his off hand. A swift surprise attack, one that Thomas was unable to defend against, as the knife slashed through the bandages on his head. The sound of tearing fabric, the grimace of pain on Thomas' face as the blade met skin. The only reason, Harley figured, that Thomas didn't struggle was because he knew Mr. J wasn't going for real damage. As soon as the wrapping hit the floor, Mr. J pushed Thomas forward towards her, and then he leaned back against the open ambulance door.

"Too many masks as of late," Mr. J said, far too casual for the situation.

"You're one to talk," Thomas muttered, touching the side of his face where the knife had dug in. Harley gave it a cursory glance but noted the injury was minor. It would bleed something fierce but it wouldn't scar.

Another tilt of his head, eyes narrowing, and Mr. J fired his gun at Thomas. Thomas dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest where the slug had implanted into his body armor. Harley crouched down next to him, instinctively, to check on his condition. His breathing was shallow, the impact having knocked the wind out of him. She rubbed her hand on his back in encouragement.

"Just breathe," she said. "In, out." She breathed with her words to help him.

Her position jammed her own makeshift body armor into her lower chest, cutting into the skin under her breasts. It was too distracting to dismiss anymore and she reached under her shirt, yanking the metal plate hard and ripping it from the tape that secured it in place. The tape scorched her skin as it tore but she merely smiled at the sensation, knowing she would need that fire to deal with whatever was about to come. The blood bag only had lingering amounts of fluid inside, most of its contents drying onto her shirt and pants. The indent of the .22 bullet was right in the center. Thomas really had amazing aim. A true marksman.

Tossing the plate to the ground with a loud clang, she stood again, her hands on her hips. A quick glance down at Thomas assured her that he would be fine. She turned her eyes towards Mr. J. "So why the deception?" She nodded towards the body bag.

Mr. J put a hand over his heart, his unadorned eyes widening in innocence. "Me?" Then he laughed. "Oh Harley, you really are an idiot sometimes. I kept hoping you would figure this all out ages ago but obviously, I was mistaken. Either way..." He trailed off.

She knew it was better to ignore his insults to her person and just focus on the point he was trying to make. "Figure what out?"

"That you've been played."

That made her pause. "How so?" Obviously she had been played by whoever was in the body bag, but Mr. J's tone made it seem like so much more.

"Always so blind to what's around you that you don't see who the true villain is." His gun moved to aim directly at Thomas as he finally stood. "Sorry to bust up your plan there, sport. It was meticulously effective, though it left little room for improvisation."

Harley looked over to Thomas confused. Not the Bruce Wayne plan. Mr J would have known it was her design. So what did Thomas have to do with any of this? "What is he talking about?"

"I have no idea," Thomas replied, his eyes on the clown.

"Ah, ah ah," Mr. J tsked with glee in his expression. "Think it's high time you came clean with her, don't you, Tommy?"

Thomas said nothing, his posture tense, his face stoic and blank, despite any pain he was feeling from the earlier shot to his chest. Mr. J continued to stare at him with delight in his eyes, like he was peeling off the wings of insects. Harley looked between the two men, starting to get pissed at being left out of their silent conversation. "Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Mr. J turned his smile to her. "Seems he's a little shy so I'll be more than happy to explain. Your dearest best friend has been using you. All in some petty attempt at revenge on me." His eyes turned back to Thomas. "I mean, really, did you think you could pull the wool over my eyes? The entire affair was so transparent. I wonder why you bothered." Mr. J's fingers wiggled in the air, as if it didn't matter.

"Then why did you let it continue," Thomas said through clenched teeth. Hatred was seething beneath his words.

"You should know, by now, that I love a good show." The clown grinned. "But the curtain must fall eventually."

Harley was sick of being the broken record of questions and instead just raised an eyebrow at Mr. J, her eyes showing the undisguised annoyance at his constant lead-ins with no answers. She had gotten used to the strange way he explained things over the months, but it was still just as irritating as when she was his psychiatrist. Half-truths and missing information. That was his game and he did love to draw things out as long as possible. So she stared, waiting impatiently for him to gloat over how clever he was. She didn't have to wait long.

Mr. J motioned the gun towards the body bag. "Why don't you take a look, Harley?"

