Obsidian

by quiidam

In the window, she watched her reflection, and now, with no mask to wear, nothing else to pretend, her dead, icy eyes could do nothing but look toward the future to the only thing she wanted. Harleen Quinzel was going to kill the Joker.

HARLEEN

Harleen had practiced this every day for two weeks, twice a out your hand, smile, and nod. Say thank you. Only give what you have to. Try not to talk for too long.

She did it repeatedly, as many times as she could stand, until it lookedreal.

But now that she was here, standing on the precipice of the last three years, Harleen Quinzel did not know what to do.

"Harleen?" Joan Leland called, snapping her from her thoughts. "Did you hear me?"

Harleen shook her head, flashing an apologetic smile the doctor's way. "Sorry, Joan. I was thinking. Run it by me again?"

Life was funny sometimes.

Her first day in Arkham Asylum felt like it had been only yesterday instead of the long drag of these last years. Young, vibrating with ambition, Harleen thought she was invincible and that success wasinevitable.

She had spent those first precious days following Joan around like a shadow, drinking every bit of information and trick of the trade she could. Her boss had been bold, unapologetic, and radiated a genuine confidence that Harleen had only ever daydreamed of.

She would never have imagined that nearly six years later, she would be leaving Arkham for the final time, not as an award-winning psychiatrist but as a rehabilitated criminal, a recovering domestic violence victim, an absolute fucking fool.

Joan patted her hand. "Quite alright, Harley," She said, and Harleen grit her teeth against the old name. She hated it but couldn't bear to hear her full name, herrealname, ever uttered in this Asylum again. "I reminded you that your parole officer will require you to check in every Friday. It's of the utmost importance that you don't forget."

Harleen busied her hands by tightening the strap on her backpack to distract herself from the flare of annoyance that ignited within her chest. "Yeah, thanks. I almost forgot." She lied.

"And your sponsor is here. He was very interested in meeting you and offered to drive you to your outpatient facility," Joan continued. "You're fortunate, Harley."

Luck. When have I ever been lucky?

"Yeah. I know, I'm grateful. Could you tell my sponsor that for me?" The lie came quickly, practiced to perfection, locked and loaded on the edge of her tongue.

Joan chuckled and nodded toward the door that led out ofBlock Aand into the main lobby of the Asylum. "Tell him yourself. Now is hardly the time to be shy, Harley. You've worked so hard. You deserve this."

A smile was the easiest thing in the world, so when she flashed one to Joan, she knew it looked genuine. She knew that the dimples in her cheeks made her look younger, happier, more alive than she actually was. "Thanks, Joan. I couldn't have done any of this without you."

"Call me when you've settled. I want to know how you end up doing out there."

"Sure," Harleen nodded. An empty promise. "I will. Can I ask you one last favor, Joan?"

"What is it?"

"Could I say goodbye to Jervis and Jonathan? I don't know when I'll see them next." It was the most honest thing that she had said in days.

Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane had been nothing but kind to her since she arrived in the medical wing of Arkham Asylum three years ago, a shattered, fractal of a thing. Dr. Crane had been one of her psychology professors back in college and had assisted in deepening her understanding of the human mind. He had taken her under his wing, seeming to sense that she had been an underprivileged girl getting her first real taste of education. He was the closest thing to an elder brother she had, and she would miss him.

Jervis, orThe Mad Hatteras he had been known to the rest of the world, had come to visit her every day in the medical ward while she recovered. Harleen had been lonely, heartbroken, and in the worst pain of her life, and he had distracted her by reading herAlice's Adventures in WonderlandandThrough the Looking Glassuntil she forgot about the love of her life having nearly killed her.

When trapped in an entire body cast, floating in and out of consciousness, caught in an undertow of medication, an anchor was the most crucial thing in the world. The story had become a strange comfort to her, and she knew both books well enough now that she could recite them to perfection.

Except, the memory of whathehad done held fast.

After her fall, the only things she could move without pain were her hands and fingers, so all she could do was read and write in her journal for her court-appointed therapy. She knew what to write and say during treatment to make it seem like she was recovering. Harleen may have been a criminal, but she wasstilla brilliant psychologist.

