The Universe's Mixer

"Whaddya talkin' about, ya chump?" Harley snapped, hands on her hips as she leaned forward and glared at a man whom easily dwarfed her and outweighed her by two hundred pounds or more at least. "Well?" She demanded.

The large, thick man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other in a way that might suggest either distress or needing to use the facilities quickly. "I, uh...couldn't get ya anything, boss..."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Ya useless. I should feed ya to tha dogs for bein' so dumb. But I'm feelin' generous today. Guess ya in luck. Get back out there and don't come back until ya have something useful for me," Harley said, voice soft and soothing. The large man nodded quickly, before turning. He scurried away from the petite blonde in fear of his life.

"Useless....why is it so hard ta get good help around here? A girl don't want much..." She breathed to herself, folding her arms across her chest as she watched the larger man fade out of sight.

Finally she turned and picked up the baseball bat she'd been using before the interruption. The night was still young and Harley was bored. Taking over the city seemed like a very large task but with an arsenal of lunatics at her disposal, at least it was fun to watch the drama.

She swung the bat and shattered a large display window. The sound of the glass breaking brought the smile back to her painted face. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction and she felt complete amidst the chaos. The siren of the closed shop blared at the night and a few people on the streets began running away from the sound.

Turning away, Harley clutched her bat and skipped down the sidewalk, looking for something else to smash into pieces.

"It's time ta give this City somethin' ta smile about. Don't cha think?" Harley inquired with a giggle, casting her attention out at one of her burly guards. It wasn't like she had to protect herself from danger, there was no opposing threat here. But it always did a girl good to have some kind of a brawler at her side. She liked to be prepared.

"Whatever you say, boss," came the grunt of a reply.

Harley's painted lips only grew in excitement, offering the man a Cheshire Cat sort of grin. "I like tha sound'a that. Boss....yeah, I could get used ta that!" She laughed, throwing her head back as she did so, squeezing her eyes shut. It was her turn to step up and take over. There was no one here to stop her. She had plenty of armed men at her disposal, floors and rooms full of guys crazy enough to do her bidding.

And she felt like her Puddin' would be proud of her.

Tilting her head back down, breathing rapid from the laughing, Harleen wiped at her streaming eyes with her fingertips, smudging the paint. "Then whaddya waitin' for, ya lunk? Let's get this place laughin'. I'm talkin' a real good time. Whaddya say? Send tha troops out. Give each of 'em a gun and none of them can come back without some good story ta tell. It'll be beautiful when it's all done..." She said with a satisfied sigh, offering her office a dreamy look. Bordem was not a girls best friend.

The burly, armed guard nodded and with a duck of his head he trudged out of the office to spread the word.

It was time to take over the City, person by person, and Harley wouldn't stop until all of her men were gone. Good thing she had unlimited resources at her disposal. Things could've gotten really sticky if not.

Ever since she saw the man with the healing glow Harley had been obsessed. She couldn't shake the feeling of what a miracle such a power was. All of her, every fiber of her being wanted to have that power, the ability to heal and the ability to save. She had long since given up her morals and standards for ethical practice, but that didn't mean she couldn't start over, right? With Eddie gone the world was too quiet now. No Joker, no Scarecrow, no Riddler. Nobody that would know her on the deeper levels of what she could be and what she had been.

It was time to make new friends.

So she sought out the nurse that had healed James. The search wasn't too difficult, she had a location to start in. The City Hospital. It was there Harleen used her Doctor credentials to slip into areas reserved only for employees. She browsed through rooms, patient areas, staff areas. Each door she opened held potential but none of them held the man she was looking for.

"Like findin' a needle in a haystack," Harley breathed. Maybe she could try calling for him. Wasn't that what had happened the first time anyway to get him to appear?

Wouldn't hurt to try would it?

She found an empty, dark patient room and once the door was closed behind herself Harley moved to the center of the area and grinned. "Peter!" She called. Her voice wasn't too loud, not wanting to give away her position, but loud enough to be heard by anyone that might be listening. Her mind, too, reached out anxiously. Would he hear her?

"Peter!" She called again.

