-Author's Note- I'd like to thank Arugula Pacioli, overlordofnobodies, Goddess of Glomps, Urulokiwen, Evil-Clowns-Rule, Hellion kitty-kat, and Leia Blade of the Jedi for taking time to review! Also, thanks to those who are reading, favoriting the story, and putting the story on their alerts list. DC Comics owns all the Batman characters, please don't sue! There is a creepy song I heard on the seventh season of CSI, 'Living Doll', which I felt described Harleen quite well. It's called, 'I've Got a Pain in My Sawdust', by Herman Avery Wade and Henry Edward Warner - this is not a songfic at all, just borrowing for this chapter. Someone asked me why this Harleen is so different from the DC Harley Quinn - I'm trying to create a Nolanverse Harley to go along with the Nolanverse Joker. Hopefully it works, please review and let me know what you think!
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Commissioner Jim Gordon watched the masked woman across from him. Sunlight poured through the solarium windows and Harleen's clean, newly shortened locks glowed. She stood quietly in the center of the room, not attempting to move, staring blankly.
Gordon sighed and turned to the two guards flanking the solarium door. "Gentlemen, please step outside. I'd like to speak with Harleen alone for a few minutes."
The taller, older man, Sanchez, Gordon dimly recalled, appeared shocked. "Commissioner, Arkham policy forbids dangerous patients being left alone with civilians or staff. She isn't even restrained… "
Gordon flashed his trademark smile, the one he used to reassure many a new patrolman. "I'm not a civilian," he interrupted smoothly. "I'm a thirty year veteran of the Gotham City Police Department. I've seen every type of criminal and piece of scum this city has to offer and I'm still kicking - so I think I'll be fine with Harleen for a little while."
"Dr. Thurmond… " The second guard began.
"What Dr. Thurmond doesn't know won't hurt him," Gordon finished quietly. "I'll be fine and you guys will be right outside the door in case something happens."
The two men grumbled, but exited the room leaving Jim Gordon alone with his goddaughter.
Tears pricked his eyes and Jim didn't bother trying to blink them away. "You know, Harleen, I miss you. Not a day goes by when I don't think of you and Barbara feels the same way. Do you remember Barbara, Harleen?" He edged a little closer to the petite woman; mindful to keep his body language casual. "I'll bet you do remember her - and Jimmy, he's twelve now, he was just a baby the last time you saw him. I have a ten year old daughter too, we named her after Barbara, but we nicknamed her Bibi. Do you remember me telling you about her?"
Harleen shifted her deep blue eyes away from him toward a nearby couch.
Gordon felt exultation race through his body; she'd never so much as moved in his presence since she had been brought to Arkham. "You didn't kill your family, Harleen, I know it. Dr. Thurmond and Ms. Kennison told me how upset you were the evening of your meeting with them. Earl was concerned you were going to have a breakdown, but I think you're upset because you're afraid."
She stirred; clenching her fists and unclenching them.
"I think you know exactly who killed your family," he continued. "I won't allow them to keep you locked up here the rest of your life, Harleen. You're still a young woman… "
"Wha-y-eeeee… " A slightly hoarse, very low, husky female voice whispered.
Jim Gordon cocked his head, shock pouring through him. Harleen Quinzel had just spoken for the first time in more than ten years. His heart pounded in his chest madly as he reached out and slowly grasped her upper arms. Harleen's skin was dry and cool; her limbs painfully thin - no more than ligament and skin covering bone.
He wanted to let go of her, appalled at her physical deterioration. Gently, Jim leaned his forehead against the cold, stiff mask covering her face. "I want to help you because I love you, Harleen. You're like a daughter to me, just like my Jimmy and Bibi. Don't you want to be free? Barbara and I could give you a home."
Harleen turned her face to his own; her blue eyes filling with tears.
"Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll,
For they cut all her stitches away,
and found the seat of the terrible ache,
"'Twas a delicate task," they all say,
For none of the surgeons had ever before,
Performed on a dolly's inside,
They tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how,
And this was her wail as she died."
The sing-song voice Harleen had used was low, harsh, and irrefutably sad to hear; the rhyme itself was a song Jim recognized as one Colleen had used to sing to all of her children. There was nothing comforting in the words or the delivery as Harleen had warbled them with all the delicacy of a wounded toad.
