AN: I own nothing


Ivy clung to this pathetic excuse for a bed, barely managing not to fall off. How? She didn't know. It felt like floating on a raft in stormy weather. The taste of bile coated her mouth. Tears and mucus ran down her face. She didn't immediately realize the words that had been spoken by the asshole one cell over. When it clicked, her eyes widened in terror.

"H-how… How do you… Know who I am?" Pamela cried.

'Am I hallucinating this? Oh god, that better not be it. This can't happen. Shit. Harles', where are you?'

She heard no sounds. Where did the voice come from? She couldn't pinpoint it. Which wall? Was it the ceiling? The room was spinning.

"H-hello?" she called, getting frantic. "Is anyone here? Oh God…"

'You're losing it, Pam!'

She shuddered, finally falling off of the cot and into the darkness, crying out as she went. Pamela made rough contact with wet concrete, landing in her own sick and whimpering.

"Stay still, Dr Isley!"

The voice was commanding and cold. Panicking, she did the opposite and scrambled across the floor.

" Dr Isley, will you be still! Immediately!"

"No, no, no!" she cried on the floor. "It's not real. You're not real!"

"Take a deep breath. Now!" said the voice and Pamela froze.

She was trembling and hyperventilating but she struggled to comply. There was nothing else in the darkness but that voice. It was a comfort.

"Place your palms down," the voice instructed, a little more calmly. "Tell me what you feel."

Pamela hissed but did so. Her temples throbbed. She rested on her lower arms, which propped her up a bit. Really, she shouldn't be listening. Listening to disembodied voices was bad in general - but at Arkham, doubly so. Either you were psychotic or listening to a maniac.

"Dr. Isley," the voice insisted.

"Erm…" Pamela mumbled.

She paused and tried to clear her thoughts enough to truly feel what was beneath her fingertips.

"The floor," she said. "I think…"

"Yes?" the voice urged her.

"It's cold. Dirty. Wet. I don't know. It's either… I've been sick. And there's the food…"

"Well done," the voice replied. "Do you remember what else is in the room with you?"

Involuntarily Ivy smiled weakly at the praise. She was so tired.

"Don't know," Pamela hissed through the headache. "There's a bed, I guess. There's the door. Not that it matters."

"It does," said the voice. "How do you feel?"

She blinked in the darkness, considering that question. She was dizzy, disoriented, her head hurt but… Her heartbeat had slowed down and her fear had subsided somewhat.

"Better," she replied - and after a short pause she reluctantly added: "Thanks, I suppose."

"You are most welcome, Dr Isley. Now, stay alert. I require that you tell me: How is Harleen?"

Pamela's eye twitched. No one ever really called Harley that - except the psychiatrists and… She shook her head. No, this was a bad dream.

"Dr Isley?" said the voice again and as she now had a face to pair with it, Pamela recognized it at once.

This was not one of her inner demons - this one was very real. She resumed hyperventilating. Her mind frantically flicked through his words, everything she could remember through the daze. Just a moment ago she could have sworn… A snarling scowl appeared, unnoticed in the darkness.

" You!" she roared, trying to get up on her feet but stumbling and slipping in something - either sauce or vomit.

"Me," Professor Crane's voice confirmed.

"You son of a bitch! You were going to… off me! " Pamela screamed in rage as she scraped her palms and knees on the floor in an effort to get to the seemingly vanished cot.

"Do not raise your voice at me, Dr Isley, it is not becoming of you," he replied with apparent agitation.

"Shut up! You're one sick piece of work, y'know that?"

"Not a moment ago, you were thanking me," he returned. "You must not upset yourself. It will only increase your nausea. I do believe I asked you a question, madam!"

'Ugh!'

His voice was infuriating now that she knew whose it was. She'd like nothing better than to have a go at him! He spoke so condescendingly. He always had. He liked the sound of his own voice no doubt. A lot of British pronunciation - well, almost. What was it called? Pan-atlantic or something? Pamela didn't actually know if he was foreign. A Brit with American influence or an American pretending to be british? Regardless it sounded contrived and patronizing.

"I'm not telling you another word!" she hissed, finally locating the cot.

"What bliss," he replied apathetically.

Pamela hoisted herself up a little and retched again. She thought she'd have to find her whole stomach on the floor but she made it up and collapsed onto the - admittedly pretty hard, surface. She closed her eyes to her own private darkness but that only made the dizziness worse. He was quiet now. Good. She felt disgusting. Like something slimy had touched her - well, something had, but it wasn't the vomit bothering her. It was knowing that not a few moments earlier he'd had his fingers in her brain. She knew what he was doing, she'd heard the stories. How? How could Harley look at this… This thing and see any shred of a decent human being? He absolutely could fake being nice to Harley - he'd probably be leagues better at it than the Joker. Still, even though she wanted to think so, a nagging part of her wouldn't allow that Harley was that lost. That dumb. No, her friend was a good person - at heart. And if Harley really, truly thought he was worth creating a hell and sleeping in it for, then there had to be something, somewhere. That didn't mean it would be enough.

