Gotham Girls Book One: "Ladies of the Knight"

The soft beam of moonlight cast a pale glow around the room. The boy was sleeping soundly in his bed, surrounded by familiar toys and comfortable blankets. His arm draped across the faded, threadbare teddy that he’d had since birth.

It wouldn’t last.

A cold wind rustled the curtains as the window opened slowly. The darkly-dressed man outside couldn’t sigh in relief that there wasn’t an alarm. He was shaking with too much pent-up anticipation.

He slipped through the window silently, landing with a light thump on the carpet. The boy heard nothing.

A high, quiet, mad laugh escaped the man’s lips. After all of this time, all these years of planning, watching, waiting, searching, he was finally going to do it. He would finally have his revenge.

As he snuck over to the little boy’s bed and looked down, he felt a pang of something that felt like regret. He remembered so clearly the time when his daughter was this small. But that had been so long ago, and the pang fell away quickly. He had waited much too long for this moment to back out now.

He drew a knife out of the inside of his coat. The moonlight glinted off of the dull metal, giving it an eerie sheen. He reached out a hand to cover the sleeping boy’s mouth.

The child woke with a muffled shout, twisting instinctively in his attacker’s grip and trying to see in the dark room. With the cold weapon clenched in his shaking hand, the man leaned down close to the boy’s ear, and whispered.



The GCPD was on the scene nearly two hours later. Every part of the house was blocked off, and a small group of police had to shout to keep the morbidly curious crowd away from the scene.

Batgirl had been inside the child’s room long before the officers arrived. She crouched now in the shadows outside the window, watching the investigation while she still had the cover of darkness.

That morning, Renee had needed to grit her teeth and physically restrain herself from leaping back into the investigation the way she’d been taught to. Every ounce of her had been screaming the lessons she’d learned in police training—Don’t touch anything, photograph everything, find the trail, catch the bastard as quick as you can.

She had already broken most of the rules. She didn’t know what it was, exactly, but she and the rest of the Bats had some kind of sense for where trouble was going to show up. Thanks to that, Renee had been the first officer on the crime scene. She had taken no pictures. She had actually walked on the scene, stepping over the still body of a little boy. It had taken all she had to fight the impulse to call for back-up and document every near-invisible bloodstain and bit of fabric.

She’d lost the impulse to throw up or scream within her first month as a Gotham City Police Officer.

On the outside, this one looked like a typical Gotham crime. Sad, shocking, media fodder yes, but fairly standard. But in Gotham City, no crime is ever typical. It hadn’t taken long for Renee to learn that on the force, and the knowledge was even more vital now.

Two officers that Renee didn’t recognize walked carefully into the room, taking great pains not to disturb any part of the scene
.
“Good God...” one breathed, clenching his fist and turning away.

“Get used to it, rookie.” Renee nodded to herself as she recognized the voice. He was well-respected veteran with the police, who she knew by reputation if not by sight. “You can’t handle it, you’re not gonna last long in Gotham.”

“I can handle it, sir. It’s just...okay. I’m good now.” Renee almost chuckled at the greenish tint in the rookie’s skin. “What do we know so far?”

The older cop chewed furiously on a piece of gum, as a substitute for his usual cigarette. “Well, the dad calls us at 7 am, says he got up and went to wake the kid when he found this. Claims he didn’t hear so much as a peep from Junior all night.”

“He heard nothing? From all this?”

“That’s the story, anyway. Naturally, they’re questioning him down at the station. But you know the drill, it’s our job to figure out exactly what happened here, as quick as we can.”

“Right.” The rookie nodded. Renee watched closely while the two officers searched the room, taking samples and talking quietly to each other. They came up with nothing that Renee hadn’t—until the younger one finally pulled back the covers on the bed.

“Sir!” The older officer hurried to the bedside at the shout, and ran a hand through his peppered hair.

“I wish I could say this was brand new,” he sighed.

“It’s not?”

