The Laughing Man, Book Two: Goner

Chapter Seventeen

The doors to the penthouse flew open as Harley stumbled in, grasping onto the walls to keep herself upright. Her fingertips left bloody streaks against the wall as she moved forward, searching for the man who could help her. Initially, the party-goers at the entrance ignored her until they noticed the trail of blood left in her wake. Then came the gasps, followed by the eerie silence in the wake of her procession. While she didn't look like her usual painted persona, everyone in Gotham recognized Harley Quinn from the multiple news reports on her, the bright smile of her Arkham staff photo seen by all. Injured as she was, the guests were reluctant to offer aid but they did not hinder her passage. But that was probably due to the gun in her other hand that she clutched to her side as a lifeline.

Her all black attire was torn in places, fresh wounds visible underneath, a tired look in her eyes. Blood trickled from her mouth from a split lip, her hair also matted with red from an apparent head injury. The deepest wounds at her shoulder and her stomach bled freely, dripping red onto the floor in ribbons. As the sea of people parted for her, she somehow managed to make it to the main gathering room. There, she spotted her only ally left, the brown hair and chiseled jaw of Bruce Wayne, a tuxedo covering him like a second skin, talking to some other familiar faces. People that, less than a year ago, had laughed at her jokes and promised to donate to Arkham's failing funds. She pushed herself away from the wall, shuffling her way towards Bruce with unsteady steps.

The sycophants that surrounded him finally noted her presence, confused and alarmed by her appearance, more gasps but oddly no screams. Within seconds, the entire room had gone silent as if a switch had been turned off. In slow motion, she kept her eyes on Bruce as he turned to take in the sight of her gravely injured self. Her hand extended towards him as she drew nearer, but her balance failed her and she collapsed onto the ground before him, the grip on her gun releasing. Her forehead touched the beautiful wood flooring, assaulted by the scent of spilled wine and pine cleaner. Forgoing his usual cowardly billionaire act, Bruce knelt down beside her on one knee, pushing the gun further away and checking the pulse at her throat.

"Call 911!" He shouted, an unusual panic heard in his tone, and then he turned her over to look her over, his eyes assessing her injuries. His voice was quiet as he spoke to her. "An ambulance is on its way, Harley. Hold on."

"Sorry 'bout ruining your party," she muttered, barely able to speak. She stared up into his hazel eyes, watching the concern and compassion fill him. "I didn't know where else to go."

~

"It's just hard," Harley said. "I mean, we're all supposed to be heartless and not care when people leave, but we're all still so human. I may be a psychopath but I have a heart. And it hurts to think he won't be part of my life anymore, simply because I can't control myself."

It was two days after the incident with Thomas and there she sat with Bruce, using him as a makeshift therapist and whining about her problems with her best friend. Even though they were fighting, she opted to refer to him as Hush, keeping his identity secret, although a strong part of herself wanted to toss his mask aside and let Bruce see his "friend" for what he truly was. Just another liar who wanted to bring down the best in the city. Her emotions were all over the place. Resentment, revenge, heartbreak. But despite her inclinations, she understood what happened wasn't Thomas' fault. It was hers. Her crazy mind unable to stop the basic instincts when lost in the moment. So Bruce got the watered down version of events, with no mention of any relationship with Hush prior to her criminal career.

"And you and Hush haven't talked since?" Bruce asked, sipping his coffee. He sat across from her, in one of his plump leather chairs, seeming at ease. Although, it was wicked obvious to Harley that he was tense, ready for her to do anything and prepared to defend himself if she did.