She knelt down next to the body bag, pushing the arm of the dead paramedic off the black plastic. Lowering the zipper, she was confronted again by the dead eyes of Mr. J, the greasepaint smeared with blood stains. But now, this close to the face, she could see the imperfections, the difference between the corpse and the man before her. The scars were all wrong, not quite the same curl to the right cheek. And there was something wrong about the face itself, as if it was melting.

Mr. J crouched down on the other side of the bag, his eyes constantly darting between her and Thomas before he reached out and grasped the top of the dead man's face. The medical gloves covering his hand dug in, reaching almost magically under the skin, and Harley realized that it was prosthetic makeup. Of course, that was why it was so close and yet so different. This guy didn't have a life cast of Mr. J and pictures could only allow so much perfection. In one swift motion, Mr. J ripped away the mask of the copy cat. The scars peeled off and tiny gelatin filled packets slid off the cheeks, revealing the face of the man she killed. And she recognized him instantly.

It was Geoffrey.

"In this case, the butler did do it." Mr. J laughed, standing fully again.

Her mind was brimming with confusion, so many questions. "But I watched him die," Harley said, thinking back to the moment when Geoffrey was shot by Crane's man. "There was no way he could have survived."

She heard a snort of annoyance and looked up as Mr. J picked up the dented metal plate she had cast aside earlier. "Faking a death is easy if you know what you're doing. Tell me, whose idea was it to use this?"

Her eyes immediately went to Thomas. It had been his idea. Thomas shook his head slowly, as if he was internally sighing at his own failure. And her eyes narrowed. "Why would you do that?"

Before Thomas could answer her, Mr. J jumped in. "Because, darling, he's a liar just like the rest of them. He set this entire ordeal in motion, then set this guy loose," and he kicked at Geoffrey's corpse, "just to keep my attention away from you. So he could work on you."

Harley, then, remembered the little clues that she had missed. The greasepaint on the door handle on the second floor when she had been hunting Crane's men. She had assumed it was from Mr. J but she was willing to bet that the door led to Geoffrey's room. And the smudge of dirt she had seen under his eye when he caught her outside her room, right before Thomas studied her infected stitches. It wasn't dirt but makeup. It added up. But she wondered how many crimes of the butler's had been attributed to Mr. J?

"So, McDonalds? The Stock Exchange? The zoo? That was all Geoffrey?" She asked.

Mr. J looked down at her with a derisive sneer, tossing away the metal plate he was holding. The clang punctuated his words. "Did you honestly think that was my style? And no, I wasn't the one to break Crane out, either. All part of his schemes." His eyes turned towards Thomas. "I did enjoy that bit, though. A clever way to break her, using the Scarecrow. Wish I had thought of it." He smirked then snapped. "Oh wait, I did. Seems you've been copying me in more ways than one."

Harley blinked and stood from her kneeling position. She couldn't look at Thomas or Geoffrey anymore. She wanted answers and the one man who had them was in front of her. She stepped over the body bag again, crossing the invisible line that separated them. "Stop dancing around it and just tell me, already."

His gun still aimed at Thomas, no longer seeing her as a threat, and he turned his head towards her, the smile lighting his face. "Since I doubt your bestest friend will fill you in, why not? Let's go back to the beginning. And that starts with a bullet."

Constantly, his eyes flickered between her and Thomas as he spoke, his hands waving in grandiose gestures to accentuate his points, like the story smiths of the days of old. And once again, she found herself as his audience, as she once had been in Arkham. Weaving and crafting his tale with his strange way of speaking. She almost wanted to sit down in front of him, like a child, fascinated by his words. But Harley didn't want to miss out on the grand scheme he was unraveling. She focused in on his words.

"If you recall, that one bullet was intended for me," Mr. J said. "But you jumped in the way, causing things to go in a much different direction than anticipated. You didn't see, Harley. Didn't grab at the connections. Wasn't it a little too convenient that your old chum was at the hospital that night? A surgeon in his office, way past his normal operating hours, at the exact moment he would be needed by you? I never believe in coincidence. It was obvious, even then, that it was planned."

"But who shot me?" She asked.

Mr. J' gave an over the top gesture and pointed to the corpse of Geoffrey. "The butler, of course, an easy conclusion. Got a graze off on him before he fled, nicked the upper arm. And his identity was confirmed by a simple test."