She'd really tried to give him the benefit of the doubt - but he wasn't lucid, Harley wouldn't let her near him most of the time and when she saw what loving him was doing to Harley… Well, her friend came first. Always. She couldn't risk sleep. Not with that monster here, whispering in her ear. They'd check on her in an hour or so. She'd make it through the night if it was the last thing she did. If she didn't make it… Then Pamela hoped they'd let Harley know whose fault it was.


A laugh sounded behind her. It was screeching and disjointed. A pale imitation of truly unhinged. Harley sighed deeply and pulled her grey allotted cardigan tightly around herself. Spring was coming but winter still hung in the air. The courtyard did not have too many visitors today. Not everyone was permitted out at once. You went in turns. The harlequin glanced at the reason she had been moved to a different slot. He laughed again. His voice broke on the high notes but when he was done he flashed her a wide smile.

"Good, isn't it?" Tarquin - or 'The Ringmaster' as he called himself, inquired.

She smiled nervously back and looked away again. It gave her the creeps. He was trying so hard - and honestly, it sounded nothing like Mister J. She didn't know if that made it any better. They'd scrubbed the makeup off of him - he'd told her four times already and complained about the injustice of that. Well, he could earn back the privilege of having such things, Harley knew that, but she wasn't going to tell him.

"Hey… What are you thinking?"

"Huh?" Harley said, looking up.

"I asked you something… But whatever, I guess," Tarquin replied.

Harley glanced at the steel 'balcony' above them. It held more than guards. Dr Janssen was there, watching them.

"No, no… Whaddya asking?" she replied.

"Just… When I break out of here… I'd need an assistant. Would you be interested?"

Harley could not hide the frown.

'Who the hell… Me? I'm a hundred times a bigger deal than him. And he thinks… Ugh!'

"I'm kinda…" she began.

"Right, right… You're the Joker's girl, get it… I just thought… You know, just until he…"

The young man kept talking. That was all he did.

"Miss Quinn?" said a voice.

"I told ya…" Harley began with some snappiness but stopped when she realized it wasn't Tarquin.

No, instead it was a tall, kindly looking man - who she knew.

"Hey, we're just having a chat here!" Tarquin interrupted.

Jervis Tetch frowned and seemed to analyze the specimen before him. His examination was brief. Either Tarquin didn't present as interesting or he was easily read. Harley jumped up from the bench they'd been occupying, and with great enthusiasm moved closer to The Mad Hatter.

"Friend of yours?" he said, nodding towards Tarquin.

"Oh, that's… not important or nuthin'. But hiya! How's you, Mr Tetch?" Harley's high pitched voice interjected, drowning out the remark Tarquin was starting to make.

"Better for having seen you, miss Quinn. You haven't been in the common room the last few days. I thought… That is, I worried they might have taken you as well."

" Hey! Who're you exactly?" Tarquin protested. "I'm talking to you!"

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!" The hatter quoted cryptically.

"So it's… I mean, they really took 'er?" Harley mumbled sadly. "I hoped they'd just…"

"No," Jervis shook his head, both of them ignoring Tarquin's confused and affronted face. "Dr Isley isn't in her room. It's not normal confinement. I fear it's solitary."

"It's my stupid fault," Harley pouted, before realizing the particulars were not something she should share.

Harley took great pains to attempt to keep her mouth shut on why this raggedy guy was following her around like a lost puppy. That's what Red had wanted. She should have listened. It was bad enough what she'd done in Stonewell - but if it got out she was working for the doctors too? Being compliant?

"Hello?" Tarquin objected.

"Hmm," said Dr Tetch. "I will see what I can discover."

"Why?" Harley suddenly squeaked. "Are ya Red's friend or somethin'?"

"Not at all," he admitted. "Simply… Professor Crane and yourself… You've upset the balance. Things were a certain way. Now? I'm not sure. Something is shifting… Now, we must run as fast as we can just to stay in place. "

"Y-yeah," Harley chuckled nervously, glancing at an obviously peeved Tarquin.

"Will you take tea with me?" Jervis asked, undeterred. "It would be so nice if something made sense for a change."

"Sure thing, Mr Hatter, sir," Harley smiled in surprise, giving a mock-salute.

No one other than Pamela had dared really approach her much since the thing . Quite frankly, she longed to speak to someone. Anyone.

'Careful,' said her professional side in head. 'You shouldn't think you can trust him. Dr Crane would tell you not to. Red would tell you not to.'

Harley hissed out loud at her mental arguments. No, Dr Crane talked to this guy… Okay, 'talked' was a stretch but he certainly said more words to him than anyone else. They weren't friends that she knew of but… It had to count for something, right? The Mad Hatter nodded and turned, taking his leave without a word to her companion.

