Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

Reformation (Title Subject to Change)	By : humdrum07 Category: DC Verse Cartoons > Batman: The Animated Series Views: 9084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor do I make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Thanks for the wonderful reviews!

Harleen walked out of the Lazlo Club, dark brown trench-coat over the costume she was wearing for work. She was correct in thinking that her boss wouldn't be too happy. Especially since the man she had punched out was the club's biggest spender and practically kept the place financially afloat. He was like the Bruce Wayne of Blüdhaven, except sleazier, uglier, shorter, and fatter... pretty much the complete opposite of Bruce Wayne.

“Quinn.”

She could tell that baritone anywhere, even after not hearing it for years. She continued walking, her high heels clicking the surface of the cement with an audible, clack. She knew he would be able to keep up with her. “Bats,” she smiled and looked around them, hoping nobody was around. “Or should I say Mr. Wayne?”

Batman's eyes widened behind the mask. So she knew his identity? He wasn't about to let her have the pleasure of knowing she was right. For all he knew, it could have been a very good guess. “Mr. Wayne? You have to be joking Quinn.”

“Aw... is that the best you can do?” she smiled brightly, showing off her pearly white teeth. “I knew you'd deny it.”

Suddenly a couple came out of the strip club, hanging onto each other for dear life and smooching like they were the only people in the world. Harley hated their public display of affection, and she could tell that it bothered Batman as well. Not only that, but they seemed to be occupying the front entrance of the club with no intentions of leaving. Luckily they didn't notice her or Batman.

“Let's go somewhere more private to finish this talk... follow me.”

Batman stood in the modest one bedroom apartment, looking around for any sort of cameras or microphones. Now that he knew that she knew his secret identity, he couldn't be too careful. At the moment he was looking through the cushions of her white and black polka-dotted sofa, pushing the black pillows out of his way when he stopped in his actions by her clearing her throat.

“If you're lookin' for cameras and mics you're not gonna find any,” she entered the kitchen-slash-living room and looked down at him. The sight was somewhat comical really. THE Batman rummaging through her sofa, but she knew better than to laugh at him.

“Besides, that's an odd place to put 'em,” her arms crossed over her chest and she just smiled at him. He straightened up and was now fully aware of what she was wearing. Gone were the red and black tights, the black skirt, and the uncomfortable looking white shirt and bra. Now she just stood before him with her sandy blonde hair down to her shoulders and a red terrycloth robe wrapped tightly around her. On her feet were cute pink bunny slippers.

“You're letting your natural hair color show,” he said. Batgirl once speculated that Harley dyed her hair.

She laughed and twirled a finger around a few strands. “Yeah, though I need to get a touch-up at the salon... but money's been tight you know.”

“I thought the Lazlo Club paid pretty well.”

“Not really... since I used'ta be a criminal, they pay me a little less. I could still make a living though, just not as luxurious as I wanted. But now...” she sighed. “I got fired.”

“Why did you start working there anyway?” Batman sat in a black and white striped armchair, his elbows on his knees and hands loosely clasped together.

“Well, I couldn't go back ta psychoanalyzing folks... who'd go to a speculated insane pyschologist?” she smiled, trying to keep her chuckle in at the sight of Batman just sitting in her apartment. He seemed uncomfortable, but she figured he needed answers or he wouldn't be there. “I sure wouldn't. Besides, I didn't want that life any more.”

“I see...”

“So... what brings you here ta see li'l ol' me?” she sat on the sofa, turning her body to face Batman and smoothing out her robe, careful not to flash him in the process.

“Joker's dead.”

There was little emotion in Harleen's eyes, yet he couldn't ignore the fact that her eyes grew wide for a second. “And?” her voice was low and he could tell the faintest of wavering in it, “Why do I care?”

“You were his sidekick for two years. You don't care even a bit?”

She ignored his question and asked her own, “What was the cause? Did some whack job get ta him? I'm a suspect... aren't I?”

“Yes, you are a suspect... you knew him better than anyone else... better than me. You were on the inside,” he leaned further toward Harleen, “Gordon thinks he might have overdosed on something... do you know what it was?”

“Mistah J...” she shook her head. She vowed she would never address him that way, not after she left for good. “Joker never used any drugs... though lots o' the thugs used 'em.”

“Maybe he started after you left?” his voice rang out through the small apartment.

“Maybe...” she looked down at her bunny slippers. “You know I didn't do it... I'm clean, Bats. I've been workin' here for years.”

“What were you doing in Gotham?” he asked.

