A/N: Ahhh work prevents me from writing more. Boo. A very emotional chapter, I enjoyed writing it. I especially enjoy Harley's rant because her soul possesses me at random times and allows me to write her. Yup, that happens. Hope everyone is enjoying the summer sun!

Chapter 8: A Hundred Storms

Under haunted skies I see you

Where love is lost your ghost is found

I braved a hundred storms to leave you

As hard as you try, no, I will never be knocked down

"Turning Tables," Adele

My trembling fingers were fastened to the trigger, feeling the radiating heat from the barrel. I felt frozen in time, my body shaking uncontrollably. I felt nauseous; horribly, horribly nauseous. I abruptly dropped the gun, jumping back instinctively as it clanged against the cold concrete. I then became sick, doubling over, retching and not caring who heard me.

How could I have done this?

When I managed to compose myself, wiping the remains off of my lips, I straightened up and cast a hesitant glare at the body lying behind me. The blood seeped through his clothes and onto the ground, flowing languidly. I could feel the blood rush to my head, and I became sick again, dry heaving until there was nothing left. I finally stood up, and leaned heavily against the door frame, hoping the solid oak would give me some support. I just killed him. I just shot him point blank.

I stared at the body, not quite believing what had just happened. It was self-defense…it had to be. I had no choice. My eyes felt raw; I rubbed at them and realized I had been crying. I didn't even notice before. I stepped gingerly forward and examined the situation. He was dead. He wasn't moving at all; his chest was not moving up and down in that familiar pattern.

"Shit," I whispered, "shit, shit, shit."

I saw the flash of lightning light up the nearby window, and thunder pounded incessantly. Rain and hail struck against the glass, threatening to break it in.

As I was stuffing his body into a lawn and leaf bag, I muttered to myself, "Well, way to fucking go, Harley. You just murdered someone again. Real fucking good."

How did I get there? It was all in a blur in my mind, trying to re-capture the last 24 hours of my life. I went over and over it in my head as a therapeutic method, focusing on and assessing the situation at hand.

…

Ok, so I remember waking up in my little dingy one-room cell, feeling pangs of hunger. I stumbled my way over to the door, still in the throes of sleep deprivation, and knocking lightly on the door, "Hey Gerard?"

There was no answer. I thought maybe he was just asleep or trying to be mean to me on purpose. He seemed like the type that would do that.

"Gerard? Quit fucking around. I'm starving and I would like some cereal or something if you have it." I stood at the door, impatiently tapping my foot.

My demands were again met with silence.

I blinked a couple times, puzzled. Gerard was literally always there. I assumed he slept in the chair out there and only left to go to the bathroom. What a shitty life, I think, but I digress.

In a familiar and unconscious motion, I moved to open the door. To my complete and utter surprise, it swung aside and suddenly I was in the deserted hallway. Something in my peripheral caused me alarm, and I turned and saw Gerard lying face-down on the ground, blood pooling out of his head. I gasped, stifling my impending scream with my hands. He looked like his head had been bashed in.

"Miss Quinzel?" a deep voice echoed from around the corner.

"Who is it?" I called, and immediately felt like an idiot for totally drawing attention to myself.

Out from the shadows stepped Antoine, the Joker's bodyguard. He was dressed in all black with a ski mask on his head so he completely blended in with the dark, considering his deep African complexion. He was from Nigeria or something, I couldn't remember especially at this moment in time. I just shook his head at the bloodied bat in his hands, "You killed my source of food."

"You'll get plenty of it when I get you back to the boss." He shrugged. He pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket, and pressed the 'talk' button, "The eagle has landed."

"Good. Bring her home." I heard his familiar indifferent tone, and my eyes began to fill with tears at the sound; partly because I missed him and partly because he was clearly wiped out from all of the searching for me. He must have been relieved, but he would never show it.

"10-4, boss." The walkie-talkie beeped as it shut off. Antoine turned to face me, "Come with me, Miss Quinzel."

I followed him quietly, and after a moment, asked hesitantly, "How is he?"

"Beyond pissed," Antoine said shortly.

I sighed, hanging my head dejectedly, "I figured as much. I guess I have a lot of groveling to do when I get home."

"He's not angry at you, Miss Quinzel." Antoine corrected me, and I perked up a little, "I can't say the same for this Bane character, though. The boss has a list of ways he can torture him that's longer than I am." He chuckled deeply; he sounded a bit like James Earl Jones when he did.

"That doesn't really surprise me." I said, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I've never seen the boss so worked up over something before." Antoine admitted, "He lost a lot of sleep over this."

"How did he find out I was here?'

"He has his ways."

That always seems to be the way he finds out anything.

We moved along quietly after that because we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves. When we got to the main hallway, he pressed the button for the elevator. When it came to our floor, it dinged and the doors opened. We stepped inside, and Antoine pushed the button for the basement. I stared at him inquisitively, and he said, "I parked my car near there."

I nodded in acknowledgment and waited anxiously for the elevator to hit the bottom floor. I cast a surreptitious glance at Antoine. He was not a bad guy, which I always figured. He wasn't an unattractive man, either; he kind of looked like a younger Samuel L. Jackson but taller and much bulkier, like a linebacker.

"Do you have a family, Antoine?" I asked.

He looked taken aback, but relaxed slightly, "Depends on what you mean by family."

"I mean, like are you married with kids or something?"

"No, but I do have a boyfriend."