"Wow," Tarquin said. "That's The Mad Hatter? Really?"

"I'm gettin' back inside," Harley replied. "I'm cold."

She looked up to see Dr Janssen scribbling something down. He didn't look pleased.


Clang. Clang. Clang.

Jonathan's face grimaced but he kept his eyes closed. That infernal creature needed to stop if she knew what was good for her. He considered himself a patient man but he had his limits - absolutely.

"Would you… Kindly Cease that ruckus!" He finally commanded the ceilings.

"Naaah!" returned Pamela Isley and resumed the noise.

"Dr Isley… I am warning you!"

"The way I see it," she replied. "I can't sleep without you whispering sweet nothings to me. Close my eyes and I'm dead. If I'm not sleeping - you aren't either!"

Professor Crane refrained from telling her that noise was what had gotten him on the warpath in the first place.

"I am not going to harm you," he said.

"Suits me fine," yelled Poison Ivy. "But if I get to you - I'll snap your spaghetti-neck!"

"You will not! " he raised his voice again.

"Try me."

He could sense the smirk on her face.

"Harley'll get over it. There's plenty of nutjobs in here she can move onto!"

That one stung and Jonathan gritted his teeth. He had no doubt of the truth of that. Harley could and would find someone better - but it would be no use to let this redheaded disruption know.

"I take it, you mean to say she has forgiven you then?" he called to her and the clangs stopped abruptly.

"She will," Ivy sneered. "Why aren't the guards here yet? Ugh!"

"We are placed here to be forgotten about, as much as it is possible for them - and do not change the topic!" said Dr Crane.

"But I'm sick!" she protested.

"Yes, well, I am certain that will please them exceedingly, Dr Isley. There are no routine check-ups on this ward."

"Damned… They'd just sent me down to be killed off by you? " she cried incredulously.

A loud crash as something was thrown to the floor in the next cell. He exhaled.

'Oh blessed stillness, where are you?'

Truth be told he had never had any quarrel with Dr Isley. He respected her intelligence, though he was of the opinion she had entirely misused it. Her vehement hatred of him, he understood - from a clinical standpoint, not an emotional one. She was a temperamental woman. Hard to sway in her beliefs - unfortunately for him. Still, she was his greatest obstacle at this moment to the peace he required to plan. Were she not important to Harley he'd gladly have dispatched her for the unbearable nuisance she had decided to be. Alas, that was not an option.

"They are not aware, I am in possession of my senses. If you are wise, you will not inform them."

"Why're you telling me then?" Poison Ivy snapped.

"They do call me a mad man," he countered.

She gave him a reluctant snort but his expression remained solemn. The darkness was oppressive. He felt the pain in his abdomen still but dared not eat anything else that had been offered to him. The preservation of his mind had to come before sustaining his body.

"My question has not been answered, Dr Isley."

"I don't know," Poison Ivy replied, low enough that he only barely heard her.

"Pardon?" Jonathan replied.

"What the hell did you expect? She could be dead for all I know! And it's your fault! I don't give a damn if you decide to make half of the underworld your enemies, but you dragged Harley into this! Now she's taking everything meant for you!" roared the redheaded woman in a pained voice.

Jonathan rolled his eyes a little at her tone. People like this wouldn't understand. It was not about making friends. It was about making lasting advances in research. Still, he supposed it had not occurred to him that anyone might fault Harley Quinn for it. The more he thought about it in fact, the more uneasy it made him. He knew how to deal with hatred - he'd had all his life to practice. The opinions of lesser minds didn't phase him. Sweet, naive Harleen. How would she fare? The poor girl knew nothing of all that. She was adored. She made friends easily and despite her best efforts to put up a front, he knew perfectly well how sensitive and open she truly was. That was what he cherished so much about her. The urgency washed over him and quickened his heartbeat. Outwardly he remained the same marble column in the darkness. The infernal woman next door was complaining again.

"She should not have come here," he said into the darkness.

"Just shut up! My head hurts. I'll… I'll bash their heads in… Oh, ow!"

She was crying again but more quietly. Jonathan lay down onto the cot and covered his ears with his hands. Dr Isley was not going to be any use to anyone for a while. The best he could do was consider his options. Of course Dr Washington might have removed the best option for coordinating anything with Harley - by withdrawing his common room perks. Nevertheless, he had given professor Crane something interesting - the choice as to when he'd see that man again. It meant he wasn't called to his office until Jonathan was ready.

' Calm, calm calm is the casm of night. He'll see you coming, you pathetic little shit!'