Harleen did not remember the incident that had brought her back to Arkham for a final time. There were fragments of the moments before it had happened, the scent of lime and face paint as he had leaned in close, his hands at her hips as he herded her back toward the glass, and his fingers, as always digging too hard into her skin.

She had known that he pushed her only because she had been falling, and he had watched, smiling. She did not even remember the moment of impact when her body had slammed into the wet Gotham City pavement. But what she did remember, what haunted her, wasthe fall.

Glass scattered around her like rose petals, slicing into skin, the feeling of nothingness andhim. Grinning wildly down at her as he watched the ground make its brutal way to her.

Perhaps that was what Alice had felt when she fell into Wonderland, down a dark, damp, and wretched rabbit hole that she could never crawl back out of.

"I don't see why not. But be quick, please? I don't want to keep your sponsor waiting." Joan answered, drawing Harleen out of her thoughts.

But Harleen was already heading back down toBlock B, a path she had memorized, and she could walk in the dark if she so chose.

Dr. Crane's cell was first, and when she approached, the orderly beside his cell raised an expectant brow at her.

"Joan said I could say goodbye." She declared.

The orderly said nothing initially, and just as she was about to snap at him, he entered his passcode on the keypad at the wall beside Jonathan's cell, pressed the speaker button, and said, "Crane. Visitor for you."

Reinforced tinted glass kept the illusion of privacy for patients in Arkham, but the reality was that the doctors and orderlies could see everything that went on in their cells with the click of a button.

Jonathan was seated on his bed, arms secured in his straight jacket, and his dark, messy curls were all she could see as he mumbled to himself, rocking back and forth.

"Hi, Professor Crane."

Turning as best he could, he smiled at her. "Hello, Harley. I was hoping that I'd get to see you before you were released."

"Sorry that I didn't come a little sooner. I can't stay for long."

"It's alright. What will you do now?"

Harleen wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to show him the ugly desire that had taken root within her, but she couldn't. There were too many cameras, too many risks, and thisthing. It was all she had left.

"I don't know. I've been thinking about it for so long, and now that it's here, I have no idea what to do." She lied, swallowing the accompanying guilt.

Jonathan nodded, smiling at her. "That's good. Don't rush yourself. All things need time to grow."

"Thank you. I've got to go, though, as I still need to say goodbye to Jervis. I'll miss you, Jonathan. Thank you again for everything," She said, wishing that she could hug him. "I hope we can see each other again, out there, I mean."

When he smiled this time, it did not reach his eyes. "I, as well. Goodbye, Harleen. Stay sane."

She would lose her courage and composure if she overthought this — they both understood that they would never see each other again.

Harleen forced her feet to move to the far end of the block where Jervis' cell was located. As he was perpetually on good behavior, there was no orderly beside his cell, and she could speak to him freely. Due to his good behavior, his cell looked a little different than the rest of the patients'. He was allowed TV, puzzles, and writing tools, though mostly Jervis only wanted more copies of his belovedAlice in Wonderlandand was only interested in watching as many of the iterations of the film as he could get his hands on.

He was sitting at the table in the middle of his cell, assembling a puzzle of what seemed to be theQueen of Hearts. His blonde hair fell into his eyes as he squinted at the puzzle, oblivious to her. She rapped lightly on the glass. "Jervie?"

"Oh, Harley! Hello!" Puzzle forgotten, he stood and walked toward the glass. "Today's the day, isn't it? You've come to go?"

After years of speaking to him, Harleen understood his jumbled words, which sounded more like riddles than sentences. "Yeah. I'm leaving. I just wanted to say goodbye to you and thank you for always being my friend."

"Friendship isn't something to thank anyone over," He said. "You are my favorite you."

Harleen smiled, biting back the tears that started to sting her . Don't get emotional. Calm thought to herself.I've worked too hard; I can't falter now."You're my favoriteyoutoo," She managed, swallowing before gesturing to the small backpack on her shoulders. "Those books you let me borrow, would you like them back? It might be...a long time before we see one another again."

Jervis shook his head and placed his palm against the glass, and she matched the gesture. "Gifts. For when you've made it through the looking glass."

