Preface: This fic begins a few weeks after the Batman: TAS episode "Harley's Holiday." I took a few liberties with the series episode sequence, so that this follows both the events of 'Harley and Ivy' and 'Mad Love' as well.

Lieutenant Renee Montoya got out of the car. It was barely October but at night the air was starting to get a distinct chill to it, and she did up the top button of her coat as she opened the back door.

A lithe, pigtailed figure stepped out, stretched and yawned. She was wearing a pink summer dress and knee-high boots under a light jacket. She immediately started zippering up the jacket and squealed, "Jeepers creepers, when'd it get so cold?"

"Don't look now," Renee said, "Before you know it, it'll be Christmas."

"Time sure flies," said the woman, a shiver in her voice as she looked up at the building. It was a pleasantly round-edged brick building with lights on in a few windows. A walkway led up to the door through a well-kept set of flowerbeds. The sign on the front lawn said "Wayne Gardens Halfway House."

"Welcome home, Harleen," said Renee with as much cheer as she could work into her voice.

The woman variously known as Harleen Quinzel, M.D. and Harley Quinn, madcap counterpart to…Renee didn't even want to think about that, regarded Renee with a certain shy optimism.

"Here we go again," she said. "I suppose it couldn't go any worse than before, right?" Her voice was bright but brittle.

Harleen's last attempt to come back into the world after her rehabilitation had been a memorable experience for everybody. Detective Bullock still hadn't stopped seething about his car, Commissioner Gordon and Veronica Vreeland had finally managed to get General Vreeland to stop calling for her head and Boxy Bennett was still in the hospital. She'd probably not have made it out of that first day if it weren't for the intervention of the Batman. It quickly became clear that circumstance and misunderstanding had had more to do with it than malice, and so Dr. Leland at Arkham managed to make her remedial stay there brief.

The front door opened and short figure in a dress and apron emerged, and waved. Renee raised a hand, and Harley waved back, then turned and extracted a big duffel bag from the car. "Okay," she said, rather more loudly than necessary, "Here I go. My first step into a new life! Again…"

"You'd better get in before you catch a cold," Renee said pointedly.

Harleen turned and beamed, "Thanks for the ride, cop-lady. You're alright; I didn't expect no cop'd give me a lift."

Renee opened her mouth to speak, but faltered. What could she say? That Harleen's success was important to her? That half the cops she knew were rooting for her, and a good slice of the Arkham doctors, because they'd know that once, just once, they'd managed to make a difference in the battle against the masked super-crooks of Gotham? But no, to say that would just put extra pressure on her, and she had enough of that just trying to get her life on track. Instead she just said, "Good luck, Dr. Quinzel."

As she skipped off the walk to the door, Renee turned to get back into her car. She paused, with a knowing half-smile, and looked up at the big sign over the movie theatre around the block. The sign's lights were off, but against the background glow of Gotham City, she fancied she could pick out the silhouette of a dark figure swathed in a cape and cowl.

Those in Commissioner Gordon's inner circle knew that it was Batman's custom to check in on the members of the Rogue's Gallery declared 'rehabilitated.' Guys like Bullock naturally assumed it was because he was waiting for them to backslide and start their crimes all over again. She supposed it made sense, but part of her hoped that he was checking up on them not as a tormenting demon, but as a guardian angel. He never showed himself to them, after all, which he would if he wanted to keep hounding them.

Smirking, Renee wagged a finger at the distant apparition, "You look after her, you hear me?"

The apartment at the halfway house was small; the floors hardwood, the walls bare except for some cheap art. A bed, wardrobe-dresser combination and armchair stood on one side, and a small kitchenette stood on the other. A door at the far corner presumably led into a bathroom. The window was big and overlooked the front garden and the quiet street beyond.

The diminutive woman who was the housekeeper showed her in. She had a kind face and her gentle, maternal manner took any imaginable humour out of her pronounced speech impediment.

"This is youw woom, Haween," she said. "It's not much, but we make suwe you have a wawm bed and can wive comfohtably."

Indeed, after a cell in Arkham, this seemed very homely. She smiled sleepily as the landlady handed over the keys.

"This is the fwont doow; this is the woom key and this is the maiwbox."

"Great," said Harley. An awkward silence descended. Then, very much against her will, she said, "Well, I'd better get settled in."

"Yes, of couwse," the housekeeper said, smiling. "The common woom is open untiw nine p.m., and I'm extension 31 if you need anything."

They bid each other goodnight, and Harley slung her duffel onto the bed

It began to creep over Harleen that she really was starting over from nothing. Look at her. Her medical career was likely beyond saving; she hadn't been in touch with family for years, all the people she thought of as friends were mental patients and criminals, with little more than that background in common with each other.

She shuddered as she remembered. With friends like those, life was tough enough. But then there was…him. She'd have felt better if he was still in Arkham, safely locked away. Not that he ever stayed there long, of course. Dr. Leland had helped her see that among her biggest issues was her tendency towards clingy dependence on others, and what more damaging instance of that had there been?

Thinking about her work with Dr. Leland heartened her though. She was free, and her life lay ahead of her. She had the support of the famous Wayne Foundation and a roof over her head. She began to feel a little of that old Harley Quinn gusto come back to her. She banished all thought of the old days, slung the duffel bag onto the other side, vaulted acrobatically over the bed, flung open the wardrobe, and began unpacking. She only had a few changes of clothes. Once she got a job, she'd be able to get some style in there!

She finished unpacking, changed into her Arkham-issue pyjamas and climbed gratefully into bed. The new day awaited! After a last pensive moment, she reached for the bedside lamp and switched it off.

Shortly after the light in Harleen Quinzel's window winked out, movement darkened the street two blocks away. There was a sudden roar and a sleek, black shape rolled out of an alley and swung into the street.

Afterword: As 'opening credits' music to set the tone, I recommend the excellent "Gotham Symphony," a meld of the Danny Elfman/Shirley Walker and Hans Zimmer themes, arranged by YouTube artist OminousVoice