Chapter Ten: Find Her

When Tim returned, Bruce was in the same place he had been when he left. Not that it was particularly surprising; Bruce was more obsessive than the Riddler at points. What was surprising was the file that Bruce was studying, his forehead creased in concentration as he stared at CCTV footage and news articles. Tim sighed. He had hoped Bruce would let go of his theory of who Gotham's newest vigilante was, but it didn't seem like that was the case.

He didn't look up as Tim approached him, both staring up at the screen as Robin pulled off his gloves. "What do we know about him so far?" Behind him, Dick's motorbike sped into the Batcave before coming to a halt as Nightwing stepped off it.

"Killed seven, could be more," Bruce murmured. "Doesn't seem to want to commit many other crimes."

"Who are you looking at?" Dick asked, coming over to them.

"Red Hood." Tim replied. "New guy, you were away when he popped up," he explained quickly as Dick looked at him in confusion.

"Ah." He nodded. "Costumed bad guy or normal bad guy?"

"Neither." Bruce didn't look away from the monitor as he spoke. "The only people he's killing are criminals."

Dick whistled. "Well, throws a slight spanner in the works." Bruce nodded. "Got any ideas about who it is?" Bruce and Tim exchanged a fleeting look, before both shook their heads.

If Dick noticed the exchange, he didn't comment on it. "My back kills," he complained. "I forgot how much work Dent's men are." He pulled off his suit and quickly changed into his normal clothes. "Why weren't you out there tonight?"

Bruce's jaw clenched slightly. "You two had it handled." Dick stared at him in surprise, but Tim snorted.

"Alfred's making him take every other Friday off."

"Good," Dick agreed. "You work too much."

"I –" Bruce paused abruptly, his forehead creasing as he listened closely.

"Bruce, you okay?" Tim asked, before his eyes widened. "Is that screaming?"

Without replying, his father stood quickly and hurried to the lift to the manor, disappearing from sight. Dick rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I hope she's okay."

"I mean it's," Tim leaned over to check the digital watch, "three thirty-six. She's probably having a nightmare." He paused awkwardly for a moment. "Did you hear what happened the other day?"

"The library?" Tim nodded. "Yeah, Alfred told me. I hope she gets better, but…" the older boy shrugged sadly. In their line of work, both knew the chances of someone turning their life around was slim.

OoOoO

"Harleen? Harleen!" Warm hands shook her awake and she found herself looking into the concerned face of Bruce Wayne. His face was blurry through her tears, but she could see his startlingly blue eyes staring back at her in the lamplight. He was bent down to reach her, his hands holding her arms steady as her thrashing slowly calmed. "Are you alright?"

She pushed his hands off as soon as the shaking stopped. "Get the fuck off me, Wayne," she snarled. "'S'nothing." His hands dropped to his side immediately, though he stayed crouched down to look at her eye to eye.

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it." She said quietly. "When can I go home?"

She heard him Bruce sigh quietly as he stood up, and for a moment she thought he might leave without answering her. The idea filled her with a panic she wasn't expecting, followed by a pang of guilt. She loved the Joker, she was not about to start wanting Bruce freakin' Wayne around her all the time.

Instead of leaving the room, however, he simply sat on the bed, though Harley noticed he deliberately sat where he wouldn't be touching any part of her, as per her request. It was quite sweet when she thought about it. "Harleen –"

"Ma name's Harley," she interrupted with a scowl.

"No, your name is Harleen Quinzel." Bruce replied patiently.

"I don't like bein' called tha', give it a fuckin' rest." She glared at him, the pain in her head worsening after her outburst. He looked at her for a moment, clear blue eyes unwavering, and she had to look away after a moment, though she knew he continued to study her face. It was a strange feeling, being stared at without her makeup on.

"Fine," he said after a moment, and she looked back at him in surprise. "If 'Harleen' makes you uncomfortable, that's okay. I'll let Alfred and the boys know."

She couldn't talk for a moment, then blurted out, "Why ya so nice ta me?"

Bruce just smiled. "Because, with the right support, you can get better."

"Do ya really think tha', or ya jus' tellin' me wha' I wanta hear?" She asked bluntly.

He shrugged with an embarrassed smile. "Perhaps a little of both." He wasn't entirely comfortable with all of this smiling, but it seemed to put her at ease more than most things.

Harley was silent for a moment. "When Harleen's –" she scowled as she spoke the name " – in ma head, I get really bad migraines. Sometimes I get nightmares too." She gestured to the bed, her cheeks tinged red.

Bruce considered his next words carefully. "Has she been… present more often than usual?"

She sighed. "Yeah, she's one helluva bummer." She pouted slightly, and he wasn't sure whether the sight was annoying or slightly endearing. Maybe a mix of the two. Her huge eyes stared up at him, making it far more difficult to think than it should have.

"Do you ever think you might want to be like her again?" The question was beyond careless, and he cursed himself for getting distracted.

Fortunately, she didn't seem bothered by his questions. "Fuck that," she said plainly. "Dr Harleen Quinzel with boring, with a boring life and boring friends."

