CHAPTER THREE

"I had bought a one-way ticket to derailment, not that I knew this at the time, but the days were ticking by, the fuse alight in poisoned hands...yet who's to say that my ticket wasn't void?"

"Yeah, the Northside Bridge…I'm getting him. Yeah, meet you there, Commissioner!" She threw the phone onto her dashboard, and put her focus back on the highway zipped by, Harleen heard the sound whip by her ears vaguely as she zigzagged through traffic. Exhilaration bubbled in her blood as she narrowly escaped death with her every movement. Horns blared behind her, but she vaguely acknowledged them—she cringed in apology, but that was the jest of it.

She felt her pulse rocketing, adrenaline making her extra sensitive. She pressed her foot further on the gas pedal. The speed limit was non-consequential, it didn't matter. She wasn't worrying about being pulled over—she'd take the police on a chase if she had to. There was only one important goal for her now: Lt. Hawkins. She saw the exit she had to take and swerved down the ramp, ignoring more annoying horns.

The hazy air and buildings that denoted the Narrows of Gotham rose before her. She had only a few more streets to go before the Northside Bridge would be in sight. She bit her lip, her hands shaking on the steering wheel. Was it a trap? She quickly pushed away the warning her brain was sending; it didn't matter. If so, so be it. At this point she was happy to be waltzing into a setup.

The trip she was taking would have taken any normal person fifteen minutes, but Harleen had pulled it off in seven. She rocketed into a lane and rolled down her window as if doing so would allow her a better view. The Northside Bridge was just feet ahead, and Harleen was focused on that, not the curses she could now stridently hear from the other motorists at her recklessness. Recklessness? She scoffed and pressed her foot on the pedal again, veering onto the shoulder—she could see the figure of Lt. Hawkins mid-way down the length of the bridge.

"Dr. Quinzel!" Hawkins exclaimed seconds later after she had jumped from her car and pulled his blindfold off.

She offered him a tired smile and began to undo his bindings; neither the Riddler nor their minions had wanted to make her job too easy.

"Are you alright?" She asked, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little shaken. You work fast, Harleen."

She led him to her car, not saying anything until she was back in the driver's seat. She sighed and leaned her head onto the steering wheel a moment. "This Riddler…Do you remember anything?" She glanced to the side and started the car before pulling herself upright.

"No, I was just making a routine traffic stop and the hoodlums sprayed something in my face. The next I know I'm tied up and blind-folded and the 'Riddler'—you call 'em—was talking in that mechanical voice you heard. They didn't sound human at all."

Harleen nodded and pulled back into traffic, this time obeying the laws. She took a deep breath; the adrenaline wearing off and her heartbeat slowing. Her breath was coming easier now, albeit still unevenly.

"Well, I need to get you to the hospital just to be safe," she sounded regretful, but Lt. Hawkins reached over and patted her shoulder. "It's fine, I understand, probably could use the check-up anyway." She smiled weakly at his low chuckle. "Do you remember anything that could help us catch this guy?"

Hawkins leaned back and sighed. "Wherever they held me it was close. Five minutes from here tops…It took no time to drop me on the bridge." Harleen's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Of course, she should have known a criminal like this one would be close by, that way perhaps they could watch their quarry. She mentally notched a mark under the disorder of Bipolar Mania. Her new chess mate had definite mood swings.

"I'll notify Gordon then when we get to the hospital; he said he'd meet us there. Abandoned apartments and hotels within five minutes of the Northside Bridge…the room you were held in had blue, floral wall-paper, definite sign of a cheap apartment or hotel." She lifted a hand from the wheel and rubbed her head; she could feel a headache coming.

"Sharp eye you got there, Dr. Quinzel."

Harleen blushed at the compliment, but said nothing pertaining to it. Instead she narrowed her eyes on the road, "We got to stop this guy before they try anything else. I just know the next crime isn't going to be this docile."

Somber skies embraced the building and all of Gotham. Rain pattered against the large windows as Edward sat at his desk writing a lengthy and very irritating apology letter to Bruce Wayne for his security system malfunction. Yet, his spirits were high. He had shortly forgotten the majority of his anger for this tedious task.