It was to be today. James had everything in place. After having double-checked his work, he returned to Steve's apartment looking for Ariel - but found only quiet. Believing that she'd gone out to sun or to stroll, he went downstairs and circled the apartment building. Then he did it again. Dismissing the mild unease, he headed back up to wait.

But an hour passed, and she had not returned. The second hour ticked by, and he finally picked up his phone and tried to reach her on it. It wasn't unexpected that she didn't pick up. She never really seemed technologically minded. So he rang Steve instead. The conversation was stilted and harsh, at least on his end. His throat felt tight, and the back of his neck was hot.

He knew.

James knew, but was trying to deny it.

Steve was on his way back. James paced the front of the living room quickly, back and forth, and then shot a text to Dr. Quinn.

Today. That was all he needed to send to her; she'd know the rest. It didn't matter that night hadn't even fallen. And, he realized, it didn't even matter that he hadn't confirmed that Edward Nigma had kidnapped her again. He should have handled this long ago. It shouldn't even be a question.

After today, it wouldn't be.

"You ain't the boss of me," Harley stated, narrowing her eyes at the tall, red-haired man. Her arms folded across her chest and she huffed, "You walk around here like you own me, Eddie, and you don't. You ain't got nothin' left besides me and this is how ya treat me?!" Harleen inquired in an amused gasp, her eyes widening. "You ain't nothin' without Jonathan. Nothin' without Effie. There was once a time when I knew ya ta stand for somethin', but that ain't now. When's tha last time ya made a riddle for tha bat? Hm? Left a bomb on tha Mayor's doorstep just waitin' for tha Bat ta figure out tha answer?"

Harleen laughed, hands sliding to her hips as she continued her rant.

"You used ta be so great...not as great as my Puddin', cause nobody is that great, but you was up there, yanno? Oneatha good ones...what happened to ya, Eddie? Ya got soft...I dunno what it is..." She sighed, rolling her eyes as she mulled it over.

Edward glared at her.

"Are you done you babbling idiot or do I have to shut you up myself?" Edward inquired harshly.

"Oh yeah. Big man. Wave ya guns at me. Like that scares me. Ya gotta do betta than that if ya wanna get ta me. Or did you forget who I'm with?" Harley inquired, a playful narrowing of her eyes followed her question.

Eddie laughed. "You mean the statue that you follow? The concrete image of a mastermind that has no power to do anything? Not even save you. He might pretend to love you, dear, but we all know he isn't capable of true love. That's why he tries so hard to kill you. Oh, you didn't know?"

Harley's bottom lip quivered but she wouldn't cry. Not here. "You take that back, ya monster! He does love me! Something happened ta him and I don't see you out there tryin' ta fix him." She sniffled and wiped at her streaming eyes with her fingers. "I hate you sometimes, Eddie. You ain't gotta be mean."

"Oh Harley....sweet, naive Harley," Eddie chuckled, "All we have now is each other so you had better start figuring out exactly where your allegiance lies. I would hate it if you ended up on the wrong side, though if by some miracle Jack did come back and asked about you, I would tell him you went quick and that all that was left of you was scattered ashes."

Harley frowned. "Monster."

And she left it at that.

"...pieces of crap..." Harley mumbled to herself in a heavy growl, before she gritted her teeth. The grasp on the handle of the oversized mallet she currently was holding was white-knuckled, almost as if she strained to lift it. Oh but she was much stronger than her petite stature suggested and the mallet was nothing. Nor was the swing that followed it. The flat end of the head of the mallet came over her shoulder and down hard on to the top part of an automobile. When the glass of the windshield shattered and the crunch of the metal as the roof caved in hit her, Harley broke into a wide, almost comical grin. Oh it felt good smashing things! It was like lifting a weight from her shoulders.

Despite the warning from Crane about her attire, Harley donned her red and black jumpsuit. White grease paint was smeared across her face from sweat and the black khol that encircled her eyes was running. She laughed hard, red lips pulled back from her teeth to offer any unfortunate passer-by's a sample of what crazed delight was. Her blue eyes sparkled and the blonde pig-tails bobbed. This was so much fun.

