He says, "Ooh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends

I'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven

If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes

I know you wanna go to heaven, but you're human tonight"

Young God / Halsey

Bruce had been monitoring the calls through the city of course. When the call came through, claiming to have information about the whereabouts of Doctor Quinzel, he had not thought.

In fact, he had barely had time to don the suit before he was speeding to the location. Approaching the dilapidated building, he sniffed at the air, noting the smell of dust, and decay permeating it. It unsettled him. There were no cars near the warehouse, long abandoned on the waterside, near Crime Alley.

All of this pointed to it being prime real estate for the clown, but he refused to get his hopes up again. He had come to search so many of these empty buildings since her abduction, and each had been a solemn disappointment.

Inside, he slowly worked through the rooms, eyes sweeping the environment, taking in the displaced signs of life, an office chair in the wide open space, several mattresses along the far wall, a lone plastic gallon container, half full of what looked like Kool-Aid.

He made his way away from the main room, into the small set of offices, and closets. As soon as he entered this portion of the building, he could hear it. Sniffling. A shiver. He made his way towards the sound, finding a closed and padlocked door. Listening intently, he found that he could only hear one person breathing on the other side. He broke the lock quickly, swinging open the door. A scream started up, wide blue eyes marred with deep bruises were on him from the corner where she cowered.

Bruce froze for a moment, barely recognizing his friend in this state, nearly feral with fear, only half-clothed, in an undershirt and shorts, nearly blue-skinned from the cold and shivering in the dark. Bruises coated her face and her nose was bleeding and had clearly been broken severely, recently. Her arms and what he could see of her chest were marred with dark purple and black bruises, and her throat covered in even more bruises and… bites.

Bruce swallowed thickly, bile rising in his throat. She was restrained by the ankle, and the wrist to a radiator, a small cot beside her, with only a thin blanket.

"B-Batman?" She sounded as though she didn't dare hope to be correct, and the vigilante felt his heart crack within his chest. I'm so sorry, Harley.

"Dr. Quinzel." He stepped forward, working to remove the restraints as the woman sobbed incoherently. "It's going to be alright, okay? Everything is going to be alright—"

"We have to hurry! I don't know when he's coming back!" She cried softly, trying to help with the restraints the Bat was cutting through.

"The Joker has been detained at the MCU." He answered, working to reassure her as he realized she would have no way of knowing this- she let out a soft sob of relief, sagging against him.

"Then get me out of here– please." She begged, crying quietly.

I can do that. He thought helplessly, heart entirely breaking for his friend, trying to think of how to help her. He lifted her from the ground, not trusting her legs, in this condition. He made his way back out into the chilly evening air, noting again how cold she was. Like a corpse.

He tried to put the thought out of his head, placing her into the tumbler, she relaxed into the warm interior quickly, eyes shutting as exhaustion took her into dreams he hoped would be an escape for her.

I woke up in the hospital, the good drugs in my system nearly enough to make me not crave a cigarette. Nearly. My chest ached with the need, and I reached for the remote in the room to distract myself. I turned on the television, turning it to the news, covering my rescue. They were discussing the Bat bringing me in, and pondering whether or not he was working with the clown. As if.

And then came the bad news. They finished the segment wishing me and my boyfriend Jack Ryder a speedy recovery. He fucking lived? Goddamn it. I didn't want him around, didn't want to have to keep putting on a show with him. I told myself it was because of J's threat, but a large part of me knew that it was because my time with J had made it harder to pretend I didn't fucking hate him. I didn't know when I had gone from passive dislike to the open disdain that filled my chest when I thought of him, but there was no denying it. The memory of his touch made me minorly nauseous, and I wondered exactly how much I had drunk to accept his fumbling advances.

