CHAPTER FIVE

"I would remember the night I met him in person, the last player that would enter into the game…and I would never forget how all I could think about afterwards was not this new knight, but the jester of the court whose lips I secretly wished to taste again."

"Well, if it isn't Gotham's own Dark Knight! You miss me, Batsy?"

He was dressed in all black, his brown eyes standing out stridently from the cowl he wore. He gave a quick glance to the Joker, but all his attention was for the woman who stood before him. Her hands were curved and her body stiff as if prepared for some assault. So this was Harleen Quinzel? Edgy energy seemed to flicker about her.

"Dr. Quinzel," his voice was its raspy tenor, the octave that belied of his real identity. He didn't attempt any further movement only observed her.

He could see surprise embrace her face, followed by confusion, and then she seemed to relax slightly. When she turned to face him more fully, instead of staring at him at an angle over her shoulder, there was still a small puzzlement on her face.

"Batman?"

It was clear she had no idea how to react to this situation, but she wanted the awkwardness gone. She glanced at the Joker, and although he had the impression she knew he wasn't here for the man, asked anyway.

"You want to see him?" Perhaps it was to further dispel the awkward uncertainty of this abrupt situation. He applauded her attempt at composure, but he could see that she was shaken just slightly. Anxiety clung to her like static upon newly dried clothes, unseen, but felt at just a touch.

"No, I've come to speak with you."

Harleen nodded to him and took a breath, closing those bright eyes of hers for a moment. She gestured to the seat across from the Joker, who to Batman's intrigue only stared at him in smug expectation. The man was unrestrained and with a look at the condition of Harleen, rather civilized. The woman was no worse for wear, though in her mind she wanted to laugh at that the passing glance. The man had no idea.

"I'd rather stand." Harleen nodded. "Then you won't mind me taking it instead." She grabbed the seat and pulling it back slightly sat down. "I know why you're here, and," she took another breath, "I'm not surprised. Commissioner Gordon contacted you didn't he?"

"He hunts me. I have my own ways of figuring out the newest outbreak of delinquency."

"That's a sorry lie, Bats," the Joker accused, "you can tell Dr. Quinzel the truth, she's rather nonjudgmental that way. You know the truth; I know the truth…why can't you reveal it to the rest of Gotham?"

Harleen stifled the voice that wanted to bubble from her and ask what was being spoken of. The Joker must have noticed this as he gave her a gentle smile. "Maybe one day, when I think you'll appreciate it more I'll tell ya, but," he annunciated, "today's not that day, or should I say night."

"You're here about the Riddler, aren't you?" Harleen asked, ignoring the Joker.

"What do you know about him?"

"Where would you like me to start?" Harleen asked without further pause and her eyes trailed over to the Joker, who to her amazement was listening intently to her words as if they were the ultimate truth. Batman crossed his arms, his posture alert. Harleen understood; Gotham's dark guardian trusted the Joker about as far as he could throw him.

"Start from the beginning, Dr. Quinzel."

"I was contacted about a week ago by Commissioner Gordon. Gotham Police department had received a letter the week prior from some unknown source, which after reading the document they shunned as a joke. However, soon after Wayne Enterprises was robbed and a fair number of his security staff shot. That's where the second letter, from the same author as the first was discovered. You know all of this, though, don't you?"

"It gives us a place to start, continue." Batman nodded.

Harleen linked her hands together, "I've read the letters this guy sends. He's very precise, perfect. His letters are typed, not written and signed with a stamp that never shifts. He's in other words compulsive, Obsessive-Compulsive. He's also intelligent, he's a hacker, and I now have no doubt about that. He's the one who overrode the security layout of Mr. Wayne's business."

"Why do you think the Riddler himself was the culprit?"

Harleen smirked and her voice took on a mocking tone, but Batman could see it was not directed at him. "Because that guy does all the neat, clean stuff in his operations. He plans them deeply; sets up the stage, but his pawns are the ones who do all the dirty work. They were the ones who killed those security guards. And if he had gotten to harm Lt. Hawkins when he kidnapped him his lackeys would have been the abusers, and they were the ones who took Arkham hostage and punched me in the face."