And his words took her back to the first night she woke up. When he clapped Geoffrey on the arm before dismissing him. The wince of the butler, not because the gesture was hard but because the wound underneath was still fresh. Mr. J must have felt the bandages under the uniform. How did he see so much? She felt simultaneously amazed and deceived all at once. A wink from him, as if he was reading her mind, before he trained his gaze on Thomas. "His service records listed him as a marksman. The shot was too perfect to have been done by anyone else, except perhaps yourself, Tommy. You didn't want to put yourself in the line of fire so early, though, so you used him instead."

"Geoffrey's been with the Elliots for years," Harley commented.

"Why hire a butler when you can get a bodyguard and a trainer as well? Who do you think dear Tommy learned his skills from?" It made sense to her. Mr. J continued. "And with you as the victim, instead of me, he had to change his strategy. Since I wasn't laid up with a bullet wound, he had to adjust, sending out the copy cat to keep me distracted. It worked for a couple of days, I'll admit. And it gave him more time to insinuate himself into your life again."

Harley looked over to Thomas. He was stoic, as before, but she could see the shame burning in his eyes. And it wasn't the shame of being exposed. No, it was the shame of knowing what he had done. He actually regretted it. Harley had hoped to see that in him, but it still threw her for a loop, now beginning to understand what he had done, how he had violated her life. Again, her emotions were all over the board, unable to settle on one thing to feel.

"Dr. Elliot knew I'd have him researched," Mr. J said. "He just didn't know how good Livingston could be. I called you with a name, Peyton Riley. Your old patient. The records were easy access at Arkham and Tommy knew we'd find out about her. Giving you the perfect moment of sharing as you learned about his past, a connection to interest you." Again, his eyes moved to Thomas. "Little Peyton kept a diary, though. Writing down all your dirty secrets, if someone knew what to look for. And that's why she had to die."

"You had her killed?" She asked Thomas, not entirely sure why she was shocked by that revelation.

Mr. J answered. "Of course he did. And he used his old mentor, Jonathan Crane, to do it. Forced her into such fear that she killed herself. The autopsy was a nice read."

"Wait, what? His old mentor?" Harley never knew that Jonathan and Thomas knew each other.

Mr. J smiled. "All you doctors-to-be have to do a psych rotation, don't you? I'm sure you can guess which newly minted doctor was on staff during Thomas' turn."

"Crane," she whispered.

"Crane," Mr. J repeated. "I'm sure the future Dr. Elliot charmed him during that time, made the old quack enough of an ally to request a favor later on. And that favor was Peyton Riley. Tommy didn't visit her, no. The records were altered and Livingston discovered the discrepancy. Easy enough to get the staff to change the log when you're a top donor. Good work on that, Harley." Mr. J laughed at his reference to the Wayne Manor house-warming party where she got Thomas to agree to fund Arkham. "But nothing's free. He had to break Crane out in return. And to sweeten the deal, Tommy offered him the one thing he wanted. You."

"But if you didn't break Crane out, how did you get his journal?" Harley asked, digesting all he had told her so far.

"Got curious, went back to the old stomping grounds," he shrugged. "Arkham's easy to get into after an escape. All you need is a police uniform and you have full access. Living across from the guy, I knew his stash location. Found the girl's diary tucked away with his journal. Interesting reads on both accounts. Made it all so clear."

Mr. J leaned back against the ambulance door, looking back over at Thomas who hadn't moved in inch since the story began. "But I think the icing on the cake was the medicine. Lacing her antibiotics with dopamine to increase her emotional reactions? Some nice formulas in Crane's book along those lines."

His eyes turned towards Harley again. "I'm sure you wondered why your emotions were so erratic, why you weren't reacting to things as you normally would. He pulled the same trick your dead boyfriend did. Boosting your dopamine levels so you'd be more susceptible to your id and to your basest needs. Also, ramped up your survival instincts, which is why you reacted strangely when I came by to say hello. He used your volatile emotional state to persuade you that I was the villain." Another laugh as his eyes turned back to Thomas. "When really, it was Dr. Elliot all along, picking away at your subconscious. Should have been a shrink, doc. You have a talent for it."