My lip curled unconsciously, wondering if I could convince J to kill him again, before I nearly smiled, realizing I wouldn't need to convince him of shit. It was a wonder he hadn't done it already. I felt myself soften, remembering the hate he had for the man. A jealous clown. What an odd combination. I knew his rages should scare me, and at least once now they had, but I couldn't bring myself to be angry with him for it. Laying in the hospital bed, the only rage I still held towards him was for allowing himself to be captured. The tightness in my chest only increased as I remembered the precarious position he was in. At least they aren't looking for me anymore. I shuddered, remembering my previous fears. Fears?

Awesome. Not scared of the terrorist, scared for the terrorist. A real beacon of mental health, I am. Suddenly the door opened, and I got my first glimpse of the wreckage I left behind. Ed looked terrible. His red hair was dirty, and too long, falling around his eyes, sunken in from lack of sleep and nutrition. His skin nearly glowed in the fluorescent lights, and I wondered when he last saw the sun. He wore a green hoodie that had once fit him but now looked to be at least two sizes too big.

"You look like shit." My voice was hoarse, tired, and flat.

"Rich coming from you." He smiled, eyes filling with tears. He stepped forward, gripping my hand tightly, as if I would disappear. "By the way, I'm your brother now."

"Always were." I smiled, and his face contorted, about to sob. Fuck, change the subject. "How is Ozzie?"

"Worried about you. He's been helping me with your dogs."

"I thought Ozzie hated dogs?"

"He does," Eddie nodded but elaborated no further. I suppose he didn't have to. I wondered if everyone was acting so out of character since I had been away.

"I need a smoke." I groaned.

He laughed, reaching into his pocket. "Don't tell anyone I gave you this." I grinned when I saw the small vape, though I wondered how he knew about my newfound use of the devices.

"You're the best. Help me up, I need to use the bathroom." I winked.

"When you get barred from the hospital, I will laugh at you."

"Har-har."

Bruce was surprised to find the door locked, knocking quickly, a small amount of nervousness coiling in his stomach before he heard Mr. Nygma's voice on the other side, rushing to open it.

"Sorry, forgot to unlock it when she got out of the bathroom" He grinned, stepping aside to allow the billionaire entry. Harley sat on the bed, legs crossed, and a small smile on her face as Bruce entered the room.

"Bruce." She jumped up, making him wince, stepping forward quickly to move her back onto the hospital bed. "Bruce, I'm fine. It'll take more than a few bumps and bruises to take me out."

She smiled at him reassuringly, but all Bruce could see in his mind's eye was her terrified expression, still restrained in a warehouse outside the city. He stared at her, trying to convey with his eyes that she didn't need to pretend, but she kept her small smile.

"There's no point in wallowing. I'm back now. My friends are here, and I am safe. I don't want to focus on something so negative. Please."

He nodded, trying to smile, though a part of him clenched at the thought of her repressing the memories. He knew the problems that could bring. But forcing the subject wouldn't go well, and perhaps he could suggest therapy.

He grimaced internally, imagining her response. Maybe not.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Sore. Hungry." She looked at Nygma in the corner, "He won't bring me takeout."

"I think we should wait for the Doctor to clear you before you take in that kind of grease and garbage."

"I was abducted and tortured. I feel like he would say not bringing me my jalapeno poppers would be more dangerous for my mental health."

"And when he informs me that you aren't on a liquid diet, I will buy you whatever the hell you want to eat." The redhead said, face taking no arguments. "I'm not gonna risk your health for fried foods."

"Come on." She groaned, leaning back in the bed. "This is such bullshit. Why am I being punished." She whined, her accent slipping into her voice for the first time since he had reacquainted with her as a grown man, and Bruce once again made note of her behavior, thinking that she didn't sound herself. Then he cursed himself for the thought. Of course, she isn't you asshole, maybe show an ounce of sympathy instead of expecting business as usual.

"Why hasn't the Doctor been in yet?"

"Too busy for me, I guess." She sighed. "Sick of this shit. When can I go home? I'm fine."

"Harley–" Nygma blinked at her. "You can't… You've been missing for weeks."