Hair on the back of Jim Gordon's neck stood straight up. "Oh Harleen, what have they done to you in here?"
"Sir?" The voice from behind him was one of familiarity and sanity.
Gordon didn't move; his eyes stayed locked on Harleen's. "What is it, Stephens?"
Gerard Stephens was a twenty year man and one of the best damn cops Jim Gordon had been privileged to know. Although a drinker in his off time, Stephens kept himself sober and scrupulously honest on the job. "We have a kidnapping in progress."
"Who?" Jim asked as he stared down into Harleen's eyes; unwilling to break the precious contact, unsure if he'd ever reach her again.
"Lowell Amberton's five year old son."
"Shit," Gordon breathed out.
Lowell Amberton was the second wealthiest man in Gotham, after Bruce Wayne, and he hadn't started his family until later in life. The poor sap had stood up to the Joker at Harvey Dent's fundraiser and nearly had his face carved into a permanent smile for his audacity.
"I'll be down in a few minutes. Wait for me."
"Yes, sir."
Jim Gordon allowed his fingers to drift through Harleen's recently cut hair; the soft tendrils curling around his fingers. There had been something so delicate about her, perhaps it was because Harleen possessed such a small stature, but he'd always been fiercely protective of her. She reminded him so very much of Colleen Quinzel - the same hair color, the same lips and cheekbones, the same heart-shaped face. He
had never seen any evidence of Joe Quinzel in Harleen at all.
Where Joe Quinzel was a tall, strapping red-haired Irishman, with a temper to match; Colleen had been a quiet, incredibly beautiful woman with the patience of a saint. She had always been smiling - Jim couldn't recall having ever seen her cross in the nineteen years he'd known her. Joe was a smart man, and an honest cop, but he had issues with anger and his jacket had been littered with occasional police brutality charges.
Jim had never witnessed his partner committing acts of brutality, but there had always been the niggling suspicion in the back of Jim's mind that Joe might be capable if the circumstances were right. He always wondered what Colleen had found in Joe which he himself had lacked…
… "Have you given any thought to what I said, Colleen?"
Colleen Lucas pushed a stray lock of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. "Jim," she smiled, her pretty gray eyes filled with kindness. "I wish I felt the same way about you that you seem to feel about me, but I don't."
The pair came to a halt in front of Gotham Police Precinct 23.
Jim Gordon felt every inch the ant as he looked around at the buildings dwarfing he and Colleen; he couldn't bear to look at her when he knew exactly what was coming. She was going to tell him they should just stay friends.
"I love you, Jim," Colleen whispered as she rested her small hand against his cheek. "I'm just not in love with you and I think you deserve a wife who will be passionately, madly in love with a wonderful man like you."
Jim looked down at her; his heart ripping in two. "But last night..." He felt like a fool for thinking the night they had spent together meant anything at all to her. Jim wasn't into casual sex, but he'd been in love with Colleen for three long years and when she had come onto him, he'd been more than happy to oblige.
Colleen's face burned a dull red. "We were both lonely and with Joe gone, I was stupid." She tucked her hands into the pockets of the cheery pink raincoat she wore. "I took advantage of you and I had no right. Joe and I - we've been together since junior high and we love each other." Looking down at the concrete beneath their feet, she continued in a soft, pleading voice. "Please don't tell Joe, if he knew we slept together it would kill him."
"I want to marry you," Jim managed, voice cracking. "I know I would be a good husband to you, Colleen."
She looked him in the eye. "I know, Jim, but I wouldn't make you a good wife. One day, you'll meet the right woman and you'll look back at this and thank god I didn't say yes."
Jim frowned. "I doubt it highly."
"Are you growing a mustache?" Colleen asked with a little grin; swiping her forefinger across his upper lip.
He nodded.
Colleen's eyes sparkled. "I like it."
"I'm glad," Jim replied; unable to hold back the dullness in his voice.
Colleen reached up and pressed her lips against his cheek. She let her mouth linger against his cool flesh for a minute longer than propriety allowed before pulling back. "Thank you, Jimmy Blue Eyes."
He didn't have to assure Colleen of his silence; she knew he would remain quiet as she turned and carefully crossed the busy street...
… Jim tenderly pressed his lips against Harleen's temple before pulling away from her.
