A/N: I felt like I was gone longer than I was. Oh well, here's another chapter. Revealing a little more about Bane as we go along. He's all complicated and stuff, which seems to be a habit for Harley's men. Poor thing, I just torture her so. It makes for a good story though, right?

Chapter 7: Mad Woman, Bad Woman

Black, black, black and blue, beat me till I'm numb

Tell the devil I said "hey" when you get back to where you're from

Mad woman, bad woman

That's just who you are

Yeah, you smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car

"Grenade," Bruno Mars

After a few hours of silent waiting, someone knocked sharply on my door.

"Yeah?" I called.

"Are you hungry, Miss Quinzel?" Gerard grumbled.

"Um…yes, I am." I leaned against the door, "What do you guys have?"

"I'll make you a grilled cheese. Is that ok?"

"That sounds good. Will you bring me some water, too?" I added after a moment of thought.

He grunted with acknowledgment and then walked away.

I think he may actually like me, the lovable jerk.

I waited for a moment or two, and pulled the little folding chair in the room over to the door, cringing at the scraping sounds it make against the tile floor. I propped it under the small opening between the wood and the floor, and pushed down the chair as hard I could. The door didn't budge. I pouted. I thought I could go all Will Turner in Pirates of the Caribbean on it. I guess that shit only works in movies.

I pulled the chair away and stared at the door, frowning with concentration. I bet I looked like a damn fool trying to figure this out, but right now, I was just trying to find a way to break down the door. It was only wood, after all.

I was about seconds away from using the chair to bash it when a short, balding man with humongous arm muscles walked in, holding a plate with a sandwich on it and a glass of water. I assumed it had to be Gerard.

"Here's your lunch." He said, holding it out to me. Upon listening closer, I could tell he had a slight French accent.

"Thanks," I said, taking it from him. He just stood there for a moment, watching me.

"Um…is there anything else?" I asked awkwardly.

"Mr. Bane would like you to know that he will be here in exactly 2 hours, mademoiselle." He informed me.

"Oh, alright," I shifted uncomfortably, "Can I eat in peace?"

"Of course," he said, and exited the room.

I sat down cross-legged on the bed, balancing the plate in my lap. I took a bite and realized how starving I had been. It was actually pretty good. Not bad for an alarmingly brutish Frenchman.

I finished my lunch, and took to people-watching outside the window. They just walked right on by, paying no attention to the fact that people (well, meaning myself) were being forced against their will to give up information about their loved ones. All they cared about was getting back to work on time or how long the coffee line was at Starbucks. I knew I had been just one of those people, and I knew I would never care about an inconsequential someone like me if I lived a normal life like they did. A normal life…ha, what a cruel joke.

As I lost myself in my thoughts, I managed to fall asleep for a little while, considering I was exhausted from my previously fitful night. My much-needed rest was then unceremoniously interrupted by my door getting pounded on.

"Jesus, come in already." I called.

Bane entered, looking a bit frazzled, "Have you been in contact with the Joker?"

"You took my phone." I said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, right," he paced the room, apparently a bit bothered.

"Um…did something happen?" I was getting dizzy watching him.

He halted, "Yes. The Joker is not taking the fact that you are missing very well. He decided to blow up a couple of buildings in downtown Gotham in his rage. He just came on the news threatening to release poisonous gas in 5 random spots throughout the city if no one tells him where Harley Quinn is." He looked pointedly at me, "Does this surprise you?"

I bit my lip, "Not exactly."

"What do you think I should do?" He collapsed into the folding chair, "I can't keep you here much longer. I was not planning on such an outrageous reaction."

"You're dealing with the Joker. Are you new at this criminal game?" I sighed, "I think you're sorely mistaken if you think he's not going to do everything he can to find me. And he will likely kill you in the process."

Bane looked me dead in the eye, "I'd put up a fight, at least."

"I believe it."

"You don't think I'd win?" he smirked.