"…a boyfriend?" I could not even hide the look on my face at this declaration, "Wow, I would have never guessed."

"Not many people do," he said gruffly, but appeared unruffled by my reaction, "I came out a few years ago."

"That must have been difficult." I remarked as the elevator stopped at the basement level.

He shrugged, "Not as difficult as the things I have to do for your boyfriend."

As the doors opened and I attempted to come up with a witty retort, Antoine and I were met with a very tired and haggard-looking Bane. He looked up at us, and his eyes widened in shock.

What happened in the next 20 seconds is still a blur. Bane and Antoine pulled a gun on each other without much trepidation, and Bane cocked it, I rushed forward, wrestling the gun out of his hands. He fell backward, his arm hitting mine on the way down. I stumbled, the gun still in my hands. I don't honestly know how it happened, but the trigger fired and the bullet went into Antoine's head. Life felt like it was in slow motion as he fell to the ground, the blood spurting from the wound in his frontal lobe. I stared in bewilderment, not believing what had just transpired. That's what I remember.

I felt like the worst person in the world. Here Antoine was telling me the most intimate secret of his existence, and I just fucking shot him in the fucking head. As I vomited out my grief, Bane slowly stood up and examined the body.

"Shit, shit, shit…" I kept muttering to myself.

Bane tapped me on the shoulder, and I started, smacking him in the face in an involuntary movement.

"Jesus Christ, Harley!" he yelped, "I'm just trying to help you!"

"Sorry," I couldn't even put any gusto into that statement, "I'm just trying to deal with the fact that I fucking killed someone…again."

"Again?" he raised an eyebrow at me.

"Long story," I shook my head vehemently, "We need to do something about this."

"Ok, let me think, let me think." Bane massaged his temples, "Well, we need to get him out of here first and foremost. I'll get a lawn and leaf bag and we'll stuff him in there, get him out to the back with the trash. My people will clean this shit up, be discreet. It will be fine, I promise."

"I know, but I just…" I stared at Antoine's lifeless form, feeling like this wasn't real, some really crazy nightmare concocted in my occipital lobe or something, like a desperate attempt to pretend I was going to escape from Bane. The more and more life went on, the more I realized that this had to be reality and I had to deal with whatever I was facing, "I'm sorry. This isn't easy."

"Killing someone never is." He agreed solemnly.

I took that to mean that he had done this before.

I must have had a quizzical look on my face, because Bane said, "I've had to do a lot of things I'm not proud of to get where I am, Harley."

"So have I." I said miserably.

"That's depressing."

"You have no idea." I said wearily, "Let's just get on with this before I lose my cool."

"You mean you haven't yet?" he smirked slightly.

"Don't get smart with me, young man." I retorted, "Get the bag."

"Bossy," he muttered under his breath, and disappeared for a couple of minutes and then returned with a lawn and leaf bag that could have fit at least 3 of me in it. He kneeled down near the body, and when I didn't make a move, he looked up at me, "Would you mind helping me, your Highness?"

Something in me snapped just then.

"Then you can go fucking do it yourself, ass-hole! I can't fucking take any of this anymore! I might as well just pick up that gun and shoot myself in the head!" I said, shaking uncontrollably, "I can't deal with all of this shit! I just killed a man who only wanted to help me. Jesus Christ, I don't deserve to live! Everything has gone to shit and there's nothing I can do about it. All I wanted to do was leave this place and get back to my normal life – ha, great, I'm calling it normal – and just forget about all of this but no, no, no everything had to go to shit and I had to kill a person who had just confided me about his life and now I feel like a total horrible person. God damn it, I'm going to hell, Bane, that's for sure. God's going to be like 'look at this crazy bitch thinking she's going to get up here' and send me to Hell where I belong because I'm just so horrible. I'm so horrible!"

By this point I was curled up on the ground, sobbing and dry heaving because of obvious dehydration. I looked a hot mess, that's for damn sure.

Meanwhile, Bane kneeled down next to me, abandoning his body-stuffing project for a moment, "Um…Harley, that's a little drastic. I thought you'd have a thicker skin by now, considering your line of work."

"There's only so much a person can take, Bane!" I snapped, wiping my tears away forcefully and almost scratching my eyeballs in the process. I blinked at the now-forming burning sensation on my face, and then began laughing loudly and hysterically, "And now I scratched myself! AWESOME!"

At this point, Bane didn't even know what the hell to do, "It's going to be alright, Harley."

"Whatever," I said, hiccupping, "I hate everything."

"You were ok like two seconds ago. Did I say something wrong?"

"The 'your Highness' crack got me," I admitted, "The Joker always calls me 'Princess', and not in the nice way, either. It's because I was wealthy and he wasn't. He knows it totally gets to me, so he says it to piss me off, so I guess I just have a conditioned reaction. I just find it beyond irritating. I'm sorry for reacting like that."

"Ah, there's the psychologist I know." He smiled, and helped me up, "If you don't want to, I'll call my guards and have them do this. I don't want to upset you anymore."

"That would be great, thanks." I said, feeling relief wash over me.

Bane took my arm and steered me into the elevator. He made a quick call on his cell phone and hung up, "It's taken care of."

"Ok," I said, exhaling deeply, "This is a long motherfucking day already."

"It's about to get longer." He said, running a hand through his already tousled locks.

I turned to face him, "What do you mean?"

"Bruce Wayne is in my office waiting for me right now."