“Well, the bird maybe. But not the mark.” Renee’s stomach flipped. She listened hard for the next words as the cop called into his walkie-talkie. “Commish? We’ve got more here than we thought.”



“Who the hell does that? He just left this bloody, dead bird on the bed—his bed, Babs!”

“Renee, what is with you? You just told me the other day how you worked on that first Joker case, and that was ten times worse.”

“I know. I know. But I was an officer then...God, I don’t know. But I mean, how long were you in this job before you got one of the psychos?”

“Week and a half,” replied Barbara Gordon evenly. The two girls were stretched out on the couch in Barbara’s apartment. Renee had changed into street clothes since her investigation that morning, but there were still traces around her eyes of the dark make-up she used under her mask. Barbara sat with a blanket across her legs, wheelchair waiting nearby.

“Fine, brag about it. But I just get the feeling this whole thing is too much for the PD.”

“That’s what we’re here for. Backtrack a little, though. What kind of bird?”

“Like I know? It was blue. Little. I’m no bird-watcher, I don’t know what it was.”

“Hm.” Barbara put a hand to her chin, bright orange hair falling around her face. “I’d say Penguin maybe, but he’s not dumb enough to try something like this while he’s running for office. Not that he ever stooped that low anyway.. Good call though, on the mark. It’s definitely a sign that this is bigger than your standard petty criminal.”

Renee took a deep breath to calm herself. “So what’s the next step?”

“Same as it was when you were with the fuzz.”

“The fuzz?” Even in her state, Renee cracked a smile.

Barbara only shrugged. “Too many movies, what can I say. But seriously. First step if you don’t have any leads—which we don’t—is look at the victim. I doubt the kid has too many real enemies, but the father might.”

“What about the father?”

“What about the father?”

“He’s the prime suspect as far as the PD is concerned. Do you think he did it?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re not this difficult when Batman asks you a question.”

Barbara grinned. “Okay, fine. But really, do you think it was the father?”

Renee thought for a minute. “No,” she decided finally. “I got a look at him when they were taking him out to the car. It’d be too hard to fake being that upset. And the bird wouldn’t make any sense.”

“I agree.” Barbara stretched her arms over her head and sighed. “Like I said, then. Look at the victim. You should see if Dad will let you look at the case file. You never know, it might work.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Renee glanced at her watch and stood, grabbing her jacket from the back of the couch. “Might as well go now, while they still let visitors in.”

“See ya, then. You understand if I don’t walk you out.” With a sad sort of smile, Barbara indicated the blanket over her legs.

Renee nodded, and let herself out the door.



“But why not?”

“Renee, you know that I can’t let you do that. It’s against policy.”

“But Ji—but Commissioner, please, can’t I just take one look?”

Renee grabbed on to James Gordon’s shirt sleeve as she chased him through the halls of police headquarters. Her dark hair was disheveled and escaping from the elastic holding it back, and she looked up pleadingly at her old boss, hoping it would give her the extra edge. “Please, Jim? I just want to look at one thing. It’ll take two minutes.”

“I’m sorry, Renee! I can’t let you.” Jim took a deep breath and sighed, turning around to face Renee. “And I don’t have time for you to be hanging around here waiting.” The two of them were closer friends than perhaps they should have been—even after Renee had left the police force, she and Jim had seen a lot of each other through Barbara. The commissioner had always admired the girl’s tenacity, and the sheer courage that she’d always displayed in a dangerous crime scene. But even so...

“Jim, please, I just need one look, I think I can help you with the Dublin case!”

“You aren’t an officer anymore, Montoya!” Renee stopped her pleas instantly. She wasn’t about to make Jim Gordon any angrier once he got serious. “It isn’t your problem. Now go home.”

Dejected, with her hands in her pockets and a frustrated frown on her face, Renee turned and walked away.

“Renee!”

She looked back as soon as she heard Jim calling her name.