"With your sheer might, maybe," I shrugged, "But the Joker isn't much of a head-on confrontation sort of man. He likes to get inside your head and then strike you down when you're at your worst. I've been there."

"I'm sorry that had to happen to you." He said.

"It's no big."

"No, really, I am sorry." He put his head in his hands, "I don't know what to fucking do, Harley…this is not what I intended."

"What was the purpose of kidnapping me, then?" I folded my arms across my chest, "What did you plan on accomplishing with that whole business?"

"Can I be honest with you, Harley?" Bane stood up, and crossed the room, sitting down on the bed next to me. I impulsively moved further away from him. His sheer physical prowess was intimidating; I knew he could crush me like a twig if he felt like it.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He raised an eyebrow at me.

"My first instinct is to protect myself." I retorted, "You can't really blame me."

He looked me up and down, and smiled slightly, "You're a smart woman, Harleen Quinzel. If my sources are correct, you went to NYU for your undergraduate and doctorate program in psychology, your parents were renowned in their fields, and you had everything in life. To think that the Joker ruined all of that for you…" his fists balled up, knuckles turning white from the pressure, "It boils my blood."

I stared at him, puzzled, "I don't why you care."

He exhaled audibly, "I grew up in a prison, not knowing my real parents. My supposed father was an infamous revolutionary. They said that he or one of his associates just deposited me at the steps of the prison one day when I was almost 4 years old. They thought I would be like my father; stupid, reckless, and above all, dangerous. I sought refuge with a Jesuit priest that they had imprisoned there as well, and he taught me everything I knew about life, spirituality…I read any book I could get my hands on; anything from Darwin to Steinbeck to Dickens. I learned history, fine arts, and grammar, all from books. I stayed at the prison until I was 18 years old and they released me."

I was totally taken aback by his story, "So, how did you end up here in Gotham?"

"I stowed away on a boat going to New York about a month after my release. I enrolled at Cornell under a fake name and records, and got a business degree. I started my company, which sells health products, vitamins, things of that nature. Now I'm a multimillionaire."

"If you're so successful, then what are you doing in the underground criminal world?" I wondered aloud.

He looked sharply at me, "If I'm not mistaken, a certain billionaire is running around the city in a bat costume."

I froze. He knew about Bruce being Batman. How was that possible? I racked my brain, trying to think of a way that it could get back to some CEO at a health products company. I came up with nothing.

My total paralysis must have showed on my face, because Bane smirked, "Yes, I have a bone to pick – so to speak – with Bruce Wayne."

"So that's why you kidnapped me? You wanted him to find me, and then he would be forced to talk to you." The pieces were all finally falling into place.

"Bingo, my dear."

"Ok, well, the only thing I don't understand is why you got the Joker involved."

"The Joker was an unfortunate side effect to the otherwise flawless plan. I did not realize the relationship that the two of you had was so…intense, for lack of a better word." Bane ran a hand through his hair, "Now I have to answer to him for my actions, too. You see, Harley, I don't want to be a criminal. This is just good business. You've got to take every measure you can to ensure the best possible results, even if it means doing something illegal."

"What do you want with Bruce?" I inquired, "Did he flake out on some business deal or something?"

"Oh, it's a little bit more complicated than that." He said elusively.

"Well, we're already having honesty hour, so you might as well just tell me." I said irritably.

"Alright, remember when I said that I didn't know my real father?"

I nodded in recognition.

"After doing some extensive research on my parentage, it came to my attention that the man who had claimed to be my father was, in fact, not at all. However, it is possible that a doctor named Thomas Wayne could be my real father."

"Holy shit!" I couldn't even contain my surprise.

"That was my reaction exactly."

I was totally speechless, other than being articulate enough to say, "Holy shit" about 4 more times in the span of a minute.

"Yes, well, you can see the dilemma I'm facing."

"That's one hell of a dilemma." I affirmed, "When do you plan on telling Bruce?"

