When I awoke the next morning, I found the sofa sleeper already folded up and put away, throw pillows neatly back in place. What a studious little homicidal maniac she was! I smiled to myself... until I smelled it.
"Shoot!" I heard coming from the kitchen. "C'mon, go out - what does it take?!"
I followed that voice into the kitchen to see a skillet on fire. That is, my eyes were drawn to that first; after a moment, I registered Harley approaching said skillet with a bottle of water, poised to douse again.
"Harley, what-"
"BABS!" she yelped, splashing herself instead of the flames. "Oh, I- you're up already! You, uh, how did ya sleep?"
"There's, um... a fire, and we-"
"Right, right!" She threw the water at the pan but it only made the flames leap around. "Hey, that's not what's supposed to happen!"
"Wait," I said, running forward and pulling open the drawer under the stove. "Yeah, here we go - look out!"
"OW!" she howled, backing up. Ignoring her for a moment, I threw the lid onto the pan, then turned off the burner. Where was the oven mitt? I lifted the lid, but whatever she'd been cooking was still on fire, so I dropped the lid again.
"It'll go out eventually," I panted, taking the mitt off and turning away from it. "Without oxyg... G-GOD, Harley, are you okay?!"
"It's nothin'," she assured me with a weak laugh, staring wide-eyed at a shining burn on her forearm. "I've got plenty worse before, y'know."
"No, no, we have to get you to a hospital! Hang on, I'll get the-"
"I'm fine," she said firmly, teeth clenched in a grimace of pain. "Don't want you goin' outta your way, just... where's your medicine cabinet?"
"Bathroom," I panted, staring at her in disbelief. Was she for real? But I couldn't force her to go if she didn't want to.
Several minutes later, I was scraping the ruined mess into the garbage disposal when it caught up to me; she'd been trying to make breakfast. Two slices of toast were now cool in the toaster's slots, and a carton of orange juice was on the counter. What was going on? Why was she going out of her way all of a sudden?
"I'm such a friggin' disaster," she laughed as she rejoined me. A short section of her arm was tightly bound. "Maybe I shoulda just made Pop Tarts?"
"You didn't have to make anything," I sighed. "That's what Denny's is for. Besides, you just got out, you should take it easy for a day or two."
"But I can't! All the awful stuff I did, I've gotta start now if I ever want to make up for it all!"
"Really?" I couldn't help but smile as I buttered a piece of the now-hard bread. "What past sin does 'making Batgirl breakfast' cover?"
"Uhh... let's see. Oh! Remember the time I brought that cake in, and it gassed your pops, and-"
"Okay, okay," I cut her off. Why did I even ask? I didn't want to think about her sordid past in that much detail or I might throw her out the window. "But... thanks."
She smiled nervously. "For what? Charred omelet?"
"Is that what that was? Wow, I wondered..."
"Hey! It would have been fantastic, I'm tellin' ya, but I left it too long while I was... well, I was readin' the ingredients on the orange juice. Don't be mad, okay?"
"I'm not," I laughed. "Truth is, I do that too sometimes." I chewed thoughtfully on the inside of my cheek for a while as she scrubbed at the pan half-heartedly (I'd already written it off). "So... what are your plans for the day?"
"Oh... I don't know," she said slowly. "Well, I wanna get myself some half-decent clothes, but I don't know if I should..."
Something was off in that sentence. "Should?"
Her head kind of bobbed from side to side. "Thing of it is, all the money I've got in the world is kind of... stolen."
"Oh... yes, I guess it would be."
"Should I give it back?" she said suddenly, dropping the Brillo pad into the water. "But I don't even remember where it all came from - oh, what a mess! Maybe if I drop it off at the precinct, they can figure-"
"Please don't," I snickered. "The gesture would be nice, but Daddy's got enough to deal with even without trying to return... how much loot?"
"Four point seven million."
The small kitchen was very, very quiet. My toast fell out of my hand at some point, but who knows when? The sheer size of it... "H-how much?"