"Yes. And I'm back, and fairly okay. I want to go home. This place is making me fucking itch. "

Something about her tone gave Bruce pause, but he shoved it down, once again cursing himself for the thought. "Don't you want to see Jack before you leave?"

She froze, face darkening, and after a long moment, she glared up at him. "That isn't funny, Bruce. Why would you say that?"

Bruce realized the problem quickly, his mouth falling open. No one told her. No wonder she's acting strange. "Harley—"

"No. Seriously–"

"He's alive," Nygma said under his breath across the room, mouth a solemn line as his eyes lingered on her face, measuring it carefully, though Bruce only saw his seriousness regarding the situation.

His stomach dropped when he recognized her expression, a shocked look she had used many times, entirely too genuine to be real. Her eyes widened quickly and filled with tears, using a trick she had explained to him in youth, though he had never been able to replicate it. She knew.

"Where is he? Mr. J said that he… That he cut him."

"Mr. J?" Bruce was confused by the name.

"That was… His preferred name in our sessions."

"I… see." His stomach turned.

"Jack– Where is he?"

"I have no doubt you'll see him the moment he's able to leave his room." The redhead snorted. "He's a fucking wreck,"

She gave a watery smile that Ed would have been entirely taken in by if he didn't already suspect the game. "Can I go to his room? I'd like to see him."

"Harley–"

"I don't see why not," Ed said suddenly, standing. "Let's go." Why are you lying? What happened? Does she plan to tell me or am I going to have to force the issue? I hope not. Getting her to admit to anything is like pulling teeth.

The elevator ride was quiet, up two floors to where Jack was being kept, closer to surgery, since he had been so insistent on ripping open his stitches, multiple times. Harley stood close to Eddie, with her back to him, hoping to avoid flashing any onlookers in her open-backed gown. Making it to his door, he wondered if he imagined the way, for only a moment, her expression dropped, twisting into the sour face of someone about to do an unpleasant, but necessary task.

The room was dark, and he still appeared to be sleeping. His face was anything but peaceful, eyebrows slanted down, as Jack sweat in the cold room. She rushed to his side, injuries forgotten, as she touched his face. His eyes snapped open, fearful, before he froze.

Jack stared for a long moment, before blinking slowly, eyes filling with tears.

His voice broke as he whispered her name, tears falling as he refused to blink.

"Hey, baby." Eddie shuddered at the saccharine tone he didn't recognize as Harley's.

"Is this real?" He said quietly, "I think it has to be, right? My dreams are never good."

"I'm here, Jack." She reassured, and Bruce, at the door of the room, found himself questioning his own assumptions about Ryder.

This was not the face of a man who beat his girlfriend. He was looking at her… like she was the sun. Like she was the only source of light or warmth in a wide expanse of dark and cold. He trembled steadily, seeming frozen in time as he only stared, a small smile forming on his mouth.

"You're here. You're really–" he broke off with a sob, making her shush him, rather sternly.

"Be careful, I can tell that hurt. What's the damage anyway?" She turned to look at Eddie, who sighed, explaining that the muscles of his abdomen had been entirely split. It was a miracle he hadn't died from the shock alone, though Nygma didn't mention that part.

Watching the couple sit together in the darkened hospital room, Eddie couldn't help but notice how much distance Harley kept. Sure, she touched his face, but her body stayed a careful arm's length away, and no kisses, either. Odd.

Bruce on the other hand found a new respect for the injured man, glad that they were reunited. At least the ending is happy. But then that still left him wondering about her many bruises and injuries, her excuses still not ringing true. It didn't add up. Does she expect me to believe she fell into a blade?

Jack was worse than I had assumed, drenched in his own sweat, and stinking like fear. It had been all I could do to avoid sounding disgusted, keeping the talking to a minimum while in the room, and leaving as soon as I reasonably could. Already in my hospital room, Gordon was ready to ask for my statement. I told him quite the tale, waking up chained to the radiator, with my hair cut, and him in the room.