She chuckled, though it seemed forced. She couldn't entirely be happy after this news. Sure, she left Joker... but she loved him. She never really forgot the good times they had during her two year stint as Harley Quinn, not even after she tried to forget. “A girl can't see her friends?”

“Friends meaning, Catwoman and Poison Ivy?”

“No... Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny...” she rolled her eyes. “They owed me some gifts and I threatened ta shank 'em if they didn't deliver.” It seemed like her sarcasm was left unharmed by the news.

Harley stood up from the sofa, yawning, while reaching up to the ceiling. Her robe rode up from her thighs, exposing the rest of her long legs, inch by inch. Batman tried not to notice, but he was a man after all; the millionaire playboy of Gotham City.

“Want somethin' ta drink?” she made her way to the adjoining kitchen. “Beer, wine, vodka?”

“No thanks.”

“Good... 'cause I don't have any o' those,” she giggled and opened the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of orange juice.

“Let's talk Bruce Wayne,” he stood up from the seat and walked toward the kitchen, leaning against the archway so he didn't have to yell.

“Still gonna deny it, huh?”

“How have you come to that conclusion?”

“You're not the only observant one... Mr. Wayne,” she sat at the dining table in the kitchen, opting to take the seat closer to the archway and turning it so that she looked up at him.

“You've been observing me?”

Harleen smiled, “It's what a psychiatrist does.”

“I thought you didn't do that anymore.”

“I don't think you ever forget how to observe people after doin' it for so long,” she sipped the orange juice. “You've been spending so much time fighting Joker that I noticed you and Bruce Wayne have similar facial features. You'd have to have a lot of money ta support bein' Batman and... ya both have a similar build.” He just looked at her without saying a word, waiting for her to continue. He couldn't deny it now. In fact, he was a little relieved that she knew. Contrary to popular belief, keeping his identity a secret was stressful for him. Her knowing just meant one less person around which to keep his identity a secret.

“Don't worry Brucie,” she mocked, using the name that many female socialites would use for him. “I haven't told a soul. Not even Joker... and I coulda told him when I was still with him.”

“So you knew that long?”

Harleen nodded, “You have my word that I never told anybody... I am Harleen Quinzel after all. Ex-psychologist, and currently unemployed reformed criminal. I won't lie ta ya.”

He pushed his back away from the archway and turned to walk toward the still open window, not facing her as he spoke. “You're not off the hook. You're still a suspect for murder.”

“How do you know it was murder?” she asked. Harley finished the rest of the orange juice in one gulp, her tongue darting out to catch the remnants of the juice on her lips.

“We don't... not yet,” he placed both hands on the windowsill, ready to make his escape, until Harleen spoke once more.

“Will... will ya let me know any new info?” she now moved into the living room, looking like a scared child. “I know I said I didn't care, but... I could never forget all the good in those two years of whatever the Joker and I had. Not even if I wanted to.”

Batman looked back at her, nodding slightly. If it were any other person, they would not have caught it, but as Harleen had said, she was observant. He wasn't obligated to let her know anything. Hell, as far as Gordon and the rest of the GCPD, she couldn't be trusted just yet. He shouldn't trust her. But, she looked so vulnerable, so unlike the criminal she once was. She used to be one of the deceased's closest confidants and was obsessed with the man. Even though he never wanted to stop and think of their crazy relationship, he figured that she deserved to know anything about his autopsy.

“I'll let you know,” and with on last look at her, he disappeared into the night, not hearing the faint 'thank you' that Harleen had whispered into the air.

It had already been a week since Joker's untimely death, and the autopsy results were already in. He was on his way to Harleen's apartment in Blüdhaven, as Bruce Wayne, to tell her the results. It was the middle of the day and he didn't want to stir up any trouble for either of them having Batman show up in Blüdhaven during lunch hours. He wasn't obligated to tell Harleen anything, but he promised her to let her know something about the man she was associated with for two years.

“Are you planning on going out today Master Bruce?” Alfred entered the study where Bruce was sitting in an armchair, right leg propped over his knee, and a hand under his chin, contemplating the Joker's death.

Bruce seemed to snap out of his daze as the elderly man addressed him. “Yes, the autopsy report came in today,” he stood up from the seat and straightened the dark gray suit jacket, pulling the wrinkles taught. “I believe a visit to Ms. Quinzel is in order... you remember her?”

“Ah yes, Harley Quin... surprised me, she did. Never thought she would start her life over.”

“There was always hope for her. She wasn't as far gone as many others.”

Alfred just nodded and put on his driver's cap. He wasn't all acquainted with Harley Quinn to know for sure... but he figured Bruce, Batman, knew what he was talking about, “Well then, I'll get the car ready.”