"What else can I smash?" She asked herself, setting the long handle of the mallet over a shoulder. She skipped delightfully away from the crumpled mess of scrap metal and broken glass, not caring that the vehicle belonged to someone she didn't know that probably needed it. She didn't care about anything right then.

A skip, and a swing. A blue mail box flew into the street, skidding across the pavement to land in the middle and stop. Harley giggled and waved at it as if it had greeted her like an old friend would. "See ya lata, alligata." Another few skips and Harley terrorized a hot dog stand, subjecting it to the same fate as the mailbox and car before it. Hot dogs, buns and condiments littered the street and sidewalk. "Fifteen points fa me!" Harley squealed in delight.

The moon shimmered down on her, reflecting the glee in her eyes and the spring in her step. She drove her mallet through the window of a shop, next, hearing the alarms blaring at her. "Aw, shaddup. Nobody wants ta hear that noise," Harley said, her grin widening. "Gonna be a good night after all. I was worried there for a minute or two."

Turning from the window, Harley's eyes flickered at the street, curious if there was anything else that looked worth smashing to bits. Her mallet sat in the curve of a shoulder and she waited to find something good. It had to be real good. Perfect actually.

Harley was tired. Exhausted.

Every muscle in her body ached. The bones in her hand felt like granules of sand and shattered shards of glass. It was wrapped and splinted, unable to be utilized for its purpose. Penance for her mouth. It was but a small price to pay in the larger picture. The torture had been worse, far worse and yet she had expected it. It felt like a long time that she spent in the darkness; the depths of Arkham that she knew intimately had become almost like a tomb. A chain around her neck had kept her on the floor, and her only will to move was the commanded obedience lest she be met with more violence.

And like that, like a snap of her fingers she was free. She felt empty and robotic almost as if she were moving on autopilot alone. As of her brain had shut itself down and was coasing merely on the fringes of the reality around her.

At first the sunlight had been blinding. The smells of the fresh air and the City were pleasant in comparison to the dank, moist mildew smell that clung to the brick walls of the cell under ground. Footfalls, the echos of each step toward her made her body shake. Now there were footfalls all about her and she had no fear of them. None. She was empty of feeling.

She found herself toting what little posessions at the Asylum she had out in a box. A deck of cards, some items from her desk, a hand gun, her megaphone and of course her costume. A comically-oversized mallet was strapped to her back. It hit her gently in the calf as she walked down the street with her box. It was an awkward carry considering one of her hands was broken but she managed. And no one dared bother her in the state she was in. Her blonde hair was filthy from captivity; strings of it had turned almost black with a mixture of dirt and blood. Eddie had spared her face, thank the stars, but in spite of that her expression was one of malice and revenge. The gleam in her eye was a blazing fire. Her step was sluggish but she was determined to make it to her apartment.

The blonde couldn't bring herself to stay at Arkham anymore. She wasn't quitting; Harleen Quinzel was not a quitter by any stretch of a measure but she was putting distance between herself and the place. It wasn't her place to begin with. She was an intruder without Jack to protect her. Her puddin'. She missed him so.

Finally the complex came in to view and Harley sighed. Now she could have a bath and relax without worrying about herself. And she could be rid of the screams. Oh those screams.

Harley stood in the hallway.

She was spent. Used up. Done.

In one hand she clasped a briefcase which was stuffed full of a variety of things. The other was lifted, fingers curled against her palm. She was knocking without realizing it. Number fourteen. Steve's apartment.

Scare beast had done a number on her psyche but she had a promise...one last promise she had to get out of her ledger before she could give herself entirely to the beast. And it had to be now. It couldn't wait anymore. Harleen had managed to change her skirt which had been rendered to tatters. Her button up shirt was halfway untucked from the waist band, and her hair was askew from the ponytail she had pulled it back into. Her blue eyes were hazed, but she made herself focus. Half of the collar of her shirt was pulled up, the other half was down as normal. Bruises and red marks riddled the flesh of her neck. She avoided them.