Bruce realised they had somehow shifted closer to one another and slowly pulled back, trying not to make his attempts too obvious. "Who would you want to be then, if you could choose?"

"No one, I got my Puddin' this way." Her answer was instinctive, and as he continued to look expectantly at her she thought more about her answer. "Wouldn't mind bein' someone else completely. Just disappear and get a new name, yanno?" Her eyes looked slightly damp as she looked away from him, but he couldn't be sure.

"Maybe you can one day," he offered. She didn't respond for a long time and he began to wonder if he'd spoken out of turn. After a few minutes, he stood to leave the room and give her some privacy, but her voice stopped him from moving very far.

"Hey, I know it's late an' all," she mumbled, looking down at the sheet she was wrapped in, "but do ya mind staying for a bit? I could use the company." It took her a moment to look back up at him with those ridiculously blue eyes, as he considered his answer.

It was three thirty in the morning. He had to go into the office in less than six hours and wouldn't sleep for another thirty-six at least. He should have told her no, that he didn't to get some rest and that she should to. He wanted to. Sleep sounded much better than staying up with a woman who, while pleasant company on a good day, could also attack him at any moment. His mind was shouting at him to deny her request.

But his mouth had other ideas. Her smile lit up the entire room as he agreed, and he couldn't quite find it in himself to regret the decision.

OoOoO

"Harley? Harley!" The men sitting around the table looked uneasily at one another as the Joker's voice rang out from the other room. "Where are you, you useless broad?"

When he came into the room, they silently placed their cards on the table and tried to gauge his mood. It wasn't good news. His suit was slightly crinkled and his bow tie askew as he wandered into the room. He stared around in frustration for a moment, before his eyes found what he was looking for. He walked over to where a knife sat on a countertop, swaying slightly, and sank the knife into his palm almost as soon as his hand closed around the hilt. The men averted their eyes awkwardly as he let out a satisfied sigh as the knife pierced his flesh. For a moment, as he turned to go back into his room, they breathed a sigh or relief, thinking he hadn't seen them. Their hope was dashed a moment later, as the Joker turned back suddenly, as if surprised to see them there. Then he smiled.

He stalked closer to them, knife in hand, and all five of them stayed as still as possible. He sat down next to one of them, and the goon struggled to contain his shiver. "Have any of you gentlemen seen Harley?" The men exchanged looks, and the Joker threw back his head and sighed, twirling the five between his fingers. "I'm sure you all know her. Blonde, high-pitched voice, dresses like a harlequin? Not ringing a bell?" He stared at all with wide-eyed innocence, though his hand tightened ever so slightly on the handle of his knife.

"Boss, you, uh, kicked her out," one of them stammered uncomfortably. "Don't you remember?"

"Did I?" The Joker stared at him with a shocked smile, and five audible gulps were heard around the table. "That doesn't sound like me."

"I don't know, Boss, you just kicked her out when you two busted outta Arkham." They pressed themselves slightly close to the chairs as the madman stood quickly, his confused frown a stark contrast with his scarred grin. He moved slightly away from them and paced backwards and forwards.

One of them – either the bravest or the least intelligent – stood slowly. The others followed his lead as he slowly approached the Joker, who was muttering under his breath as he continued to pace. When the man was about four feet away, the Joker stopped abruptly ans stared straight at him. To their astonishment, his eyes filled with tears. "I miss Harley," he mumbled as he stretched his arms out for a hug. The goon closest to him froze and one of the others had to nudge him forward. Glancing back towards them uncertainly, he moved forward even slower than before, his arms slowly reaching for the Joker. The clown smiled tearfully at the gesture and moved closer, and the man let out a shaky laugh of relief.

Without warning, the Joker lunged. The knife was in the air for a split second before it made contact with the soft skin of the goon. The other four watched in horror as the clown sliced through the man's neck completely, and three of them looked away quickly as the head fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

The fourth, on the other hand, stared with wide eyes as he watched the head roll and the body slump to the floor at the Joker's feet. The clown smiled calmly as he looked down at his work, then stepped towards the men. "I want my Harlequin back." He said slowly, his gaze fixed on the petrified man before him. Though shorter than anyone in front of him, they seemed to diminish before him until they were ants at his feet. They watched him with a mix of fear and fascination. "Find her."

They nodded frantically before leaving the room quickly, their card game abandoned as they grabbed their guns and went on their way. He watched them leave, the knife twirling around his fingers again, then sat on the floor. The head gazed up at him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," the Joker crooned, picking the head up gently. He stroked his hair as he spoke soothingly. "We'll get her back. She's a swell gal, you'd like her."

"My arm hurts."

"Hm." At that moment, he felt a twinge in his own left arm. "What a coincidence." He smiled slightly as he dragged the knife against his skin, hearing the blood drip onto the floor. "That's better." He sighed happily as he resumed stroking the head. "Don't worry, Harley girl, Daddy will come and find you."

OoOoO

A/N: What did you think of my attempt at the Joker, good or complete crap? Please leave a review and let me know, I'd love to hear your opinions. Next chapter will be uploaded on Saturday 7th March. Until then!