"Night of the Dark Knight"
                             by Troy A. Stanton


     It's been a relatively quiet night, the warden of the Arkham maximum
security mental institution thought as he leaned back at his desk and sighed.
With the sole exception of Mr. Nygma's escape last week, we haven't had so much
as a single disturbance or situation in close to a month.  Perhaps there is
hope yet for our unfortunate patients.
     He blinked as the clock on the wall quietly chimed eight times.  So the
eighth hour arrives, he thought as he looked down at the sheaf of paperwork on
top of his desk.  Strange that he hasn't arrived here already.  Maybe I should
check with the front desk, he thought as he leaned forward to reach for the
telephone.
     "Evening, Warden," a dark figure said as he stepped out of the shadows,
standing almost right next to him.
     The warden felt his heart lurch against his chest and grumbled quietly.
"You know, I used to listen to the Commissioner crab about how you never seemed
to use doors," he said as he looked up at his guest.  "I thought the whole mess
was rather amusing, but now I'm beginning to understand how he felt."
     "You asked me to be here at eight o'clock," his guest pointed out calmly.
     "Well, not me personally," the warden replied as he stood up and walked
over to the door.  "One of our patients requested a meeting with you.  Just to
talk, or so she said."
     The dark figure had started following the warden out into the hallway when
he stopped in his tracks.  "Oh?" he said neutrally, his voice betraying only a
mild feeling of surprise.
     The warden shrugged.  "She wouldn't tell any of us why she wanted to talk
to you, only asking that it be a private meeting without the usual observation
by cameras and the like.  I told her we would consider it, but that the final
decision would be up to you and me, of course."
     "Who asked?" the figure inquired in a somber tone.
     The warden turned to give him a strange look.  "Ms. Harlene Quinzelle."
     The dark individual remained quiet for several moments, the featureless
lenses of his cowl seeming to narrow.  "What do you think?" he finally asked,
looking up at the warden.
     The warden quickly glanced down the hallway to make sure no one was around
before speaking in a low-pitched tone.  "Sometimes, all a young girl like Ms.
Quinzelle needs is to be given a chance.  You know as well as I do that of all
our patients, she seems to be the most responsive to her rehabilitation.  I'm
afraid it will still be quite some time before she is ready to be integrated
back into the rest of society, but the promise and hope is definitely there."
     The dark figure said nothing for quite some time as he thought about the
warden's words, listening to them echo around inside the depths of his own
tortured mind.  Harlene, or Harley Quinn as she called herself, was the Joker's
sidekick and in some respects was every bit as sick and twisted as he was.  But
deep beneath her mischievious blue eyes and her startlingly beautiful looks was
a young woman who had somehow lost her way in life and wasn't sure how to ask
for help.
     "Sometimes a chance is all it takes," he finally agreed.
     The warden nodded in understanding.  "I've already had the common rooms
cleaned up and the rest of our patients are in their respective wards.  But I'm
hesitant to disable the security cameras and microphones...."
     The caped figure shook his head.  "I know what you're thinking, that this
could simply be a trap for me.  Were it anyone else I'd be just as wary as you
are, but I don't think that's what Harley has in mind."
     The warden frowned.  "What do you think she wants?" he ventured, wondering
if his guest knew something that he didn't.
     The white lenses barely glanced at the warden.  "Nothing dangerous.  Call
it a hunch," he added.  "Turn off the cameras and microphones."
     The warden sighed and nodded.  "Very well, I'll see that it's done.  But
I must warn you we can't be responsible for your safety with them off."
     Had he been in a more relaxed mood he might have permitted himself a soft
chuckle of irony.  "If I was worried about my safety, I wouldn't be here," he
pointed out to the elderly warden.
     "Understood, Batman," the warden replied with a gentle nod.  "I'll alert
the guards that you're coming and have her escorted to the common room."  He
looked like he might have said more before shaking his head and started to walk
down the hall, leaving the Dark Knight alone with his thoughts.
     He stood still for awhile, barely moving while he tried to figure out why
he had been asked to come here.  He had no doubt that he would soon find out,
but as past experience had taught him few surprises are truly welcome.  With
a heavy sigh, he turned around and began to walk down the hallway towards the
heart of the institution.

                *               *               *               *

     "... and the rest of our patients are in their respective wards...." the 
warden's voice echoed through his mind as it soured his stomach.  He knew that
the wards were really prisoner cells, an unfortunate necessity given the type
of people who inhabited them.  He knew that each person received the best
treatment possible under the warden's care, he but privately wondered if it
would be enough to save them.
     He was now walking along the south corridor of the main north-south axis
of the deepest level of the institution, referred to as 'the gauntlet' by the
staff.  Visitors were exceedingly rare down here, as only a handful of people
weren't deathly afraid to visit the residents.
     He came to the first ward and stopped, silently peering past the titanium
bars that seemed more at home in a prison than in a mental institution.  Calmly
sitting at a desk beneath the ward's single light was a man playing a game of
solitare.  The man looked up at his approach and started to grin, twisting his
face into a disturbing countenance.  His expression, coupled with the sight of
his bone-white skin and vibrant green hair, somehow seemed to be both comical
and distinctly evil at the same time.
     The Joker sat back in his chair and took the top card off of the stack in
front of him.  He spent a moment looking at it before he stretched his arm out
and flicked the card towards the bars.  It expertly sailed through the air and
between the bars like a cardboard ghost.  The card would have nailed his guest
right between the eyes if he hadn't reached up to calmly catch it between his
gloved fingers.
     "Nice catch, Bats," the Joker sneered.
     He flipped the card over to study it, not surprised in the least to see
that the card happened to be the joker.  He tucked the card into his belt and
withdrew a different card from a pocket.  With the same practiced ease, the new
card was flicked between the bars to land squarely into the Joker's lap.
     The Joker frowned at him and picked up the card.  He flipped it over and
raised an eyebrow at the sight of the ace of spades, only with a bat symbol
replacing the usual spade mark in the center of the card.  He looked up at his
dark visitor for a moment before he threw his head back and burst into peals of
blood-chilling and hideous laughter.
     He waited for a few moments to see if the outburst of insanity would stop
in the immediate future, resuming his silent walk once he decided that it was
unlikely to end soon.  He continued towards the end of the hallway, intent on
discerning the purpose of his unexpected meeting.
     The wards were close enough to one another to permit conversation under
more favorable circumstances, but far enough away to keep them out of easy
physical reach.  When he came to the next ward he saw its occupant standing at
the titanium bars, alerted to expect company by his neighbor's laughter.
     "Oh, it's you...." the Penguin grumbled as he cast a sour look at his dark
visitor.  He was wearing a formal suit, complete with a bow tie and tophat, and
was leaning on an umbrella for support.  "Must you set off the riff-raff?"
     "Evening, Mr. Cobblepot," Batman replied, hardly bothered by the less-
than-welcome greeting.
     The Penguin sighed and turned away from the bars.  "Do me a favor and try
not to disturb Pam any more than she already is," he said over his shoulder as
he retreated into the sanctity of the ward.  "She's become rather unstable as
of late and just as unruly.  I can handle my comrade's occasional case of the
giggles, annoying as that is, but I doubt there will be any peace tonight for
anyone if she gets started once again.  Which would probably be the case if she
happens to see the likes of you," he added sourly.
     Batman frowned as the Penguin's words registered.  He had read the reports
of Pamela Isley's degenerating mental condition and the theories about what was
triggering it, but he wasn't aware of any tendencies towards misbehavior.  Or
at least, no new tendencies.  "Oswald," he quietly called out.
     The Penguin stopped and cast a dark look over his shoulder.  "Yes?"
     "Thank you for the warning," he said with genuine gratitude.
     The Penguin sighed and waved his hand, his elite sense of courtesy giving
him no choice but to reply.  "I suppose you're welcome," he said with a soft
grunt.  "Now please go tend to your business elsewhere."
     He sighed to himself and resumed the long walk down the hallway, already
starting to lose himself in thought.  The Penguin usually kept a veneer of
social elitism around him, although his mannerisms tended to disappear when he
was under stress or confronted with something truly detestable.  Like himself.
     "Mr. High Society getting under your cape?" a gruff voice said from the
next ward he had almost passed without noticing it.
     He stopped and looked past the bars at the disfigured face of what had
once one of his closest friends, or at least the close friend of the man he was
when the suit and cowl came off.  Harvey Dent had once been Gotham City's
District Attorney, but was plunged into insanity when he was half-mutilated by
an incident involving a vat of concentrated acid.  He now lived a twisted life
of dichotomy, the random and chaotic decisions of his dual personalities being
decided by a simple flip of a coin.
     "Evening, Harvey," he said quietly.
     Two-Face snorted.  "Evening yourself," he countered in a flat tone.  "I
hope you have a reason for reminding us who put us in this hell-hole, 'cuz old
bird-brain has a point."