Colleen had married Joe once he'd arrived back from a special training course hosted by the FBI Academy in Quantico. Jim had remained silent even as he watched the woman he loved walk down the aisle with his partner and friend. Colleen had never again shown even a hint of interest in Jim other than pure friendship and she always made sure they never found themselves alone.
He had never entirely gotten over his first love - it took him years to relinquish his smiling, sweet Colleen, but somewhere inside those feelings for her lingered still and he kept them locked away.
Then Barbara had come into his life like a tornado.
Nothing had ever been the same and Jim was grateful for his wife; Barbara made him happy, as Colleen predicted, he was a single man. Barbara was lovely, intelligent, gentle, and as fiery as Colleen had been quiet and reserved.
No, Jim Gordon knew he had made the right choice in marrying Barbara.
He simply wished he hadn't failed Harleen so badly - Colleen would have been mortified to see her daughter accused of a horrendous crime family and friends knew the girl to be incapable of.
"Harleen, I want you to remember I'm coming back for you." Jim kept his voice steady, his tone patient and warm. "I promise you nothing bad is going to happen, Sweetheart. Ms. Kennison, Earl, and I are going to get you the hell out of here."
He could see the tears escaping Harleen's eyes.
She was crying, but she did so silently.
Jim released her and stepped away from Harleen. He never turned back, knowing if he did, he'd be incapable of leaving Arkham Asylum without his goddaughter. Jim Gordon had a job to do, but once he was done with the Amberton case, he was coming back to insist Thurmond remove the ridiculous mask covering Harleen's face.
And he was bringing the District Attorney with him.
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Harleen staggered over to the couch and sank onto it. She stared out over the pock-marked, putrid Industrial quarter of Gotham, but her mind was far away. Terror held her in its grip, he was coming back and he wasn't going to leave without bringing her out into Gotham.
Knees quaking, Harleen pressed her face to them and drew in ragged, heaving breaths of air as she desperately searched for calm.
"I've got a pain in my sawdust,
That's whats the matter with me,
Something is wrong with my little insides,
I'm just as sick as can be… "
"What a sss-ad little song!"
Harleen looked up, her eyes widened, and she shot to her feet.
The Joker was standing in front of the doors in his dull gray scrubs; his scarred mouth pulled back into a hideous smile and his dark eyes alight. His hair was still green, but more and more patches of dirty blonde were showing through.
Harleen looked past him, but Peterman and Sanchez were both gone.
He followed her gaze and laughed; the sound just as chilling as Harleen had thought it would be. "Now, a good rule of thumb, and you'll want to remember this, Sweetums," he crooked his finger at her and leaned forward as though sharing a secret with her. "is all people are intrinsically corrupt. This includes guards, doctors, lawyers, judges, cops..."
She backed away from him, her eyes darting around the room looking for anything resembling a weapon, but there was nothing.
"Especially guards and cops," The Joker smacked his deformed lips together. "Never trust anyone on my list and you'll be a much happier person."
Harleen froze as her back hit the window.
He observed her with a raised brow. "Are you nervous? You look nervous, Harleen. May I call you, Harleen?"
She shook her head, drawing in deep breaths as she inched her way toward the bookcase bolted into the wall. The drawback of wearing her mask was her peripheral vision wasn't so good. Harleen kept her eyes pinned on the Joker as she continued to move.
The Joker remained rooted to the spot, his lips now pulled down at the corners just slightly; giving his face a schizophrenic expression as the scars tried to pull his mouth up into his trademark terrifying smile. "Oh, you hurt my feelings, Miss Quinzel. I thought after our little tête-à-tête the other day we could have a real chat. Truly, I just want to be friends."
Harleen reached out with her left hand and felt the blunt edge of the bookcase bolted to the wall. She remembered the tiny space at the top and all the ceiling tiles just begging to be pushed in.
His dark eyes narrowed as she caressed the edge of the bookcase. "Ex-act-ly where do you think you're going, Miss Quinzel?" He stayed still, but his long fingers were twitching and Harleen noticed with disgust he was licking his scars like some sort of animal. "I'm afraid to tell you there's no way out of this ro-om. Now, you and I are going to have a nice little talk so take a seat on the couch like a good girl."
"No."