"Almost five mil," she repeated with a heavy sigh. "Babsy, I... how can I keep it? I'd never know what to do with all that money, and- and it's not really even mine! What's a newly-reformed girl to do?"
"O-okay," I sputtered, trying to wrap my poor brain around this problem. "Just... we'll get this. My God, five million dollars?!"
"It's not liquid," she continued, now pacing nervously. I guess she hadn't thought about this in-depth before. "Not much of it, anyway. It's in jewelry, or modern art - Puddin' loved those kind of sculptures, said they were almost as screwy as he was."
"Then... then here's what we'll do," I sighed, running my crumb-coated hands through my hair. "There is such a thing as the statute of limitations, right? So... so keep the money."
"What?!" she gasped. Her head began to shake slowly. "No, but- Babs, you can't mean it, that's- that's criminal talk!"
"No, listen; I think it's only fair you give back everything that's not cash, like the jewels... but if you don't remember where the money came from-"
Harley's face was a mask of sheer disbelief. "I must have wax in my ears, because I can't be hearing Barbara Gordon telling me not to turn in all the dough from a lifetime of bank heists and pickpocketing for... gosh, at least ten, twelve years? That's insanity!"
"What else can you do? Even if you do surrender it to the police, they'll never be able to figure out where every single one of those bills came from - and when they don't, it'll just be funneled into the government's bulging pockets. But I'm sure there's a few museums who would be more than happy to get their masterpieces back." As I watched her becoming slowly disillusioned, I said, "Please don't misunderstand me; I'm not saying anything you did to get that money was okay, but you are trying to start over, right? You need a little something to get you on your way."
"But... how am I supposed to start my new, upstanding life if I'm using blood money?"
This really felt like one of those moral dilemma quizzes you had to answer while playing a party game in youth group. I hadn't been to church in years, but I'm sure if I went back that very Sunday, I'd hear a question just like that one - and everybody would be staring at me like Harley was, as if I were speaking heresy. "You've already paid for it with blood. Yours, the Joker's... it's enough. Just promise me you won't waste it."
"No," she whispered. "I c-can't. Somebody has to-"
She stopped when I sighed again. "Then donate it to Salvation Army, or something. But you need to keep enough back to live on for a while... maybe buy a house? A job's not gonna land right in your lap, you know."
Finally, she seemed to be coming around, but when she spoke, I saw I was mistaken. "This is a trick, isn't it? Yeah, a game - no, no, a test! That's what it is, right? Trying to see if I'm really a brand new person? Well, you can put your pencils away, class, because I'm going to get an A on this!"
"Harl-"
"I'm going down to empty Mister J's safe right now," she said firmly, standing up and pounding one fist into the other palm. "The commish will have a big mess to return, but I'm sure he can do it!"
"Harley, please," I pleaded. "You at least need to get some new clothes, and if you don't use that dirty money, I'll end up paying for all that, and I really can't afford it right now! So for the sake of both our sanity, you have to at least hold on to a few thousand, okay? I'm begging you to see reason!"
The blonde stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "What?"
"I said I'm beg-"
"You were gonna... no, Babs. I owe you plenty already; I was never gonna ask you to front me a new wardrobe!" A moment's hesitation. "So... I guess I'll have to keep some of the dough. Is this really okay?"
"Not at all, but... well, what choice do we have?"
"No trick?"
I grinned in spite of myself. "No, we're not trying to get you to hang yourself. But if you steal any more money, I'm turning you in - you know that, right?"
"Absolutely! What kind of maroon do you take me for?"
. . ᴥ . .
My mind underwent a brief short circuit when Harley and I entered the old Joker vault, which was tucked safely beneath a factory that once manufactured whoopee cushions (shock and awe). When I say "vault", in this instance I mean the basement. All of it. Filled to the brim with bouillon, greenbacks, diamonds and pearls, marble statues, antique cars... and, for some reason, rubber chickens. Everywhere, rubber chickens.