He rifled through his pocket as he made his way back along the hallway, knocking into a junior officer in his way. When he reached Renee, he passed a small bit of paper into her hand and didn’t look at her as he spoke. “If you can figure this out...well, we could use the help.”

Renee let herself smile and nod, and slipped the photograph into her jacket pocket.

It was a photo of a small, blue bird with its throat slit, lying on top of a little boy’s sheets.



Hours later, Renee’s head dropped down onto her chest under the cold blue glow of a computer screen in a dark room. She didn’t pick it back up until her dozing was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

She snapped her head up to attention and grabbed the phone. “Yes, hello?”

“Mockingbird.”

“Huh? Hold on, Babs.” Renee put the receiver down on her desk and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She lifted up her head again to look at the computer; a youth with a dangerous look in his eyes snarled back at her. “What was that?”

“A mockingbird, in the picture. Which I’ll be giving back to you in the morning, by the way,” Barbara added, “No reason for Dad to know I’m on his case.”

“So what’s a mockingbird mean?”

“I don’t know yet. What’d you find out?”

Renee clicked the mouse and recited back what she had read that night. “Victim Paul Dublin, typical 5-year-old. Due to start kindergarten in September. Whoever the guy was, it wasn’t the kid he wanted to hurt,” she added cryptically. It happened all too often in this world; an innocent victim used as a tool to hurt someone else.

“So what about the father?”

“Alexander Dublin, 31. Shady record—he’s never been found guilty of anything, but this file is littered with arrests and charges. Five robberies, vandalism, one really suspicious case where a little girl died. All with the same small gang of friends, it looks like. But no convictions.”

“Right, like that means anything. What’s happened to him since?”

“Looks like he settled down about five years ago. Got a house, had the kid.”

“Where’s the mother?”

“Left a while ago. The police aren't even looking at her. Last heard, she was in Spain living la vida loca.”

“So keep looking at the father,” said Babs. “You didn’t have any trouble getting into my network, right?”

“None at all. Thanks for it.”

“Bet you wish you had it back with the boys in blue, huh?”

Renee smiled to herself. It was true; Barbara’s computer skills would have been an amazing asset when she was a cop. It was pretty darn useful these days as well, and a huge step up from Renee’s standard computer network. “You bet. I’ll keep on looking for enemies. With this kind of a record he’s bound to have some. In the meantime, if you can figure out what a dead mockingbird means—“

“—you’ll be the first to know,” finished Barbara. “Look, get some sleep, Renee. I’ll take over for now.”

“Don’t bother, I’m on a coffee high, I’ll be up for hours still.” Well, I will be soon, thought Renee, although she wished secretly for her soft, warm bed.

“Then take that coffee high and get on the streets,” Barbara insisted. “Until we figure this all out, we can’t afford to let you take the night off.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll go out, you do my homework.”

“I’ll call you if anything comes up.” A click and a dial tone; Barbara had hung up.

Renee turned off her computer, and the room went even darker. With only the faint orange glow of a streetlight outside to see by, Renee began to get ready.

Her costume looked simple, but it wasn’t. Once it was on, it was nearly impossible to tell where one Kevlar-reinforced piece ended and the next began, and she seemed to be little more than a black female-shaped shadow with a proud gold bat-symbol splashed across her chest. Her arms and legs were covered skin-tight in black, her eyes and hair hidden behind the dark mask. It had all become routine by now: dark make-up around her eyes to cover what the mask didn’t, flexible fabrics that could cover her without restricting her movement, a flowing black cape around her shoulders to wrap her in a protective shadow. Renee cinched the golden belt around her waist and pulled the cowl over her head, and Batgirl was ready for the night.

In the past few months, Renee had become enamored of her back window—all it faced was a brick wall in the back of another building. She’d hated it at first, since there was nothing to see outside. But she loved it now, since there was no one to see inside.

No one noticed a dark shape slinking out of the window and soaring across the buildings of Gotham City.