"Thank you, Jervie. I'll miss you."

"Will you write?" He asked softly. "From the other side?"

"I will try my very hardest." She promised, and Harleen meant it. No matter what, she would find a way to get one final letter to her friend.

Jervis nodded, kind as ever. "Goodbye, Alice."

"Goodbye, Hatter."

Harleen gave him a small wave before she tore herself away.

If I don't leave now, I never will.

Joan was waiting at the other end of the block, by the door that led out to the main floor and the lobby, tofreedom. After getting frisked down a third and final time by the orderlies to ensure that she had no weapons or anything else on her, she and Joan stood alone.

There was a moment of pregnant silence between them as Joan seemed to be mulling over what she wanted to say to her next, but whatever it was, the other woman thought better of it. The telltale buzz of the automatic locks sounded as the doors opened and the world unfurled before Harleen.

It was her first real look at the world outside a cell block or the end of a therapist's chair inthree years.

Harleen swallowed the hard lump in her throat as she looked around the lobby. Wilting red and yellow carnations at the front desk, buttery, late morning sunlight filtering in through the streaky windows. The scent of burnt popcorn wafted from the orderlies' break room behind the front desk. All of it was so mundane, and she drank it down greedily.

At least, she would have if she were alone.

Survival was something that living in Gotham City had carved into her flesh; awareness of one's surroundings in a city riddled with crime was the first gift that many of its citizens were given. Just out of the corner of her eye on her left side, someone was watching her. Bristling, Harleen whirled on them. "You got afuckingproblem?"

The stranger had been leaning against the wall, nose buried in a pamphlet, and when Harleen called him out, he seemed startled. But something was off about his response. Instead of actually jumping, only his expression changed like some kind of performance.

"Christ, you scared me," He said, flashing her a kilowatt smile. "But I probably startled you first, huh? Sorry about that." The strange stepped forward, and Harleen frowned, recognizing him instantly. Every news station in the city loved to cover his escapades, every tabloid chanting his name like a prayer.

Gotham's Golden Boy.

He was tall, easily over a head taller than her, and broad-shouldered; his dark blue suit fit him like a second skin, the kind of tailoring that could only come from old money. Glacial blue eyes, a hard jawline, and jet back hair only just slicked back; everything aboutBruce Wayneradiated affluence and beauty.

He was handsome, too good-looking to be real, and something about that irritated Harleen." Do I know you?" She asked.

Dark brows rose in response, unable to mask his surprise, but only momentarily. He stepped forward but kept a few paces away, mindful of her space, and offered his hand. "Bruce Wayne," He said, and she could practically hear him introducing himself the same way as he walked into every room, took up every bit of space, and waved his money around. "It's good to meet you, Miss Quinzel."

Harleen looked down at his offered hand, pausing for a moment to marvel at how oddly muscular they seemed before her electric blue eyes met his. "No. I knowwhoyou are; I've got fucking eyes. But like, do Iknowyou? Is there some reason you're talking to me?"

Bruce flashed her another blinding smile and withdrew his hand into his pocket, his posture easy, relaxed, too fucking comfortable around only you knew, rich boy. I'd wipe the floor with you and take you for all you thought.

"Sorry about that. I asked Ms. Leland to keep it under wraps until you were officially discharged but I'm your sponsor."

Harleen gawked. "You? Gotham's Golden Boy?"

Laughter, light and warm, fell from his throat. "They do love to call me that, don't they?"

She didn't have time for this. The last thing that she wanted or needed right now was for some rich boy to use her as his tax write-off and boast about how he was helping a poor, unfortunate soul like herself.

Harleen had always lived hand-to-mouth. She grew up a daughter to a janitor and a stay-at-home mother; there had never been enough money or food to go around when she was a child. Ironically, she saved herself from a life of crime in The Narrows and made it out of the worst part of the city, only to return years later as theClown Princess of Crime.

The Joker hadn't cared much for money besides what he needed to pull off his next crime spree. He was the type to buy bullets over bread. Even with him, Harleen had fallen asleep with an empty, aching stomach more times than she liked to admit.