Again she knocked. Steve could tell her where the girl was, and they could be done with the assessment. She had to be done with it. It was that or she knew the beast would take her life. He had made her choose, and she had chosen him over the heroic life. Over protection. She was trying to save her friends. Steve needed to be alive, he needed to help people like Ariel. Bucky. Harley was past help. She had done this to herself.

"C'mon ya idiot, open tha door," she breathed, though she didn't mean it in a malicious way. She needed to get back. The timeline was growing thinner with each second.

Harley didn't realize how her makeup looked, it ran down her face. Maybe she had cried on the way over. Maybe it had been really hot in her car and she had sweated. She would never tell. But this had to be done. If she was even allowed to do the tests. It all would depend on Steve's friend. She needed the permission. She wasn't going to get squashed by someone just because she was fulfilling a promise.

So, Harley lowered her hand from the door and waited.

(*Warning! Adult content. Please be advised!***)


Harley patted the flowers that Steve had brought for her, having found a pretty vessel to store them in. It was an old vase, an ugly blue with a crack down one side, but it served a purpose and thus she accepted it. Honestly if you turned the vase just so...well, you couldn't even notice the crack in the paint at all.

On her desk were her playing cards. All of the deck sat intact, and there was a Joker card face up on the top. She had been reminiscing, missing Jack and wishing those flowers had been from him. She sighed, twirling one of the daisies she'd plucked from the vase between her finger and thumb, watching the petals spin.

It had been too long since anyone had gotten her flowers. Jack didn't ever anymore, and Jonathan sure hadn't. So she enjoyed these while she could. Even though they had water, the stems already were beginning to wilt. The roses were sensitive and now they looked comically sad and droopy. It amused her and she hated it at the same time.

"Why can't ya last foreva?" Harley asked the daisy, as if she expected an answer. She spun slowly in her desk chair, barefoot. It was after hours, no patients, so she had discarded her heels and let her toes breathe.

"And how come tha only man that wants to buy me flowas is one of those Hero types? He is kinda cute, yanno what I mean? All big an strong...he ain't to bright though. Ain't too bright at all." She shook her head as if it were some kind of shame. Harley had tried to warn Steve about the Scarecrow. Even if the entity was gone, it always came back sooner or later. And it didn't like to play nice if you pissed it off. Likely Steve could handle it, but that was if Scarecrow played fair. Playing fair wasn't always the case in those circumstances. No. No. It was better for the blonde hero to stay away. She could go to him and in the meantime she would sit here and play with his flowers. Her flowers.

After checking on his charges, making certain they had everything necessary to eat and rest, Steve headed back out, this time heading for Arkham Asylum. He didn't like the place, given his last trip there, but he had to return Harleen's car and keys, and pick up his bike. He also wanted to thank the woman for her help. She'd mentioned she was being framed, so he wanted to be sure she wasn't in any further danger from it.

He gave his name at the desk this time, waiting to be announced. The shield had been left home, but in his pocket was her bundle of keys, and he carried a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Women still liked flowers, right? The florist had assured him that it was appropriate, but her smile had suggested it might still be a little old-fashioned.

Oh, well. Steve Rogers was the very definition of old-fashioned in this age. Coulson had said it first. Maybe it was still something that was needed.

Steve declined to sit, waiting in a relaxed position, hands (and flowers) tucked behind his back.

"Oh Puddin'" Harley said with a sniffle.

She had snuck on to the grounds of Blackgate. She had to see him for herself and while she had been putting it off....she knew she would eventually find herself standing before him. Jack. Joker. Whatever anyone wanted to call him but he would always be Puddin' to her. Unless they were in the presence of company and then it was always Mista J. But she couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was...he was stone. A statue! Someone's fucking garden gnome. He deserved better and they both had seen worse.

Another sniffle and a couple of large, sloppy tears cascaded down from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She lifted a hand and set her palm on his chest, over the part where his heart would be and she got closer to him. "Puddin' I wish ya could hear me. I wish you was here ta help. Eddie has gone crazy. Kidnapped a girl and some guys came lookin' for her. Messed him up pretty bad. The Doc ain't gonna be too happy with me for helpin' 'em, but Eddie framed me. I was screwed eitha way and the smarter choice was ta go with the nice Brooklyn fellas. I dunno if I'm gonna make it too much longer above ground. But in case I don't, I wanted ya ta know that I was here. That I love ya and that at least for one minute we were togetha. Even if you are just a statue."