I talked about being beaten, tormented, and psychologically challenged. Gordon asked about sexual trauma, but I shut him down refusing to confirm or deny, or meaningfully acknowledge the accusations at all. I told myself it was to limit my lies, but in all honesty, the disgust in his eyes made me furious. As if I had been tainted or something. No one had looked at me like that after the Crane incident. So it wasn't the assault that disgusted him. It was Joker who conjured that look. I hated the way he burrowed into my head, giving me the desire to defend him, despite him clearly not needing my help. I hated that he had wormed his way into my good graces enough to care.

All too soon I was alone again in the room, trying desperately to relax, as the weight of Harleen Quinzel Socialite Psychiatrist fell back onto my shoulders in a move akin to that of Atlas. I had forgotten how heavy this life was. How much the weight of tomorrow buckled my shoulders and drowned me in grief. Life around J was insane, every day a new challenge, or fight that would eventually kill me. However, I couldn't deny that the fight-or-flight state he allowed me to indulge in made living in the moment much easier though. I couldn't worry about five years from now when I couldn't even be sure that I was going to live the next two hours. It was freeing in a weird way.

I hoped against hope that eventually I would get to feel it again one day.

His dark eyes watched me come undone in his hands, a small smirk playing across his lips at my helplessness. I gasped as his calloused but oh-so-warm hands traced my body with rough, insistent energy again and again. It felt good to be wanted like this, to the point of roughness, I had missed it so much. But, then, no one did this better than him.

"Silly girl," He sighed, shaking his head before his hands moved again, and I gasped. "Pretty girl," He praised.

"Kiss me," I begged, reaching for him, but he only knocked my hands away, and smiled serenely.

"Such a desperate little thing."

"J," I mewled, past caring, making him laugh outright now.

"Oh, you need me? Is that it, Darling?"

I nodded weakly, reaching for him again, this time he took my wrists into his firm grip, hoisting them straight above my head.

"So much better like this, don't you think? Under my thumb?" His other hand cupped my face, the aforementioned thumb stroking my cheekbone in soft strokes that made my head spin. "I asked you a question, Harley. Do you like being under my thumb?"

I nodded, face relaxing as I surrendered to the man entirely, no room for pride left in my heart, it was filled wholly and completely with him.

A voice in my head screamed obscenities at me, but it was easy to tune that old Harpy out with his weight pressing me deliciously into the warm mattress.

"What would you do for me?" He murmured, voice lower than a whisper. It made me shiver beneath him.

"Anything." I was unaware I had spoken, the word coming from somewhere deeper, a primal thing I couldn't contain.

"Anything?" He seemed unsure, though a smirk at the edges of his lips told me he was only questioning my loyalties in jest. "Anything I want? Anything in the world?"

"Yes," It came out in a reverent whisper, my lips wrapping around it like the sweetest kiss.

He smiled, eyes so light, so happy I thought I would burst.

Suddenly, there was a warmth. It spread across my chest quickly, and glancing down I saw that I was quickly becoming soaked in blood. And then I felt the cut in my throat- so sharp it barely hurt.

As my vision began to cloud I worked to hold his smiling face in my mind, wanting that love to be the last thing I knew before leaving this world, and moving to the next. I hoped he wouldn't miss me too terribly, now that I was gone.

I woke with a cry, sitting up as my hand came up to cup my throat, gasping. Fuck. What the fuck? Glancing at the time, I groaned. Fantastic, I don't need to be at Arkham for another four hours. Regardless, there was no way I was getting back to sleep after that odd wet-nightmare. I took a moment to wonder what the hell was going on in my head before shaking it, putting the strange and violent dream out of my mind.

I stood, walking to my apartment's tiny bathroom. I needed a shower. I needed to rinse the implications of the dream off my skin before they could soak in. Especially if I was going to see him today. Of course, no one could know. It had been difficult, but I was able to work through it with Johnny, whose number I kept, and added to a new burner the moment I got back. Our main issue? The cameras. I would be expected to be in Arkham, and J had apparently been priming one of the Orderlies to come work for him for months, so he could ensure the Hall was clear- but the Cameras.