It was late again, and dark. He slunk around the large houses at the city’s outskirts. The light of the half-moon shimmered in his fair, tousled hair. He allowed himself to laugh as he walked. Other men might not have found their destinations so quickly and with so little guidance. He was not like other men anymore.

A song was playing in the back of his mind. A pretty little girl of about eight was singing.

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”

The singing came closer and closer until she was skipping alongside him down the street.

“The next one’s just down this way, dearest,” he said to her, as the little girl continued to sing.

“And if that mockingbird won’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.” She looked back up at him with a gap-toothed grin. “Thank you, daddy,” she said.

He felt a warm, sustaining feeling growing in his heart, and he hummed along with his daughter. “And if that diamond ring turns brass—“

“Papa’s gonna buy you a looking-glass.” She continued to grin as they drew closer. “I love you, Daddy.”

He wished that he could hug her. “I love you too, Jessica.”

She kept on singing as he approached the house of his next victim.

Close by, a little girl slept soundly in her bed, safe without the knowledge of what was to come.



As she leapt from building to nearby building, the speaker in Renee’s cowl crackled to life with Barbara’s voice. “Renee!”

“What is it?”

“911 call from just out by the river. Try to get there before the cops!”

“On it.”

Without another word, Batgirl changed direction, praying that this time she would be able to do something.

[/i][/center]

The sun was just starting to rise over Gotham City. A heavy mist hung in the air, scattering the first bright rays of light. Thick dew lay on every leaf and blade of grass, late streetlamps glowed orange through the fog, and everything came together to make the city sparkle.

The doorbell rang in a first-floor apartment in the heart of the city. A man stumbled to answer it in his robe, yawning and holding a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. There was no one at the door. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the man looked down at his doormat. Sitting at his feet were a soaked newspaper in its plastic bag…

…and an odd bouquet of green and white flowers.

He picked up the strange bouquet and brought it to his face, taking a few sniffs. Almost instantly, a feeling started to spread through his body—in through the throat, down into the lungs, seeping into his blood. He felt suddenly lightheaded; breathing was harder than he remembered. He realized that he was laughing, a high, crazed cackle pouring from his lips. He was choking on the laughter, he couldn’t breathe, something was stretching back the muscles in his face…

They would find him a few hours later, lying by the open door, dead and pale with a smile on his face.



“…sudden rash of biological attacks sweeping Gotham city. Citizens are advised to keep their doors and windows closed, and remain indoors until further notice. Police Commissioner James Gordon had this to—“

Renee’s hand slammed into her clock radio at 9:01, cutting off the smooth female voice.

She sat up in bed, shaking tangled hair out of her face. She rubbed her eyes, slid over the side of the bed into a pair of warm slippers, and forced herself up and into the kitchen for breakfast.

Armed with a donut and a cup of coffee, she turned on the televised version of the morning news.

“…police promising that they’ll update us as information becomes available. If you’re just tuning in, we repeat our warning to avoid strangers, and to keep kids and pets inside until we have more information on this bizarre story.”

Renee clicked off the TV and sighed. It was going to be one of those days.

She sat for a while, tapping her fingers against the coffee mug, resisting the itch to turn the news back on. She didn’t last too long.

“…keep following this pressing story.”

Click.

“…Back to you, Marsha.”

“Thanks, Tom. Our top story this morning, seven people have been found dead at the doors of their homes, the victims of what looks like a biological terrorist attack. The victims include men and women of varied races, all living close to the center of Gotham. The cause of death is as yet unknown, but a poison of some kind is said to be the most likely cause.”

Renee grabbed the remote and froze the picture that came up on the screen. A couple, laid out in their kitchen with matching hideous grins. Their skin had gone pale, lips bright red. She gulped. She’d seen that face before.

She clicked the remote again and the news re-started. “Ladies and gentlemen, we wish that we could say ‘April Fool’s,’ but this story is absolutely true.”

Renee glanced at her tear-off calendar, pulling off yesterday. April first.

