A/N: Ah ha...it broke my heart to write this chapter, but I felt it needed to be done. My inner angst and recent parting of ways really brought me to this state of mind and allowed the writing muses to provide me this. I'm actually pretty proud of the last couple chapters and their emotional content. Thank you guys so much for reading; it is just amazing to me that people want to read my stuff! R&R!

Chapter 10: Tell Me Who to Be

Who cares if you disagree?

You are not me

Who made you king of anything?

How dare you tell me who to be?

Who died and made you king of anything?

"King of Anything," Sara Bareilles

Waking up next to Bruce was a familiar habit that I never had been willing to break. He was just so utterly reassuring and safe, warm and comfortable, this unyielding constant in my life. The only problem with Bruce is that he left me wanting more out of it than I could possibly get. I felt antsy when I was with him; restless and unsatisfied every time with the result. I knew deep in my heart how much I was fucking with him, but I pushed those nagging thoughts down so far that it hurt sometimes. I knew I couldn't hurt him again. If I turned him down this time, there would never be another time. I wanted closure out of this whole scenario, and all I did was screw it up even more like an idiot, like I always do. Bruce and I seemed to fall in this vicious cycle of love and hate and confusion and lust and so many other goddamn things that I couldn't even put into words. It was unhealthy. I'm a fucking psychologist; I should be more wary of this shit.

Then there are moments like…like when he smiles in his sleep and he's holding onto me like I'm the last lifeboat on a ship, that I see how truly wonderful, how good he is. He's too good for me. That was the best way to sum it up, really. I'm a semi-hardened criminal with a psychotic former lover and making all the wrong moves in all the wrong places. I'm just not nearly good enough for him. That's a clear indication of why this whole relationship didn't work. Stupid inferiority complex. Thanks a lot, ass-hole.

Yes, I realized I just called my own subconscious an ass-hole. I'm working on talking to myself, too. That's a whole other issue that's taking a back seat to my masochism.

While I was deep in thought, Bruce had long since woken up and was groggily staring up at me, "It's too early to look that pensive."

Startled, I jumped slightly, "You scared me! I thought you were dead asleep over there."

"Looks like I fooled you." He smiled, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, adjusting his body position in the bed to get more comfortable, "What were you thinking about, babe?"

I couldn't necessarily tell him the truth. I would just have to spin it a little for now, even though I'm going to hate myself.

"Oh, just…wondering if this whole sleeping together thing was the best idea." It was mostly accurate; give me some credit.

"Why is that?" he didn't sound angry, merely interested in the notion.

"I know we aren't exactly in the right place right now with this relationship –" Dare I even call it that? "- and I just think that sex tends to…complicate things, you know?"

"It usually does, yeah," Bruce agreed, shrugging nonchalantly, "But sometimes sex is just sex, right?"

"I don't think that's the case here."

"I was kidding." Bruce said, raising an eyebrow, "Geez, you're so serious, Harley."

"The nature of me and you is a serious thing." I frowned, "I've been thinking about calling him."

Bruce's eyes darkened, "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Just to let him know that I'm ok," It sounded pretty idiotic as I said it, to tell you the truth, but I kept vomiting words anyway, "I mean, I did live with him and he does get concerned about me, you know, and he did send his best guy after me – which kind of reminds me, I might need to explain that one too – and I just…I just feel like he should know."

"I tried to follow your logic, but I got lost somewhere in there." Bruce blinked in bewilderment.

"That seems to happen a lot," I flushed, "But, what do you think?"

"I think you should leave him alone and he should leave you alone. You two are terrible for each other. He thinks that you're always going to keep running back to him, because…well, you kind of do, and he's clearly still in love with you."

"I know he is." I said matter-of-factly, "He reminds me of that fact frequently."

"Well, that makes me severely uncomfortable…"

"Jesus, Bruce, he's an ass. He does it just to piss me off. He doesn't even mean it." I said dismissively, "I think I know him better than you do."

"That may be true, but I hate feeling like I'm vying for your affections." Bruce sighed, exasperated, crushing the pillow against his chest, "It feels like a young person's game."

"Because you're so old," I teased.

"I'm 30, and you're approaching that age rapidly, Harley. It's time for a reality check. You can't keep following him around and making nothing out of your life. Don't you want to settle down with someone, get married and have children? You said that's what you wanted. It's time for a reality check."

"Bah, reality," I grimaced.