With Jerimiah as his Official Psychiatrist, It was a no-brainer that he would not have sessions- only being drugged to a point of semi-deliriousness for days on end, with no reprieve in sight.

Johnny had found someone able to make it look like I had never been there, but he asked for such a steep price, that as worried as I was about J, I nearly declined. But. I bucked up, and paid the man, though it took nearly a quarter of my earnings from the robbery.

I had to act normal. Or rather- I had to act New Normal. New Normal was worse because I had to be jumpy, and frightened. I didn't mind putting on crocodile tears now and then, but to keep them on at all times in public? It made my teeth itch, and my arms restless. At times, when I saw their looks of pity, I felt the hair on my arms stand on end, a kind of sickly anger in me that wanted to bite down and shake.

Stepping out of the hot spray, I looked at the woman in the mirror, unimpressed. Admittedly, the bruises were nearly gone now, my nose even looked nearly entirely healed, and my hair had even been trimmed into a short, but still attractive look, though it was a bit more textured than you had hoped for, too many layers. It made the hair look wild if I didn't take the excessive time each morning to style it perfectly.

However. I had also lost most of the weight, and my dark circles were back with a vengeance. I'm killing myself here. That's what this is, a slow suicide. I swallowed thickly, warming my primer between my fingers as I breathed through the negative thoughts.

Soon enough, I looked the part, though I was sure not to conceal my undereye too well, as the sleeplessness was entirely necessary for my character today. Do you mean caricature?

"Bitch." I muttered, shaking my head.

I'm you, you slut.

"No, you fucking aren't you're an asshole," I growled, before slamming my head into my hand. "And I'm talking to you. Great. I'm really fucking losing it."

You fucked the clown, this was established like chapters ago, keep up, Harls.

I ignored the jab this time, turning to my closet. I grabbed a basic outfit, hoping that my carelessness would be interpreted as further mental trauma.

Just then, my cell phone across the room rang, and I glanced down at it. Eddie.

"Fuck." I groaned, running a hand over my face as I considered. Eventually, I decided and backed out of the room, outfit in hand.

Eddie had been as annoying as the clap ever since I got back. He had had a real bug up his ass about what happened while I was away. He kept trying to get me to talk about it, and I kept insisting it was too upsetting, and that I would talk to him about it soon. I wasn't stupid. I knew that he knew something was fishy. I didn't know how much he knew, but I knew I couldn't handle explaining the situation to Eddie right now, especially since I couldn't tell him where Pam was. (Under threat of death, I had promised Pam to keep him away. She didn't want him in danger.)

So really, explaining everything, without telling him about Pam, and without giving him a heart attack with Joker-related information, isn't really a viable solution at the moment, without lying even more and directly to Ed's face.

I didn't mind lying to Ed, per se, but he was too damn smart for his own- or rather my own– good. Catching me in a lie was no easy feat, but he certainly made it look like one.

There was only one person in the world whose phone call was less welcome than my new brothers.

Jack. His previously puppy-like behavior was spiraling badly. He had already begun attempting to persuade me into moving in together- We were never even official!

But that didn't seem to dissuade him in the slightest, citing "our" attack in my apartment, again and again. I explained that I was looking for a new place, but I wasn't really ready to move in with a guy I had gone on a few dates with.

He tried a new angle, insisting we would have separate bedrooms- as if that solves the issue. It was frustrating and annoying, and it made seeing him honestly so taxing I nearly stopped, despite what it would do to my image.

He was still in the hospital, the ripping and tearing of his stitches while I was gone had given him some kind of infection- or something? I hadn't been listening when they explained, only excited that it had bought him another fourteen or so days in the claustrophobic room, and away from me most of the time. Once I was out, I was able to talk him down to only seeing him once every few days as I got settled. I didn't tell him I was going back to Arkham, figuring that would be a bandaid best left in its spot for now. But all too soon, I would need to. If he continued getting better at this rate, he would be out before the end of the week. I could just hear him now, bitching and moaning like a little girl because I didn't let him help decide my career path. Pathetic. Just like the rest of him, I supposed, smirking as I made my way to the kitchen.