Her lips found his stone cheek and then she pulled back. Fingers wiped at her streaming eyes and Harleen knelt down to the ground. She set her teddy that he had gotten for her at the carnival near one of his stone shoes, the bear resting against the statue almost comically.

When she rose again, Harley looked at the statue of her love, pressed her fingers against her lips and blew him a kiss. "Love ya, foreva. No matta what." With that, she turned and Harley raced quietly toward the high wall of the compound. She scaled the wall, leapt up and was over and down on the other side in a matter of moments. The night allowed her to creep back to Arkham where a cold, lonely bed full of emptiness awaited her. And a possible death sentance.

Cleaning up the apartment didn't take as long as Steve had worried it might. Of course, there was plaster to reapply and furniture that needed replacing, but within two hours, the glass and blood had been cleared away, the damaged walls tidied, the bed made up with fresh linens. The door was the final task, and once it was refitted and able to shut again (albeit with some resistance), Steve figured that was the best he would be able to do without a trip out to a hardware store.

He headed back to his apartment, hoping to clean himself up a bit before checking in on Ariel and Bucky.

The discarded basket caught his eye as he reached for the knob to his apartment door. Hadn't the redhead had something like that? He walked to it and picked it up, eyeing the business card within.

His eyes narrowed a bit. What was Harleen's card doing here? And where was Ariel?

A cold sensation nestled itself in between Steve's shoulders. He burst into his apartment, grabbed his shield, and then went to number seven, hoping he would find the pair resting together or talking quietly. He knocked twice and let himself in, the shield at the ready - just in case his instincts were superior to his desires.

There was unfamiliar playing on the radio. Steve could hear it before he opened his eyes. There was a gentle commotion of traffic through the window, and a faint spring breeze running through the air. He could smell the scent of flowers, of ozone and carbonation, of the sea. It was an interesting mixture. The sheets under his skin were crisp and clean, though softer than he would have expected. Steve had been a soldier for long enough that the additional comfort was unexpected.

Eyes opened, and he could see sunlight pouring in from a window, cracked open just enough to allow the slight breeze. He didn't recognize the shapes of the building through the glass, but the very fact that there were buildings had him sitting up in bed before he knew it. Other sensory information flooded his eyes, categorized and assessed before conscious thought, and he knew he was in no danger. Only displaced.

Again.

Steve let out a sigh, and looked around. The room was much like the one he had been using in Washington DC, near the SHIELD headquarters he worked out of. Not quite Spartan in it's utility, but there were few marks of personality on it. It was a room for sleep, for meditation, not for living. He hadn't done much to leave an imprint in that room, and it's copy was reflected here.

His clothes were familiar enough - a plain white t-shirt with plain boxers. He got up from the unremarkable bed and found clothing that suited his taste in the unremarkable dresser and closet. Jeans, cotton, and leather. Something that appealed to his 1940's mentality, without being vastly out of place in the high-tech world he'd found himself in.

He didn't pay much attention to the rest of the apartment, only giving it a casual looking-over that raised more questions. Was he back in DC? SHIELD couldn't have set this up - SHIELD was no more. Despite the feeling that he was in no danger, Steve didn't like the way the apartment and the room were presented - they felt like a gift, inexplicable and sudden, and Steve didn't trust this kind of good fortune. There were always price tags. SHIELD had made him wary of such things.

He absently noted the apartment number as he locked the door behind him (number 14), as well as the name of the building as he left (Agreeable Apartments). Parked on the street, to his surprise, was his motorcycle. Frowning, Steve checked the pockets of his leather coat. He'd only noticed the single apartment key when he'd left, but now there was another key on the simple keychain that also bore his surname - the key to the bike.

He stopped, stared at the keys in his hand, and looked back at the motorcycle. Then raised a hand to his temples and began to fight back the headache brewing behind the storm of questions building in his mind.