Harleen almost jumped at the sound of her own voice; it was nothing like the hard, guttural tone which had erupted from her throat earlier. This was her voice from years ago - pure, normal pitch, and clear as a proverbial bell. She sounded young, much younger than her twenty-seven years and she could see she'd shocked the Joker as well.
"Excuse me?" The Joker cupped one hand to his ear. "Do my ears deceive me or does Miss Quinzel speak? Ya know, I heard a rumor you haven't spoken in eleven years." He counted to eleven silently while keeping time with his fingers. "Yet in the space of five minutes I've heard you sing and talk. So are you crazy like good Dr. Thurmond says or are you just misunderstood - like me."
"No." Harleen blinked.
"You'll have to be more specific."
"No."
The Joker took a deep breath. "Okay, Miss Sssmar-ty Pantsss," he hissed in obvious displeasure. "Just plant your rear on the couch. Now." He pointed at the mousy brown sofa.
Harleen looked over at the couch and then back at the Joker. "No."
"Yes!" He shouted as he took a step forward; one of his long fingers pointing at the sofa. "Right now."
She reached behind her and slowly pulled a book from the shelf. Her fingers were trembling so badly she nearly dropped the thick volume as she pulled it to her chest. Harleen was quite aware of the fact this man was over six feet tall and whipcord lean; she doubted there was an ounce of fat on his body. This meant he could probably kill her with his bare hands.
The Joker raised one eyebrow as he took another step in her direction. "Jane Austen? What? Have you developed a sudden yen to read Pride and Prejudice?" He chuckled darkly. "Forgive me, but you don't seem like the type to appreciate the finer literary works, muh dear."
She fired the book like a missile as he inched another step closer.
The book caught him on the cheekbone and connected with a dull thud. The Joker let out a loud groan as he stumbled backwards, arms flailing wildly, before he collapsed to the floor. He was still and Harleen didn't waste a moment.
She turned and launched herself up the bookcase; her small fingers finding purchase as they had on the parallel bars all those years ago. She was shaking, her arms felt like they were on fire, as she fought to pull herself upward against the near overwhelming weight of gravity. Her toes wiggled helplessly as she used them to push herself up toward the ceiling. Every second was a struggle, but Harleen didn't want to be left alone with the monster below her.
Gritting her teeth, she finally pulled herself up onto the top shelf.
A pain-filled moan reached her ears and Harleen looked down to see the Joker pushing himself into a sitting position. He shook his head briefly before a giggle escaped his throat. The strange little laugh grew into a roar; a cacophony of chaotic guffaws which would have induced terror in the hardiest of souls.
He pointed at her weakly. "Har-Har-Harleeeen," The Joker gasped out between snickers. "Do be a dear and get your Uncle Joker Anna Karenina will you? I much prefer a tra-ge-dy to a simpering love story!"
Harleen slammed her fist against the ceiling and the tile moved easily. Heart beating madly, she grasped the edges of the open ceiling and using her legs, shoved herself up into the darkness. She maneuvered herself forward in the darkness as she navigated the flimsy, treacherous ceiling tiles. If she didn't keep herself on the brace joints, she'd fall back in with the malevolent thing still laughing somewhere below her.
It occurred to her the Joker might well be up in the ceiling himself by now.
Swallowing thickly, Harleen continued forward in the inky darkness, always keeping herself balanced on the braces. Her hands were accumulating a wealth of cuts and bruises from her blind wandering and she was gasping as sticky cobwebs draped themselves across the mouth and nose holes of her mask. Harleen tried to picture old Gabe up here dusting and the thought almost made her giggle, but fear kept her lips pressed into a tight line.
Stopping, she picked at a tile and lifted the corner cautiously.
Below her was the nurse's office, but the small, windowless room was locked up and the light was out. Only a dim shaft of daylight piercing the slats of the blinds gave any illumination at all, but it was enough. She spied a tall filing cabinet one ceiling tile over - close enough for her to ease onto without making a lot of noise.
When Harleen's feet touched the floor, she found herself on her knees. Heart pounding, sweat making her mask stick uncomfortably to her face, and the need to urinate nearly overwhelming, she breathed deeply. Awareness dawned on Harleen time was of the essence.
She forced herself up to her feet and staggered to the nurse's desk. Rifling across the top, Harleen found a letter opener, it wasn't real sharp, but it would due in a pinch. She knew better than to try and use the phone sitting so innocuously near by.
