CHAPTER TWELVE

The hospital kept me longer than I wished to say. It ended up being around a month and a half. My concussion from Jonathan had not been severe but it was not healed, so, when I had "fallen" from the fence, it was aggravated to an extent that I lost some motor function and some judgment skills.

With some physical therapy, I was back to my old self, well except for the scars. They weren't quite as disfigured as his were but were quite noticeable. J, no I mean the Joker had severed many blood vessels and nerves during his attack; most of the nerves couldn't be reattached so I couldn't really feel them. Looking at them was painful enough.

I got pity looks from anyone that passed me; they apparently knew what had happened. I hated that. Pity was a useless emotion.

I was continually interrogated by Gotham's finest, but after weeks, they deemed me as just another victim.

I was spared an admission to the psych ward as long as I agreed to long term therapy with Thurman, at his insistence. He also confided in me that my "stunt" with Sydney would have lost me my job if it had not been due to emotional stress of my case load. Yea, whatever he wanted to believe. But I did want my job back so I could get on with my life, so it worked out well. I headed home as soon as I had my doctors say so.

There was, of course, an excess of messages. I listened to them, hoping that Red had called me back. No such luck, I was beginning to get worried. She was due back in about 2 weeks, but I heard nothing from her.

There were, however, a surplus of messages from my parents; they took up ¾ of the tape. I really wanted to talk to my Mom, but it was too hard. I got as far as dialing her number but I began sobbing, so it never worked out.

I flipped on the TV as I started to clear out the old, rotten food and my dead plants. Red was going to kill me for that one. There was a News report on about a young boy who was severely injured in a traffic accident. Like that didn't happen all the time. I shuffled into my bathroom and turned the water on, hoping it would warm up soon.

"And we wish him a speedy recovery. Now, an update from last week's missing person. Dr. Pamela Isley…" I dropped everything I was holding and rushed over to the television. I took the volume all the way up and my eyes grew wide with anticipation. The reporter continued.

"Searches have been called off and she is presumed dead. Her business partner, Dr. Jason Woodrue had been found murdered at Scott Chemicals in Seattle. Dr. Isley was his long standing partner and her body has yet to be found. A memorial service will be held for both of the fallen co-workers in their hometown of Upper Preston. Anyone with leads to this mysterious case is encouraged to call Gotham PD, Seattle PD or our station. A monetary reward…"

I couldn't hear, I could barely see. When and how did this happen? Who would want to hurt her? And why had no one thought to tell me? How could she do this to me? "Whenever I found who did this, I am going to rip out his intestines and strangle him with them and then, then…" What would I do? I had no idea but it was going to be the worst pain he ever felt.

I was absolutely devastated, to say the least. I rushed over to her apartment, hoping no, praying that there was a mistake or they were talking about someone else. I only to find police tape littering the floor and a hand written sign saying "For Rent" plastered to her door.

I entered with my spare key, only to find it ransacked. Anything that may have been worth money was now gone. Even most of her furniture and clothes were missing. That night I laid on her bed and cried for my lost best friend. My only friend.

When I returned to Arkham, I, as expected, was put on intake and outpatient therapy with minor supervision. But, with my state of mind, I wasn't really fit to take any other cases. Thurman had initially planned to re-reassign me to Crane's case but it seems he had also escaped the same night that the Joker did. He was the one that tore apart Patient Belongings and he had thought to steal the security footage, so there was no documentation of the escapes. The videos may have ruined me, forever. I mean, I was taken as a hostage but, looking back, I may have been a little too willing. How could I be so stupid, why would I trust that man?

The Gotham City News, including Gotham Tonight, was covering the escape from the beginning. Their main theory was that I broke out both Crane and the Joker. They had continually trashed me and looked through my past to prove anyway that they could that I had orchestrated this grand breakout and that they were hiding with each, with me as their protector.

Either way you looked at it, they had to be wrong. The Joker uses his henchmen like you toilet paper. Quick and extremely disposable. It was a given, they just didn't last long. So, what make them think that Crane and J, would get along? Their personalities differed so much that the Joker would probably kill him. Crane even got on my nerves. If the rumors were true, then Dr. Jonathan Crane was most likely deceased at the hands of our dear Joker.

My days began to blend into each other; the same old thing. Thurman kept an eye on my cases until he decided that I was well enough to handle some of the more involved patients. He was also screened my cases before he assigned them to make sure that my oh so lovely `smile' wouldn't trigger a further regression, or some such bullshit.

No matter who I was talking to, their reaction was all the same: Their eyes widened, they tried to look away, tried to avoid eye contact but I always see their sideways glances. They cannot focus, the idea seems too fascinating to them. I always have to explain how I got them, as if they didn't already know. Then that same look of pity. I HATED that look.