His third riddle had been delivered to The Gotham Police Department. That had been three days ago, and the riddle gave them four days to stop him. Four measly little days that had almost passed. Tomorrow he would strike. He grinned and the malicious glint returned to his golden eyes. He shoved the letter to the side of his desk. He'd type it up all nice and clean later. He turned his stare to the darkened skies, gloomy times were certainly coming…coming. He let out a little snort, but the intercom on his desk interrupted anymore deranged celebration.

"Mr. Nashton," Elisa's small voice stated, "Commissioner Gordon is on line 2."

"Thank you, dear." He said politely, although his face was hard and angry. He picked up his phone and pressed the appropriate button.

"Nygma Inc. Edward Nashton speaking." He leaned back in his seat elongating the phone cord as he went. He nodded his head. "Commissioner Gordon, I understand. It was a tragedy that someone did that to Mr. Wayne. How much merchandise? No way. Of course, of course. I told you when I came down that day that I would help you in any way I could." He twisted the cord around his fingers. "The Security blueprint? Yeah, I can bring it down." Then Gordon was talking.

The man irked him. He was too involved. Unlike the late Commissioner Loeb, this man was both involved in his previous unit and in politics. He tracked criminals and perfected and created new legislation. What an annoying bug he was. Yet, he too was a mere pawn to be done away with. Other than Harleen, the Commissioner was his only entertainment. He rolled his eyes and forced himself to once again focus on the Police Commissioner; he'd tuned him out long enough.

"Harleen Quinzel?" He was inwardly grinning. He had come back to listen at the most fortunate moment. "Yes, I saw her a few days ago. Is she, now? My, my…No I've never spoken to her personally. Oh, I have no problem with her being there tonight when I come. By the way when would like me to come down? Five it is, Commissioner. No, this is no trouble at all. I'll see you then. Should I bring flowers for the lady?" He chuckled, though it was secretly forced. "What? A beautiful woman such as her and with brains as well is certainly my type and every woman deserves gifts. Yes, certainly, I'm only a man after all, where would I be without pretty women?"

He joined in with the Commissioner's laughter that echoed over the phone before bidding his leave and he hung up. He stood up and grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair and dusted his pin-striped pants off.

He crossed his office and removed his umbrella from its stand and left the room.

"Elisa, I'm taking my lunch break, I'll be back in an hour. Take my calls until I get back, please." He told the secretary in passing before entering the business lobby. One glance told him no one was lingering in the halls socializing. At this his shoulders slumped and a dark glower morphed his face.

Commissioner Gordon, how nauseating the man was. Edward wondered how long until the Rodent on Steroids got involved—Batman. Oh, so what if the procedure was to arrest "the vigilante known as Batman on sight"? He gave a snort; that wouldn't happen. Whoever Batman was he never had anything to do with the murder of Harvey Dent or the cops, something told him that. Logically the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit. He killed Harvey Dent, the cops, but not the Joker and yet he still fought injustice? Yeah, something fishy was up with that, and Commissioner Gordon knew what it was.

Batman would soon be involved in the game; it was just a matter of waiting. Perhaps his next move would cause the police to play their trump knight. And then Edward could start the real fun. He wanted the truth. What really happened to Harvey Dent?

Edward's inner musing had taken him down the lobby, into the elevator, and down to the ground floor. When the doors opened from the transportation device he was brightly smiling again with a hint of madness at the edges of his lips and in his stare. The more players the better the game and the better the game, the bigger the stakes; oh what fun was to be had at the expense of Gotham.

'Time to place your bets folks,' he thought, opening his emerald umbrella and stepping into the drizzle of rain that clouded Gotham, just like their next villain.

Now men, hasten your pace. What kind of person kidnaps a police officer in broad daylight with no witnesses? This isn't looking good for your record, men. Tsk, tsk this is rather disappointing. And here I thought you men had improved in the last three years…how sorely it seems I was mistaken. Ah, but you can change my mind, and Dr. Quinn, you keep sharp. Can you solve this riddle? I do hope so…you have four days until I commit my crime. Can you stop me?