"The gold goes back, too," she grunted, trying to pull a mink scarf from under a stack of ingots. To be honest, I think Harley's estimate of its contents were outdated; it had to have been worth as much as a billion dollars. But all she wanted to do was get rid of it. "Even if I still knew anybody who could melt it down and sell it off- though come to think of it, I probably do. I wonder if old Stinky Hands MacDougal still runs the Meat District like-"
"No, Harley," I sighed. "Sever all those contacts. That's not how you start fresh."
"Right, right." She glanced over at me from the corner of her eye. "Do you... d'you want this scarf, maybe? Only I owe you my friggin' life and all, so if you wanted it, I'd-"
Did I want to flaunt that I was breaking a dozen laws right now? "Thanks, but I'll pass. Besides, it's a stolen stole."
"You're right! Damn, I keep forgetting this is all hot merchandise." She stood up straight. "Uhh... how do we get it all to the police again?"
"We're not going to. That's what these duffel bags are for; we're just going to put the money in my trunk, then call Daddy to tell him where to look for the rest. Makes more sense than the other way around."
"Oh, then this won't take long at all!" she giggled, leaning against a rusty old suit of armour. "Most of the cash is in a numbered Swiss account; only a couple thousand bills are floating around here."
"Are you serious?" A few of the bags slipped from my fingers. "We could have skipped this step completely!"
Her blonde head nodded as she brought over a few fistfuls. "Probably, but... well, this'll work for food and clothes money, won't it?"
"Yeah. All right, let's do it, then."
The rest of the day was pretty much us at the mall; her, having a blast, and me trying to keep us from blowing it all in one store. Though I did my best to guide her to more sensible selections, it was mostly futile; bright reds, pinks and yellows filled her bags, in flashy patterns, not to mention the pair of Jimmy Choos she splurged on. At least she tried to behave herself, but it was like the apes imitating man: close, but...
"Ooh, Orange Julius! C'mon, let's get some!"
"Harley, I'm tired," I gusted. "Can't we sit down for a minute? I haven't done this much shopping in one go for-"
"We can sit down with our Orange Julius," she insisted. "Please?"
Of course, I wasn't going to win that one, so once we had our delicious frozen treats in hand, my feet got a well-deserved rest. To be honest, the smoothie was pretty good, too. "Damn... how many stores did we just hit?"
"Not enough," she giggled. "I mean, I know I gotta save my pennies from now on and find a real job and everything, but... I've never had so much fun!"
"I'm surprised I didn't max out my Visa," I groaned, looking into my own bags. Harley frowned.
"Geez Louise, I told you I'd pay for that stuff - why'd you have to go and-"
"No," I said firmly. "I don't need a sugar mama; I'm perfectly capable of paying for these myself."
That blissfully vacant face of hers took on a thoughtful look. "Yeah, what do you do for a living? Didn't figure swingin' from tall buildings pays the rent."
"No, it doesn't," I laughed. "But Bruce helps out in small ways, when I need it; if he paid for everything, I'd start looking like his 'kept girl', which is the last insinuation we need. But when I'm not finishing my law degree or breaking the law in order to uphold it, I'm... temping at a library."
"Library? Really?"
"Yes, Gotham Public. Why?"
"You don't strike me as the librarian type," she said, throwing one of her legs over an empty seat. "Well, no, maybe... okay, yeah."
My arms folded of their own accord. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on, Babsy; there's got to be about a hundred bookshelves in your living room! Besides, you ain't been having any fun here all day."
"I only have one booksh- What? Yes, I have. Lots of fun."
That condescending smile was about to get her punched in the arm. "Really? All you did was grouse the whole time, and you wouldn't even try on that frilly number I found that would be perfect on you! Only a dyed-in-the-wool bookworm-"
"I don't have the money," I insisted. "Maybe if-"
"I'd have paid for it," she reminded me. "Why can't I throw my best gal pal a favour?"
Seriously, I paused in mid-syllable. It sounded something like "Tha...". Obvious as it may be, I honestly was not expecting to suddenly trip over the fact that Harley thought I was her friend. And for that matter, was I? All the things I'd been doing for her since she asked me to appear at her hearing pointed to it. It was one thing when I believed I was doing this because I thought she was trying to change, but some of this stuff had nothing to do with rehabilitation. Orange Julius? Talking about whether or not I'm the librarian type? It hit me with an accompanying wave of nausea.
