Somewhere in a darkened penthouse, Joker's fingers drummed idly against a polished tabletop. Screens flickered across the room, Arkham surveillance, Gotham street feeds, henchmen reports. But what held his attention now wasn't chaos on the streets. It was her. Harley.
"Hmm," he murmured, tilting his head. "She's… quiet. Too quiet. Let's see if we can jog that memory, shall we?"
He pulled up a recording—a snippet of their old routine, laughter layered over cruelty. The kind of thing that had shaped her, twisted her, made her tilt between brilliance and chaos. He replayed it silently, imagining her reactions: a flinch, a flash of recognition, the ghost of obedience she'd once had.
"Nothing fancy," he whispered. "Just a poke. Little reminder that life was… fun, before she got all… responsible."
A henchman shuffled nervously behind him. "Boss… you gonna tell her?"
Joker's grin stretched, sharp and manic. "Oh, no. Not yet. That'd be boring. We'll see if she remembers herself. She always comes back to me, eventually. Everyone does. Heh."
Meanwhile, across Gotham, Harley was closing her apartment door. She paused, leaning against the frame, feeling the faint tug in her chest.
Her phone buzzed. A message. No sender name. Just an address across the city, marked urgent. Instantly, she recognized it. A trap. An obvious trap. A perfect setup for Joker's little poke.
Her fingers hovered over the screen. Part of her wanted to ignore it. Part of her wanted to run away. Part of her, the stubborn part, wanted to go anyway.
The laughter in my head isn't me, she thought. And I'm not letting him have the victory tonight.
Eli floated through her thoughts—she thought of him often, lately, quietly. But this wasn't about him. This was about proving to herself that she could make a choice. That she could walk through danger because she chose to, not because she was pushed.
She squared her shoulders, set her jaw. "Okay," she murmured to herself. "Let's do this. Just me."
She packed lightly—a baton, gloves, practical boots, no theatrics. She left the apartment quietly, stepping into Gotham's bruised night, feeling the pulse of the city beneath her feet.
The laughter was there. Not the actual Joker, not really, but the ghost of it—the mocking, manic echo that lived in her head. It wasn't constant anymore, not like before, but sometimes, when she was quiet enough, it whispered: Go home. Don't try. You'll fail.
She didn't want to listen.
That was the reason she walked into the darkened streets tonight, choosing a route and a location she wouldn't normally. Unfamiliar, dim, dangerous. A warehouse district by the docks. She didn't need a "mission" or a "reason." She just needed to prove she could walk without fear. Prove she could live on her own terms, even if Joker's laughter still lived in her mind.
It was a small act. Tiny, almost invisible. But it felt monumental.
Across town, Eli sensed it.
The faint tug of life—the way plants in the cracks and gutters stirred subtly—told him something was off. Not overwhelming, not the Green fully, but enough that his instincts pinged: someone in danger. Someone he knew.
Harley.
He didn't know why he felt responsible. Not fully. Just a compulsion. A quiet pull. And the city itself, the soft movement of growth and decay beneath the streets, guided him toward her. He traced alleyways and rooftops, letting subtle clues—the disturbed vines, the trembling weeds—lead him forward.
Harley walked fast but careful, eyes scanning the streetlights, listening to the city breathe. She passed a shuttered store and didn't look back. Not at the shadows. Not at the echo of laughter in her head.
She was defying it. And she knew it.
She didn't notice him at first.
"Harley," a low voice said.
She jumped slightly. "Eli?!"
"Yeah," he said. "I—uh—I wondered where you were."
"You followed me?"
"No," he said. "Watched. From… a distance. Plants. Movement. You didn't notice."
Harley blinked. "You're like… a plant spy now?"
"Something like that," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not obvious. Subtle."
"Creepy," she said, half-teasing, half-wary.
"Not dangerous," he corrected gently.
She let herself consider that. She liked it. A little. It was calm. Human.
The warehouse loomed ahead, rusted and dimly lit, faint chemical smells hanging in the air. Joker's "present" waited inside: a pair of henchmen and a small ticking mechanism, meant to frighten or test her.
Harley stepped forward without hesitation, baton in hand. She didn't glance back at Eli, but she felt him. Presence. Quiet. Watching. Ready.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah. I got this," she said.
When a henchman lunged, Eli moved instantly, intercepting him before Harley had to. The second assailant went down under her precise strikes.
Harley paused mid-breath, blinking at him. "I said I got this!"
"I know," he said. "Just… helping."
She looked at him longer than she intended. Not relief. Not admiration. Acknowledgment. Someone who would be there without taking over, without stealing the rhythm of the fight.
A faint beep sounded from the ticking mechanism. Sparks jumped in the corner. Harley froze—reflex. Eli was there instantly, guiding her elbow away from the sparks, not forcing, just supporting.
"Careful," he said.
"Noted," she muttered. And in that quiet moment, she realized why she'd come here at all: she wanted to feel the pulse of danger without letting it control her. Without letting the echoes of Joker's laughter tell her she couldn't.
Eli's hand brushed hers accidentally as he moved. Neither said anything, but the contact lingered quietly in their minds.
Together, they dismantled the mechanism, moving in sync without overt coordination. The fight ended quickly. Joker's laugh came faintly over the speakers, high-pitched and manic, but distant. He wasn't focused on her directly—not tonight. Batman, the "biggest joke yet," all of that consumed his attention.
Harley exhaled, brushing sweat from her forehead. "Still an idiot," she muttered.
Eli said nothing. He just stayed close, a quiet anchor.
Outside, Gotham breathed. Sirens, distant shouts, the low hum of life moving through the city. Joker's chaos was present but distant. Batman's shadowed gaze was somewhere above, somewhere else.
Harley turned to Eli. "Thanks," she said softly.
"For what?"
"For… being steady," she admitted.
He looked down for a moment, then up. "Someone should be."
Harley smiled faintly. A small victory over the laughter in her head. A proof she could choose her steps. And for the first time in a long while, she felt safe enough to think it.
They walked out of the warehouse together, quiet, alert, side by side. Not touching. Not talking. Just human.
And for tonight, that was enough.