I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?

There's what I plan to do and now to the rub—where the action happens.

Black and red, I make my stand in a suite of two, a guided hand. I am not needed so you toss me away for use upon another day. I make company with a group who numbers the same as the weeks in a year. You listen to me, oh, sweet one you're the latest one. And this is where you work and here is where I currently, under watch, lurk.

That last one is for you, Harley Quinn…Can you find me out?

Harleen replayed the riddles in her head. The first one was simple; it stood for fire, a flame. It had something to do with fire. So he was planning something with fire. But the other was standing at the ledge of her mind. The answer dangled at her fingers and she felt so close to finding it.

She only had one more day. Tomorrow they'd strike.

She shook her head; the riddle could be deciphered after work. She'd need her senses about her now to deal with her famous patient. She entered in the key code and the door swung open to reveal the empty room.

She tentatively stepped in, already knowing that there was something wrong. The Joker wasn't sitting at the table where he usually sat, even after being unrestrained for a few days. The door shut behind her with a hollow sound, and Harley felt the urgency in the air.

She was suddenly aware of where the Joker was. She felt herself being watched, but she was too slow to act as two arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

"Hello, beautiful," his voice stated with joy in her ear as one of his hands began an upward roam from her stomach.

She acted on instinct as she grabbed his wandering hand and whipped around to face him, her face indignant. A resounding smack echoed in the silent room and Harleen felt the sting against her other palm.

She'd done it. She had slapped the Joker.

Just the realization of what she'd just done made her eyes go wide. 'Him. I just slapped him.' But then he reached up with his hand, releasing her and touched the reddened skin. His laugh was mirthless and his eyes were dark as he stared at Harleen.

She'd pissed him off.

Harleen backed up quickly as the Joker continued to laugh and placed the table between her and him. All the while all she could think of was that she'd hit him and he hadn't liked that.

Of course he had remained as lewd from their first session. He'd continued to make suggestive remarks and had since played with her hair, winding it around his finger or smoothing it back—earning his hand a swipe. He'd also attempted to hold her hand, which she forcefully avoided. And all that he'd enjoyed, but now…Harleen felt herself shaking. Damn her instincts.

The anger was quick; it had been on reaction that he'd even gotten angry. She'd hit him, the little firecracker! My, my she was still proving to be interesting. She became more and more intriguing everyday to the Joker. He watched her as she retreated behind the table and his chuckles became amused. He licked his lips.

"So you are, uh, scared, huh?" He rubbed his face vaguely. "But you slap pretty good for a girly."

Harleen knew she'd shown her true colors, but wasn't about to lose face. There were guards stationed outside the door and if he attempted a go at her she'd be able to get out before he could stop her. She thanked her continued exercise for keeping her gymnast body. She hoped her face hadn't gotten pale as she raised her eyes to glare at the Joker.

"You're the Joker, you expect me to run into your arms?" She stated slowly.

"If only you did," he lowered her head and stared up at her, "if only you did."

She was a little ballerina of a girl, but with fire and dynamite for a soul. He could see it, and it attracted him strongly. There was just something about her…

Silence stretched on for a full minute after that. The Joker stared at her, straightening his posture, but never breaking eye contact. She returned the gesture, her eyes never faltering. He was inwardly applauding her. He could only imagine what she saw there in his eyes. And yet she didn't pull away from the raw view. He smirked.

"You like something ya see, Harley?" He smacked his lips and tilted his head, breaking the silence. Her face tightened and she finally broke eye contact. "Please, I just hit you for touching me." She scoffed.

"That was rude, you know. Uncalled for." He waggled a finger.

"You attempted to grope me."

"But it didn't happen."

"Still it was unwanted physical contact. You sexually assaulted me."

He giggled at her accusation. "No-pe. I didn't assault ya…Now, that would be bad."

She shook her head. "I don't care what you call it. It's not allowed!"

"Who says it's not?"

"I do," Harleen slammed her hand on the table that still separated them. "I'm the doctor, you're the patient."

"Oh," the Joker purred, "I love playing doctor."