And then the inevitable question: "Did it hurt?" Oh, how I love that question. I wish I could scream or smack some sense into them. How did a knife felt tearing through your cheek without hesitation? Sometimes I would catch myself wishing that they would reach the same fate as I, but would I really want that to happen? Probably not.

As promised, I kept up with my weekly session with Thurman, not that it did anything.

"Hey, Dr. Thurman. I'm here for our session, is that okay?" I asked. I assumed it was, he was alone and was reading a case file.

"Sure, come in." He did a once over and took a sip of coffee. "I see your scars are healing nicely, have the headaches stopped?" You liar, they look horrible.

"Yes, I only suffer from them about once a weak and with the medication they gave me, it clears up relatively quickly. Thanks."

"Last time we were talking about Pam's passing. How do you feel you are taking that?" How do you think, you twit.

"Fine, I am just fine. I mean I miss her, but I have accepted it. Can't change what has happened, right?" I added a mock smile to make it believable. He didn't linger on the subject.

"And how about the scars? Are you having any suicidal or homicidal thought towards others, specifically the Joker?" He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

"No. The scars are still painless, as they probably will be the rest of my life. I continually get the questions and the looks. I have finally gotten the courage to tell my mother. She is still in shock. But, I am getting used to talking and eating with them and I am no longer having any trouble pronouncing my words. I made an appointment with a plastic surgeon, but he said nothing more could be done. I have taken you advice and forgiven him. I harbor no ill will." I was lying again, but how could I tell him that I wanted to beat the man with something very hard and sharp.

"This is very good, and I believe your mind will soon be healed. You have had your closure. I am so proud of you." He smiled and handed over my file. He had written a few notes, the last of which said `Therapy no longer required; to be terminated at patients request'. I slowly smiled at him. Finally.

"Speaking of closure, could I have a couple of days of to attend her memorial service?"

"We do need you, but take the time you need. This is a crucial step."

"Thank you." Our conversation ended, and I went back down to my office to finish my day. I had already bought the plane tickets and packed my bags. Thurman's response was inconsequential.

Every aspect of my arrival was run of the mill. The service was set for that night, so I quickly dawned my mourning attire. But once I entered the old Baptist church of this small, secluded town, I knew drama would unfold. Reds ex-boyfriend, Jon, was there.

We had met on a few occasions, enough for me to hate him. He was abusive most of the time and Red took it because he supposedly loved her. That was until he found a cute, 19 year old bimbo with money, and lots of it. He never was a looker, but I was willing to over look every one of his downfalls, because she loved him. So, I decided it was time to get even. I walked up behind him.

"How dare you insult her memory by showing up here!" He spun and looked completely shocked and horrified. Only then did I notice said bimbo on his arm. "And you brought your dip-shitted bitch, I am sure Red would be so happy to see both of you here and her wearing Red's ring." I slapped him across the face as his new girl tried to do the same to me. I pushed her back onto one of the nearby chair.

"Dear, you shouldn't do that, you may break a nail." I added in an angry tone. She didn't dare move. I quickly spun back to Jon.

"And you, if find out that you had anything to do with her death, I swear to God, you will beg me to die." I balled my fist and hit him square in the nose. I heard a satisfying crunch. My fist had his blood smeared on it. I drew up my knee, aiming for his unguarded groin as the other attendees just looked on. I grabbed him, trying to get the best shot I could as someone grabbed my shoulders.

I spun towards a hooded man. His face was covered in shadow as he dragged me out of the church.

"Get off, he had it coming. Let me go, I want to kill him. He hurt Red!" Tears were falling down my face.

"You are causing unwanted attention, Miss Quinzel." He said. His voice was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't place it. His was dressed in all black, his face hidden by his hooded sweatshirt. There were sirens drawing near as we both turned towards them. He leaned forward enough for me to see his eyes and he took off running. They were a very familiar icy blue.

Author's Note: Hey guys, its been a long time, I know but school has started and I have been super busy, but I wanted to release this in honor of my very first comic con. Of course, I went dressed as Harley and my sister as Ivy. It was a blast. Anyways, back to my story. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I love the service scene because it is something I could see corrupted Harley doing, its more of a glimpse of her dark and unforgiving side. You may draw your own conclusions about our mystery man at the end.

As always, my review for review policy still stands. If you have left me a comment and I haven't reviewed any of your stories, please, send me a pm. I am human and I do make mistakes.

A special thanks to:

Blackmoonlite

madelineex3

MOSHiMOSHiHEZAA

poison-ivy-76

Rachael C.