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Thomas, the feeling of utter betrayal growing. Thinking back, she had been all over the map with her emotions. And after she stopped taking the antibiotics, things seemed less muddy in her head and she was able to control herself more. Just as Guy Kopski had once done to her, Thomas had done the same, wrapping her around his finger. Her conversations with him were the catalyst that made her realize that Mr. J was controlling her. She had gone into his mansion so sure of where she stood, and left Thomas' home wanting to completely change her life. Had he been lacing her IV bag as well? Probably. Had everything been a lie? A manipulation to get her to hate Mr. J? She shook her head, violently, wanting to scream but forcing it back. There was more to the story.

"Then I was kidnapped by Crane. It was all a setup to get inside my head, make me question our relationship even more." Her face turned towards Mr. J. He was nodding to her in encouragement as she worked through the puzzle. "The whole vision I had was designed to work on my doubts. The bindings made me think of being trapped. My nudity was to make me feel more vulnerable." And then she remembered the flash at the end of her hallucination, the green and purple. "And Geoffrey was there to inspire visions of Mr. J in my head."

"All to get you to one goal," he said, with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

"To hate you," she said. "But why? What does Thomas have against you? I can't imagine this was just about getting me away from you. There's got to be something more." Her eyes moved back to Thomas, who just shook his head. He wasn't going to be answering her questions any time soon.

Mr. J watched their exchange before speaking. "Always something more behind the facade. Before we met, I spent some time in the company of Gotham's elite at Harvey Dent's fundraiser. Tommy was also in attendance."

"Yeah, he told me."

"What he didn't tell you was that he had big plans for the night. Livingston was able to track down some interesting movements, purchases, transactions, all by the good doctor. I suppose he had some massive plan to take down Wayne but I don't care enough to figure out what that plan entailed. All that matters is that it all fell apart when I decided to crash the party. How that must have rankled, you, eh Tommy?"

Harley closed her eyes for a moment, letting her mind roll over the information. It really was all about petty revenge. She should have seen it coming, knowing Thomas had a thing for getting even. His father, his mother, Bruce Wayne. Now Mr. J. She felt like an idiot for not catching on earlier, so lost in their friendship and the strength he had been giving her. But it was all just part of the plan. And what disturbed her even more was that Mr. J knew this entire time and said nothing, letting it play out to see where it took her. That hurt her even more. He allowed all this to happen. He could have stopped it but he didn't.

Her eyes opened to take in Mr. J. Only one question remained. "Why?"

"You needed to learn this lesson on your own."

"What lesson?"

But Mr. J turned away from her, not giving her the answer. It was obvious, staring her in the face but she didn't want to admit it to herself. It would mean the end of anything she had once believed. Close her up to the world. And once again, she found herself at a crossroads, a decision to be made. Whether to take Mr. J's path or wallow in dead beliefs. To be one of those who exist, or one of those who lived. Her initial words to Thomas came roaring back. For all she had once said to him, she had only been existing, allowing Mr. J to drag her along by his side. If she took this final step, she would truly be living. Her own entity, free of her bonds. She wouldn't need Mr. J's controlling hand or her own self-doubts. Harley would see the world in a new light and be able to stroll through it with the real truth pervading her mind. Free will was a bitch.

Her decision made, she looked over again at Thomas, this time with true wrath behind her eyes. Her hands began to shake with her internal fury at having been played. At being used by someone she called a friend. "I trusted you. I cared about you. And you used that to twist my life upside down. All for the sake of getting back at Mr. J?" Her words were cold, full of wrath and she watched as his eyes met hers with the same shame she saw before. "I can forgive a lot of things, Thomas. I can forgive the bullet in my gut. I can forgive the deception of Geoffrey. I can forgive trying to split me and Mr. J up. Hell, I can even forgive the whole mess with Crane."

Her eyes narrowed. "What I can't forgive is the way you made me feel. I don't how much of what we shared was real and how much was fake, but obviously, I'm blind when it comes to you." She shook her head, sadly. "You made me believe that I was becoming a better person. That I was freeing myself. That somehow, I was going to be so much more than I had been. You gave me hope."