That was it. She'd had enough of his lewd comments. She pursed her lips and blurted out the first sarcastic remark that came to mind. "Well, too bad for you I left my skimpy nurse outfit at home."

He liked this. She was playing his game. He couldn't lose this. "That's ok, just strip down to your knickers and bra. It's basically the same. It'll all end the same anyhow." She watched his tongue once again wet his lips. He was serious.

'Act calm. He is not suggesting you give him a strip tease or anything beyond that.'

"No, how about you strip first?"

Instantly she regretted that statement. He shrugged, "Alright," and began to pull his gray shirt over his head. What?! She was speechless.

"Best say what you need to now, after this you won't be forming coherent sentences, pet."

She bit her tongue as her mind cranked to figure out a solution. Her heart was pounding. 'Harley, what have you gotten yourself into?' She would not chicken out and run from here. No, she had more pride than that. She could have easily escaped from the situation, but she wouldn't. She wanted to show him how strong Harleen Marie Quinzel could be.

"I don't think we have time for this." She suggested.

From beneath the material of his shirt the Joker smirked. Oh, she was good. She knew the rules and he didn't even have to lay them out. He could see she was feeling the pressure. She had to stop him, knew she did, but how would she do it?

"I'll tell you my life story while I bang you. See, no time wasted at all."

"But I don't know you very well."

The Joker was sans shirt by then. He sighed and shook his head. "Too bad this isn't the seventies anymore, where people could just make love without even knowing the other's name."

Harleen inwardly gulped. "Yeah, too bad, huh?"

Had she not been trying to avoid the situation she would given more thought to the voice in her head that admired the view she was afforded. He wasn't overly-muscular, but not too lanky either. No, he was perfectly male. Silent strength rested in his frame.

"Okay, let's stop this before you take off your pants." She stated and prayed she could get him on another subject and he'd forget all about this. The Joker tilted his head. Calmly reasoning with him? No shaking? No begging for him to stop and not hurt her. He smirked. She was really composed. He liked that. Staring uncertainty in the face she stood her ground, and did not show her fear.

"Ok, ok, doc. But I think I deserve equality. An eye for an eye, a shirt…for a shirt."

She snorted. "How 'bout not? Now, why do you choose to act out in this way, Mr. Joker? Why do you make these jabs at me? You did nothing of the sort with your other doctors."

The Joker calmly walked over to the table, placing his shirt on its top and sitting down. He looked up at her as if bashful. "All my other shrinks have been…male. They never gave me a woman before." He linked his hands together and his voice was sweetly innocent. Harleen wanted to hit herself in the head. She should have known this. But she went along with this as well.

"Never?"

"Nope, but there were a couple questionable ones, if you know what I mean. They were physically male, but, ah…I guess I just turn people gay like that."

Harleen smirked. "Then go solicit them."

The Joker glared at her. "How dare you question my sexuality. I am a woman-loving man. I-"

Harleen held up her hand, "I need no demonstration if that's what you were suggesting. I have no clue why you choose to torment me with this method of conduct. If you do not stop, I will notify my supervisor, and he knows better ways of getting you to cooperate with me."

And the Joker knew she wasn't lying. No, not like the other psychiatrists that made empty threats. She was telling the truth and he saw in the way her voice sharpened, her eyes darkened, her mouth firmed up. She meant it, but he saw too the terms on which she meant it. When he got too much for her to handle she would, but she had pride too. It was a meaningful threat, but it didn't mean she'd necessarily do it. He was very tempted to see just how much pride she had. Maybe he would or maybe being the cooperative patient with little jabs every now and then would be better. He didn't know which one was the course, yet. Fun waited with either decision, however.

Harleen Quinzel was hiding something. And whatever it was, it was like the light of bug zappers. He was the bug that couldn't resist trying to come closer. He sighed happily.

"They chose a smarty for once. I guess you can't be dumb all the time. You're sharp. Do you know what I'm thinking right now Dr. Quinn?"

"That's Dr. Quinzel to you, and I probably do, but I will not repeat it for my ears to hear."

The Joker chortled. "Oh, so vain are we?" He tapped his fingers on the table surface and glanced at his shirt. "I wouldn't have, you know." He stated off-handedly.