"Babs? You okay? You're lookin' kinda green."
"Yeah," I muttered, not sure I should say anything. That could blow up into a horrible situation very quickly. "I... I don't think this is sitting right with me. I'm gonna get some water."
"Oh, alrighty - I'll be here!"
I took one long look at the concern in her blue eyes. Was it genuine? She'd been acting more and more like she could ask for no better friend than I since I found her in the Arkham basement, and here I wasn't even sure I liked her. As one of the local vendors gave me a cup of icewater for the low price of ten cents, I turned to watch her for a moment. She wasn't staring at me, but observing the other shoppers walking by, talking, laughing, holding hands. I really had no idea what could be bumping around in that little head of hers.
"Back," I said simply.
"Any better?"
"Yeah, tons. Ready to go?"
"Sure. Just let me go to one last-"
"Harley!"
"Aw, c'mon, Babs, don't be a wet blanket! Thongs For All Occasions is having a fifteen-per-cent-off sale!"
. . ᴥ . .
"So, how have you been holding up?"
This question. I'd seen it coming a mile away, but I was no more ready to answer for it. "Fair. You?"
"You know what I mean. How are you and the... houseguest getting along?"
"Good," I replied shortly, returning my attention to the large pile of batarangs I was sharpening. It was busywork, which I welcomed.
"Barbara."
"She's a little angel," I glowed, flashing him a wide, cheesy smile. "I had never dreamed that in the four corners of the globe, a girl such as this should grace my presence. Harley Quinn, thou art perfection."
That heavy jaw of his scrunched up his lips. "Hmmh."
"What do you want me to say? That she put acid in my bathwater? That she tried to kidnap me, or hit me with a giant mallet? Bruce, the worst thing she's done all week is burn breakfast."
"You spend an awful lot of time defending yourself," he said, eyes hovering above a microscope now. "And her."
"Then tell me what you want me to say. Really tell me this time. She's doing fine."
"I'm more concerned about you, Barbara. Are you sure she's reformed, or do you mostly want to believe she could have?"
I dropped the batarang. How dare he? "You think I'm projecting all this, is that it? That I'm only seeing a decent human being because I want to? Well, let me tell you, I'm not even sure I like her, so it's as much a surprise to me as it is to you that Harley hasn't gone right back to cleaning out safety deposit boxes and diamond exchanges."
I saw him nod imperceptibly. This wasn't the end of the conversation; he was doing what he always did. Gathering data. "I wish you wouldn't do that."
He feigned innocense. "Do what?"
"Shrink me. Treat me like one of our 'cases'."
"Who said I was-"
"Bruce!"
Silence fell again. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, and in that time, Alfred came down the stairs, tray laden down with steaming cups of hot tea. This discussion would have to wait.
"Tea, Miss Gordon?"
"Thank you, Alfred."
"Tea, Master Bruce?"
"No thanks... maybe later."
"Of course."
He paused by the stairs. Y'know, I always got this sneaking suspicion that Alfred had Wayne Manor wired from top to bottom, and today was not his day to prove me wrong. "Sir... if I may be so bold?"
I thought I actually saw him roll his eyes, but Batman didn't do that. "Why not?"
"Miss Gordon's young charge... she has given you a great deal of strife in the past, has she not?"
"She has."
"However, it can also be said that you enjoyed your own battle with the forces of darkness," he continued, setting the tray down on a nearby table, straightening his tie as he spoke. "One must not forget the path that lay between the newly-orphaned Bruce and the cowl-clad Batman."
He narrowed his eyes at the elderly butler. "Yes, but I never committed grand larceny."
"Of course not, sir, perish the thought. But you HAVE known what it's like to be infatuated with a psychopath - and a story like that seldom ends as well as Miss Quinzel's."