"I believe I planned on doing that when he came to retrieve his lady love." He said half-jokingly.

I raised very skeptical eyebrows at him, "Do you know that Bruce is currently lying in his mansion with like 2 broken ribs and therefore can't actually physically achieve that task?"

His face fell, "Um…well, that throws a bit of a wrench into the plan."

"Well, dude, here's your problem. Now you have the Joker baying for your blood and an even more pissed off Bruce Wayne waiting in the wings to kick your ass." I shook my head in disbelief, "This was a very misguided kidnapping attempt, I must say."

"Yeah, I guess so."

I was surprised that he would readily admit to his mistake, but chose to say nothing about it. He must be desperate to be revealing this to me.

"Um…well…" I said somewhat awkwardly, "Bruce would certainly get here faster if I talked to him, just so you know."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he snarled, jumping up, "Telling Bruce where you are? Why would I ever allow you to do that?"

"Because," I said, standing up with my hands planted firmly on my hips, "You can't keep avoiding talking to him with a burden this big on your shoulders, Bane! This could change both of your lives forever! Bruce has been living with loneliness for years and you could relieve him of that, knowing he has a connection still to his parents. However, you're never going to find out because you're too big of a pussy to talk to him yourself!"

Something must have snapped in his brain, because he grabbed me by the neck, shoving me against the wall. I struggled to breathe beneath his grip, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Never – ever – call – me – a – pussy." He choked, his fist tightening slightly, "All I have to do is squeeze and you're fucking dead, Harley."

I was legitimately terrified. I choked out, "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. Please let me go, please."

"Promise me."

"I promise." I felt blessed air rush into my lungs as he released me, and I fell to the floor, choking and gasping for breath. Once I regained the rest of my consciousness, I staggered to my feet, giving him what I can only describe as a death glare worthy of Satan, "What the fuck was that? Are you bipolar or something? Seriously!"

When I looked up to gauge his response, to my surprise Bane was backed up against the wall, looking utterly mortified.

"Am I bleeding or something?" I started to panic, hands touching all over my neck.

He shook his head vehemently, "No, no, I just…I just…can't believe I did that. God, Harley, I'm so sorry. I have no idea what came over me. This has happened a few times before. I just go into fits of blind rage without even knowing why or with the tiniest provocation. I'm so sorry, I really am. I should have warned you about that."

"Um…yeah, that might have a good detail to mention." I blinked, a bit confused, "Have you seen a doctor or a psychologist? You know random acts of violence are a common symptom of recurring childhood memories of physical or verbal abuse."

I didn't mean to scare him, but this was my area of expertise.

"Yes, I know the cause of them." He admitted hesitantly, "I was experimented on a long time ago and when I go through withdrawal, shit like this tends to happen - fits of rage, blacking out, and intense vomiting, to name a few – and they still can't figure out why."

"People experimented on you? That doesn't sound safe." I raised a very skeptical eyebrow.

"They were paying me well to do it. It was my ticket to get out of Ecuador, where I was at the time. It was either that or selling cocaine, but I figured the experimentation seemed a little more legal than the other option." He sighed, slumping down to the floor in exhaustion, "I'm so sorry, Harley. I'm such a fucked-up mess."

"I can see that." I said matter-of-factly, and walked over to him, kneeling in front of him, "If you ever need someone to talk to about your past, you know I have a doctorate in psychology."

"Thanks, Doc." He smiled slightly, "Do you forgive me?"

"Not exactly," I helped him up. I pointed to the long, jagged scar that had faded but was still markedly visible on my neck, probably now along with the red wound of strangulation, "This is the Joker's gift to me."

Bane gingerly touched the mark, "Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all now," I said, shrugging, "It's probably going to be there forever but I've gotten used to the idea. It makes me look tough."

Bane smiled crookedly, "Your neck seems to attract danger. You'd better hope you don't run into any vampires late at night."

I stared him down, "Now that would be just my fucking luck."