There was a total three-sixty. "What?"

He smiled, "I wouldn't have raped you or anything…forced you to bow to my desires—whatever you want to call it. Not my style, first of all. It takes more work than it's worth and the women are so uncooperative, you see. Besides, there's a camera in here…As much as I like attention, that kind does not sit well with me. I just wanted to experiment if you will. I mean, I'm getting to know you very well through these means. Should I try to figure you out through conventional methods? No, for you'd see that coming. You don't know what to expect when I make my comments…see, I'm just stretching my fingers with you." He wiggled said appendages.

Harleen had no comment for that. So she listened, stored the information, and went to with the next relevant subject that came to mind. "I believe I've read in your file that you were bi-polar. I can very well see that. Massive aggression followed by happiness and then sobriety. You're certainly embracing the chaos the Joker represents. Black and Red, indeed."

Indeed…Her head snapped up and her mouth gaped at that. The Riddler! The second riddle!

Black and red in a suite of two. Joker cards. They're not needed so they're often put to the side. And there are fifty-two cards in a standard deck, the same as the number of weeks in a year. The Riddler meant the Joker.

The Joker watched his doctor's expression become a shocked gape. Okay, this was interesting. She'd not become dazed in three days…not since their first session when she'd raved about the riddle the Riddler had left. He chewed on his cheek, tilted his head and waved his hand before his psychiatrist's face.

"Doc?"

Harleen listened to the Joker and she worked at—Arkham Asylum! He was going to set fire to Arkham Asylum? But you couldn't just set fire to the place it was made of concrete and steel and—explosives! Harleen had figured it out. The Riddler was going to blow up all or part of Arkham Asylum. She leaned more towards a part…It was too soon to pull out all the stops. No, this was a message. A message for Gotham to see their next villain's mind. She had to tell Gordon! She had to-

"DOC!"

She yelped and fell backwards into her seat, her body taut and at attention to the voice that had broke her reverie. The Joker cocked an eyebrow.

"You have a cute squeak." He smiled. Harleen breathed out. Should she say something? It bubbled within her. And really what could he do?

"The Riddler's going to blow up Arkham Asylum to get a message to the city."

There—she'd said it. The Joker leaned forward. "Are they? They're going to need a lot of ammonium nitrate for the job."

"Or a lot of combustible fuel." She muttered and jumped up.

The Joker watched with bated curiosity as she waltzed to the blue intercom button that rested on the wall beside the door, to the left of the red panic button. How many doctors he'd had that used that button within the first week. Maybe he'd roughen her up enough to do it. She was too trusting of him, no…not trusting. She was afraid, but not as afraid as a normal person should be. Was she really unaware of who he truly was? He already knew she hadn't been around for his chaotic jig on Gotham, another reason she was probably hired, but did they make her less-sensitive to him? He'd have to test her further, test her and soon.

"This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel in Room 378, code number 7890-U67."

"Dr. Quinzel, is there a problem?" A voice, masculine replied, though there was a quiver.

Harleen rolled her eyes. Did she sound distressed? "No, there's no problem." To herself she added, 'at least not yet.'

"Well," the voice was more composed, "what can I do for you?"

"Can you check the basement for," she hesitated only a second—there was no way to ask it any other way, "bins of gas?"

The man on the other side of the communication was just as confused as the Joker expected him to be, but his attention was focused on Harleen. He liked watching her work as a counter-force against this Riddler person. He wouldn't admit to it yet, because it could quickly pivot, but there was a slight respect in him for the petite doctor with the steel tongue, sharp mind, and fierce attitude.

"Yes, bins of gas. Or maybe some kind of bomb. I have evidence to believe someone's made a threat against Arkham Asylum."

She walked back to the table and sat down again. She pulled her phone from her pocket just as the sirens that announced an emergency blared throughout the hospital and the Bomb code was announced over the intercom system. Her nimble fingers dialed the number and she held it up to her face.