I opened the door to see many casserole dishes from the staff at Arkham, trying to help with my mental load, I supposed. Considering my mental load wasn't really affected by my meals (due to the fact it was nearly always take-out), it didn't do much good. But, free food is free food.

I grabbed a large portion of the opened container, grimacing at the mashed-up gunk I slapped on the plate and stuck in the microwave. After a moment, it was so hot it burned my throat, but at least I couldn't taste it.

Several hours later I sat in a session with Mr. Lynns, who was ecstatic to see me, as always, telling me about the dream he had about his daughter, who had come to sing him a song and tell him that she wasn't mad about the fire anymore because she knew that The Firefly made him do it. I grimaced when he got to that point. I had hoped with our treatments, he may eventually be able to face the fact that it was his own actions that killed his family, not some mythical giant bug creature. Unfortunately, it was becoming clearer and clearer that that day may never come. I tried not to become angry with the man, but it was difficult. I didn't like to fail. And at times it was as though he was refusing to try.

After that session, I was doing paperwork in my office, watching the clock tick from the corner of my eye. It was almost time, and I nearly buzzed with anticipation, simultaneously hating that I was so excited to see him again. It made me think of my disturbing dream again. I wondered where the hell that came from. It was beyond out of character.

If he had killed me, my last thoughts would be desperately flailing, to try to take the stinking bastard with me. Same as if anyone managed. I certainly wouldn't… wish him well on my way to the underworld.

The dream had unsettled me, it was like… disagreeing with the choices of a character in a book, but that character is your exact clone so why the hell are they making choices like that?

It was disquieting.

Soon enough it was time, and I stood, making my way down the long barren hall, crossing paths with an orderly with a mean face, who only nodded to me subtly before continuing without breaking stride. I turned the corner, making my way down the corridor to the patient wing, glancing up once I was within his hall, to see that all of the cameras hung limply on the wall, rather than performing their two-click turns in each direction. I smiled before continuing my trek.

All too soon, I saw him. My stomach hit my knees as I took him in. His skin was sallow, nearly jaundiced, and his bruises from his fight with the bat were still visible, fading but visible. He isn't healing right… are they not feeding him? Or is it just the drugs?

I cursed Arkham to hell in my mind, lip trembling though I tried to fight it. He was lying limply across the bed, looking profoundly weak to me, but to anyone who didn't know him, perhaps he would only look as though he was napping.

"Harley?" He said my name slowly, as though it took much effort not to slur, and as he sat up I had no doubt it did. He made eye contact with me through the glass, standing slowly, only to lean heavily on the wall beside him. Other than his exaggerated movements and over-practiced speech, he gave no indication that he was on what I knew after checking Jerimiah's file on him, was a ridiculous amount of sedative, mixed with a cocktail of other shit I knew was making his head spin. "Took you long enough," He rolled his eyes.

"Expecting me?"

"For months, baby." He pouted.

"You haven't been back a full month yet," I narrowed my eyes, shaking my head. "What else are you lying about?"

He hiked an eyebrow. "Oh, sorry, Pumpkin, but Daddy is strung out on ketamine right now and can't keep his days straight,"

I laughed but faked a gag. "What the hell did you just call yourself?"

"What? I thought it would fit. You're such a classic case of Daddy issues."

"Fuck you."

"Baby, I'd love to. Open the door." He grinned.

"J," I warned, glancing around. No one was around to hear him of course, but I was still on edge with him saying things like that. "Why-" I stopped, taking a breath. "I need to know why you wanted to be captured."

