Chapter 2.

Sweet Peach Rot

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

I Wanna Be Yours / / Arctic Monkeys

The music was like a throbbing beat from the dance floor wrapping around my far too expensive my Christian Louboutin Rosalie's up to the Tetch Original I was wearing up through my shoulders, and neck, even further into my scalp, I felt as if I was being melted into the ground. Eyes were on me, for once this week, not because of my Profession, this dress is so beautiful, it makes people forget I treat murderers for a living.

And the Dress was beautiful, Champagne Colored, and tailored perfectly, has an almost romantically seductive look to it, the dress falling silkily around my hips, and the warm shade making any otherwise pale, cold looking, skin look inviting and soft, the subtle champagne shimmer on my lips and brow bone complementing the dress, just as much as the sheer back, which was almost entirely made of Swarovski crystals, hanging almost loosely from my shoulder blades, falling delicately across my body. Sadly, I felt like a chandelier. I miss when I was young enough to get away with wearing shorts to go dancing, this thing was heavy, and impractical for dancing. Which is depressing when I think of how much I paid for it.

But, I couldn't exactly be seen out in something less than amazing, now that I'm a face in Gotham. I have my reputation to think about. I flash back to my interview on Gothams' Morning News, and how well it went. In fact, everything has been going swimmingly since I transferred from Gotham General to Arkham 6 months ago. No more mistakes.

I suppose most anyone would think I was crazy for being out tonight unless they were from the Narrows, and had the Good Fortune of knowing my dear friend Oswald. The Iceberg is packed tonight, everyone from Roman Sionis (The richest and douchiest asshole I have ever met), to Waylon Jones (Scarred up Musclehead, but a real Softie.) is here tonight, After The Clowns threat pretty much anyone who could afford to leave town, did.

But some of us have work tomorrow. I will be taking a sick day, I corrected in my head. But regardless, for those of us too stupid or too stuck to Leave, The Iceberg Lounge, Gotham's Most exclusive, most Elusive Speakeasy, is a "safe house" tonight- 3-4x security from what I've seen. Everyone should be as safe as they can be. It also doesn't hurt that the owner of the Speakeasy and the Tailors business above are both owned by a friend of mine, Oswald Cobblepot. A short stout little man, who spoke like someone from an old cartoon.

I look at Pammy, my best friend, and renowned Botanist, Biochemist and activist, to my right, Her red hair, and Gold and Green dress were electric on the Dance Floor, the brazen to my demure her dancing was only slightly less Carnal and more feverish than usual, but that has more to do with the new Blend she had picked up at Jervis place when we picked up our dresses, I've always hated drugs. I hesitate to drink sometimes. Life is crazy enough without involving substances that alter your mental state, unnecessarily. Or maybe you're jealous that some people know how to enjoy things without letting it run their lives. Fuck you.

I walked over to our table, Eddie, Pam's half-brother, and Oz were Chatting when I sat down and lit a cigarette without thinking.

"Harleen!" Oz swatted my hand until I put it out, "This is a No Smoking Establishment!"

"Yeah, Yeah, Oz, I get it, I get it." I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat.

"No need to act petulant, Honestly, I will order you a drink to relax if you like, my Dear." He patted my hand affectionately. I opened my mouth to bite back, but thought better of it, and smiled "Would you really, Oz? You're the best!"

His smile grew, "Of course, Friend, What would you like? Pick anything!"

"How about both of us get some of that Nice Bourbon from last time?"

"Ah! The 'Birthday Bourbon', that is a wonderful choice."

Oz stood and waddled his way over to the bar.

"You know, he may not be able to read your sarcasm, But I can Harley." Eddie's arms were crossed and he was doing that only slightly obnoxious unnatural smirk he does.

"Oh please, you know me, I am always sincere." I smiled, and Eddie rolled his eyes, as Oz came back with my wonderfully expensive brown liquor.

/ / / / /

This elevator smells like piss. The Alcohol, my lack of dinner, and the smell of urine were combined in my body to make something horrific.

The doors slide open just in time for me to lean out in the hall and get a welcomed breath of dusty air as I walked to my apartment.

As I opened the door, I picked up the air freshener and sprayed it to combat the musky smell of the old building, stepping into the main room and locking the door behind me, I strip out of my ridiculously expensive shoes. Strip my overcoat off, then carefully unzip the side of my dress, leaving it laying out across the old brown Couch, before walking to the bathroom to shower.

The water was so hot my skin stung from the heat from the shower, the burn eased my stomach and untightened my neck all at once. I scrubbed my skin with a Natural Loofa, and the Soap pammie picks me up at the farmers market.

After stepping out, and moisturizing from scalp to toe, I stepped into my fluffy Pink robe, which was only as long as my thigh. While brushing my teeth, I stepped closer to the mirror, eyeing myself with some speculation. Maybe I should go back to blonde, my natural hair color just isn't for me. And truly it isn't. My dark circles look that much more dark, and my skin tone looks almost sallow.

I stepped back, and opened the top of my robe, touching the scar on my side. It was a dark, jagged and ugly thing, wrapping diagonally from just above my navel to just below my right breast, I traced a finger over it.

"You think you can leave me?"

I closed my robe.

/ / / / / /

After my shower, I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a nightcap of gin, and lit a cigarette. One turned into two, and before I knew it, I was watching the sunrise over Gotham on my shitty little balcony, chain-smoking.

There was something about the sunrise over a city as Corrupt as Gotham. The beauty of it felt wrong, like how overripe fruit tastes sweeter. Absolutely magnificent.

There is something so much more beautiful about anything beautiful coming from something so dark, and so Rotten, right?

I hope so.

/ / / / / / /

It was right before 9 am before I made my way to bed, and after having been awake for more than 24 hours, I finally feel ready to sleep, thank god.

