"Don't move."
Harleen held Joker's wrist, wiping the blood off it with a tissue. Halfway through, her own hand trembled, and the wound that had just closed seeped red again.
She quickly loosened her grip.
"Does it hurt?"
Joker didn't answer. Instead, he reached out with his other hand and rubbed the dried blood on her cuff between his fingers.
"How many times did you hit him?"
"Twice."
"Three times, doctor."
Harleen pressed her lips together, looking at the smile on his face. After two seconds, she quietly defended herself.
"He was still grabbing you that last time."
That guard had carried things for her before. Today, he had stood in the doorway, called her Dr. Quinzell, and told her to put down the baton in her hand.
She had almost put it down.
But Joker had been calling her.
And so, now that guard lay in Arkham, while she stood in the Chemical Plant, the work ID on her chest still hanging there because she hadn't had time to take it off.
Joker looked down at the hand holding his and suddenly laughed.
"Wonderful."
Harleen lifted her face, the tightly drawn corners of her mouth relaxing a little.
But he had already pulled his hand away, walked past her, and started up the iron stairs.
"Come here. I'll show you something."
She followed him. Her high heels struck the metal steps, loud and hurried. When they reached the maintenance platform above, Joker finally stopped, leaned against the railing, and opened his arms to her.
Below them was a pool of strangely colored liquid.
Harleen saw the warning sign beside the pool and slowed a little.
"Here?"
"Haven't you always wanted to understand me a little better?"
He held out his hand.
Harleen looked at those pale fingers, hesitated, then