“Well, that seals it,” she mumbled to herself. She reached for the phone and nearly jumped when it rang before she could reach it.



In an old, decrepit part of Gotham Central Park, there had once been a small amusement park where all the young couples spent their Sunday afternoons. After a tragic drowning incident in the Tunnel of Love, the park had been shut down and subsequently abandoned. Stray cats and dogs roamed the area now, and a film of pollution had settled over the surface of the little river through the spacious cave.

Two weeks before, Harley had stumbled upon the overgrown area and shouted, “It’s perfect!”

Now, she skipped back to the newly-furnished hideout, portable radio in hand, bright blue eyes sparkling with glee.

“Mister J!” she yelled, as she had taken to calling him, “listen to this!”

“…reports now confirm that the infamous criminal known only as the Joker has indeed escaped from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. The public is warned that the Joker is extremely dangerous, and is never to be considered unarmed. Speculation is rampant as to whether Joker’s escape is tied to the mysterious deaths this morning, but police have made no official statement as of this time.”

Inside the dark cave, the Joker’s ever-present smile widened.

“Wonderful!” he cried, stepping closer to the light at the end of the cave, where Harley stood in her full henchman regalia. He had to admit that the girl had a style. She’d even started to wear thick white greasepaint to match him. As minions went, she was far from the worst.

“Ooh, this is so great, Mister J!” Harley skipped around the tunnel in her excitement, baubles bouncing on her jester’s hat. “Now everyone’s gonna know you’re back!”

“And better than ever,” Joker added, standing still in the middle of her circle with his hands folded behind his back. “Now focus, Harley, and go get the next batch. They’re all so expecting a big finish, and who are we to keep them waiting?”

“You got it!” Still prancing, Harley made her way over to where the bouquets were being kept in the cave. She stopped then, picking one up gingerly. “Er, Mister J? You got that antidote…didn’tcha?”

“Of course, Harley my dear. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Satisfied, Harley gathered up flowers and hurried off to do her job, though she was still careful to point them away from her face.

The Joker laughed as he watched her go. Good help wasn’t so hard to find, after all, he thought. All he had to do was make her think she was special.



Poison Ivy woke up to the news that morning, and the first things she heard made her blood start to boil.

“…described to us as a rare strain of poppy grown only in South America. It is unknown how the terrorist came across these flowers, and how he was able to give them this toxic effect. Be warned, Gotham, that as of now thirteen people have been killed.”

“Rare strain…” Ivy muttered, sitting up and stretching out her back. “What’s this all—“

Ding-dong

“…about?” Ivy finished her question as she got up to answer the door. She moved lithely through her little house in her light nightgown, brow furrowed.

A green-and-white bouquet greeted Ivy at her doorstep. She bent to pick it up and looked out at the undeveloped land around her little house. She caught only a glimpse of black and red scurrying away.

Ivy sniffed the flowers, she suddenly understood the sense of panic that had come upon the city.

“Poisoned…” she said, inspecting the bouquet closely. “And they are rare.”

Then, almost out of nowhere, she remembered the late-night meeting she’d had a couple of weeks before, and it all made sense.

Dropping the bouquet on a table, Ivy strode back inside and grabbed her telephone.



“Hello?”

“You’ve got work to do, Batgirl.”

“What’s going on? I heard about this weird flower thing—“

“Tip-off says it’s Joker.”

Renee went white. “That’s what I thought. But Joker’s—“

“—Escaped,” finished Barbara’s voice. “Arkham tried to keep it away from the public. They’re saying now they didn’t want anyone to panic.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Renee swore, pushing her hair back from her forehead. “What tip-off?”

“She didn’t want a name. But she wanted to meet you ASAP on the South side of Gotham Central Park. Be careful, Renee,” Barbara added.

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Renee hung up the phone, focusing only on breathing to calm herself down.



Batgirl swung into a shadowed area of the park twenty minutes later, tensed for action and ready for anything. Even so, she was startled when she recognized the figure waiting in the shade.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” said Ivy, lowering the hood on her jacket.