My bedroom was a simple comfort. My space where I could be without fear of retribution from even a house guest. And yet, the walls and counters are as bare as anywhere else in the house, save for the massive bookshelf I keep opposite my bed, and the massive about of bedding I had on one bed, a mattress on the floor. Covered in comforters, blankets, quilts, pillows and stuffed animals. I fell into the mess and was out before I could turn the lights off.

My phone across the room wakes me from a dead sleep, I scramble across the room and check the phone, it's only a little after 1 pm, and Pammy is calling.

"Damn it, Red, sleep deprivation is a killer you know!"

"Why are you sleeping so late? I heard you left the Berg at 2?"

"I did, but couldn't sleep,"

Red made an affirmative noise, "Well, since you're awake, why don't you come uptown for lunch? I can snag us a table at that Italian place you like?"

I sighed heavily, away from the phone, I really wanted to go back to bed, but. Pammy needs to talk to me, I can tell from her voice, it's important. "Sounds great! I'll see you in an hour?"

"Caio, darling!"

I slipped on my Kate Nude Pumps, Jeans, White undershirt, and my favorite floral blazer, I brushed out my hair, braiding it down the left side of my head. Taking a breath, I stepped into the bathroom, preparing for the worst.

Good God. I looked like I had never slept, in my entire life. Wonderful. I got to work washing and brushing and rinsing everything before I went in with my concealer, foundation, layering powder and setting spray until the finish looked as natural as possible. Next, I focused on making my eyes look more awake with a bit of pale shadow. After all that I felt done with the whole idea, slicked on some brown mascara and some nude pink gloss, before spraying my overpriced perfume that always makes me choke, and making my way out the door.

/ / / / / /

Bamonte's was the same as always, sexy in an 'Old World' kinda way, upon arrival the Maitre d smiled with familiarity.

"Ah, Dr. Quinzel! Dr. Isley is waiting for you at your usual table!"

"Thank you, Frankie!"

I slid into the booth across from Pam and smiled when I saw she had taken the liberty of ordering us drinks already, a white wine on her side, and a Bellini for me, wonderful.

She looked at me with wide eyes and said "Have you watched the news yet?"

I rolled my eyes and began looking through the menu, "No, but let me take a guess, Joker is still on a rampage- so and so and so and so are his next targets. More of the same."

Pammie laughs quietly, "That sense of humor is going to get you in trouble Harley." she shook her head. "But you're wrong this time."

I raised my eyebrows while I sipped my drink.

"Well, the DA is dead."

"Huh, Harvey Dent? A Shame, he was a good Lawyer, even if he did seem like a total Douche."

"Harley!"

I shrugged. "Come on, Red I thought you said this would be something interesting. So the Joker killed the DA, who cares."

Pam shook her head. "No! It wasn't the Joker! It was Batman!"

It's my turn to be shocked, "The Batman killed Harvey Dent?" she nodded. I thought for a moment and shook my head. "Nah, I don't buy it."

Batman doesn't kill.

Pammie looked less convinced. "Harls, the guy is a crazed vigilante, I'm may not be the Psychiatrist at the table, but I get the distinct feeling those guys aren't exactly known for being the most predictable of people"

"Maybe," I allowed before taking another sip. "But I still don't buy it"

Pam rolled her eyes, "fair enough, " she laughed. "At least the Bat also got the Clown off the street, while he was at it."

"Oh?" I inquired, but before I could ask my question, the Waitress appears and asks for our order, Pam ordered a light, vegetable-heavy garlic-y pasta, with a lemon-white wine sauce, that I had had before, and thought was pretty light for a main, (but then, most of what Pammy eats looks too light for me). I ordered my usual, The Slow Braised Shortrib Ragu, which just so happens to be the best in Gotham. Sad since so many people would refuse to come here, due to the restaurants not entirely law-abiding clientele.

"Did the Bat supposedly take out Joker too?" I asked once the waitress was gone.

"No," She looked at me from the corner of her eye, mouth tightening. "I heard from Jack this morning, that they wanted to take him to Blackgate, but before they even got there, his lawyer had demanded he be moved to Arkham immediately, to undergo a psych eval." She picked up and swirled her wine.

"Hey, Harl?"

"Yeah, Red?"

"Be careful." Genuine concern shone in her eyes, but I still couldn't bring myself to take that concern seriously.

I snorted. "Pam, it's fine. There is a line of psychiatrists begging to interview him, I am not interested, and therefore, am at the back of the line."

"You aren't interested?" her eyebrows creased, "Why not?"

I laughed a little at that, "Pam, you have to keep in mind, you and I are seeing this through two very different lenses. You see this new and interesting kind of criminal, because of the crimes he committed. I see a guy who wants the media to think he's crazy. I don't see this guy not getting the chair. And sure, if you want to drop a hot, in-vogue piece of current criminal mindset, a published article in the Gotham Times, perhaps? And, maybe, maybe, that would be financially beneficial, but certainly not worth all that these doctors are doing to get it."

Pam laughed with shock, "Wow, not even a thought to if you could rehabilitate him?"

I rolled my eyes, "I told you, he's not crazy, he's just a really bad person. There's no rehabilitating evil."

She smirked, "I just find it funny that Gotham's own Saintly Dr. Quinzel doesn't even want to meet the men before diagnosing him incurably evil."

/ / / / / /

Back at my place, after kicking off my red bottoms, I poured myself a gin, straight, turned on some music, and laid back on my couch. The music was almost travelling through my body, loosening, and relaxing my muscles as it went. I barely even noticed when I fell asleep, praying in my last moments of consciousness, for my dreams to be peaceful. Unfortunately, my subconscious was not kind to me that night.