8 days before T.O.D

Her hand rested on her desk with a black uni-ball pen tucked between her fingers. Not only was the air perfectly silent, it was also very still. It felt off.

In front of her sat three files. All of her patients, Leon's file was open in front of her. She slid it closer to her and poised the pen to write.

Possible regression.

The letters were slanted and crooked because she wrote them quickly, wanting to get it over with fast, like a band-aid.

She needed to get out of here.

As per-routine, she went to shrug off her white doctor's coat and put it on coat rack behind her.

She wasn't wearing it.

She walked straight across her office to the door. Never had she realized how align her desk and door were.

The doorknob was stuck. She tried pulling it out; often the locking mechanism would lock without that being the intention.

It didn't budge.

It wasn't just a want to leave anymore. She needed to get out.

She twisted the doorknob as hard as she could. The chords in her arm went taut. The skin eventually split, cracking in a thin sliver vertically. Blood dripped down on to the floor.

Flames ignited from the drops as if she had gasoline in her veins.

She wasn't really in her office at Arkham. She was dreaming.

Wake up.

Her eyes stared across her bedroom floor. By some miracle Harleen had managed to make it home.

She was having nightmares every night now. Every morning they stayed with her a little bit longer, were growing more vivid and harder to shake away.

The night before was blurry, those short-term memories hidden behind a grimy showcase in her mind. That's not to say Harleen couldn't remember it though.

The club scene did not gradually pass away. It: the neon lights, the thumping bass, the people, they evaporated and all of a sudden Harley was facing large cargo ships on dark water.

All of a sudden she was back in Pacific Grove.

Harley had hit a time paradox where she was sixteen, twenty-three and twenty-six all at once.

A light on top of a buoy bobbed back and forth sporadically out in the open water.

She sat on large rock looking out at the ocean, letting the soothing sounds of the surf calm her down. She left home with nothing but the clothes she had on because let's face it, she was only sixteen years old, she would eventually go back. She had threatened to leave so many times before even she knew she was going back…

The ocean breeze, fresh and salty, wrenched at her heart.

The breeze harassed her hair, pulling overgrown bangs in strands into her face. All the times she came here when she was mad at her mother made such little sense to her now. The times she promised to run away for good, she was so ungrateful and stupid. What she would give to go back to those days. She sunk to her knees, clutching at her own shoulders for lack of anything else. There was no going back this time. No place to go back to.

Here she was, so far from where she set out to get away from, to standing on that beach once more.

Harley shut her eyes as the hourglass of time tipped over.

She wasn't a child anymore. Her mother couldn't tell her what to do….

She was unfeeling, completely numb. Nothing. Not the wind or the faint rain. Not the nails digging into her skin. Barry was dead. He was dead because of her.

He, a collection of shadows and urban myths, the Batman, stood near her when she opened her eyes.

His presence snapped time back in to place. It gave her something physical to direct her feelings to. The sight of him made anger the only thing she felt.

"Hello Mistah Tall and Dark."

He didn't respond. Funny he had a lot to say in the parking garage.

"Lemme guess you want to know where the Joker is?" she cut straight to the chase. "It seems as long as everyone thinks I know his whereabouts I'll never be lonely."

Harley wondered if he caught the Casablanca reference. Had he ever sat inside on a rainy day with a big bowl of popcorn and watched the classical film? Since she didn't have a face to match to the mental image, she pictured him as is; curled up in a general living room setting on a couch in the batsuit, using his cape much like a blanket, which caused a twitch of a smile and giggle.

A sudden movement from him jerked her out of silly thought and on to her ass. This was one guy she wasn't going to let to get any kind of close. The Batman made a small attempt at a grab, Harley shuffled backwards, the slight rug burn caused by the friction of the concrete against her bare legs was definitely a better price then what she would pay under his hands. Something's that happened before her time in Gotham were hard to understand, like the Joker, other things were not such a hard concept. How the Batman, unbound by the law, interrogated people was one of those things.

Harley picked herself off the ground, never taking her eyes off him.

"Tell me what you know," he said.

The stitches on her wrists burned hot.

That night had altered everything she had been saying. She had seen the Joker since his escape, looked into those dark eyes of his as she felt that same fresh burn.

No one was even willing to listen to what she said.

Underneath the wristbands, the stitches grew hotter.

She had maimed herself because of this entire city.

"Why should I?" Rose up with the venomous bile bubbling in her chest.

The hangover symptoms subsided eventually. Her anger, however, that stayed.

Harleen Quinzel's apartment.

Batman entered from the fire escape at the side of the building.

It was the standard layout. Dark. She wasn't home.

His well-trained eyes scoured every little nook he came across. He didn't expect to find anything here but he had to exhaust all possibilities, especially after the way Harleen had acted, like she was hiding something.

In the bedroom now, he pulled out the drawer to her nightstand. The first item he saw was a joker playing card. He pulled it out before rustling through the rest of the collection of small affects. There was a gymnastics medal, a letter from what had to be an old patient. He skimmed over it, the last line got to him.

Lastly congrats on the new job in Gotham. There are a lot of people out there that need your help. Just don't forget the golden coast.

The golden coast, he repeated in his head. California. Was that where Harleen was from?