The flare of irrational jealousy was nothing but old news to me, but I still wished I could stamp it out completely. Why, of all the women in the world, had Batman fallen for Catwoman? No matter how ancient that history was, it always conjured up the same annoyance, the same utter confusion. Selena Kyle was the only one who could ever penetrate his stony defences and find his heart buried somewhere in the basement of his soul. I'd never so much as scratched the surface. But again, that was also ancient history.
"Barbara... there's nothing left of that one, now."
"Oh." I held up the tiny nub of batarang and laughed. "Maybe I should pay more attention. Sorry."
Again, he looked like he was analyzing me. "Are you sure you're up for this? Maybe you sh-"
"I'm fine, Bruce. Stop mothering." One eyebrow raised, and I crossed my arms. "Totally fine."
. . ᴥ . .
On occasion, I can be wrong. Those occasions are usually unpleasant.
"Easy does it," Bruce grunted, setting me down gingerly on the operating table he and Alfred used when absolutely necessary. "Let's have a look at it."
"AGH!" I shouted, echoing through the cave and causing the bats hanging from the stalactites to flutter restlessly. He was trying to slide my boot off, but it felt like he was taking the foot with it. "Dammit, Bruce, it feels like it's going to fall off!"
"Yep," he gusted. When he swept his cowl back, I saw his brow was creased. "Broken."
My eyes welled with tears. "Shit."
"What were you thinking out there?" His voice did not rise. Did it ever? "Those men all had guns and blunt weapons - the six you were angling for had to have three per cent body fat at most. We should have attacked from a distance, then in the confusion-"
"I never thought they would notice me before I- ouch, stop it!"
"Sorry," he said as Alfred came running over (well, as close to running as Alfred ever did). "Just... trying to assess the damage."
"Good heavens! Miss Gordon, whatever did you-"
"Broke my stupid ankle, okay?!" I snapped. "Because I wasn't- wasn't thinking straight! Careless, all night I've been careless like that, and I could have gotten us both killed!"
"Calm down," said Bruce. "It's not as bad as all that. Seems like a fairly clean break."
"But Bruce, I- I'll be out of commission for weeks!"
He smiled that snarky smile of his, and I might have slapped it off if I wasn't reeling in pain. It was all I could do to follow the conversation. "It isn't as if I'm inexperienced working alone."
"No, you can't!" I sobbed. Did I have to start crying? It made me look pathetic, but the pain was going to make me pass out soon. "There's no reason for you to do that! Nightwing, call him back to Gotham and he'll-"
"No, he won't," he said gruffly. "Dick has his hands full elsewhere."
"But it's just for-"
"No, Barbara. Now... Alfred, I think Batgirl could use a sedative."
The butler bowed slightly. "Of course, right away, sir."
I watched as Bruce gingerly moved my injured foot around. It shouldn't have been pointing the way it was pointing, and the pain was nearly blinding me. Could I flex my toes? It hurt way too much to try - and I couldn't look anymore, so I instead moved my eyes toward the stairs, where I saw...
"Harley?!"
"OmiGOD!" she shouted after a moment, jumping the last few steps and running toward the Batcave's mini-hospital. "Babs, what's goin' on, what happened?"
"Nothing much," I mumbled.
"How did you get in here?" said Bruce, with more than a little frost.
"Through the clock," she informed him innocently, gawking openly at my leg. "I was just thinkin' I... but holy Häagen-Dazs, whadja do?!"
"Don't worry about it," I said through my teeth as Alfred rejoined us, eyeing Harley with his passive brand of curious suspicion. "Just... Harley, what are you doing here?"
"N-never mind that." I think we all saw her try to hide a shopping bag behind her back. "I'll show myself out; you look like ya don't need me hangin' around."
"It's okay, you're not- um, I'll talk to you later."
"What's in the bag, Harley?" Bruce asked. I'd known he would ask, but I still wished he'd exersized a sliver of tact.
"Nothin' important," she said quietly, eyes still on my ankle. "Just some junk."
Bruce smiled ruefully. "You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."
"What? Oh... oh!" From where I was sitting - or dying - she looked honestly embarrassed that she didn't get the hint before now. "It's not a bomb or nothin' - here, see for yourself."