"You, uh, weren't thinking I did that, right?" The Joker chose this time to interrupt. He had seen the flitting shock that crossed through Batman's face. He grinned. "Oh, Batman, you ever see me actually hit a girl? Okay, so I threw your little bunny out a window, honestly though, she has nothing on my doc here." The Joker paused in his expressive gesturing. He licked his lips for the umpteen time that day, giving an obvious glance to Harleen who pointedly ignored him. "I mean, I wouldn't hit her. She's beautiful and feisty, and honestly, Bats, I think I'm in love." He sighed happily.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Harleen muttered.

The Joker laughed. "See, she just speaks her mind. You didn't look queasy earlier." He cocked an eyebrow and Harleen growled. "I just love it when you do that, puddin'." He twittered.

Harleen refocused her mind on Batman. "Anyway, he's not reached the point where he's taken matter into his own hands, yet. Although, he's very impatient—you would know if you spoke to him. I don't think it'll be long before he attempts to take out a key player against him himself. He wants to see results, strike fear. He wants to turn Gotham into his own personal puppet. He's trying to instill anarchy through sly planning, logical methods, and that's his downfall. He plans extensively.

"He wants to be superior, show Gotham that he's no joker. He's got a motive and with each new crime he's working towards that end. He's childish as well. A mulish man, he gets ticked if just the smallest part of his plan is not carried out, or in my case if his plan is figured out. He can't stand being stopped. He wants to stump the people who he gives his riddles to. He can't help giving us clues to his next plans. He's a narcissist and even if he tried, I'm sure his Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder would eat at him to still yet leave his calling card."

Batman watched the doctor swim through her theories, her educated training. He had to admit she was impressive, to the point, and very intelligent. She was the perfect person to stop the Riddler—she'd been doing just that. Yet Batman knew she was in danger, she would be the Riddler's target. Get rid of her and the man would have no one as of yet that would stand in his way. 'No one, except me,' Batman thought. Within his mask, this conversation was being recorded.

"You are very thorough, Dr. Quinzel."

"Thank you." She flushed, but smiled. "That is almost the end of my knowledge except that it is obvious the Riddler, whoever he is, suffers from Bipolar Mania. He is apt to mood swings. I can just picture the violence in his eyes when he is foiled. He hates feeling inferior; I predict a fair amount of bullying in his early life, perhaps even familial abuse." She then stood up and sighed, shaking her head. A few strands of her corn-silk hair fell loose from their bind as she did this and pushed her chair in. She turned to stare at Batman and he could see it then, she was tired.

"That's all I know, nothing more, nothing less. You might as well have," she had an amused tone to her voice, "asked the Commissioner and the Lieutenant for all this. I told them every word I've just told you." She grinned up at him, "But I must admit, I never thought that in my life I'd meet not only the Joker, but his polar-opposite enemy as well. Geez, aren't I just the most unlucky girl? And Bats," she emphasized his name, realized who she sounded like, and ignored it completely; she was drained. "Don't warn me about the Riddler. I know very clearly who stands in the way of his plans. It's me. He'll come after me."

"And when he does? Can you handle it?"

Harleen, who had been having a glaring contest with the Joker suddenly turned to him. In that moment, the emotion that had never crossed her face caused her to pale. She was frightened. "I don't know," she admitted. She crossed the room, passing Batman. "I feel that to defeat this guy, I'll have to break a rule I never thought I'd be forced to."

"What rule would that be?" The Joker asked, morbidly curious and --though he'd not admit it yet-- a little concerned for the uncertainty on her face. She didn't answer him though she paused, but when Batman posed the same question, she moved again. She punched in the security code to exit.

"I may have to kill him," she said detachedly as if in some dream, "and I won't hesitate to do it."

Then she was gone.

"Isn't she great?" The Joker giggled. "Harley Quinn…Harley…my Harley. What kinda gifts you do think she likes? I'm not thinking she'll enjoy perfume. Flowers, though? You think, Batty?" Batman just ignored the man and with little more than a huff of air the lights went out again.