When Bruce had taken her to dinner all those nights ago, she had said that was from Nevada. No, Harleen only said that she studied in Nevada, she switched the track of conversation back to the asylum when it got close to her personal life. Because Bruce was interested in Arkham, he didn't try to move it back.

Harleen was keeping more then what she knew about the Joker secret.

He shifted through more of the sentimentals in the drawer, a few photographs, a couple of her out with Joan Leland and some other woman. He even found the one of Bruce and Harleen on 34th avenue and the one he took of her and the Ferrari. He found another letter, this one was from the Joker.

Dear Harley.

I am writing you from the office of Joan of Ark (ham), you have probably been here yourself so I won't bother describing it to you. I will admit that I was wrong. I said once that nothing would sound better then the music we listen to in your office. Nothing does not sound better; I'd rather, nay love to, hear Fleetwood Mac by this point. I've been scratching at my elbow to make sure I haven't gone deaf and now it's bleeding and it's my favorite elbow. That's your fault, Harley. If you hadn't gone off to Honolulu, I would be sitting or lying calmly in your office right now, not scratching myself bloody.

Now you notice this letter is on the back of a bubble sheet, (which I made in to a ladybug just for you, I know how much you like them, the red came off my elbow. My favorite elbow) she has put me to doing some head test and seems to think that I am actually doing it, she is apparently more delusional then you are. Since I have not deluded myself into think that Joan is not going to read this when I give it to her to pass along to you, Joan you have admit that not being suspicious of me was stupid. All the same it would be in your best interest to see Harley gets this letter. That is if your best interest includes not having cheap call girls show up at your house at 3 am, then the cops at 3:01 am.

Anyway since Joan refuses to tell me where you went, I am lead to the only rational conclusion:

A few days ago you were at that point in your menstrual cycle where all your woman hormones were dictating that you find a mate and pop out some kids. (I am basing this off the fact that roughly 5 weeks ago you were incredibly cranky) so all of sudden you that break room affair you've been having is no longer about blowing off steam (I feel that's partly my fault, I wasn't looking to put you on a table or counter or wherever you crazy kids are doing it these days, I was looking to get you into a cell next to mine) So you and HUGO STRANGE eloped in Hawaii.

I would advise you to keep your last name. Allow me to demonstrate as to why.

Harleen Strange: "I am sorry Mrs. Strange but there were complications during surgery and your husband didn't make it."

- I've made my feelings about how feel about your name being an old lady name clear, putting that aside, Harleen Strange basically says gold digger.

Harley Strange: "Would you like me to check the trap, Ms Strange" – Angelo the pool boy.

- You probably gave this a double read because you got the innuendo, and are saying "Joker, why the hell is he a pool boy" For the pool duh.

With the double income, you and Hugo were able to get a fancy house with a pool and because Hugo is gone a lot and is old as balls, you've been sleeping with Angelo. Harley Strange is a very loose name.

Quinzel-Strange/Strange-Quinzel: No one is going to say that, it is two damn long.

By the by, what is your middle name?

The tell tale noise of the front door opening interrupted him in the middle of the letter. Batman didn't have time to finish it. On a last glance he thought he read

I miss you.

But even if it wasn't spelled out right that didn't mean it wasn't there. Intuitive Harleen would have gotten the message even if he never said it. The Joker had made it clear in the first paragraph of his letter to her that he was unhappy that she was gone. That sort of display was abnormal for him.

It gave Batman a better idea of how close the two must have been. The Joker tricked her into believing that he could care about something, and it was beginning to look more and more like that something was her.

"You again" said Harley.

She staggered backward uncontrollably when she shut the door. She had been drinking again.

"The cops have just about given up on me. Why can't you?" She asked leaning up against the doorframe.

Harley was the opposite of the way she had been the night before. Her demeanor was intensely surly. Her stance was predatory, waiting for him to make the first move.

Batman flipped up the joker playing card. He needed to start squeezing Harleen.

"I'm not a cop." He reminded her.

He noticed greatly how her eyes flicked wide with surprise, even how her next breath had a hitch in it.

"You're right, " she said, "You're no cop."

There were two small beeps from the keypad of her cell in her right hand.

Batman tried the window in the bedroom. It only moved three inches.

"And J's not the only one with a price on his head." She said while hitting that final button.

Harley had moved out of sight. Batman doubted that she wasn't waiting for him. He had to go out into the hallway. They both knew that.

Batman rushed out of the room as fast as he could.

Glass shattered around his head. His cowl protected his head from the severity of the blow.

Harley lined herself up for another hit. Not fast or coordinated enough.

Batman grabbed her wrist. Harley yelped in pain, yet it didn't deter her fighting.

The hallway was too narrow for their sparring match.

Unintentionally Batman threw Harley into the wall. She hit hard, stars and sparks of pain flood her.

Black out.

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, subscribing and faving.

SmilinForYa: Thank you and I'm glad you felt bad for poor wayward Harley. That is what I was going for, I am trying to make you all feel something so that feedback was much appreciated.

Sithlord8665: Harley only dies in this story, she never died in the DCU. Thank you for dropping me a line

One of the few liberties I took in this chapter is change where Harley was from, normally she is from Brooklyn, I made her from California. Gotham is on the east coast so Harley has come a long way from home

Some of this was a rehash of chapter 14, but I felt I needed to explain a little more why Harley was as hostile as she was to Batman for no reason.