The Joker leaned back and watched her. There was a restlessness about her, a static charge as she uncharacteristically grinned. For a worker at Arkham, which was placed under a bomb threat, she was rather calm. Fascinating…

"Commissioner Gordon, I know what they're planning. They've made a threat against Arkham Asylum. I hope I'll be able to get there on time to meet with you and Mr. Nashton, right? Thanks, yeah. The place is in lockdown now, yeah, we're the ones that called the bomb squad." She proclaimed proudly. She shut the phone and stared passively at the Joker.

"Our session will be lengthened today apparently. So," she pushed his discarded shirt towards him. "Put this back on, please…I don't see how you're not cold and we'll pick up where I left off. You and your possible condition of bi-polar mania."

"You sure, it's not that you're just uncomfortable with me being half-naked?"

Harleen rolled her eyes, "I've seen better bodies at the beach."

"I'd love to see what you wear to the beach." The Joker smirked.

"I'm not surprised." She commented.

The Joker grabbed his shirt and ran his fingers over the stiff, gray material. "What are you hiding Harleen Quinzel?" He raised an eyebrow, smacked his lips, and moved his head as he spoke.

And for the first time her reply was cryptic, just to make him stop his attempts at analyzing her.

"What do we all hide?"

But she'd never know it was answer he was looking for as he spoke non-discreetly. "Our true selves."

"She's thirty minutes late," Edward yawned, leaning back in the simple chair Lt. Hawkins had provided for him.

"Poor girl," the man spoke, entering into the room, his gaze endearing, "she's had to stay at Arkham until the Bomb Squad finished. But, she'll be here in about fifteen minutes…I just got a call from her."

Bomb squad? Edward inwardly seethed, but exuded a curious countenance. Had the bitch found him out? Had she solved his second riddle? "Bomb squad?"

Commissioner Gordon nodded, "Yeah, apparently this 'Riddler' was planning an attack on the Asylum in order to broadcast their next message. All I'm wondering is why he chose Arkham? Other than Dr. Quinzel, there's nothing there significant." He turned his inquiring steel stare to Hawkins, "Is Harleen a target? Are they trying to stop her?" He mused.

'Not yet,' Edward thought, clenching his fists discreetly. Harleen had for a second time foiled his fun. He had been one-upped for the first time and it was not sitting well with him.

"I'm not sure, James. The girl's done what? Figured out two of their riddles? That's no cause to believe her a threat yet, though I certainly would see her as one if I was a criminal. She's a firecracker." He grinned.

Edward chuckled, "Is she really that sharp?"

Lt. Hawkins nodded, the smile remaining, "Yes. If she'd been around, she'd have been asked to work on capturing the Joker three years ago."

"That feisty, eh? My kind of woman." Yeah, the infuriating kind that he thought enjoyed scattering his schemes too much. That was definitely his type. Not. But Lt. Hawkins was correct; the girl was no threat yet. Edward straightened his posture, concealing an eye roll.

His plan to set off the barrels of gas he had rigged in the basement of the Asylum was a no go, but there was nothing that could tie him to the crime, personally. The idiotic janitor that set the charges had just received a phone call from his favorite agency—the Falcone crime family. The strings would lead to the mob and then go cold—his puppet cell number. He giggled silently. What you could with the identity of a guy who didn't actually exist. What money could buy…Yet, there was knick in his plan—he still needed to get a message out, especially now.

He stared at both Gordon and Hawkins, but heard nothing but his inner musings. He'd have to drastically change courses—how he hated that—but how?

"So did they find anything?" Edward entered back into the conversation in time to hear Gordon pose the question. "A couple of barrels of gas, rigged with a denotation device, which has been defused. Not enough fuel to cause massive damage, but enough to cause hysteria if it had gone unnoticed."

"I wonder how she did it." Edward shrugged. "I mean, the riddle, was it hard?"

"Not the first part, but the second was a little challenging. Luckily Harleen has a sharp mind."

Edward nodded to Gordon, but bit his tongue against a vomit of hate. 'Harleen, Harleen…She needs to know just who she's dealing with.' His eyes brightened. Tah-duh and an idea had taken root. As soon as he was freed from here he'd start the planning—it'd have to be quick, but thorough. He was going to be up all night, then. Damn it! What was up with that woman? Could she not hold her position? He hated that she'd risen so quickly as a black knight, but he was the white king, still protected and he had the advantage of the first move. Only someone of high intelligence could win a chess game where they were the second to move.