“What do you want?”

“To help you. Unless you want to be hostile. I don’t have to tell you what I know.” But the threat rang hallow. Renee was amazed at the tone of worry—of pain, even—staining Ivy’s voice.

“Tell me.”

“It’s definitely Joker,” Ivy said without more delay. She wasn’t looking Renee in the eye.

Inside the black gloves, Renee’s fist clenched. “He only escaped last night.”

“He’s got a partner now.” Ivy stepped slowly around a tree, resting a white hand on its bark. “I saw Harley Quinzel on the outside weeks ago. She’s been setting this up since she sprung it, just waiting for the right moment.”

“Where are they?” Renee almost growled. The show of aggression helped to mask the bitingly cold feeling in her stomach.

“I don’t know. But I know I saw Harley passing out the flowers. If we find her, I know we can find him.”

A bit of the stern grimace fell away from Renee’s face. “We?”

“Yes, we. I told you, I want to help.”

“But why?”

Ivy looked past Renee, to a small, wilting rosebush planted next to a water fountain. Her face was steeled with a cold anger. “You know what I can do with plants, but you have no idea how deep my connection goes. I got one of those bouquets, and I could hear the flowers crying.” She bit down on her bottom lip, bringing her eyes up to meet Batgirl’s. “Could you imagine being shot full of poison? Every fiber of your body in agony, and kept alive to bring the same pain to someone else?” After a moment’s silence, Ivy continued. “The Joker is a deranged maniac. I don’t want him on the outside any more than you do. He’s hurting things that the both of us care about. And we both know you need all the help you can get.”

There was a long silence before Renee said, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” warned Ivy, bringing her hood back up to cover her fiery hair. “We have to find Harley first.”



By now, the sun was climbing high in the Gotham sky, and the red of Harley’s costume shone brightly as she skipped along the streets.

She wasn’t all that surprised to turn a corner and find Ivy standing there. The way her life was going these days, very little would have surprised her. “Heya, Ivy!” Harley was, however, slightly confused by Ivy’s hostile look. “What’s goin’ on?”

“What’s going on?” Ivy repeated incredulously. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Harley?”

“Oh, don’tcha like ‘em? Me and Mister J worked just ages on getting ‘em, this was the only kind we could think of that grew green!” she beamed.

It was taking all of Ivy’s strength not to knock the bouquets out of Harley’s arms, and at least stop their heartbreaking, pitiful cries.

“What’s wrong? I got the idea from you!” The pigtails on Harley’s hat started to droop. “What with all your little trick flowers and—“

“Trick!? Do you think what you’re doing is some sort of a game?” Ivy bit her lip to hold back the deluge of angry comments flying through her mind. Instead, she only said quietly, “You can’t hear them.”

“Huh?”

“They’re in pain, Harley. Whatever Joker did to them is agony. It’s only hurting the flowers.”

“Not to mention the fifteen people last count.” Batgirl dropped down from a rooftop to the ground.

Harley went immediately on the offensive, or as much as she could with her arms full. “Hey, no fair! you can’t take me! I ain’t goin', you hear me? We’re not done yet!”

Renee stepped up next to Ivy, eying Harley warily. “The game’s over, Ms. Quinzel—“

“No no, it’s Quinn. Harley Quinn!” she corrected.

Renee and Ivy exchanged looks. “Okay…I’m going to offer you a deal, Harley,” said Renee, trying another tack. “Because I know you don’t want to go back to Arkham, and I don’t want to fight you for it. If you tell me where the Joker is—“

“Nuh-uh, no deal! If you think I’m just gonna tell you all about my old carnival and rat out Mister J, well you got another thing comin’!” Harley folded her arms triumphantly before she realized what she had said. Her eyes widened, and one poisoned bouquet dropped on to the ground. “Oops.”

Renee let the smirk spread her face for only a moment before she took off.