“I'm a little teacup, short an' stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout...” Harleen sang as she watched the teakettle whistle on the stove. She wasn't the tea drinking type, but she had read or watched somewhere that tea would help relieve stress. Lord knows she needed it; what, with still being unemployed and the threat of her rent looming over her head like a dark cloud. Her cable had already been cut, and she did NOT like missing her cartoons.

“I prob'ly shoulda taken up smokin' weed for times like these... that woulda really relaxed me,” she rolled her eyes and poured the tea into her purple and orange 'BANG' mug.

She didn't seem to be thinking straight since she picked up the mug right after the tea was poured. “Fuckin' fuck!” luckily, the mug fell back onto the counter and managed to stay upright, only spilling a few drops of the bitter tea onto her counter.

'Way ta go, Stupid!' she thought.

“You shut up!” she said out loud. She must have really been stressed to be arguing with her inner voice. She just sighed and grabbed the mug – from the handle this time – making her way to the cheap plastic dining table covered with newspapers.

“Ah... relax--” she stood there frozen in mid-sitting as the doorbell rang. “If it's that stupid landlord...” she mumbled the rest of her threat under her breath and walked to the door, opening it angrily. “What?”

“Hello to you too Ms. Quinzel.”

Harleen looked up at Bruce Wayne. He was immaculately dressed as always. She surmised that he had come from having a meeting or something. And here she was in her robe and bunny slippers, a novelty mug in her hand, and her hair looking very much like a bird's nest with messy pigtails on either side of it.

“Sorry, Mistah B, I'm a little on edge,” she opened the door a little further in order for him to enter the apartment. As soon as he stepped inside, his icy blue eyes darted to a weeks worth of three four city, including Metropolis, newspapers and Chinese take out cartons. It hadn't been like that a week ago.

“I can... tell,” he cleared a seat on the sofa, “Still looking for a job?”

Harleen nodded, gripping the mug handle tightly in her hand. She brought this on herself. No one told her to dump her extremely lucrative psychiatrist job for being a petty thief. Now she had to take minimum wage jobs, and even then, they didn't want her.

“I might have a job for you at Wayne Enterprises,” the words seemed to just fly out of his mouth. What was he doing? He only came here to tell her any information he had garnered about Joker's death, not to offer her a job. What was it about Harleen that made him act against his better judgement? He had to think of something to say. He couldn't have her thinking that he pitied her.

“It's a receptionist job. Gordon wants to keep tabs on you. What better way than to do so by having Batman babysit you. Unless you want to be subjected to crooked cops interrogating you, many of which have a personal vendetta against Joker... the fact that he's dead doesn't change a thing,” he knew that explanation was false. Gordon had already ruled her out as being a suspect, but she didn't know that, and he hoped she would buy his excuse.

“I'll take the job!” she said a little too eagerly... but, hey, she was fond of having a roof over her head. Something that would no longer be the case in a few weeks if she continued searching these dead-end jobs in Blüdhaven. “Speakin' of Mistah J...”

Bruce nodded. It was time to get to why he was here, “Autopsy is in.”

Harleen sat next to him, leaving quite a bit of space. Her grip tightened on the mug. “W-what is it?”

“Well... he overdosed... on a very potent narcotic unlike any drug anyone has encountered. He was sick Harleen.”

“How sick?”

“Very. He had a rare nerve disease. The doctors say he would have been in constant pain. I'm surprised I never caught on to it,” he noticed that Harleen hadn't touched her tea and at this point her hands were trembling. “I imagine the pain became too much for him to handle and increased the dose of whatever drug he was taking.”

Harleen looked down into the mug, her disheartened reflection looking up at her from the now cold tea. She could make out the pained look in her eyes. The grief, the anguish, but most of all... guilt. She sniffed as a lone tear escaped her eye, “I-I shoulda stayed...” she sniffed again, allowing the tears to fall freely. “I shouldn'a left. Not when he-he needed me.”

Bruce sat still as she sobbed. Soon, her silent sobs grew more frequent and her shoulders were shaking. All he could do was pull her in for a hug, awkwardly patting her back. He had many dates, but when it came to consoling crying, he hadn't the slightest notion of knowing what to do.

I do not know anything about autopsies and DNA testing. I pretty much have no knowledge of how investigations are conducted... this is just a story, so feel free all you forensic guys and gals out there. Be my guest and point out what's wrong... just don't be too harsh.

I'm sorry that this chapter is kinda sorta lame. :(
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Reformation (Title Subject to Change)