While Alfred applied the sedative, I was vaguely aware of Bruce pawing through the contents, then stepping back, evidently satisfied that she wasn't trying to blow us all to kingdom come. I know he was asking her to leave again, and I caught some of the words, but they all began to blur together...
. . ᴥ . .
Everything was dark and quiet. My eyes fluttered, trying to adjust to the darkness. A cast was tightly bound around my ankle. I couldn't move it, not that I wanted to. The fine linens draped over me told me I'd been moved as far as upstairs; Bruce hadn't wanted to try getting me home just yet.
When I tried to sit up, I found something heavy in my lap.
"Harley?!" I gasped, glancing around. Hadn't she gone home? Must not have, because her head was snoring quietly against my thighs. I twitched them again, and her head bobbed, but she didn't wake.
"She's proved impossible to stir," said Alfred as entered, a glass of water balanced in the center of his tray. "Many attempts have been made."
"Her head's kind of heavy, too," I croaked. How did he know I was awake and that I'd be thirsty? Damn, but if I had his powers of perception...
"How are you feeling, Miss Gordon?"
"Okay." I downed half the glass in one go. "Better than I was, I guess. How does it look?"
"Bruce asked that I pass these along when you awoke." X-rays. I couldn't see them in the low light at all. "And perhaps you could use...?"
He was now handing me a flashlight. I smiled. "Always one step ahead, huh?"
"It is a manservant's duty to be," he replied mildly. With that, he bowed himself out of my room.
"Thanks," I called after him before turning my attention to the dark sheets in my hands. It snapped, all right - not the worst fate in the world, but no break was a good one in my book. I'd be laid up for a while.
I tried to go back to sleep, but it took me a long time - especially with a big blonde kitten snoring all over me. It was sweet in its own warped, slightly-disturbing way. I felt like the girl whose neighbours ask her to petsit for them before secretly moving to another country.
. . ᴥ . .
Two days and several hours later found me sitting in one of Wayne Manor's many parlours, sipping a cup of strong tea and listening to Bruce's rundown of the night's escapades. Even if I couldn't really do anything, I didn't want to be left out of the loop.
"...seven crates of illegal narcotics," he was saying. "Your father was more than happy to take those off their hands."
"So, these Martellis... you're going after them tonight?"
"The police won't stand a chance; nobody trying to barge in the front door would. It would either take an undercover operative, or-"
"Or Batman," I finished for him in a monotone. He gave me a wry smile in return. "I'd wish you good luck, but then you always say-"
"We make our own luck."
"-that."
"I appreciate it all the same," he said, standing.
It was no use; I tried to hold back, to let it drop, but this was too important to table. "Bruce..."
He paused halfway across the room. "No."
"Damn you, Bruce, not everything's about pride! You need to admit to yourself just this once that you could use some backup! Can't you wait?"
"There are no Robins left," he said quietly. "You're in no condition to drive the Batmobile, much less fight - and no, I can't wait for your bones to knit. It really is up to me this time, pride or no pride."
"I can't believe you're this hard-headed! We have got to-"
"What's all the ruckus?"
We both glanced at each other briefly as Harley looked between us, quite obviously nervous. I let the sentence die, and he didn't pick up the slack. An uncomfortable silence stretched into oblivion before Bruce switched gears. "Harley."
"Y-yeah?"
"Commissioner Gordon mentioned something to me last night: he received an anonymous tip that led him to something of a treasure trove beneath a crumbling factory. Things they had suspected the Joker of stealing once upon a time."
"You don't say!" she laughed - much louder than necessary.
"He appreciates the action... and I applaud it."
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Sounds like some ex-con out there is trying to do right these days."
"I suppose."
Bruce was almost to the door when it finally hit me. I was really batting a thousand, wasn't I? "Wow!"
"What?" they both said.
"Harley!"
Harley said "What?" again, but Bruce's eyebrows drew together. He was about to get extremely angry, but I wasn't going to let that stop me.
- END SESSION -