     Batman paused while trying to decide which mindset was speaking to him at
the moment.  "I'm here to see someone," he replied, wondering what sort of
response he would get.
     "Duh," Two-Face shot back as he leaned against the wall and leered at him.
"You don't need two brains to figure THAT one out, freak."
     "What do you know about Dr. Isley's condition?" he asked carefully as he
realized that the more intellectual of the two personalities was in control at
the moment.  How long that would last was anyone's guess, but he thought it was
best to make the most of the moment.
     Two-Face grunted and spat on the floor.  "That bitch?" he growled.  "Don't
tell me you're here to see her."  He received only silence in reply and spat
again.  "Anyway, I think her problem is she needs to get herself pollinated, if
you know what I mean.  Not my fault no-one's dumb enough to get within spitting
distance of those poisonous lips of hers."  A cruel smile crossed his face and
he added, "Unless of course that's why you're here, in which case I say do her.
If you screw her brains out we can probably get some peace and quiet in this
place and the toxins in her body can kill you after you've had your fun.  It's
a perfect match if you ask me, although I must admit a bit of curiosity about
which set of her lips has the more potent venom," he said with a sneer.
     "Must you be so vulgar?" the voice of the Penguin drifted down the hall.
"Some of us, while sharing your sense of curiosity, don't feel such blunt and
harsh words about Pamela are appropriate for Batman's virgin ears."
     A chuckle came from the far end of the hall.  "Let him have some fun, for
once," the Joker called out.  "Acid-Face there dated her once, if you remember,
so he should have some idea of what he's talking about.  Between the two of him
I think he's managed to achieve an objective view of her, despite the fact that
she tried to kill him with her kiss."
     "Don't remind me," Two-Face grumbled, his mishappen face forming a snarl.
"I still don't know what I saw in her."
     The Penguin chuckled.  "That was your other side thinking, old boy."
     "You're probably right," was the disgruntled reply.
     Batman decided to make an appointment with Dr. Isley's psychiatrist for a
discussion about the potential for sexual dysfunction and turned to leave, his
mind already sorting and processing the new information given to him.
     "Hey, Bat-brain," Two-Face called out before he left.  He waited until his
momentary guest had stopped and cast a suspicious look over his shoulder before
adding, "Use a condom.  That might block some of the poison, but the last thing
we need is another Bat-boy running around in this place."
     The sound of coarse laughter, not just Two-Face's but the Joker's and
the Penguin's as well, continued to echo along the halls long after he left.

                *               *               *               *

     The wards in the center of the north-south axis is where the less violent
but still equally dangerous patients where kept.  The first ward he came across
was rather tastefully decorated but empty, a subtle reminder that the Riddler
had escaped and was still at-large somewhere in Gotham City.  He didn't dwell
on it too much, as he knew that sooner or later he would cross paths with the
extremely brilliant and utterly devious mind of Edward Nygma.
     He began to anticipate the meeting, the sheer challenge of going head to
head with a genius and seeing who was the better man.  After a few moments of
such indulgence he thrust the images from his mind.  He had someone to meet
tonight, and so his thoughts of the Riddler would have to wait.
     He passed the ward of the Scarecrow, the psychologist who specialized in
fears and phobias.  Dr. Jonathan Crane glanced up at him as he passed by, but
quickly returned to his studies as soon as he identified his dark visitor.  A
number of large books and tomes cluttered the small table around the spindly
doctor, making Batman wonder what sort of research he was doing now.  After a
moment's consideration, he decided that he was better off not knowing.
     The next ward was more isoloated than most, the reason being that the
inside temperature had to be kept well below the freezing point.  He breathed
out slowly and noticed his breath starting to steam as the temperature in the
hallway dropped considerably.  He flicked his thumb across a control button on
his utility belt and activated the thermal properties of his suit as he walked
up to the temperature-resistant bars.
     Mr. Freeze looked up from his journals as he noticed his visitor walking
by.  Even inside his icy environment he often wore his cold-suit and goggles,
saying that it eased the occasional pain in his joints caused by even a slight
increase in the temperature of his sub-zero surroundings.
     "Feeling okay tonight, Victor?" Batman asked quietly.
     Freeze looked at him for a moment before nodding.  While didn't have the
psychopathic tendencies most of the other patients had, he lacked a great deal
of emotional understanding which in itself caused a lot of problems.  To him,
one was either with him or against him, but he had slowly started to learn
about the shades of gray between the two extremes.
     "I hope you are here for more than a social visit, Batman," Freeze said,
his metallic voice echoing from inside his suit.
     "Someone wanted to see me," he replied, idly wondering if he would get a
more intelligent response to the statement than had previously been offered.
     Freeze laughed to himself, a soft and deeply bitter sound.  "I hope that
you haven't come here at the request of Dr. Isley," he said, seeming to be more
than a little amused at the notion.
     The Dark Knight frowned as his mind continued putting pieces together only
to come up with a progressively larger and darker puzzle.  "I haven't, but I'm
curious as to what you might know about her condition."
     "I know very little about women," Freeze admitted, his voice as flat and
as cold as the floor of the ward.  "I suspect that there may be some truth to
what the others say, regarldess of how crudely they express themselves.  But
her problems, whatever they might be, are not my concern."
     The frown on Batman's cowled face seemed as frozen as the icicles that
hung beneath the giant refrigerator unit in the ward's ceiling.  "I would like
you to do me a favor," he said slowly.  "I ask that you let me know if you
happen to hear anything else about her."
     Hidden beneath the red spheres of his goggles, Freeze's eyes could betray
no emotion, yet his uncertainness and suspicions were conveyed rather clearly.
"Perhaps you would be best served asking her for yourself," he suggested.
     "I intend to," his visitor replied, "But sometimes it's better to gain
information by listening rather than asking."
     Freeze stood as still as a statue for quite some time, the only outward
sign of life being the slight rise and fall of his suit as he breathed the
frozen air.  "I will consider it," Freeze finally said.
     "Thank you, Victor," he replied softly and resumed his journey towards the
far end of the corridor.  Once he was far enough away from the arctic effects
of Mr. Freeze's private ward, he switched off the tiny thermal generator in his
utility belt and let it begin to silently recharge itself.
     The northern end of the hallway was where the female patients were kept.
As there were significantly fewer wards here than elsewhere, the excess space
had been converted into a set of common rooms where the patients could mingle
at certain times of the day.  But before he could reach the common room and his
meeting with Harlene, there was one small obstacle he had to deal with.
     The first ward he came to was totally vacant.  He knew that it was not
always the case, but Selena Kyle had been pronounced fully rehabilitated and
released back into mainstream society.  True, the self-proclaimed Catwoman was
still on the prowl, as it were, but she mostly limited herself to small-scale
burglary and larceny these days, a matter for the local police to worry about.
     The second ward was moderately decorated in good taste but was also empty.
He knew that this was Harlene's ward, and that it was empty because she was
waiting for him in the common room.  The distance between the ward and the set
of double doors at the end of the hallway wasn't far from a physical aspect,
but he had no doubts traversing the distance wouldn't be all that easy.
     The first thing he noticed was the smell drifting down the hall, a light
and airy scent that should be associated with a field of wild-flowers, not a
psychiatric ward.  Under normal circumstances, he might have stopped simply to
smell the roses or whatever it was that smelled so alluring.  However, he had
to remind himself that the biggest rose in that garden had deadly thorns.

                *               *               *               *

     "Has anyone ever told you that you have a heavy step when your mind is
occupied?" she asked over her shoulder as he came into view of the ward.  The
walls were covered with plant shelves, each one crammed with various types of
exotic flowers and seedlings.  The lamps built into each shelf cast a bright
and vibrant light on the plants, encouraging them to grow.
     She didn't look up as she continued to gently trim a small bonsai tree
into a perfect sphere.  "Usually it's hard to hear you walking around, but it
seems the weight on your mind is heavier than usual."
     "Good evening, Dr. Isley," he said quietly.
     Poison Ivy finally looked up at him and gave him what some would term a
predatory smile.  "So what is on your mind?" she asked as she set aside the
bonsai tree and her pruning shears.  The shears were connected to a short and
extremely sturdy length of chain that was solidly bolted to the table, ensuring
that she would't be able to cut anyone with the dulled blades unless they were
foolish enough to approach the table.
     "How have you been feeling lately?" he asked, his voice impassive.
     "Cooped up in a cell like this, I've had better days," she replied with a
quiet sigh as she gestured to the ward around here.  "However, I have also had
far worse days.  I take it you're asking for a reason?" she added lightly as
she slowly walked up to the titanium bars.
     He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts.  "You know I only want to
help you get better," he said, not quite sure if that was the right answer to
be giving her.
     Ivy laughed quietly to herself, a low and delicate sound that he might
have found appealing to listen to under different circumstances.  "Amazing,"
she purred.  "After all we've been through, you still wish to help me.  How
chivalrous of you," she murmured as she reached out to touch his shoulder.