His logic would win over her counter-force. It would. She would not foil this plan, no. It would be too random for her, too sudden. No one would see it coming. Still, he despised having to change tactics so suddenly and randomly. He liked smoothly running plans, ideas that were not foiled by an irritating blonde with a spiked attitude.

"I'm sorry, guys," a feminine voice broke the silence of Edward's mind.

He stared up in intrigue at his prey, his opponent, the one that was becoming more of a threat than Gotham Police, just because she so stubbornly stood in his way, when the easiest route for her would have been submission. He'd show her that. She'd back down very soon, he was sure.

"Dr. Quinzel," He stood up and held out a hand, "You are much lovelier in person." He kissed her hand when she offered it and smirked inwardly at her blush. Women—so easily swayed.

"You must be Edward Nashton." She offered a kind smile and Lt. Hawkins offered her his chair.

"That I am. So you are the famous Doctor, who I just heard solved the Riddler's second riddle."

"Oh," she glanced away humbly, "it was nothing, and I must offer the thanks to my patient, honestly. If I hadn't been analyzing him, I'd have never thought of the answer."

Edward smiled, having taken his seat again, "I see. Well, that is wonderful, I suppose." His eyes narrowed slightly. Humble was she? She seemed very arrogant on the phone the other day. Was this an act? Or was the haughtiness an act? Hmmm…this was an interesting piece to the puzzle. She could possibly be both haughty and humble, however, and thus it wasn't that tantalizing.

"You're the man who created the security system for Wayne Enterprises, right?" She asked, changing the subject; the other was dead anyway. Edward nodded, "Yes, I was very disappointed that some hooligan broke it. I mean, that was a foolhardy system. Encrypted, locked with a password that only an expert hacker could crack."

"Or the man that created it." Harleen offered, but it was non-accusatory. Still Edward did not like it. "Are you purposing I did this and that I am the Riddler?" He sounded incredulous, but tried to keep his anger reasonable. The little-

Harleen shook her head, "No, I am subjective here. I couldn't tell you. Every one, however, is considered a suspect. You because you are the creator of the system, and I am sorry for the invasion, but you would have a motive for breaking into the corporation…Wayne has on several occasions refused your proposal of human-mind research."

"You think that's enough to justify breaking in and killing numerous guards? That's immoral and criminally cruel, Ms. Quinzel, and honestly what would I accomplish with kidnapping an Officer? Or wanting to blow the Asylum up, if it's just Mr. Wayne I'm after?"

"I don't know for sure, I am only researching into possible suspects. Don't be too rattled Mr. Nashton," she kindly smiled, "I'm just covering all my bases. Mr. Wayne is a suspect as well. As I've said everyone is. You are just very intelligent, sir. And there has been a saying that with intelligence always follows an inherent strangeness." She laughed lightly. "Would you mind having a taped interview with an officer about your whereabouts over the last week, maybe a longer time period?"

Edward shook his head. "No, not at all."

"Then, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Nashton." She held out her hand and he shook it firmly. She turned to Gordon. "I have what I needed, do you?"

"Yes, I have the plans right here from the system. Our research team shall tackle it immediately."

Harleen smiled and bowed to the room. "Then, I must be going. Nice to meet you, Mr. Nashton."

"You as well, Harley."

Harleen paused and gave a pensive smile. "I'd rather you call me Harleen, if you don't mind. I, uh, only allow my close friends to call me Harley." It was a lie, a well-told one, for Edward did not catch it. She'd only said it because she did not like the way he said her name, it was too eerie and the way his eyes seemed to brighten unusually at it caused her a double-take. She shook her head and left without another word. Mentally she noted the strange action Mr. Nashton had exhibited.

Just a quick disclaimer, the 70s comment is not meant to offend in anyway. It was comedy relief, a joke. I just thought I should add that just be safe. Enjoy and I'll hopefully have the next update up by the end of the month. Thanks!