"See, there you go, fucking denying the existence of a problem again! Don't you see what you're doing to yourself? The further you get away from him, the closer you want to be. It's a dangerous pattern." Bruce's eyebrows furrowed in worry, "I would hate to see you throw your life away to be with that…clown."

"He's not a clown!" I snapped, "He's a person, by the way; a person who has been through a whole hell of a lot more than you have!"

"Are you seriously defending him? This has to be a fucking joke." He stood up, "If all you're going to do is talk about your emotionally abusive relationship, then I suggest you get out of my house and go home to the man who clearly deserves your attention more than this man who is standing in front of you, asking you to just choose him and make all of your troubles go away!" Bruce stalked out of the bedroom, still naked from last night's encounter. After a moment, he stepped back in the room, snatched his robe from the bedpost, and disappeared again.

At this point, I was too angry to cry over it. I quietly got dressed, and thought about my situation. In a way, Bruce was right. I did have to stop defending the Joker; he hasn't done any good for me. At the same time, I still felt connected to him. I knew how ridiculous it seemed to everyone around me, but in my mind, somehow we made sense. Somehow, in some strange, masochistic way, we made sense. Being with Bruce would be like completely avoiding my problems instead of facing them head-on like I felt it was best to do. Was I delusional or something? Bruce was great, truly great. He loved me despite the many, many flaws I had, and was willing to accept the past.

I, however, was not. I knew that my mind worked in mysterious ways sometimes, and that leaving Bruce at the altar was the right decision. I was utterly terrified of marrying him – actually, marrying anyone for that matter. I didn't know how to be tied to somebody. I think I let that go a long time ago. Too many men had hurt me before, and I wasn't exactly about to let that happen again. I hurt Bruce more than I've hurt anyone else in my life, and I felt like what I did was totally unforgivable. I should probably just walk out now before it gets even more complicated.

God damn hormones, ruining everything.

I padded softly across the Persian rug in Bruce's study, and found him sitting in his armchair, staring out the window with his hand resting on his chin. It was a position I had found him in many times before; he was thinking very hard about something.

"I think I should go." I said, my voice feeling loud against the silence of the room.

"You don't need to go." He didn't even look at me, "Where would you even go?"

"I didn't think it through that far."

"If it means going back to him, then you may as well never come back. I can't deal with the emotional stress of this anymore, Harley. I am recovering from a gunshot wound that may well have been your dear roommate, and now I might have this step-brother that has been hidden from me for my entire life. It's a lot to think about." Bruce slumped slightly in his chair, and I saw him grip at his ribs, grunting a little in pain.

"Bruce, I have no idea who shot you. The J – I mean, he – says it wasn't him, and it wasn't anybody hired by him. I believe him. He's not in denial about what we are to each other."

"And what is that, Harley? What is that? I'm just DYING to know!" Bruce shouted, jumping up and almost knocking his desk chair over in the process, "I just can't quite seem to figure out what the hell you see in that fucker! All he does is use and abuse you and you just keep going back, going back and putting yourself in harm's way just to make him happy! What have I done to you? All I've ever wanted is to give you the life you deserve! I wanted to marry you, for Christ sakes! I let you in, and you betrayed me!"

"Bruce, I…" I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Let me finish!" he interjected shortly, "I gave you all I had, and I'm willing to open myself up to you again. Here's the thing, though – the Joker cannot be involved in your life ever again. I mean it. You cannot talk to him, see him, or even mention him in my presence ever again. Either you promise me that or you walk out now and never come back. It's your choice."

"…I love you." I whispered, hanging my head dejectedly.

"What does that even mean? You love me so much, yet you've rejected me twice and made me look like a colossal ass-hole! You rejected me on our own fucking wedding day! Did you stop to think how that would make me feel?"

"I thought about it every day." I said gently, trying to quell his rage, "I got scared, Bruce. Marriage is a big step, especially for me. I freaked out."

"What are you so worried about? I am going to give you a life that you could only dream of! What could he possibly have to offer you? I just don't understand what's going on in your head. The person I met 2 years ago was a little misguided but knew she needed to get out of that bad situation. What changed your mind about me? I just want to know." Bruce was beginning to calm down a little now, but I could see the pure agony etched in his tired eyes.

"Nothing you did changed my mind." I said, "Honestly, I am just terrified of being tied down. I've been on my own for so long, and I'm used to dealing with problems on my own. I've only depended on myself, and it's hard to let go of that control."