     He frowned and moved back slightly, wary of any surprise moves.  Unlike
Harley Quinn, he knew that Poison Ivy would seize any opportunity she could.
     "Come now, you don't need to run from me," she said seductively as a fire
seemed to ignite in her emerald-green eyes.  "I might have enjoyed torturing
you in the past, but what I want now is something far more.... rewarding," she
whispered as she touched the collar of her institutional jumpsuit and slowly
began to unzip it.
     She laughed as she noticed his jaw tightening imperceptably when he turned
away.  "What, Batman, don't you appreciate a woman's desires?  Don't you have
the occasional need to feel a blossom in full bloom in the palm of your hand?"
she teased as the jumpsuit was unzipped down to her navel.
     "I have business to attend to," he said as he began to walk towards the
end of the hallway, his voice tightly controlled.  His mind was already busy
composing the incident report he would give to Ivy's psychiatrist and he tried
not to think of anything else.
     "I know why Harley wanted to meet with you," she breathed lightly as she
pressed herself against the bars of her ward in a most inviting fashion.
     That stopped him in mid-motion.  "I'm listening," he said slowly.
     She tilted her head to one side as she studied the back of his cape and
cowl.  "Why should I help you if you're not going to help me?" she replied in
an almost petulant tone.
     "You know that's not the kind of help I can provide," he pointed out, his
gaze still focused on the hallway ahead of him.
     "Is it true, then?" Ivy inquired in a soft whisper.  "Can it be that the
Dark Knight of Gotham City isn't capable of pleasuring a woman, that all the
energy he uses to stalk the streets at night stems from his inability to divert
that energy into passion and pleasure?"
     He was suddenly glad his back was to her and that she couldn't see the
expression that formed on his face before he could control it.  Ten years ago
Bruce Wayne would have taken that as a challenge and responded by tearing the
jumpsuit off of her with the intent of taking her right then and there.  Even
today had she said that to Bruce, he would have taken more than mild offense at
her words.  But he was not Bruce Wayne right now, he had different priorities,
different objectives.  His responses, no matter what they might be, needed to
be in line with those.  Had to be.
     "I spoke poorly," he said after a moment's thought.  "I meant that you
will have to seek elsewhere for such help, as we both know that it wouldn't be
ethical for me to provide such.... assistance."
     Ivy laughed quietly.  "Ever the righteous paladin," she purred.  "Tell me,
Batman, haven't you ever been taught how rude it is not to look at someone when
you're talking to them?"
     There were few times in his life when he had been sorely tempted, but this
was starting to feel like it was one of them.  He agreed with the assessment
that her physical beauty was beyond stunning, and he would be lying if he said
he had never given more than passing thought to what might lie beneath the
form-fitting green suit she had come to favor recently.
     "How about a deal?" she offered as the silence stretched on.
     He sighed quietly.  "I'm listening," he replied in a wary tone.
     "I'll tell you all I know about why Harley wanted to meet you," Ivy said
with a soft purr, "And in return you have to give me a passionate kiss."
     He came dangerously close to laughing aloud at her words.  "I thought you
were more subtle than that, Pamela," he said, allowing his amusement to color
his tone just slightly.
     "I didn't say where you had to kiss me yet," she countered, seeming to be
just as amused by the exchange.
     His mind shut down for a split-second, leaving him momentarily paralyzed
by her offer.  When it rebooted, the first question on his mind was how badly
did he really want to know beforehand about this meeting with Harley?
     "Give a girl a chance," she pleaded in a soft tone as he continued to stay
silent while he thought.
     He grimaced as her words stung deeply, leaving a bitter and ironic taste
in his mouth.  It was not the first time he had to fight a virtual war inside
on where the line between Bruce Wayne and Batman was drawn, on how far he could
toe the line and still live with himself.  Crossing the line under certain
circumstances was permitted, but he had to tread very carefully in doing so for
one mistake would forever damn him in his own eyes.
     He was here to see Harley at her request.  She was waiting for him.  All
he needed to do was take those few remaining steps and he would be there.  But
in the deepest part of him he heard a voice calling out for help.  Not the loud
and boisteroius voice of Harlene Quinzelle, but instead the quiet and pained
voice of Pamela Isley.  He could live with himself for allowing the cold,
impersonal persona of Batman to yield to the desires of Bruce Wayne this once,
for a few brief moments, but he could not turn his back on a cry for help and
still think of himself as a man.
     "Not on your lips," he said after an eternity of thought.
     "Not on my lips," Poison Ivy agreed as her lips softened into a smile.
     He sighed quietly as he turned around, already feeling his soul darken
ever so slightly.  His eyes met hers for a moment before he let his gaze drift
downward.  He was both surprised and relieved to see that nothing significant
was exposed to him, only her cleavage and a bright red underwire demi-bra that
Bruce Wayne knew only provided support for her breasts.
     She saw where his gaze was and her smile widened.  "So what do you think
of the fruits of my garden?" she purred as she ran her hands along the outside
of her jumpsuit before passing them over her breasts.
     A dozen comments flooded his mind, but he had to sternly remind himself
he was trying to help her.  "Thirty-eight B," he said as casually as he could.
     She gave him a startled look before the smile returned to her lips.  "That
was.... unexpected," she admitted.  "Was that a guess, or did you memorize my
medical file?"
     "Call it an educated guess," he replied, not inclined to share the fact
that his alter ego had seen enough bare breasts in enough sizes to have quite
a lot of experience in approximating such things.
     She tilted her head to give him a curious look before shaking her head and
shrugging in dismissal.  "Either way, you're exactly right.  Anyway, business
before pleasure.  Harley Quinn wanted to see you because she has a more than
mild crush on you and wants to get to know you better."
     He raised an eyebrow at her words, figuring she couldn't see it beneath
his cowl.  He still didn't realize just how expressive it was, however, one
featureless white lens seeming to raise up to clearly convey the impression
that his eyebrow was moving as well.  "And how, may I ask, would you know about
that?" he prodded in a cautious tone.
     Ivy grinned.  "Girl talk.  With the departure of Selena, the only person
she can talk to about such things is me.  And believe me, Harley likes to talk.
Not that I'm any better," she admitted with a shrug that flexed her cleavage
rather impressively.  "But then again, there's really not much else to do for
entertainment in this place."
     He felt the remains of his dinner congeal into a lead weight that promptly
dropped further down into his guts.  He was fully cognizant of the fact that
more than a few women had desired Batman.... okay, a lot of women.... but he
usually did his best to try to ignore such adoration and desires.  He had a
self-appointed duty to do, and as Poison Ivy had mentioned only a few moments
earlier, business does come before pleasure.  And as long as a police force was
needed, as long as there were still criminals running loose, as long as there
were people who needed help, his business would never be done.
     He was still human, of course, and thus had human needs for friendship and
romance.  However, that was what Bruce Wayne was for, not Batman.  In order for
his alter-ego to take the full brunt of the hatred, the loathing, and the fear
he inspired in those who do evil and to spare Bruce Wayne the wrath of their
revenge, he had to keep the two halves of him apart.  Batman had to exist with
the suit, and once it was taken off he had to disappear like the shadow in the
night he was rumored to be.  No trace of him could remain.  But when the suit
was on it was Bruce Wayne who had to disappear, completely and totally, lest he
run the risk of exposing himself by accident to someone who knew him.
     He was jolted out of his introspection by a light touch on his face.  He
blinked and looked up to see Poison Ivy giving him a decidedly uncertain look.
"You really do have a lot on your mind, don't you?" she asked softly, seeming
to almost be genuinely concerned.
     "It comes with the territory," he replied somberly.
     "Speaking of territory," she said languidly as she rubbed her fingertips
along his chin, "You need to shave."
     He made a faint grunting noise deep within his chest.  "It's been one of
those days," he said truthfully.  He had shaved this morning, but it seemed to
have been a lifetime ago given the events earlier in the day.
     "So, now that I've told you what I know about your meeting with Harley,
it's time to pay the piper," she cooed softly as she leaned against the bars
of her ward.
     He felt his soul darken another shade as he sighed and nodded.  "That was
the deal," he said slowly.  His concern wasn't that he had to kiss her but that
he might actually enjoy it.  Some roads, once taken, could no longer be turned
away from or the steps retraced back and undone.
     She smiled seductively as she turned around and pressed her back against
the titanium bars.  "Take off your gloves," she said as she brushed her hair
to one side, exposing her neck.
     He frowned at her request.  His gloves, like most of his suit, were made
from a special type of composite rubber that was resistant to pretty much
everything except radiation and forceful punctures.  And after his first
encounter with her, he made sure they were resistant to the lethal toxins her
body produced.
     She knew why he was hesitating and sighed quietly to herself, not for the
first time cursing the mutation that caused her body to become poisonous.  "It
isn't often that a girl gets intimate attention from you, and I want to enjoy
this moment as much as possible.  I'm not going to poison you, Batman.  You
have my word.  Please.... take off your gloves and let me feel your hands."