Her sanctuary…

Harleen carefully shut the door behind her and leaned against the solid frame. She took a long inhale through her nose and gave into the urge to sink to the floor. What a day…

She lifted her head and stared wearily around her. Her darkened apartment spread before her with her kitchen to her right. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door. She was overloaded, her mind sputtered at the events of the day. It was too much to take in, too much to process.

She braced her hands against the ivory carpet beneath her and finally stood back up. Her purse and keys were discarded on her kitchen counter. Her lab coat was placed upon her crimson arm chair and her shoes were carelessly kicked off. She ran a hand through her hair after loosening it and walked across her spacious living room and through the adjoining door to her bedroom.

The curtains on the bay windows blocked most of the bright city lights and as tired as she was, the sounds of distant traffic didn't bother her. She basically collapsed onto her bed, fully dressed. She curled up and shut her eyes. Her mind was buzzing, like electric currents. Her head felt light, but, and she hated to admit it, it felt exhilarating.

Images flashed through her head. Batman, the Riddler letters, Her first stare at the Joker, his expressions, the Joker's smile, the view of him without a shirt.

Harleen groaned. Of all times she could recall that, why now? She fought against her mind, rebelling against the flutter of her heart at the now unbiased memory. If she hadn't stopped him…

No!

She turned over and opened her eyes. Her heart sped in her chest, but her mind was alight with thoughts. She pressed her eyes tightly shut, crinkling her forehead. The Joker…every thought was the Joker now. The appearance of Batman was no consequence. He was given nothing more than a passing mention. The Joker's words, his lewd flirts echoed in her brain, images playing across the blackness of her eyelids to match the voice. Her head felt even lighter, and her heart continued to speed. She didn't want to think of him. Wasn't she too tired and overloaded to even think straight moments ago? Where had that gone, and why these sporadic thoughts now?

Flashes like fire of the man careened through her mind. She bit her lip and tossed around, trying to force them to leave. She attempted focus on anything but the Joker, a man she shouldn't trust, shouldn't be interested in. A man that…

That you crave.

She bolted up at the accusing whisper in her head. No, it wasn't true! She shook her head, but even as she did this she could feel his lips against hers again, his breath against her neck. She shivered in unbidden pleasure as it progresses to the memory of his tongue along her jaw. Her stomach rolled and she clenched her fists in her blanket. She fell back, a moan escaping her lips.

She wanted him to kiss her again. She frowned as she realized that she desired to feel those lips, which despite her initial assumptions actually were soft and warm—curse her for admitting that. She wanted to feel them more fully against her own. She wanted to give into the forbidden rule that prohibited her from reciprocating the action.

Harleen Quinzel wanted to skim his neck with her own mouth, return every tease and more. She brought her hands up to her face and fisted them against her cheeks. She wanted it and she hated it! What happened to the real Harleen Quinzel, the one who would never do such things, never even imagined doing such things? She would never dream of breaking such ethical rules, not to mention personal, right?

Curled into herself, she vehemently shook her head. No, she wouldn't. But with every repeat of the mantra it weakened. She bit her lip and felt blood trickle into her mouth. Damn him! She got shown some sick affection by a criminally insane man and that's enough to turn her into mush?!

She was stronger than that. She turned on her back and slammed her fists against her beige mattress. She frowned and took a deep breath, slowing her heart, or attempting it. She fell asleep still dreaming of his lips, still imagining his embrace. She was just tired…yeah, that was it. She'd laugh at these thoughts in the morning.

She sighed as the darkness of sleep greeted her, as she felt a pair of hands gently wind around her waist.

"Go to sleep, Harley…Sweet dreams for my sweetie…"

She whimpered. What the-? It was his voice, but her protests silenced as the void engulfed her into troubled dreams.

She towel-dried her sodden blonde hair, and wrapping her body with the damp large, violet towel she silently entered the hallway, her skin tingling in some sort of anxiety. She turned to her left to walk the short distance to her room, but she was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around her.

She stiffened, but when the person laid their head on her should and nuzzled her neck, nipping the skin, she relaxed. She smiled and felt her face flush lightly as he embraced her firmly.