“No, wait! He’s, ah, he’s at the docks!” Harley called after her, too late.

Ivy started off after Batgirl, but Harley grabbed her arm to stop her, dropping the rest of the flowers. “Oh please, Ivy, come on, we gotta stop her stoppin’ him!”

“I don’t,” said Ivy coldly. “I’ve got a full mind to go and help her.”

“But you can’t! Mister J’ll be furious if he finds out I told! Can’tcha just let it go?”

Ivy’s glare was all the answer it needed to be.

Harley couldn’t quite manage a glare back, but she did pout. “I thought we were friends! And now you’re gonna do a thing like this?”

No answer. Ivy simply turned around and walked quickly down the street.

Harley ran the other way, poisoned flowers forgotten on the sidewalk. She turned several sharp corners and hopped a fence, taking the fastest possible way back to the hideout.

She whimpered as she ran. “Mister J’s gonna kill me!”



The Joker sat at a fold-out poker table on a breaking chair that Harley had been able to find. The quality of the place didn’t matter much right now, he would be able to turn the dumpy tunnel into a fetching hideout in due time. For now, he listened contentedly to the hand-held radio, drinking in his renewed infamy like a fine wine.

“…at last count, fifteen deaths, and the local Poison Control reports dozens of calls. According to the police, the toxin may now be airborne, and citizens are strongly advised to remain indoors and away from windows as much as possible. And now, Kathy Corona with our traffic and—“

Joker clicked off the radio, wanting to hear his own laughter. He did, but he also heard an unexpected and unwelcome shout coming from outside.

“Mister J, Mister Joker, she’s comin’!”

Joker held back an irritated grimace and repositioned his smile as Harley ran breathless into the tunnel.

“Batgirl’s found us out!”

“What?” The dangerous glint in his sunken eyes was lost on Harley as she stooped, panting from her run

“She knows where we are I think and I know she’s comin’ here and Ivy’s with her and we gotta get outta here, Mister J!”

Once again, the Joker began to laugh. Harley looked up at him, confusion and surprise on her face. Then before she could blink, his hand was tight around her neck.

“And could you tell me why Batgirl knows where we are, my little Harley Quinn?”

“Oh, Mister J I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry!” she squeaked around his hand, grabbing at it and trying to break away.

He shoved her roughly against the stone wall of the tunnel, letting go of her throat, but not moving away. Harley looked up at him, eyes wide with terror. The grin painted onto his skin made him all the scarier.

“You know, they say good henchmen are hard to find.” Both Harley and the Joker whipped their heads around toward the voice from outside. Batgirl stepped into the dark cave, light from the bright sun behind her giving her an almost eerie glow. “You sure you wanna get rid of one like her?”

The Joker stepped away from the wall, all of his attention focused on the new arrival. His smile spread wider across his face and the mad eyes glittered.

“Well look what the Bat dragged in,” he said slowly, advancing on Renee, Harley forgotten.

Renee kept a straight face, staring the Joker down. She was tensed, ready to spring or run, keeping her muscles stretched tight to stop herself from shaking.

“You’re a new one, aren’t you? I guess old Batty just keeps on adding to his collection!” The Joker started to pace, and Renee countered his every movement. They were locked into the fighter’s dance, each waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Nobody collected me,” said Renee, glancing around the tunnel to get her bearings when she dared take her eyes off of him, “but I know more than a couple nice men in white coats who’d be more than happy to come collect you.”

“But then I wouldn’t be able to add to my collection! I know all of Gotham is dying for me to finish!” The Joker laughed wildly at his own joke, and Renee felt her fist clench so tightly that it hurt. Behind the action, Harley still stood against the wall, watching in silence.

“Everyone knows that poison was yours,” started Renee, keeping her fear in check and talking herself down in her mind. Keep him busy. Stall. But not too long.