     The warden's words about giving a person a chance echoed silently in his
mind for a moment and he sighed in acceptance of the wisdom behind them.  He
slowly removed his gloves and tucked them in the small of his back, keeping
them in easy reach.  He then steeled himself as he reached through the bars to
place his bare hands on her shoulders.
     She made a soft humming sound to herself as she reached up to grasp his
hands, guiding them inside her jumpsuit.  "While in college, I discovered just
how sensitive the skin on the back of my neck is," she whispered as she pressed
his palms against her exposed breasts, very gently kneading his hands.  "I want
to feel your kiss there."
     He remained frozen for an instant, his fingertips resting on the softness
of her breasts and his mind in an uproar in a rare conflict of desires.  He
reached a decision that he hoped both alter-egos could handle and lowered his
head as close to her neck as the titanium bars would let him.
     Ivy gasped as she felt his lips make contact with the bare skin, lightly
pressing against her before slowly wandering around in a small circle.  "Mmm,
if I didn't know better, I'd say you knew what you were doing," she cooed as
she continued to knead his hands, the motions massaging her softness even as it
massaged his knuckles.
     His reaction was almost instinctual, very lightly nipping the back of her
neck with his teeth at the same moment the edges of his thumbs flicked over
the hardened points of her nipples.  The resulting gasp of exquisite pleasure
from her was more than enough to reassure him that he very much knew what he
was doing.
     "Who says I don't?" he asked very softly as he leaned back from the bars,
squeezing her softness one final time before withdrawing his hands.
     She whirled around to face him, her eyes still slightly wide and seeming
to burn with an inner fire.  "Well, that was.... an experience," she panted,
her words rasping ever so slightly.  "I've never had someone do that before."
     He said nothing as he stared into her eyes, slightly unsettled at what he
saw in their depths.  He knew desire when he saw it and knew just how painful
an unfulfilled desire could be if allowed to burn uncontrolled.  The distant
and analytical part of his mind promptly took a highlighter to the mental note
about discussing possible sexual dysfunction with Ivy's psychiatrist.
     She looked up at him and saw his expression once again drifting off into
the distance with thought.  "You do know what that does to a girl, right?" she
prodded him gently, partly out of a desire to anchor him back in the present
and partly out of genuine need.
     He blinked and refocused.  "I have a fair idea," he said quietly as he put
his gloves back on and reached for something hanging from his belt.
     She watched with mild interest as he removed a small device and started to
disassemble it.  "What is that?" she asked, mildly curious.  Electronics were
far from her strong suit, but she had long ago learned that the 'toys' he kept
on his belt could be amazingly useful and in the most unexpected of ways.  She
had no illusions, however,  that she would have been able to steal one without
his noticing or that she would have been able to use it to her advantage.
     "A diamond-edged cutting tool," he explained as he removed the blade and
a few key internal components before putting the cover back on the device.
     She raised an eyebrow in mild amusement.  "Apparently diamonds aren't just
a girl's best friend," she observed playfully.  She blinked as he passed the
device to her and put the extracted components in a hidden pouch.  "Wait, what
am I supposed to do with this?" she inquired, giving the device an odd look.
     "I removed the blade and stabilizers," he explained quietly.  "The power
source still functions, however, and can operate for a full hour."
     "Meaning?" she said as she gave him a puzzled look.  He said nothing in
response and she turned the device over.  It was about the size of a roll of
film with a gap in the top where the blade had been and a small switch at the
very base.  She cautiously flipped the switch and blinked as the device began
to hum quietly and vibrate hard, a result of the motor being unable to keep a
steady balance with the stabilizers removed.
     She stared at it for a moment before the realization sunk into her brain
as to what could be done with it.  "You're kidding...." she said, giving him
a stunned and dubious look.
     "We're both adults, Pamela," he said quietly.  "And we all have needs."
     She made a soft sound that was somewhere between a quiet laugh and an
embarrassed giggle.  "You're a piece of work, you know that?" she said with a
smile on her lips.
     He just grunted quietly.  "I want that back before I leave, so don't get
any ideas," he said pointedly as he turned to leave.
     "I'll be sure to wash it when I'm done," she promised with another quiet
giggle of embarrassed amusement, her cheeks tinted a pale red color.
     That stopped him in his tracks.  "Actually, don't," he said.  He turned to
her and saw the surprised look on her face.  "It's only waterproof when the
blade is in place," he explained almost apologetically.  "I will take care of
cleaning it up when I go to recharge it later."
     "Uh huh," she said nonchalantly.  "And I'm sure you didn't have any
intention of doing a chemical analysis while you were at it, now did you?" she
said dryly as she flicked the on-off switch several times.
     He sighed quietly and turned away.  "If you're not interested in hope for
a permanent cure for the toxins in your body," he said over his shoulder, "You
only have to say so and I won't disturb you with the results of any research
that gets done.  Pleasant evening, Dr. Isley."
     "Batman!" she called out as he started to walk away.
     He paused for a moment, tilting his head to one side at her tone.  "Yes?"
The silence lasted for so long that he was about to continue walking when she
finally spoke up once again.
     "Thank you," she said quietly in a tone he honestly couldn't say he had
ever heard from her before.
     "You're welcome, Pam," he replied, knowing that the 'assistance' he had
lent her was against several rules and regulations, but also knowing that there
were times in which such rules could be bent for a greater good.  He might have
cause to regret the gesture later, but for now he was quietly satisifed with
the knowledge that, if nothing else, he had helped a lost soul this evening.
     He resumed his walk down the corridor and quietly opened the door, trying
to clear his mind for his next attempt at helping a lost soul in need.  The
dark part of his mind, however, didn't fail to take note of the sudden soft
whine of an off-balanced micro-generator starting to echo down the hallway,
wondering just how exactly he was going to explain this one to the warden....

                *               *               *               *

     Harley looked up as she heard the sound of a door closing, her beautiful
face splitting to a wide grin as she immediately recognized her dark visitor.
"Hey, you came!" she said as she darted to her feet and crossed the room.
     He sighed quietly at her youthful enthusiasm.  "I saw no reason not to,"
he said as he thumbed a small switch on his belt, dispensing a tiny white pill
into the palm of his hand.
     She wrinkled her nose.  "Around here?  You never know.  Hey, what's that?"
she asked as he tossed the pill in his mouth and swallowed.  "If it's a mint,
you mind passing one over this way?"
     A hollow laugh escaped his lips.  "Anti-toxin," he explained quietly.  "I
was delayed by a brief encounter with Dr. Isley, and I'm not in a mood to take
any chances."
     That drew a hard blink from the young blonde.  "What'd you do to her that
would get you poisoned?  Umm, on second thought, I don't want to know," she
added with a shiver.  "She's been acting awfully strange lately."
     "Anything you can tell me about?" he asked gently.
     "Ummm...." Harley hedged, her cheeks turning pink.  "It's kinda one of
those personal issues, you know?" she said, her voice pitched unusually high.
"And I know what you're going to say, so don't say it.  I know the medical
terminology too, but that doesn't mean I still want to talk about it."
     He said nothing, quietly reminding himself that Harlene Quinzelle had at
one point been a brilliant young criminal psychologist.  That had all changed
when she met the Joker and found herself strangely enchanted by his mindset.
She had been drawn into his psychotic world like a moth to flame, and the rest,
as it is said, was criminal history.
     "If she is to be helped, we have to know what's wrong," he reminded her.
     She blew her breath out hard in a heavy sigh.  "Yeah, yeah, Batsy, I know
the song and dance," she grumbled.
     He gestured to the couch.  "Please, sit and we'll talk."
     Harley walked over to the couch and fairly tossed her petite frame into
the corner, a glum look crossing her features.  "It feels like I'm ratting her
out," she complained quietly as he took a seat on the opposite end of the dull
orange couch.
     "You know that's not the case," he countered gently.
     She sighed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.  "I think it's a
simple case of a peaking sex drive," she said in a bored tone.  "She's old
enough to be in the average median age-range for peak sexual desire in women,
and being locked away in here with very little options for release is probably
not contributing anything worthwhile to her condition.  And, as you probably
know, self-gratification can only go so far in terms of physical release while
doing absolutely nothing to alleviate socially-oriented desire."
     He nodded in understanding, the mental notebook in his head scribbling
furiously.  "Soap?" he asked her.
     She wrinkled her nose at the acronym.  "Symptoms are unrelilable as I am
neither a trained professional nor do I have access to proper equipment," she
prattled dryly.  "Observations include increased restlessness and a subtle but
distinct change in normal content of casual conversations to include phrasing
and speech patterns, probable increased rate of respiration, noted changes in
attention span and concentration, occasional disruptions to her sleep cycle,
and drastically increased outbursts of emotion.  Analysis is unavailable due
to previously mentioned restrictions and limitations.  Prognosis is that she
suffers from an active and frustrated sex drive given her age, health, and her
responses fall within the expected ranges of known givens and factors for such
a condition."