He shrugged. "Wanted to see what you'd do. And you didn't disappoint. Less than a month to see me again, eh? And after the cover story you gave." He let the air rush between his teeth. "Thanks for that, by the way." He muttered.

"Listen, I didn't say anything about rape, okay?" I whispered. "That's just. I mean, goddamn it J, my neck was covered in hickeys and your handprints were everywhere else. I can't blame them for the assumption."

"You could have said—"

"And wound up one cell over?" I growled. "I just avoided the topic like leprosy and hoped for the best."

He narrowed his eyes. "Well, your best got me labeled a deviant who can't take no for an answer, and I think we both know that between the two of us–"

"J." I snarled at him. "Keep your fucking voice down."

He sighed, leaning back against the wall on his left. "No one is here. I assume you made sure the cameras are off?"

I rolled my eyes. "I still don't like taking chances. I'm in the middle of the hall, anyone could–"

" But, they won't. Or you wouldn't be here. What'd you do, Doc? Pull the fire alarm?" He snickered, and I blinked at him.

"Can you take this—"

"Seriously? No. Incapable. Sorry ." He paused, giving a faux grimace. "Only not really."

"J. I. I need to know your plan."

He raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"To get out of here?" I shook my head derisively. "Look at you! At this rate, you'll have Cirrhosis before Easter."

He shrugged.

"What do you mean– ?" I gave an exaggerated shrug to finish my question.

"I mean there is no plan."

" Excuse me?" I sneered. "Do you wanna die in this cell?"

"No," He smirked. "I'm sure I'll escape eventually, but why the rush?"

"I don't know, because you look like shit? And come on, be honest. You have to feel like shit." I exclaimed.

He only shrugged again. "Haven't been this high in years. Honestly, I'm considering snapping a picture of my file before I leave, just so I know what the blend is."

I grimaced at his carelessness. "So what the hell am I meant to do then?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you want."

"Are you kidding?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"I don't know." I rolled my eyes, looking away. "Listen… I need to go. But. I'll try to help you, with what I can. This will be the last we see of each other for a while."

He grinned. "Don't underestimate yourself, Baby- Doll . I know you'll find your way back soon. Now, if you don't mind, Doc, I was having a very nice hallucination. And do you know something? You were in it."

"J, please—"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," He muttered, turning away from me, "Are all Psychiatrists sex obsessed? Or is it just you?"

"I am not–" I took a deep breath. Why am I arguing with him? He's high and also an asshole. "Goodbye, J." I sighed. And he flopped back onto his cot, arm coming up to cover his eyes.

The memory of her was so strong, that he could nearly feel her weight pressing down on him. Could nearly hear her lilting accent as she cursed at him with a grin. Felt her warm lips on his neck and jaw, then her teeth. Hell, he could nearly smell her breath, Lemonheads, and white liquor. He loved it. She was so intriguing. She had come back to see him so quickly. And all that rage in her. It was really something. It made him feel alive even beneath the swirl of drugs pressing him further into the bed.

His dreams had been so vivid since he had been back. He couldn't make sense of them at all, random flashes of inspiration and color- splashing across the darkness of his lids. Harley's pale grinning face, pupils swallowing all of the blue, smoking that tiny pen she had brought on Halloween. Johnny's bruised face. Waylon Jones's bloody knuckles. A bloated corpse. A knife. A fire.

He could nearly smell the gasoline, and his body reacted accordingly, sending pleasure chemicals to his brain, making the high even stronger. He grinned, giggling at the sensation, wishing he had a nice cold beer. That would just be perfect.

He wondered what she planned to do since it was clear from the look in her eyes that she would not be waiting. What a funny woman, to hate him so much, but to have that kind of concern in her eyes. His Harley-Girl wanted him out of Arkham. Now.

I wonder how far she'll go to see it happen.

...

Little did either of them know, that in an apartment in midtown, a young woman was sealing both her fate and theirs. She sipped her boxed wine, tapping on her keyboard, hoping to be finished before the end of the day. She wanted to get it on the press in time for the morning edition.