The angry tears that had been stinging her lids began to fall down her cheeks as she stared at him. Thomas had that look in his eyes as if he wanted to comfort her, but knew that she would never accept that from him ever again. Mr. J fell away from her mind as she gazed at the man who deceived her, the one who laughed at her jokes and understood her. The only person she still called "friend." But real friends didn't do that to each other. They were honest and open. And for the millionth time, her mind went back to a familiar phrase. Mr. J was right. He was always right. Harley was a fool to have believed otherwise.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, his tone matching her bitter sorrow with his own mourning. He understood what he had lost by doing what he did. "But it wasn't all about revenge. I really wanted to help you make a better life."

Harley looked away from him, her eyes burning with her tears and then took two steps towards Mr. J, blocking Thomas' view of the clown. She met the eyes of her lover, his calculating gaze looking her up and down. But when she spoke, she addressed Thomas. "When I first woke up in your house, Mr. J gave me one instruction. 'Corrupt him,' he told me. He wanted me to dig deep and find the man underneath. To change you into something beautiful."

Her left hand raised to touch the right cheek of Mr. J, stroking along the scar as she continued to speak to Thomas. "I did. I found your core, Thomas, even if I didn't see the truth of what you had planned. And, in the end, I did follow Mr. J's instruction." She craned her head to look back at her friend. "I corrupted you, brought you down to your lowest. I got inside your head and made you do things that you never dreamed you could do, some of it intentional, some of it not. But when all is said and done, I got you to destroy the only two things that mattered to you."

Her eyes dipped down to the corpse of Geoffrey. "I'm sure you didn't intend for his death, only wanted to add fuel to my fire. To make me angry enough to do something about it, having all my plans ruined. You couldn't anticipate what I did. You didn't know about my promise to Mr. J, to kill him if I ever saw him again." Her hand on Mr. J's cheek lightly slapped his flesh, a gesture of affection. "But ignorance is no excuse. You sent him in there." A pained expression crossed Thomas' face. Now she understood why he kept looking at the body bag with such tension in his body. "You are responsible for Geoffrey's death. You destroyed him because of your vengeance. And you destroyed a great relationship between you and I, something that could have turned the world. We could have been great together."

Between their bodies, she felt Mr. J's gun pressed into her right hand. Her head swiveled back to take him in, his eyes boring a hole into her, waiting in anticipation of what she would do. He didn't need to demand anything of her. The decision was already made and they both knew it. As she turned to face Thomas, the pistol in her hand, she smiled, that wild look that she couldn't contain. Thomas' hands raised in defense. She felt Mr. J's hands rest on her shoulders, encouraging and guiding. His energy fueled her own, letting her anger settle into something smooth, lasting, delicious. She felt at peace for the first time in years.

"I hope your revenge was worth it," Harley said.

Then she squeezed the trigger, letting the bullets fly towards her best friend as her laughter echoed through the warehouse. His eyes widened at her words and then the rounds slammed into Thomas' chest, over and over, until she was out of ammo and his body hit the ground. Tossing the empty gun on the floor, Harley turned in place and wrapped her arms around Mr. J's neck. She pulled him down to her, her lips pressing harshly against his in a forgotten embrace. Her passion igniting as she pressed her body against his. The usual taste of greasepaint was gone, replaced by his natural flesh. She savored every swipe of her tongue, every moan against his lips. The way his arms pulled her close, as if he missed her as much as she missed him. Harley felt like she had come home.

After some time, Mr. J pulled back. "He's gone," Mr. J said.

Harley didn't need to turn around to know that Thomas had slunk away, bruised and beaten, the bullets lodged harmlessly in his body armor. "I know."

"You didn't intend to kill him."

Harley mused on this for a second. "No. He tricked me. He used me. He proved that no matter how much I want to believe otherwise, everyone in the world is exactly the same. They're all liars and users and everyone, in the end, will always give in to their selfish desires, regardless of who it hurts." She met the eyes of her lover, as she expressed the lesson he had taught her. "So why should I go for the kill when his pain is so much better?"

And Mr. J smiled wider than she had ever seen before. "Class dismissed."

A/N: What a twist! Seriously, though, I hope this all made sense to you. Nothing is scarier to an author than writing a plot like this where I have to explain how it all happened. But if you go back through the story, you'll see the hints dropped throughout that not all was as it seemed with Thomas Elliot. I truly hope you all enjoyed it. And there will be one more chapter to wrap up loose ends. Thank you all for sticking around!