     He nodded again.  "I'm impressed, Harlene," he said quietly.  "I think you
would have made an excellet physician."
     She rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, right, except I get sick even thinking about
the raw biology behind it all.  And let's not talk about surgery," she added,
making an exaggerated gesture of induced nausea.
     He made a mental note for a discussion with Harlene's own psychiatrist
about possible issues with her medical background.  "And what do you think
should be done to help her?" he prompted, idly curious as to her thoughts.
     "Truthfully?" she asked as she glanced at him.  He nodded in response and
a gleam appeared to leap into her eyes.  "I think someone needs to fuck her
brains out," she said with a faint giggle, her cheeks tinting pink at her own
usage of the crude suggestion.
     A soft but heavy sigh slipped past his lips as he felt a familar weight
settle around his shoulders.  This is not going to be a good night, he thought
to himself as Harley giggled again and winked at him.  "So what did you want
to talk to me about?" he asked as he flipped a page in his mental notebook.
     "The same," she said coyly, then burst out laughing at the expression on
his face.  "Aw, cheer up, Bats, I'm just kidding," she gasped as she clutched
her heaving stomach, her crystal-blue eyes twinkling.
     The lead weight that had taken up residence in his guts after talking to
Poison Ivy suddenly got heavier.  "That's not what Dr. Isley said," he prodded
her, wanting to test her reaction.  A sudden chill in the base of his neck was
warning him that his subconscious mind was suddenly working on something, and
that odds are it wouldn't be pleasant.
     Her laughter died away as abruptly as it had come, leaving her bent over
with her arms around her waist and a stunned look in her eyes.  "What?" she
said quietly, a sudden sense of unease visibly crossing her face as she very
quickly straightened up.
     He suddenly got the distinct feeling that she had requested a meeting for
precisely that purpose, or at least for something along those rough lines.  It
wasn't a suspicion that he could nail down with any proof, of course, but he
had long ago learned to let his hunches play out of their own accord.
     "She said that you wanted to get to know me better," he said guardedly.
     Her expression seemed to crumple in on itself.  "Well.... I do," she said
weakly.  "But not like that," she added hastily with a darkening blush.
     He felt the lead weight finally hit bottom with a heavy thump that was
almost physically painful.  Confusing as they were, Bruce Wayne understood
women quite well and was considered by many to be quite the 'amateur expert' on
the topic.  He could see through most of the emotional lies women tried telling
him, and Harley Quinn's mercurial and often fragile emotional state made seeing
through her lie all the easier.
     He stood up and quietly crossed the room, moving to stand in front of the
large 'window' set into the wall.  It was a rather ingenious invention that
involved the use of a holographic projector, a one-way mirror used by the staff
to monitor the patients.  The room-facing side of the surface was made to look
like an ordinary window looking out over Gotham City's harbor.  A small camera
mounted on one of the building's ancient stone spires provided a live video
feed, making it seem that the glass really was a window to the outside world
and not simply a projected image.
     The harbor was dark, of course, but he could make out the soft red glows
of a number of navigational buoys.  A small container ship was making a slow
turn outwards, seeming to take its time in clearing the shallows before heading
out of the harbor into deeper waters.  The night sky was heavy with clouds as
expected, a few of the larger ones low enough to veil the tops of the city's
skyscrapers from casual view.  It was altogether a dark and gloomy scene, one
that he suddenly found fitting his mood perfectly.
     His gaze shifted slightly as he saw Harley's outline start to take shape
in the polished surface, forming a very transparent reflection that was almost
all but impossible to make out.  Her footsteps registered on his ears a moment
later, seeming to move with deliberate quietness as she moved up behind him.
She stopped once she got close to him, more to his side than behind him.  He
would have turned around had she gotten any closer and thus been in a position
to make a sudden move that he might not be able to counter-act, but he got the
impression that any such moves that were made wouldn't be of the physical kind.
Or at least not the threatening kind, he amended with a silent sigh.
     "I take it you don't like that idea, huh?" she said quietly.
     "What is there to know?" he replied, the white lenses of his cowl seeming
to narrow slightly as he stared out at the video image of the harbor.
     "Well, for one thing, I'm wondering why you're not in here with the rest
of us nut-cases," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her petite chest.  She
paused and looked up as he turned around, clearly giving her a surprised look
despite the fact that only the lower third of his face was readily visible.
     "What do you mean?" he asked in a guarded tone.
     "Let's see," she replied, starting to tick her fingers one by one.  "You
dress in tights, you wear a mask so nobody knows who you really are, I've never
seen you use a door which means you like climbing through windows like a thief,
you have this superiority complex about justice and how you're the only one who
can do it right...." she prattled on before giving him a level glare.  "Some
might think you're as touched in the head as the rest of us, having issues like
that.  Even you have to admit what you're doing isn't socially natural."
     He paused for a moment as he realized that her sudden diatribe was far too
polished to have been an impromptu assessment.  "Even if we were to both agree
that was true," he replied carefully, "I've never shown a callous disregard for
the lives and safety of others, nor have I gone out of my way to break laws or
otherwise be a clear and blatant menace to society.  In fact, I would be so
bold as to say I've made myself quite useful to society, something we've been
trying to teach you to do as well."
     Harley wrinkled her nose and glanced away, knowing that some of the things
she had done in the recent past were less than socially upstanding.  "Yeah,
whatever," she groused as she crossed her arms again.  "Part of me still thinks
you're as screwed up as we are."
     "And?" he prompted, knowing that it hadn't been the first time someone had
voiced a concern for his state of mental health.
     She glanced back at him before sighing theatrically, letting her arms fall
to her side and sagging at the knees.  "And that has me curious as to what lies
beneath the mask," she admitted.  "You know, what made me curious about that
literal joker back there," she added, jerking her thumb over her shoulder as
she stood up straight.
     "I thought you liked him," he pointed out, seeing if he could steer the
focus of the conversation away from himself without her noticing.  He doubted
it would last for very long, but the distraction might be enough to learn more
about her and her state of mind.
     Harley seemed to freeze in mid-motion for a few seconds, her face slipping
into an uneasy countenance.  "Ehhh," she finally said slowly.  "I'll be honest,
he's got his moments and he really makes me laugh at times.... but other times
it's a little irritating and not what I want."
     "How so?" he prodded carefully.  He knew that the relationship between her
and the Joker had at one time been extremely intense, but that his charismatic
hold over her had started to wane due to the psychological treatments.
     She looked at him for a moment before looking away, a truly heinous blush
starting to form on her cheeks.  "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered
quietly, the redness of her blush standing out in contrast to her blue eyes and
blonde hair.
     "We're both adults here, Harlene," he said quietly, pausing as he realized
that his words were a virtual echo of what he had told Poison Ivy.  Granted it
was still a literal truth, given Harley's age, but she was still a lot younger
and more inexperienced than Ivy was.
     Harley gave him an uneasy look before sighing, the blush seeming to double
in intensity.  "A funny bone makes me laugh," she muttered.  "But there's very
little of anything to be found in a funny boner."
     "Anything specific?" he asked as impassively as he could, trying very hard
not to remember the details of a few session reports he had been allowed to
read.  Granted most of the doctor-patient discussions were confidential, but
the team of professionals working in the asylum had felt it best that he be
allowed a brief glimpse into the minds of the inmates in order to understand
how they functioned in case they escaped and needed to be hunted down.  Again.
     "None of your business!" she snapped at him, her youthful beauty twisting
into a mask of anger.  "Look, it's bad enough I'm spilling my guts to these
witch-doctors every week, I don't need you poking around in my skull as well!"
     He simply looked at her, projecting an outward appearance of patience and
calm understanding.  As expected, her burst of emotion continued to simmer for
a few moments before draining away, slowly being replaced by a feeling of guilt
at her outburst.  He could almost see the emotion cool further into pain as her
thoughts turned inward, obviously remembering what had happened during the time
she was far more than a mere sidekick of the Joker's.
     The pain was not just hers, as he still felt more than a little sick to
his stomach when he thought about the reports.  They had both related their
sides of the stories to the staff at various points, Harley seeming to confess
the details with embarrassment and shame while the Joker apparently enjoyed the
barely-concealed reactions of horror and outrage that had resulted whenever he
took the time to detail the casual and often perverse episodes of debauchery.
Pleasure was very much a known entity to him, as Bruce Wayne had done more than
his fair share of such explorations with willing women, but even he didn't dare
to cross some lines or otherwise suggest a few activites to his chosen evening
companions.
     "Hey, listen," she said in a subdued tone.  "I just...."
     "It's alright, Harlene," he interrupted in a gentle tone.  "I understand
how you might feel about it.  Even if I don't understand why," he added.
     "Thanks," she murmured as she looked away, finding herself staring out at
the artificial vista of the harbor.  The blush had vanished for the most part
along with her outburst, but a faint patch of crimson still lingered on her
cheeks.  She paused as a thought popped into her mind and she turned her head
just enough to cast a sidelong glance at him.  "Hey, wait," she protested in a
flat tone.  "How'd we wind up talking about me again?"