"I'm the same way, Harley, but I still want companionship, someone to be the mother of my children. If you don't want to be that person, then please tell me so I can move on. I'm tired of playing these games with you. I love you, but enough is enough. If you promise me that you will never have anything to do with the Joker again, I will book us our plane tickets right now and we will go wherever you want. We'll get away from everything and we'll never come back. We can lie on the beach and forget about this whole piece of shit town." Bruce leaned back against the desk, "This discussion is exhausting me. What do you want to do?"

I stood there, paralyzed with the idea of walking away from everything I knew, with the fact that if I let him go, it would be the end of us. Leaving him seemed unbearable, unfathomable, but it was entirely possible. My insides were churning; I felt nauseous. I wanted him to give me more time, to let me know everything would be alright in the end. Yet…I knew it wouldn't. He was too angry now, too upset for that to ever happen.

How did it come to this? A split-second decision made after such a beautiful romance. I remembered how much I had loved him, how much I wanted to see him smile and hear his laugh. I wanted to cuddle with him while we watched movies, watch him attempt to cook me dinner, fail miserably and then laugh at him as he ordered Chinese takeout, and above all, see the joy in his eyes when he looked at me. That feeling was gone; his light had burned out. He looked at me as if I was some ghost of myself, haunting him and reminding him of a time that would never come again.

What if I regretted my decision? What if running away from it all wasn't the answer?

"I can't." I said, scarcely believing the words as they flew from my mouth.

"What?" he asked after a beat of silence.

"I can't, Bruce." I shook my head vehemently, trying fervently to stop the oncoming tears, "I am so, so sorry."

He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, and finally said with narrowed eyes, "Fine. Go home and fuck the clown. See if I give a shit."

I fell to my knees on the floor, hysterically sobbing, "You don't even know how sorry I am, you don't even know! This was never what I wanted!"

"Get out of my house." He said curtly, "Get out before I throw you out. I never want to see you again."

"Bruce, please…"

"GET OUT!" he yelled.

I took that as my cue to run from the room, and by instinct, I made it to the front door. I threw it open and slammed it shut, almost stumbling down the driveway until I was almost a block away. I couldn't believe what I had just done. I had just thrown the man who loved me away. I knew in my heart it was the right decision, but why did it have to hurt so damn much?

…

I caught two cabs back to the apartment after managing to find the local bank chain I used, and by the grace of God remembering my bank account number so I could withdraw funds for the aforementioned cabs. I took the familiar bumpy, disgusting elevator ride and stood at the apartment door for a minute or two before realizing I was being an idiot, and just knocked on the door.

"It's open." I heard his irritated voice say, "And it had better be good…"

His voice trailed off as I stood in the doorway, "…news."

He looked like hell.

He sat there on our worn-down, puce-green couch with a near empty bottle of scotch, looking just as pathetic and dilapidated as the furniture. He glanced up at me, bleary-eyed in the combination of grief and intoxication, "I should kill you where you stand, making me worry like that."

"I suppose I'd deserve it." I said quietly.

"You know as well as I do that you're my one true weakness, Harley." He said, draining his tumbler. He stood up, swaying slightly, losing his equilibrium, "As much as I hate to admit, I love the hell out of you."

"You're drunk." I pointed out.

"Yeah, that's true," he said, smiling half-heartedly, "But those words must mean something to you."

"They do." I sighed, "I left Bruce for good. It's over between us."

"I respect the man." He said, much to my absolute shock, "I must have been a damn fool waiting around for you to decide. Wayne is a whole hell of a lot smarter than I'll ever be, dumping you on your ass." He toasted his glass toward Wayne Enterprises, looming in the window, "To Bruce Wayne, genius among us mere mortals!"

"Stop it!" I snapped, "You think I'm not upset about what I've done, about how I've treated both of you in the past? Isn't that enough for you?"

He turned to face me, all jokes cast aside, "Yes, actually, it is enough."

I looked up through my humiliation, "Really?"

"Yes," he paced the floor, silent for a few immeasurable moments, "Harley, no matter how fucking horrible you treat me, I never stop feeling love for you. I see your face, your beautiful, stubborn little face…the weariness behind your eyes and the tension in your every move. I know I've caused all of that and what you have become. I created the monster that is Harley Quinn, and you know what?" He leaned in close to me; put my face in his hands, "We can be monsters together."

I searched his eyes for a moment, smiling for the first time all day, and I finally said, "Your breath smells like booze."

I think he knew that meant I loved him, too.