"So, uh, you took a shower without me, eh?" His voice crooned and his hands played with the two sections of her towel as if contemplating what he should do. "I personally think I'm entitled compensation for missing the show." His voice was low and husky in her ear, and it sent a tingle through her.

He chuckled, "Yeah, I like that idea…C'mon, Harley, let me see your body so I can touch every one of your curves." His hands fell to her hips where he rubbed small circles through the towel. She giggled and escaped his grasp playfully. She turned to him, clasping her towel around her, her heart beating fast. He licked his lips, painted crimson like blood.

"So, we're gonna play this way," he lowered his head and stared darkly at her from within the guise of face paint, his faintly green hair gleaming in the morning light. "Harley, my favorite color may be purple, but my favorite view of you is without that towel." He stretched out his arms, "Come here, and let's make some explosive chaos—just you, me, and perhaps your bed."

She smirked and took a step forward pretending to let go of her towel. The Joker nodded, chewing on his cheeks, but he groaned when she reestablished her grip. "Babe!"Even though he could have grabbed her, he didn't. She leaned forward instead, one hand releasing her towel in preference of wrapping around his neck as she brought her lips to his painted ones.

His reaction was instantaneous; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him while he returned her kiss ravenously. Her fingers dug into his hair as he began backing up with her in tow, continuing their lip-lock, but she had to run out of air eventually. She pulled away and leaned her head against his chest and breathed in deeply, but instantly something was wrong.

The room had changed. It was darker and cooler. It was as if all the joy had been pulled out of the scene. She clenched her hands into the Joker's shirt as she recognized the wallpaper of the abandoned room where Lt. Hawkins had been held.

It was then that she heard the laugh from the Joker; it was mechanical, not human. This wasn't the Joker anymore, their body felt different, colder. She stifled her fear and dared to stare up with wide eyes at the man now embracing her.

"Naughty, naughty, Harley Quinn…Has the red jester fallen for the black joker?" She knew this was the Riddler, but all he was was a male form of green with black question marks and a large mouth, stretching from ear to ear, not a Joker grin, but a gaping hole He looked nothing human, and it was terrifying. "How sickeningly cute." His grip tightened around her and Harleen cringed. It felt like he was trying to break her ribs. "It's too bad, you know, that he can't save you now…" She screamed then, lashing out and trying to break to his grip. He growled and released her.

She realized then that she was dressed in her Arkham coat and normal clothes now. She was too slow as she righted herself and tried to run. Her body was stiff, as if frozen. She couldn't have escaped the rough tug on her coat even if she had tried.

She was pulled back to the Riddler who turned her around. Her body jarred at the impact of her shoulders against his chest, and despite the fact she couldn't see him, she knew he moved. At that moment she felt it clearly, a knife at her lips. His garbled laughter excelled in volume.

"I wonder if he'd appreciate a woman with his smile."He mused the cold steel outlining her rosy lips. She whimpered as the knife slid into her mouth, she couldn't fight it. Tears gathered in her eyes. "It is gonna hurt, but please scream for me. Scream loudly." She shut her eyes, beginning to hyperventilate. She felt the sharp edge of the knife against the right side of her mouth, and she couldn't escape. Then he tugged the handle.

Harleen screamed, feeling her cheek rip.

Harleen screamed, and lashed out, struggling. Her body met the hard floor of her room, tangling her in her sheets. She broke into tears then, her heart in overdrive as she realized it'd all been a dream. Her chest heaved and she pulled her knees to her chin. She hadn't cried in fear for years, but she couldn't stop the torrent. Why had her dream turned so unpleasant?

Stress and her warring mind were explanation enough for the first half of her dream, but why had it needed to stop? Now that she looked back on it, she would have rather not dreamed it, but it was better than the nightmare of its second act.

There was an intrinsic dread in her bones as she stood up and crawled back into bed, taking a glance at her bedside clock, whose digital numbers informed her that it was 3:21 in the morning. She logically saw nothing to be afraid of in her dream, it had been nothing but that, but her body was stimulated in fright and for hours Harley just lied there.

She pulled herself to her living room eventually. At seven in the morning she finally fell asleep again, the morning news murmuring in her ears.