     He sighed very softly, knowing that he had probably already bought as much
time as he was going to be allowed tonight.  "There's not much about me to try
to talk about," he said in a neutral tone.
     "Yeah, right," she countered with a small frown.  "Okay, so maybe I'm just
a sucker for a psycho, but I want to know who you are.  About the mind beneath
the skull, if not the man behind the mask," she added.  "And before you try to
deflect the question again.... riddle me this, if I can steal Eddie's favorite
phrase without pissing him off.  How am I supposed to trust you to help me if
I'm not allowed to get to know you better?"
     He frowned as her words struck a chord, realizing that it was a very valid
question to be asking.  "Your physician is the one trying to help you," he said
in an attempt at dodging that particular needle.  "I just made it possible for
the two of you to meet together."
     "Oh, riiiiiiight," she replied in a casual tone, clearly not accepting his
answer at face-value.  "And I'm supposed to just trust them with my mind after
being carted in here by a man in a freaking bat-suit?  If I can get tossed in
here for wearing Spandex and a painted mask, why shouldn't they have thrown you
in here with me as well?  If you really are that different, I want to see for
myself why, and *that* means I get to know you.  I may be a blue-eyed blonde
with one hell of a body, but I'm still a trained psychologist which means that
I am *NOT* some stupid bimbo just looking for a good time!"
     He paused to assess the change in her mood.  She was standing almost in
arm's-reach in front of him, her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance and
with a somewhat fierce look of intent in her eyes.  He realized after a moment
that she was being dangerously serious in her desire to get to know him, or at
least to have the opportunity to thoroughly analyze Batman's dark persona.
     "Why?" he said simply.
     It took her a moment to realize what he was truly asking instead of simply
reacting to the most recent statement she made.  That resulted in a slightly
awkward silence as her mind tried to shift gears and briefly jammed, her moods
seeming to take longer than usual to smooth out.
     "Look," she said quietly as she raked her fingertips through her mane of
blonde hair.  "I know how this superhero thing works.  You're alone in public,
but there's always someone lurking in the sidelines to helps you out.  Zorro
had his servant Bernando, the Green Hornet had Kato, Lamont Cranston from the
old radio series The Shadow had Margot Lane.... the hero always has someone he
can turn to, someone he can confide in."
     One of the lenses of his cowl arched upwards again as he raised an eyebrow
at her.  "I'm with you so far," he said in a neutral tone, trying not to wonder
too hard where exactly she was going with this.
     "I'm not going to ask if you have one or not, as I'm sure you do," Harley
continued.  "However, there are times in which the hero can't exactly confide
in his hired help, can't bare his soul to ease whatever pain that drives him.
When was the last time you sat down in a bar and spilled your guts to the guy
behind the counter?  You know, the one with the perpetually sympathetic ear and
who keeps refilling your shotglass with booze?  Wait, you do drink, right?" she
suddenly interrupted herself, giving him a faintly uneasy look.
     "Occasionally," he replied in a slightly dry tone.  "So what exactly are
you getting at?"
     "Who do you talk to?" she asked quietly, edging closer to him.  "What dark
secrets hide beneath that mask of yours that keeps you going?  What is it that
drives you to stalk the night, to walk the path you have chosen?  And when you
do mention it to someone, does it truly help you?  Do you get the help you seem
to need, just as we're getting the help we need?"
     He said nothing for a few moments, the lenses narrowing slightly as he
stared at her.  "Who's asking?" he finally spoke up, his tone heavily laced
with wariness.
     "Huh?" she said, blinking hard at the question.  "What do you mean?"
     "Who's asking those kind of questions?" he replied.  "Harlene Quinzelle,
the psychologist?  Or Harley Quinn trying to help out a few friends?"
     "What friends?" she growled, crossing her arms and looking away as another
wave of anger crossed her face.  "The Joker?  Please, we have a lot in common
but I'm starting to really wonder about him now.  Like I said, he still makes
me laugh and all, but he's starting to creep me out now."
     "What about the others?" he inquired, sensing a new opportunity to both
deflect the inquiries away from him and refocus them on her once again.
     "Please," she stated flatly as she stormed over to the couch and basically
threw her petite frame into the corner cushion.  "Friends like who, Two-Face?
All he needs to do is flip that damn coin of his to go from ally to enemy and
not even blink to warn you.  The Penguin?  He's polite to me, but he still sees
me as a 'commoner' and not worth dealing with.  And don't get me started in on
all the so-called doctors we have here," she muttered.
     "Why not?" he prodded carefully.
     "PLEASE!" she sighed with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.  "The Scarecrow
creeps me out even worse than the Joker does these days, and Victor Freeze has
a block of ice for a heart.  Whenever he looks at me it makes me feel like I'm
just a lab-rat being assessed for something.  Of course," she added absently as
her voice suddenly turned quiet, "He's the only one who doesn't look at me like
I'd make a great fuck-toy or something.  Probably because he's the only married
one of this whole motley crew."
     "Harley?" he asked quietly, suddenly feeling a new kind of chill forming
in his blood.  "Is there something going on that the warden needs to know?"
     "Nah," she sighed, not looking up at him.  "You stay cooped up in here
long enough and everybody starts looking good to everyone else, if you know
what I mean.  Hell, I'm fairly sure I've caught Pam eyeing me once or twice,
but I'm not sure if that's just from her sex drive quadrupling or what.  It
just blows big blue bananas to be young and cute in a place like this," she
added, lifting her head up to let him see the look of ironic amusement in her
blue eyes.  "But nobody's laid a hand on me, if that's what you're getting at.
I don't think any of them would dare to at this point."
     He nodded absently to her as his mind briefly turned inward again, making
a slew of mental notes to discuss with both the warden and with Harley's doctor
about reassessing the environmental conditions of the wards.  Granted Pamela
Isley's frustration was probably what Harley suggested it was, but if there was
something developing that was influencing the sex drives of everyone else as
well....
     "Goddammit!" Harley suddenly yelled, seeming to explode to her feet in an
instant.  She whirled around and gave him a very piercing stare, her hands once
again thrusting downwards to rest on her hips in open defiance.  "Why are we
back to talking about me again?  And how the hell do you keep doing that?"
     "You're the psychologist," he pointed out with just the faintest hint of
a smirk on his face.  "You tell me."
     "Oooooooohhhhh!" she fumed as she balled her hands into fists.  She cast
a quick glance around her immediate surroundings, reaching out after a second
to grab one of the pillow-like cushions from the couch.
     Batman remained perfectly still, his face impassive as the pillow bounced
off of his chest with a soft whumph.  He would have reacted had he not seen her
outburst for what it is, a momentary fit of frustration at being out-maneuvered
in a complicated field of study she happened to favor.  That she had given in
to the impulse was merely a sign that she still had a ways to go in learning
how to control her impulsive nature, something else to be mentioned to her
psychiatrists.
     "Feel better?" he asked calmly once her mood seemed to have shifted back
to something a little more.... controllable.  He would have suggested normal,
but the concept of what was 'normal' for her mind was still being assessed.
     "Dammit," she grumbled as she tossed herself back onto the couch again.
She continued to fume quietly for a few moments before sighing and leaning her
upper body back against the cushions, seeming to be emotionally drained by the
outburst.  "I don't suppose we could go back to the original purpose behind
asking you to come here and possibly stay there for awhile?" she muttered.
     "That depends on what the original purpose was," he replied in a careful
tone, "As well as the reasons behind asking such questions."
     "You know my reasons," Harley countered quietly, giving him a slightly
uneasy look.  "I'm just curious about what lurks beneath the mask."
     "You and everybody else," he pointed out with only a faint hint of humor.
     "Well, nothing wrong with solving a good mystery, right?" she ventured.
"Look, I'm not asking for your name, address, and phone number, okay?  I just
want to see if I can understand what makes you tick.  I mean, you have to open
up to *somebody* about your life, right?"
     A faint frown crossed his face at her words.  "The key phrase being in my
life," he pointed out, perhaps a little more harshly than he had intended.
     "Oh, and I'm not?" she said primly as she crossed her arms over her chest,
giving him a truly upset look.  "Let me tell you something, Batsy, a dark hero
doesn't just swoop out of the night and sweep a girl off of her feet without
making one hell of an impression.  Perhaps I'm not a part of your life, but you
definitely are a part of mine now.  Who else do I have to thank for all this?"
she said as she gestured to her surroundings.
     His eyes narrowed even further as he suddenly realized that he had been
looking at the situation from the wrong perspective.  She and Dr. Crane were
the youngest of the patients in the heavy-security asylum and thus both easily
impressionable.  The impression he had made on the so-called Scarecrow was....
not something he cared to think about, but apparently Harley's impression of
him was something completely different.
     "And what about the others?" he spoke up, not really sure what else to say
at the moment.
