Operation Puddin'break

At least the bats had gone.

Jonathan Crane was extremely grateful for this when he woke up one morning without their shrieks and squeaks, and their claws scratching at his body and brain.

For a moment, that was all he could focus on – on the relief of being free of the bats at last. At being free of the nightmares, the maddening nightmares that gave him no rest, no peace, so that he felt he would either die or go crazy…

And that's when he realized he was locked in a cell. A not unusual occurrence for him, mind, as his past came flooding back with a rush – his persona as the Scarecrow, his attacks of fear toxin on thousands of people, his great plan to hold Gotham City hostage with the help of the Arkham Knight, to turn it into a City of Fear and destroy the Batman…his great plan that had all ended in failure.

Well, not quite, he thought, as he remembered how he had had Batman at his mercy, how he had unmasked him and showed the world the true face of its hero, Bruce Wayne. Nothing but a man, like any other, not a savior, not a legend, nothing. And he had injected Bruce with his fear toxin, breathless with anticipation and the warm glow of victory when he would show the world its hero as a begging, pleading mess…

And then…then something had gone wrong. Something he hadn't expected or counted on…something had happened to Bruce. He didn't know what, but his toxin had no effect. Bruce was not afraid of him. It was impossible, unheard of, and then…

His memories were hazy, but he had somehow been injected with his own toxin. And that was when the bats had appeared, clawing at him, choking him, suffocating him, screaming, screeching, tormenting him with unendurable agony…

And now he was here. Wherever here was, he thought, looking around. Another cell – he was used to those. He wondered how long he had been subjected to the effects of his toxin, in a world of terror separate from reality – he wondered how much had changed in Gotham now that its hero had been revealed. He wondered if anyone feared the Batman anymore.

He heard a clang and a screech, and turned to see his cell door opening. "Dr. Crane?" said a voice, as a figure stepped into the light shining through the bars on the window.

Crane took a step back, stunned to see who this person was. "H…Harley?" he stammered.

It was indeed the late Joker's former accomplice, Harley Quinn, except she looked nothing like herself. Crane remembered Harley as happy, carefree, and bubbly, wearing some eccentric costume or other. But the woman standing in front of him now was modestly dressed, wearing a lab coat over a plain red blouse and black skirt. Her blonde hair was done up in a tight, sensible bun, and she wore large, round glasses around her wide, blue eyes, rather than a black jester's mask.

She pointed to her nametag. "I'm Dr. Quinzel, Dr. Crane. I'll be handling your sessions. How are you feeling today?"

"Like I'm…losing my mind," stammered Crane. "Harley, what…how…why…what's happened?"

"You'll have to be more specific, Dr. Crane," she replied, calmly.

"What's happened…to you?" he asked. "You…you're looking very different than when I saw you last, leading the Joker's gang…"

Harley smiled grimly. "I understand that things might seem strange to you, Dr. Crane, having been out of it for so long. But I would prefer it if you didn't remind me of certain events in my past, and if you would kindly refrain from mentioning the name of that dead, hideous psychopath."

"W…what?" stammered Crane. "But…but you love the Joker, you always…"

"I'm glad he's dead," interrupted Harley, coldly. "After what he did to me. After he twisted my mind, and used me for his own selfish ends, and tried to ruin my life. It was nothing less than he deserved."

Crane couldn't believe what he was hearing. Harley would never have said such things, never in a million years.

Harley sighed heavily at the expression of shock on his face. "I suppose you are owed an explanation. Please sit down," she said, gesturing to the bench against the wall.

Crane obeyed. "After…the Batman was revealed by you to be Bruce Wayne, he…disappeared," said Harley. "Most people thought he was dead – he staged an explosion at his manor to make it look like he had died, so nobody would try to find him. So he could protect those closest to him. That's why he put on the mask in the first place. After he disappeared, Gotham…changed. Everything changed. It was like some sort of spell had been lifted. Some of the supercriminals left – without Batman to pit their skills against, there was no point in the game. The...Joker always said something of the kind would happen. He said that's why he would never kill Batman. Because the game would be over."

She sat down next to him. "Well…the game was over for me. Without…the Joker's influence, and without Batman to turn my hatred against, I…I realized how crazy it all was, everything I had been, everything I had fought for. I wanted to start over again, rehabilitate myself, make myself good again. So I did. I passed all my therapy sessions, I renewed my medical degree, and I got a job here, at Wayne Asylum for the Criminally Insane – Bruce left enough money in his will for a new place to be built, to house the remaining supercriminals and various other incurables. I'm a normal, productive member of society again. And I've never been so happy."

Crane studied her, studied the calm, serene, sincere expression on her face. It seemed so wrong on Harley's face. The story she had told him sounded all wrong – that wasn't what he had wanted for Gotham at all. He had wanted the city to collapse without its hero, to destroy itself in chaos, crime, and fear. His failure was even more horrible than he could have imagined. And the consequences had been horrible not just for him, but for Harley as well.

"I'm so very sorry, my dear," he stammered.

"Sorry?" she repeated. "Why? Without you, I never would have regained my sanity. I'd still be out there killing innocents in some vain hope of avenging a monster who never loved me. I'm very grateful to you, Dr. Crane. It's one of the reasons I requested handling your sessions. None of the other doctors were particularly willing anyway."

Crane shut his eyes. "I feel as if…I'm still under the effects of my fear toxin, as if everything I didn't want to happen has happened."

"We're pretty sure it's all out of your system, Dr. Crane," said Harley. "We were worried you wouldn't recover for a long time, though. It's very potent stuff. I'm looking forward to discussing why a man of your intelligence would waste his life designing chemical weapons like that when he has so much more to offer the world. Take a page out of my book if you can, Dr. Crane – life is so much more rewarding when you're helping others, instead of hurting them."

She stood up. "Try to get some rest – I'll see you tomorrow for our first session. I'm really hoping I can help you, Dr. Crane, just like my psychiatrists helped me."

She left, shutting and locking the cell door behind her. Crane stared after her, dumbstruck. "No," he whispered. "No, it doesn't make any sense! It's all wrong! Everything that's happened because of me has been…all wrong."

He fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. "I didn't want to help anyone! I didn't want to make the world a better place! But I have! Destroying the Batman has made Gotham safer, happier…oh God, what have I done?!"

Harley heard him sobbing down the corridor. She ignored it, staring straight ahead as she left the cell block and headed for the door to the asylum. She climbed into her car, driving home past the Pamela Isley Memorial Gardens on Miagani Island.

She entered her apartment, a tastefully decorated, normal looking series of rooms. Entering her bedroom, she took off her lab coat, hanging it up in the closet, and then pulled her hair out of its bun, letting it hang down. She approached her mirror, a long, floor length piece of glass carved into a diamond pattern, and gently pushed it to one side, to reveal a small, secret room, barely big enough to stand in.

Inside the room were pictures, from floor to ceiling, pictures of the Joker, covered in lipstick kisses. Candles decorated a small shrine against the wall where a TV screen played footage of the Joker's face, on an endless loop.

Harley entered the room, kneeling down in front of the screen and planting her lips upon the grinning face, trailing her tongue down the glass. "Showtime, puddin'," she whispered, beaming.