The convention centre main hall was already bustling. The stage was lit but, as yet, empty. Jamyang Drolma's caterers wove around with glasses of champagne, and the hall smelled of a hundred different foods and spices.

The crowd was quite a mix. Lots of expensive tailored suits and gowns were on display, but lots of people wore cheap suits or party dresses. There were a lot more young people, some wearing some tastefully outlandish Renaissance-faire getup. Far from being regarded as odd, some of the society ladies were gathered around a diaphanous gown covered in fake butterflies and cooing appreciatively at the bashful young girl inside it.

There were more people of colour than you normally got at these society bashes, Harley reflected. Black, Asian and other Gotham minorities were present.

Then a voice – Fox's, if you knew him – announced to the room, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 22nd Annual Wayne Foundation Christmas Benefit!"

Applause, and then, "Mr. Wayne will be making a grand entrance soon enough. And now, to get things started, please welcome the Benefit's Deputy Artistic Director Harleen Quinzell!"

Applause, louder this time, faltered as Harley stepped into the spotlight. There were some gasps from some quarters, and someon even yelped "Harley Quinn!"

But others were puzzled. It was Harley Quinn and yet, not her. The form-fitting red-and-black patterned costume was hers, but the masked, chalk-white face was missing. Instead there was a pale, slightly childish face, and the trademark pigtails had been done up into odango-style buns.

"I can't quite believe that a few months ago, I was a patient in an asylum." Harley paused. The room was silent. "And for a while, it was really scary being on the right side of the law. So scary I almost went back a few times. When I was…sick, I guess, I thought I lived in a world of fun and freedom, and I thought I'd never have fun again after that.

"I got it wrong though. In my old life being happy never lasted, and it was horrible too much to be worth it, to me or anyone else. Now, I've got a new chance at life, and I'm making the most of it, but I also realized that I can't just erase my old life either. After all, if I had, I never could have helped bring in the talent that is going to amaze you in tonight's show."

There was some scattered applause, which jolted Harley into continuing. "We've picked ourselves up, and we're making a new way in the world, making the most of the talents we have, however we got them. And we're going to have fun, and help each other have fun and pick each other up, because," she was getting out of breath, "'cause that's what Christmas is all about, am I right? I said am I right?"

Now the applause exploded, "So, as your happy hostess, let me get this show started. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the White Black Ensemble, the Waterfront Four, and the Wonderlanders! CDs available in the back of the hall, 50% of proceeds to the foundation!"

Then Harley dove off the stage and backflipped onto her feet with a gallant gesture as the crowd applauded. The musicians, grinning to a man and woman, took their seats and places. Without further ado, they struck up a tune. Waterfront's fiddler and Jerry Black led the way in "I Saw Three Ships on Christmas Day," and Natalia launched into the lead vocals with ecstasy.

The Renfair crowd were all over it, partnering off to dance assorted jigs and reels and whatnot. The older, more serious crowd mostly clapped and sang along.

And Harley herself was shaken by the hand and slapped on the back by many in the crowd, including a beaming Riley and Arnold Wesker, who had the recovered landlady of the halfway house on his arm! Dr. Leland was there too, and congratulated her over and over.

Harley felt like she once had with the Joker, floating and free, but behind it was such a sense of accomplishment, of real fulfillment!

She'd joined a group of garish young people in a reel to 'Christmas in Killarney.' When they'd finished, a breathless Harley was greeted by Selina, who had the long-awaited Bruce in tow.

"Harley," he said, beaming, "I arrived just in time for your speech. You did great!"

Selina was less ecstatic, but she did draw Harley into a hug and said, "Harley, I am so proud of you!"

"You've done alright yourself," she whispered. "Thanks for the backup!"

Selina broke the hug and beamed, "No problem."

Commissioner Gordon came over and toasted Harley, "Well done, Ms. Quinzell! And I'm sorry about your suit, I'll have Renee run it over to you first thing tomorrow."

"No problem," she said, "this worked out okay."

"I have to admit," said Gordon, adjusting his glasses, "you have redeemed that costume in my eyes."

Lucius Fox looked ecstatic as he supervised the incoming donations – from high and low alike, they were gathering a great bounty.

After a few rousing carols to kick thing off, the performers settled into dance music. The Wonderlander's bells and mandolin, the Four's vocals backed Jerry Black's crew in an extended version of 'River' by Joni Mitchell.

Harley had found a seat at one of the tables while couples slow-danced around the main floor, idly picking at a (superb) tofu kebab from the buffet. Bruce and Selina, Commissioner Gordon and some lady from the Mayor's office, his daughter Barbara and that hunky young guy Bruce had adopted, Dick something or other, Veronica Vreeland and her boyfriend, General Vreeland and his wife, the Mayor and his wife, the committee members and their partners. Wesker and the landlady's awkward two-step especially made her smile. Summer Gleeson was chatting over drinks with a couple of well-dressed journalists visiting from Metropolis.

She was startled when Renee Montoya, in her full dress uniform, sat down with a beer in hand and said, "Congratulations, Harleen. This is muy buena, really!"

"Hey, thanks," Harley said. "No handsome cop on your arm?"

"Nah," she said, "I just got off booking all the baddies from earlier." Silence fell for a space, and then Renee said, "Hey, Harleen?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything you've done…you don't know what it means to us. Cops, I mean."

"You mean, taking Mister – the Joker down?" She shrugged, "He'll get out again, sooner or later…"

"No," Renee said, "I mean, yeah, that too, definitely. You deserve a damn medal for that. But I meant this." She gestured at the musicians working together, the dancers, the donors, the food. "To see you achieve all this. A lot of us cops don't feel like we've made a difference over the years, especially with the masked types. But this…"

Harley was surprised to realize her eyes were getting misty. She cleared her throat and said, "Wow, that…that means a lot, Montoya."

"Renee," she said, "please." Again silence fell, and Renne frowned at Harley, "I was going to ask if you were okay. You look a little down."

Harley shrugged, "Tired mostly. And…well, I really am proud of what I've done. But there's somebody who isn't here I was hoping to share it with."

Renee smiled, "Ah. So that's why you keep glancing at the door?"

"Yeah." She smirked. "Always the detective."

"Didn't anybody tell you," Renee said, winking. "One of the reasons the cops in here are in such a good mood is that nobody got hurt taking down the gangs. Some of them put up a fight, but the big main push Joker had set up? We got there, and it was like they'd all been tied up, but in these…" she paused and actually giggled, "these boughs of holly. It had grown up around them and trapped them. Had a heck of a time getting them out, and they got their share of scratches!"

Harley's eyes went wide. Renee scanned the room and the gestured across the dancefloor, "Anyway, you should've kept a closer eye on the door."

Harley followed her gaze. Her heart jumped into her throat.

One of the guards outside had opened the door, nodding at an invitation card held out in a green-clad arm, and Poison Ivy stepped into the room.

Afterword: If you want to experience the music described herein, look up the renditions of "I Saw Three Ships On Christmas Day" and "Christmas in Killarney" by the Barra MacNeils; Blackmore's Night also do a great rendition of "Three Ships." "River" by Joni Mitchell is of course a classic.

Continuity gag: who could those two visiting Metropolis journalists possibly be?