     "Here we go with the topic shift again," she growled quietly.  "Look, I'll
be honest with you.  You've made a permanent impression on everyone in here,
and I do mean everybody.  Not on just the real hard-core nuts like the Riddler
and funny bone over there, but on people like Victor and Pam and Selena.  If
anyone is next in line to leave here after Selena was cleared, it'll be Victor.
You know all he wants is to help find a cure for his wife's condition," she
said archly.  "Granted not many of us like you, and I have to say I'm not too
thrilled about the bat-suit myself, but you have earned a sort of grudging
respect among us.  Hell, sometimes it was enough to get both Pam and Selena
turned on if they thought about you for too long," she added dryly.
     "And what about you?" he asked without thinking.
     "Dammit, Bats, this isn't about me!" she raged as she shot to her feet
again, her complexion turning a vivid shade of scarlet.  "This about how....
you.... umm.... wait a minute...." she said, her voice trailing away as she
stopped to think about how exactly he might have been asking about.  She looked
up at him and sighed, her cheeks changing color from a scarlet rage to a far
more delicate shade of crimson embarrassment.  "Well, maybe just a little...."
she confessed in a very quiet tone.
     "Don't worry about it," he replied in a fairly dry tone.  "You're not the
first young woman to tell me you see something you like."
     "So what do you do about all the attention from such adoring fans?" she
asked in as clinical a tone as she could manage.  She was still blushing rather
hard, however, making it difficult to keep her voice steady.
     "I don't do anything," he replied.  "If they want to fantasize about me,
that's their business."
     "And that doesn't bother you?" she prodded carefully.  "All those young
and willing women who would gladly put a smile on your face.... something we
all agree you need to learn how to do," she added dryly.  "Honestly, how often
do you smile, anyway?"
     He shot a distinctly unamused look at her.  "There's very little to smile
about in my line of work," he pointed out.  "There are rare moments, granted,
like seeing someone who was sick become better and released from here.  Like
Selena Kyle."
     "Oooo, Batsy," she purred quietly as a wicked smile crossed her face.  "Is
that your way of saying Selena is...?"
     "That is not what I meant," he interrupted in a faintly acidic tone.
     She looked at him for a moment before sighing theatrically.  "We really
need to work on your sense of humor," she grumbled quietly, giving him a deeply
disappointed look.
     "I have to deal with people like the Joker on a daily basis," he said in
a casual tone.  "With him around, why would I need my own sense of humor?"
     She simply looked at him in silence for a number of moments before a soft
smile started to cross her face.  It wasn't long before she developed a case of
the giggles, collapsing back down onto the couch to laugh harder.  "Oh, man,"
she rapsed once she could talk again.  "That's a good one.  I should tell that
one to Jack, he might laugh about it for a week.  Well, maybe I shouldn't tell
him, simply because he just might laugh all week about it...."
     Had she not been looking directly at his face, she might have missed the
dark look that briefly swept across his features before being suppressed by
sheer force of will.  Even with his eyes hidden behind the featureless white
lenses of his cowl, the momentary pain had been clearly visible to her.  The
fleeting glimpse was enough to sober her up, the impulse to giggle fading away
to be replaced by hesitant uncertainty.... and curiosity.
     "Hey," she said as he turned away from her.  "Something wrong?"
     He ignored her as he returned to the video image of the harbor at night,
his expression darkening as he realized that his emotionless facade had slipped
for a few moments.  He knew the Joker's real name, of course, just as he knew
the real names of everyone else in the Arkham asylum.  But simply hearing it
was enough to remind him how he had found himself on his dark path, walking the
edge of the abyss every night to try to save those he could.
     The frown on his face deepened as he suddenly noticed Harley lean against
the wall next to him, her arms crossed over her petite chest as her shoulder
brushed the edges of the video-window.  He quietly cursed himself for having
let his guard down in her presence, failing to hear her move across the room
or otherwise detect her approach.  Had it been someone like Poison Ivy or even
Victor Freeze, his carelessness would likely have left him in a very dangerous
position.
     But then again.... Harley wasn't like the rest of them, was she?  Of all
the patients in the warden's care, she indeed was the most responsive to her
treatment program.  Perhaps it was her youthful mind, or perhaps she merely
wasn't as psychotic as everyone else, or perhaps something else instead that
made the doctors so optimistic about the chances for her to be completely and
fully rehabilitated.  Whatever it was, he knew that he still had to be careful
around her.  Even a healed mind can all too easily be cracked once more under
the wrong circumstances.
     "So I guess we're back to square one, huh?" she inquired in a soft but
edged tone.
     "What do you mean?" he asked in a hollow tone, casting a sidelong glance
at the expression on her face.
     "Let's put it like this, Bats," she said slowly.  "I might have a loose
screw or two, and I'm not talking about bed-sheets here, but I've worked with
enough people who wear the 'damaged goods' label to know what the sound of a
button being pushed is like, and I know I just heard a really solid click a few
moments ago."
     "And?" he prodded gently, already knowing where this was going.
     "Well, we've got two choices here," she replied, the sharpness of her tone
causing his head to turn to look at her.  "Either you have a seat and tell me
what's on your mind like I asked you to earlier, or you can go back upstairs to
file your reports with the shrinks and leave me in peace.  All I wanted from
you is a chance to get to know you, that's all."
     "The question you haven't answered yet is just how well," he countered.
"Or, for that matter, the true purpose behind asking such questions."
     "Hey, I'm not trying to pull a Pam here, okay?" she replied, giving him a
neutral look.  She blinked as he suddenly leaned close until their noses were
barely a few inches apart.  "What?" she asked in a very quiet voice.
     "Anyone ever tell you that you're not a very good liar, Harlene?" he said
in an emotionless tone.  "At least not when it comes to your feelings."
     "So what are you saying?" she replied, trying to keep a cool composure.
     "I'm saying that you're not being honest with me," he stated evenly.
     She raised a delicate blonde eyebrow at him, trying to study his face as
best she could.  "So what do you want me to say?  I want you to take that suit
off and ravish me a hell of a lot better than pencil-dick back there could?"
     "Is that what you want?" he inquired calmly as he leaned back.
     "Damn you," she said in a low tone.  "How many times am I going to have to
say this?  This isn't about me, it's about...."
     "Go on," he prodded her.
     She looked at him for a few moments before sighing and putting her face in
her hands.  "How do you keep doing that?" she moaned in resignation.  "I'm a
psychologist, for Pete's sake, and I still can't keep up with you like that."
     "Let's just say that I started studying human psychology while you were
still in grade school," he pointed out in a moderate tone.  "Granted I never
took any formal classes or got a degree, but I have more than enough personal
experience to hold my own when it matters."
     "So I'm out-matched and should just give up, eh?" she grumbled.
     "You should never give up, Harlene," he reminded her gently.
     She sighed heavily and looked away.  "Maybe," she said in a hesitant tone
before glancing back at him.  "So back to where we were...."
     "Only if you're going to tell me what this is about," he said, giving her
a level look in return.  "You asked for the cameras to be turned off for a
reason," he reminded her.
     A horrified look crossed her face as she whirled around to stare at the
video display, suddenly remembering what it truly was.  "Wait, nobody's here
but the two of us, right?" she blurted out, seeming to be genuinely disturbed
to contemplate being overheard.
     "There shouldn't be," he said calmly, knowing that it was highly unlikely
that the warden would break his word.  At least, not without a justifiable
reason that would be shared with him once he returned to the upper levels of
the asylum.
     "Wheeeeeeew," she breathed quietly, a faint pink tint coloring her cheeks
as she glanced over at him.  "Don't look at me like that, this kind of thing
really isn't easy for me to talk about, you know?" she mumbled.
     "So I've noticed," he said dryly.  "Just blurt it out, Harley.  Like I
told you earlier, we're both adults here."
     "Honestly," she said sourly, absently tugging on the top of her jumpsuit
to create a cooling breeze as her blush tripled in intensity.  "Don't you have
any sort of problem with talking about your personal issues with others?"
     A faint snort of amusement rose up from his chest.  "It depends on what
the concern was," he said.
     "Good, so does that mean you can talk to me about them?" she inquired.
     "I said it depends on what the concern was," he repeated in an edged tone.
     "Well, if you want me to just blurt it out," she said in a warning tone,
pausing to give him a chance to respond.  When he remained silent, she just
sighed quietly before taking a deep breath to steel herself.  "Ooookay then.
Well, we already had a nice discussion about Pam's sex drive.... although I
really don't see how she'll be able to get any with her body being so toxic,"
she muttered quietly as aside.  "Anyway, so how's your sex life?"
     "Healthy," he replied in a tone as dry as any desert.
     "Uh-huh, hold the phone here," she said, raising a finger and wagging it
back and forth.  "I meant Batman here, not the guy beneath the dark suit."
     The edge of one lens promptly arched clear up to his hairline as he just
looked at her.  "It doesn't work that way," he said carefully.