The professor exhaled, ignoring the Scarecrow's screeching. Of course he was right. Dr Washington would not be unprepared if he went to his office. He'd need to subdue far less people if it happened down here. Of course there was the problem that he had no plan beyond that. If he were placed above in his usual cell, he knew where he was in relation to everything. But you couldn't very well plan an escape, when you had no idea where you were. Jonathan usually had outside help as well - not that he was opposed to physical work, but making tunnels and breaking pipes usually took some time and time was what he rarely had.

'Stop ignoring me!'

'Shush!' Jonathan thought to himself. 'Harleen needs us.'

'WE need us! Weak, weak, weak!'


Harley was tapping her foot nervously on the linoleum floor. She was seated at one of the small tables in the common room, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. There were more people here today. Baby Doll was on the couch, arguing with someone Harley didn't know over the remote. It made it very uncomfortable to be taking up a whole table by oneself. They send multiple glares her way. Being persona non grata, it was difficult not to bow to the pressure. Well, truth be told, she wasn't entirely alone - though she might as well have been.

"Do you like it?" said Tarquin again.

Harley had not been paying attention. He was standing behind her - and this room was not for people from his ward. Only she had to use him as an excuse so Dr Leland would let her sit around here waiting. She forced a smile at him. He looked self assured and prideful. Her professional side looked him over. He'd done things to his appearance. The spray on dye had long since been washed out of his hair. He'd made two weird little pigtails with clumps of it. He'd drawn things on his face though - with what she couldn't be certain, but it looked like black marker pen. He'd drawn a crude depiction of what looked like a playing card on his cheek and then some figures scattered around on his arms and face for which she wasn't entirely sure she could tell the intent. One looked vaguely similar to a rabbit or perhaps a frog. He had, with the same marker, attempted to create some kind of eyeliner.

"Whaddya mean?" Harley said sweetly. "What's it meant ta be?"

Tarquin scuffed and rolled his eyes.

"Guess you wouldn't get it, you're just a sidekick anyway," he muttered.

Harley's eyes narrowed but he didn't seem to take any notice.

"Just got some ideas. That whole 'ringmaster' thing, it isn't really representing me, you know? I need to be true to myself."

She shook her head but kept the tired smile attached.

"What's it then, sweety?" she asked, not really caring but keeping her eyes on the door.

"I was thinking maybe… Like… The March Hare… That's kinda dope, right?"

"Uh-huh," Harley mumbled without listening, just as she spotted someone entering.

She felt great relief at seeing Jervis Tetch. Part of her sincerely suspected he might have stood her up and simply lured her here to sit around until someone decided they didn't like her face. Harley jumped up with all the elegant excitement she could muster and wave grandly. The Mad Hatter glanced around the room before slowly making his way over to her.

"Miss Quinn, you ought not to draw attention to yourself," he said kindly.

"Hi, I'm…" Tarquin bagen as he eagerly cut in.

"Yes, I'm sure…" Jervis interrupted and he sat down in front of Harley at the table. "Now, Miss Quinn, I'm afraid…."

"You're afraid?" Harley replied, tilting her head curiously.

"Yes… That I'm not the bearer of good news," he replied with a smile. "Not that it wouldn't behoove us to be a little fearful."

Harley sighed.

"Yeah, 'fessor Crane would now. Bet 'e would have somethin' to say to me too."

"It is better to be feared than loved," Jervis quoted with a distant sadness in his eyes. "Our friend knows that better than anyone. He lives by that… And yet, there is you ."

"What's that mean?" Tarquin asked, sitting down next to Harley but looking at Jervis.

"I've asked around. No one knows where Dr Isley is. Which makes me suspect…"

"The western basement?" Harley supplied the Mad Hatter.

"The very same," he confirmed. "But… Where. "

The young man at Harley's side crossed his arms, clearly upset that he once again was not the focus of the conversation. Harley ignored his repeated huffs and snorts and instead considered this information. Arkham didn't outsource things. They had to be here. She knew, by logic, that Dr Crane would not be anywhere crowded. The western part of the basements were not regularly used - the reason being that the cells there were terribly outdated. She'd learned that when she interned there, but rarely had she been there. Yes, she'd passed through sections of it when escaping through the sewers but… Even that had been risky. No one she knew had a good understanding of the layout down there. She'd only dared because it had been the Joker's idea. Those were among the oldest sections of this place. Who knew what Dr Arkham had done down there? Who knew the true extent of that place? And how on earth would she find them before she was discovered?

"You're thinking about something, and it makes you forget to talk," said the hatter.

Harley looked up to see him rise from his seat. He tipped his hat at her and glanced at the beaming Tarquin.

"I will depart but… Be careful, Miss."

Harley watched him leave before she noticed a few patients slipping ominously closer to the table. She grabbed Tarquin by the arm and roughly pulled them both up. He yelped loudly and tried to pry her fingers off of his shirt.

"Let's… Let's go see your ward," she hastily snapped as she tried her best to walk out of the room calmly.

Time was slipping through her fingers.

TBC