( Just smile! )

Harley was loving this new life. Oh, she hadn’t at first. That whole thing about being bitten hadn’t been very fun at all. The only one allowed to nibble on her person was her Puddin’, and that was in a completely different context. Having some freak just walk up and chomp on her, not so great. And that had been before nightfall.

( Changing had been rough. )

Patience was a virtue. Unfortunately, it was not one of Harley’s. It never really had been, actually. When she wanted something, she found a way to make it happen, even before she’d met her Puddin’. Now when she wanted something, she generally just took it. A reflection that did nothing to lighten her gloomy mood as she sat parked atop an office building, watching the two most likely exits to said structure.

This had seemed like fun when she thought of it three hours ago. The fuzz did it all the time. The vinyl vigilante practically lived to do this sort of thing. Which only reinforced Harley’s professional opinion that Bats was cracked in the head. Normal people did not put on tights and masks and skulk around rooftops, it wasn’t a healthy expression of emotion.

( What it was, currently, was a dead bore. )

Generally, Harley Quinn was not found in the sort of store that was frequented by the average soccer mom or blue collar dad. If she wanted something that they might carry, she could probably find a better, more expensive version of it to steal from some other store. It was the difference between Target and Barney’s New York. Not that she went to Barney’s either, her sights were usually aimed a lot higher.

So what she was doing in this big box store today was a mystery. Something had wriggled into her brain and made her think this was a good idea, Harley just couldn’t remember what it was. It must have been something fun, because she was dressed down today; white shorts with knee socks and roller skates topped with a striped knit top and finished off with the pigtails that sprouted from either side of her head. No hyenas today because her Puddin’ had “borrowed” them.

( Oh yes! That’s what she’d come for! )

The sunlight warmed Ivy's face, making her feel strong and content. She slowly opened her eyes to the new dawn, content that night was over. Something was different. She sat up and looked around. The children were nowhere to be seen. A pang of concern hit her, but before she could focus too much on the children, she realized that the plants around her felt different. They weren't the babies she'd cultivated in Robinson park. They were weaker, thirstier, more neglected.

Ivy rose to her feet and turned as she heard footsteps. A man came into view, though he didn't immediately spot Ivy. Gardening shears were in his hand and he headed straight for a rose bush. Ivy watched as he leaned in to snip a rose off the bush.

She held out her hand and communed with the roses, which grew long enough to wrap around him and dig the thorns inside. Ivy stepped into view as the man writhed against the thorns cutting into him, his blood droplets falling on the white roses, staining them.

"Savage," Ivy growled as the thorned vines dragged him downward, suffocating him.

She turned and walked away, ignoring the dying shrieks of the man. She continued through the park, encouraging plants wherever she went. Flowers began to bloom, vines began to creep up trellises, and the grass started to turn wild. Still, there was much to do.

This place was in need, and Ivy could see she had a lot of work to do.

It was lonely up at the Bates Motel.

Norman sat on the wooden-planked porch that stretched out across the twelve cabin motel. It was of the old fashioned variety, where one could easily pull their car up in front of the door to their room and walk on in, complete avoidance of other people. The only interaction (on paper) occurred when the guest signed in the guest book. Norman was never too particular about who his guests were or where they came from. He just liked to keep a log, for the sake of professionalism. And, in the off chance, that he might have to bill for damages. Occasionally, teenage kids would shack up at his motel -- yes, he knew exactly what they were doing -- and, occasionally, things would get broken. Norman didn't like it when people disrespected his establishment. It was a reputable business, after all. People didn't seem to appreciate all of the hard work that went into running a motel. Even a small motel required delicate care to the details.
( The Bates Motel was always pigmented in black and white. )

The young doctor behind the desk looked through the paperwork, then glanced at the blonde who was sitting in front of his desk. She was braiding, unbraiding, then rebraiding one of her pigtails. She looked bored. The doctor frowned slightly and looked at the file in front of him yet again, certain that there was a mistake. But no, it was there, printed very clearly. ( She was to be released. )