     "Why not?" she countered as she leaned harder against the wall.  "You have
two personalities to deal with.  Granted one might be artificial, but then
again it might no longer be simply a front at this point.  Or are you trying to
tell a trained psychologist that there's no bleed-over between the two?"
     "I keep such things to an absolute minimum," he said in an empty monotone.
     "Oh, I believe it," she replied airily.  "You've got one of the strongest
willpowers I've ever encountered, so I don't doubt that you've managed to keep
your ducks in a row.  The thing is, a minimum means that things still happen,
that there is still a discernable amount of activity."
     "Nobody's perfect," he said calmly.  "We all have flaws, Harley.  Whatever
they might be, however, isn't enough to put me on the same level as everyone
else around here.  I know right from wrong, I know what consequences my actions
will have on others, and I try to make the right choices based on that."
     "But you still slip, don't you?" she said in a soft whisper.
     "Again, nobody's perfect," he replied.
     "Tell me about it," she muttered as she pushed herself off of the wall and
returned to the couch.  "So tell me what happens when you do slip," she said,
making a casual gesture to the other end of the couch.  "Tell me about the toll
it takes on you, having to look at yourself with those eyes that looks down on
others and judges them according to your views of right and wrong."
     He made no movement to comply, giving her a very wary look.  "If I thought
I needed to confess my sins, I'd go see a priest," he said archly.
     "Would you go?" she inquired.  "Or would you send your alter-ego?  You
know, the man you keep hidden beneath that hood of yours."
     "I would go," he replied without hesitation.  There had indeed been times
when Batman had gone to a quiet church during the midnight hours, to privately
air a few doubts and questions about his path.  Most in the confessional booth
hadn't been aware it was him, but at least one priest had come outside to meet
with him and hold a quiet discussion about this, that, and the other.  Almost
every visit had helped ease his doubts and pain in part, but in every case the
quiet words of comfort and wisdom failed to soothe the deepest part of his dark
soul, the part that drove him to wear the suit and prowl the streets.
     "And would you then find what you're looking for?" she prodded gently.
     "Sometimes," he answered neutrally.
     "So what do you do when you don't?" she asked in a soft tone.
     "I do what everyone else in Gotham City does," he replied in a monotone.
"I simply deal with it and move on with life."
     She tilted her head slightly to regard him for a moment.  "Who deals with
it?" she inquired.  "Or am I to believe that you simply switch off one mindset
and let the other out to play with no shared thoughts or contemplation between
the two?"
     "As I said, I keep such things to a minimum," he reminded her.
     The corners of her lips twitched upwards in a slight smile.  "I thought we
already covered this one," she reminded him lightly.  "A minimum means that
thing still happen to one degree or another."
     "And?" he said, giving her a patient look.
     She looked at him for a moment before sighing quietly, puffing out her
cheeks as she took her time in exhaling.  "You evaded my question earlier when
we were at this point," she finally spoke up.  "How much does it hurt you when
you slip, and what do you do to deal with the pain?"
     She continued to study him as he turned away, looking back out over the
dark and slightly choppy seas of Gotham City's harbor.  She knew that she was
finally starting to reach him, to start to see past the dark mask he wore and
catch a glimpse of the pain she thought he might be in.  "Finally found a bit
of a nerve, huh?" she quietly called out to him.
     The reflection of his white eyes seemed to shift slightly, almost as if
he was looking at her through the smoke-colored glass instead of looking at the
video image being displayed upon it.
     "You know, I'm really not trying to be nosy or anything," she added as the
silence stretched on.  "I just want to get to know you.  What you do at night,
the dark knight that you've become.... it has to leave a mark, you know?  It
has to have changed you on the inside, either fueling or being fueled by the
force that drove you to do what you do.  If I didn't know better, I'd say it's
left you in a lot of pain on the inside," she suggested.
     "Perhaps it has," he replied quietly.  "And perhaps it has not.  Either
way, what does it matter?  I'm not going to be retiring anytime soon."
     He studied her faint reflection as she slowly stood up, making her way
over to where he was.  It was extremely difficult to make out the details of
her face, but for a moment he thought he might have seen a look of genuine
concern crossing the blueness of her eyes.
     "Maybe I just want to help you with that pain," she said softly, almost
too softly for him to hear.  He turned around to find her standing barely an
arm's-length away from him, the look in her eyes now quite unmistakable.  "You
know, to return the favor for all the help you've given me."
     His eyes narrowed slightly, realizing that he wasn't dealing with Harley
Quinn anymore but Harlene Quinzelle, the young woman that she was before her
domination by the Joker and subsequent descent into his insane reality.  Maybe
it was simply the analytical nature of the conversation latching on to the
remains of her former personality and strengthening it to the point of both
cohesion and visibility, or perhaps it was a result of her treatment to have
brought her to this point.  Either way she was here now, and he knew that he
had to tread very carefully so as not to break her fragile reconstructed mind.
     "Your concern is appreciated...." he started to say in a neutral tone.
     "But not welcomed?" she finished for him, her expression starting to take
on a distinctly saddened cast.
     "More like not necessary," he corrected gently.
     "Who said it was?" Harley replied softly, studying the exposed part of his
face.  "You didn't need to be concerned about us, but yet you visit every so
often to check on how we're doing.  You try to talk to us, and I know you talk
to our doctors all the time.  Granted it's probably a wasted effort with true
psychotics like Harvey and Oswald, but I've seen what effect it's having on
people like Victor and Selena.  Selena actually gets along with you now, and I
know Victor will talk to you these days if you have a valid question.  Boy, he
really knows how to give someone the cold shoulder, too," she muttered, pausing
for a moment to shiver at a particular memory.
     She sighed and looked back up at him.  "You're right, the concern you show
us isn't necessary.... but you do it anyway.  Why is that, then?  And don't try
to tell me you're just keeping tabs on us so we won't escape," she added, one
finger coming up to gently jab him in the chest.  "We both know that it doesn't
do a damn thing.  I think Eddie pulling a fast one is a prime example, eh?"
     He grunted quietly at the reminder that the Riddler had managed to escape
his psychiatric prison once again.  That was yet another headache that gnawed
on his conscience, wondering what he would have to endure to see the criminal
threat from the insane genius put to an end once more.
     The feel of her fingertips against his chest caused him to refocus on her
actions.  She was very carefully probing the dark material stretched across his
chest, her fingernails idly tracing the outline of the bat-shaped logo he had
imprinted in the center.  The suit he was wearing was a 'casual' suit, one of
the few in his inventory that didn't have any specific or radical alterations
made to the weave and construction of the fabric.  As such, the material wasn't
thick enough to completely mask the curves of his muscles.... or the gentle
sensation of her fingernails lightly scratching his chest.
     "So why do you show concern where it's not necessary, Bats?" she asked in
a very quiet voice, looking up at him.
     "It's part of who I am," he replied.
     "You or your alter-ego?" she whispered.
     "Does it matter, Harlene?" he said quietly.
     "It might," she countered gently.  "You can't have it both ways.  You're
either keeping your two halves apart, or you're letting one side bleed through
to the other.  So which is it?"
     He regarded her carefully for a moment.  "Who says the two halves have to
be mutually exclusive in design?" he said.  "Why can't they share some of the
same basic human tenets and only have.... cosmetic differences over and above
a common sense of identity?"
     She laughed very softly as she continued to idly brush her fingernails
back and forth over his chest.  "A smooth answer, I'll give you that," she said
demurely.  "But that's not the answer I'm looking for."
     "We don't always get what we want," he said in a pointed tone.
     "Okay, let's try it like this," she said as she tilted her head to one
side.  "Why are you trying to reach out to people like Pam and Victor?  Why did
you reach out to Selena when she was here?  And why did you come here to talk
to me simply because I asked?"
     "Dr. Freeze simply seeks a cure for his wife," he replied calmly.  "His
only problem lies in the way he sets about gathering information and conducting
research experiments.... and handling interruptions to his work.  Exposure to
an understanding environment helps him overcome his conceptions about social
interactions."
     "And Pam?" she inquired in an openly curious tone.
     He sighed quietly, trying very hard not to think about the exchange he had
with Poison Ivy on the way to the common room.  "Dr. Isley's problem is that
the toxins in her blood are having a corrupting influence on her mind," he said
in a very careful tone.  "The fact that her bodily fluids have become infused
with a lethal contact-poison only further forces her away from a society where
at least occasional and cursory physical contact is almost a requirement.  If
she were capable of taking a lover without killing him within seconds of the
start of intimacy, I think her problems right now wouldn't be nearly as bad."
     Harley promptly wrinkled her nose at the mental image.  "If you could find
someone willing to screw her," she muttered darkly.  "Or someone she would be
willing to be taken by.  Funny-boy might give it a shot if her poisonous lips
wouldn't make his dick fall off after the second poke, but he might be just a
little too out-there for her tastes to begin with."



To be continued....
(Last edit: 25 September 2004)