The vacant steel mill stretched out before him in the darkness. Edward flicked a strand of his slick, ebony hair from his face as he glared coldly at the man restrained in the chair. The moonlight turned his glower more sinister as he crossed his arms.

The man before him was chained tightly about the wrists, the legs, and even around his middle. His greasy gray hair, stuck to his forehead and it was clear to see that the restraints were digging into his plump arms and rounded stomach. Not enough to cut off circulation, but enough to be irrefutably painful.

"So," Edward began softly his expression contemplative, "what exactly were you doing?"

"Honest, boss, I wasn't thinkin' of doin' nothin'."

"LIES!" The man cowered at the screech. Edward was without his voice disguise. He leaned threateningly into the man's face, his stiff arms supported by the rigid chair arms. "Now, tell me," he hissed, "what you were doing when I came in here? Nothing false."

The man, one of his measly thugs who was about as smart as a toothpick in Edward's opinion, shook his head, "N-n-nothin'! I swear!"

"Oh, ya do? It sure didn't look that way. You seemed in a big hurry to get out. Now, I'm going to give you one more chance," Edward grabbed the man's shirt and with strength uncharacteristic of him pulled the man painfully against his chains. "What…were…you…doing?"

"I have a family, they were getting suspicious. I just wanted out, that's it!"

The Riddler pulled back and began to pace. "Then, why not just tell me?" He smiled, but the kindness in his eyes was too sweet. He grinned and it was seeped with dementia. "You know what? Don't answer that. I know…it's because you were going to turn me in."

"No, no I-"

"Shut up!" He stopped and swiveled to face the man. "You were. I found the note. You dropped it." He reached into his pants and held up the paper and the once criminal's face paled. He waved it. "You really thought you would be able to do that? Well, thank your friends here for being the informants I truly needed."

The man turned to the others that had gathered to watch as their leader interrogated the culprit. They wouldn't meet the eyes of the damned man. Yes, damned; his fate had been decided the moment the Riddler had found the note.

"I just wanted…I never woulda done anything!"

Edward sighed, "And I'm expected to believe such lies?" He chuckled. "Unlike you with your infantile intelligence, I'm not stupid. You'll not betray me." He walked back over to the man and stared at him with a giddy grin.

"You'll not tell because," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a glistening pistol, his emerald gloves glowed in the eerie light as he raised the gun to the man's head. Edward heard the man's breath catch in his throat. His eyes glinted maliciously, "Because, you'll not even see the morning sun."

The man screamed, a last and useless effort to be spared, but the other thugs only closed their eyes as the shot rang out, silencing the yell suddenly. When they dared to look once again the doomed man's eyes were now unseeing. Blood splattered the ground around him and marred his clothes from the single gunshot wound to his head. The Riddler stood in front him, his face dark.

"Let this be an example to the rest of you." He seethed and turned to them. He began walking toward the crowd, checking his clothing for any stray blood. He dropped the gun into one of the goon's hands. To another he fished an envelope from the pocket of his emerald vest.

"On your way to take away this trash of a traitor, do drop this by the police station. Deliver it personally please and then get out of there." He ordered and then he was proceeding into the shadows, giggling as he left.

Harleen Quinzel,

You were right, I am intrigued by you. Intrigued and absolutely loathing of your idiotic smugness. You try and figure this one out. Good luck, I thought long and hard about this one. I am the White King and you, you annoying Black Knight will be taken. Drop out of this game while you can, and yes, that was an honest threat. You're beginning to tread on glass, Harley Quinn, and you'd best reverse your track before you hurt yourself.

I will not hesitate to take you out personally if your foolhardiness does not stop.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel…

When you stop and look, you can always see me. If you try to touch you cannot feel me. I cannot move, but as you near me, I will move away from you. With me will come a shattered sight, an explosion of towering heights, for I will destroy that which can bring a smile to your face, a tear to your eye, or even a thought to your mind, but can't be seen. Yet I'll only take away the most recent; before this present now you knew the blueprint.

You will get this letter, and the day after you receive it I will strike…And I will know when you receive it, Harley. Riddle me this, my dear…If you can or if you dare.

A little advice, though…I wouldn't dare, personally…