The guards who worked for HIM would be on her in a flash.
Instead, Harleen crawled under the desk, avoiding the obvious panic button, curling herself into a ball; clutching the letter opener as her eyes took in everything around her. The bag slumped beside her feet went unnoticed at first, but Harleen felt the slick leather against her foot and her eyes went wide.
She pulled the heavy purse over to her and examined the contents as best she could in the semi-darkness.
Reaching inside, Harleen's fingers brushed against a familiar, smooth shape.
A cell phone.
Harleen's heart sank like a stone.
The only person she could call was Uncle Jim - and Uncle Jim would bring her out into Gotham with all the people. One thing Harleen had learned was just how depraved and evil the citizens of this city really were. She stared at the phone in her hand with the dawning knowledge the Joker would probably kill her or worse; treat her like those guards had so long ago.
Gotham - Joker - Gotham - Joker - Gotham...
Harleen flipped open the little phone and dialed a number she had memorized as a teenager.
555-3297
The ringing began the minute Harleen hit send.
"Gordon." The weary, stalwart voice of James Gordon echoed in Harleen's ear.
She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat closed up.
Jim sighed; the sound drifting warmly into her ear. "Hello?"
Harleen tried to force words from her throat, but nothing aside from unintelligible warbling ensued.
'I can speak to the Joker, but not my own godfather?' The insanity of the thought made her want to scream, but her throat and mouth simply wouldn't cooperate.
"Damn cranks." Jim ground out before the line went dead.
Harleen started to dial when she heard the door handle jiggle ominously. She hit the power button and stuffed the phone back into the purse. Curling up as far under the desk as she could, Harleen clutched the letter opener for all she was worth and waited - there wasn't anything else she could do.
Keys rattled and a cold click sounded followed by the barely noticeable scrape of well oiled door hinges.
Soft footsteps entered the room and stopped just on the other side of the desk.
"Hmmm..." The Joker smacked his lips once. "it would appear Harleen is quite the talented little bunny. I suppose she could have climbed back up in the ceiling wandering around like a blind rat until the guards find her - or she could be hiding under the desk like a frightened kitty."
Harleen squeezed her eyes shut as the Joker closed the door behind him.
"I think Harleen is a very frightened little kitten right about now." The tone of his voice was slightly nasally, but calm; nothing like the terrifying man she'd seen earlier. "Oh come out, come out wherever you are, Harleen Quinzel!"
She didn't move a muscle, but her mouth ran away all on its own. "No."
"You're very fond of that word," The Joker chuckled. "There's a whole vocabulary you oughtta try before deciding to limit yourself." He knocked on the desk over Harleen's head. "Come on out Harleen, I'm not gonna hurt you."
She didn't move and her traitorous lips stayed shut.
"Look, I understand we don't know each other," he cleared his throat. "I was a little for-ward earlier, but in all fairness to me, I tend to get a bit overexcited at times. I'm a man of my word, Harleen, and I'm telling you I won't hurt you."
Harleen knew it was only a matter of time before he simply dragged her out. She crawled out quickly and shot to her feet; the letter opener jammed so hard against her throat, a drop of blood pearled where she had parted her own flesh.
The Joker's dark eyes traveled from her face to her neck; he licked his lips absently. "Might I give you a bit of advice?" He pointed at the letter opener. "You'll still be able to commit hari kari with a dull blade, but its going to hurt a hell of a lot more. Never slice through skin with a dull in-stru-ment is my motto."
Harleen's neck burned, but she eased little more than a centimeter more of the metal inside her weeping wound before her hand began to shake.
His smoky eyes glittered from the deep, bruise-like shadows surrounding them; it looked as though he hadn't slept in months. "I'm going to have a hellish time stitching you up, Doll. The throat is a very sensitive spot and you're gonna have a scar if you don't stop."
"Go away."
"I can't, Harleen, we haven't had our chat yet."
"Chat?"
"Yeah, remember our eyes met across the hall and we sort of... signaled one another?"
Harleen blushed as she remembered flipping him the bird. "Uh-huh."
The Joker seemed to relax just a little. "Well, I like your moxie and I wanted to talk to you about a job."
"Job?" Harleen blinked as she lowered the letter opener. "And I thought I was nuts."
The Joker simply laughed for all he was worth.