Someone like Bruce could never understand what real hunger had felt like, could never know the anxiety that came from having nothing more than a few dollars to your name for weeks at a time. All of Gotham knew what he got up to with his millions, and every time she'd seen a picture in the newspaper or a video of him on a yacht with some model, she felt sick.

Harleen would always cut her teeth on the wealth of the elite.

"No," she huffed, stepping back from the billionaire before her. "I don't need a sponsor. So, thanks, but no thanks." She headed toward the door, but Bruce carefully stepped in her 's quicker than I mused. "Move."

"Harley, a sponsor was one of the conditions of your release," He said. "I can't do anything about that, but if you're uncomfortable with me, that's fine. I can find you another sponsor. But it must be with me if you'd like to walk out of here today."

Blue eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at him. "Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all. I appreciate transparency, and I offer it as much as possible. So, to put it bluntly, if you don't leave with me right now, you'll have to spend at least another week in the Asylum until someone else sponsors you."

Harleen scowled so hard her face !She couldn't spend another moment here, so she had to leave. "Let's go," She snarled before she could change her mind. "And it's Harleen now. I hate being called Harley."

Bruce hit her with another smile, and she wanted to punch him and ruin his perfect suit, which was most likely worth more than her admission to medical school. "Alright, Harleen. Right this way."

He led her outside, opening and holding the door for her. She held her backpack tighter to herself to keep more distance between them. A slick, black limo was parked in front of the building, and an old man was standing by the driver's side.

She followed after Bruce, though her attention was on everything around her. Dead leaves danced lazily on the ground in clusters of browns and reds, stirred lazily by the late November breeze.

The view between the bars hasn't got shit on thought, swallowing the sudden tightness in her throat.

"Harleen, this is Alfred Pennyworth," Bruce said, drawing her attention away from the scenery and to the old man who flashed her a polite smile. "Alfred, Harleen Quinzel."

"A privilege to meet you, Miss Quinzel." The old man said, bowing. His thick British accent reminded her of something from one of those old spy movies. He moved to the back of the limbo to open the door for her. "I can take your bag for you if you'd like, or you're more than welcome to keep it with you."

Harleen hugged her back closer to her shoulders. "I'll keep this with me if it's all the same to you, Jeeves."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Ah, Jeeves. I assure you I have never heard that one before," He deadpanned. "Any more riveting one-liners I can expect to hear from you, Miss Quinzel, or shall we be on our way?"

She blinked, staring at him as her mind caught up to what he'd just said before a genuine smile cut across her face. "Oh, Ilikeyou."

"Forgive my shrieks of glee, if you will," Alfred continued as she ducked into the car. "Mind your head, please."

The interior of the limbo was nauseatingly plush – it was one thing to hear about how the wealthy lived; it was another thing to experience their way of I ever been anywhere even half as nice as this?She thought, carefully squeezing into the farthest corner of the seat and buckling herself in.

Harleen froze when the door on the opposite side of the car opened, and Bruce Wayne ducked inside the limo with her. He took the seat on the farthest side across from her.

She expected him to attempt small talk as the car engine kicked to life. Instead, he didn't look her way, his attention entirely drawn to his phone, and she sighed a breath of relief.

She wasn't interested in small talk or pretending anymore. Harleen was tired of acting as though she was alright, as though her fury was not searing her from the inside out.

She didn't know when it had happened. When the adoration and affection she felt toward her ex-lover had disappeared – perhaps somewhere between one of the many beatings he'd gifted her or when he had truly tried to end her life.

But what she did know was that her anger had coalesced into something colder, somethingwretched.

Truthfully, Harleen did not care what happened to her now; she did not care about parole or reintegrating into society. There was one thing and one thing only that her rehabilitation had allowed her to realize, and it was thatshewas dead.

The woman she had been was buried under broken glass and cracked cement. She was nothing now but a single desire that had cooled and hardened in her chest like obsidian.

In the window, she watched her reflection, and now, with no mask to wear, nothing else to pretend, her dead, icy eyes could do nothing but look toward the future to theonly thingshe wanted.

Harleen Quinzel was going to kill the Joker.