“Of course it was! You don’t think anyone else in Gotham could have pulled off a prank like this?” Joker dropped the tense rhythm, walking right past Renee to look out of the tunnel mouth. Batgirl twisted around, anxious to keep her front facing him. “And what did you think of my Joker Toxin, little Batgirl?”

“Very impressive,” Renee conceded. “You always knew how to make an impression.”

“And now I get to make all of Gotham do my impression!” The laughter boomed around the tunnel and spilled outside, scaring away a small flock of pigeons. “It’s brilliance, if I say so myself. Have you gotten to see any of them go, little Batgirl?” Joker added with a nasty grin, looking slightly over his shoulder back at her. “They love my joke so much, they laugh themselves to death!”

“You’re a real piece of work,” said Renee softly. “A delusional, psychopathic maniac.”

“Oh, you’re too kind. I hope you aren’t going to ask for my autograph, I just don’t do those, you know.”

Renee glared at him, standing still and tensed. “I’m sick of you already.”

“What, I don’t entertain?” Joker asked, spreading his arms theatrically and turning back to Renee. “But the Batties never did have a sense of humor.” He paused for a moment, looking pensively at something only he could see. “I’ll have to play a different game with you, won’t I?”

“No games, Joker. No tricks, no pranks. You have an antidote to this thing.” Renee hoped that no part of her bluff could be heard in her voice.

“And if I do?”

“You’re going to give it to me.”

The Joker chuckled again. “I am, am I? You know, Batty, you’re almost funny enough to keep talking to me.” The smile took on an even more sinister quality. “Almost, but not quite.”

As if on cue, Harley took a flying leap and landed on Renee’s back, throwing her arms around the other girl’s neck. Renee lurched forward, taken completely by surprise. Even Joker hadn’t expected Harley’s sudden move—both opponents had forgotten about the clown behind Batgirl.

The Joker threw back his head and laughed as Harley wrestled Renee to the ground, sitting on her back. “That’s fer trickin’ me into telling!”

“What are you doing?” yelled Renee, trying to shake the other girl off.

“I’m helping my Mister J!”

“Attagirl, Harley!” The Joker grinned and began to walk away from the fight. “Stall her for a while, willya?” With nothing more, he left the women, turning his back on their fight to look around at his bouquets.

But the Joker did not see what he expected to. Instead of the pristine green and white of his favored flowers, there was only a ruin of stem, leaf and petal, slashed and broken on the small rock shelf where they had been. And next to the wet green ruin, there was a small, fresh bit of an ivy vine.

Joker almost missed the redhead hiding in a shadowed corner, but she couldn’t fight back a poorly-timed sneeze.

“Well look at that, our little bat wasn’t alone!” The Joker cackled, and Ivy stood up to show a dress covered in leaf shavings. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Pleasure’s all yours,” Ivy replied dryly. She glanced over to where Harley and Renee were still fighting.

“Not mine.” Joker placed an exaggerated frown on his chalk-white face. “You’ve ruined my wonderful joke! Do you have any idea how much Harley paid for those?”

“Not nearly as much as you’re going to pay for what you’ve done to them.”

“Oh-ho! Brave words…” Joker paced around a still Ivy, hands folded behind his back, “…for a plant.”

Ivy didn’t take the bait. She only stood against the stone, searching for what she knew had to be somewhere.

Near the mouth of the cave, Renee threw Harley off and dodged under the Joker’s folding poker table. When she looked back on that day, she would thank whatever lucky star she had that she had looked up.

“Found it!” she cried, and Harley, Joker and Ivy all turned to look at her. Renee winced inwardly, but grabbed the small glass vial taped to the bottom of the table, swishing the acid-green liquid inside.

Renee wasn’t the only one to recognize the Joker Anti-toxin. “You leave that alone!” cried Harley, and she rushed at Batgirl. But Ivy caught the clown before she could get very far.

“Get it out of here!” Ivy yelled to Renee, who nodded and rolled silently out from under the table. To the Joker, Ivy called, “Think fast!” and shoved Harley in his direction. When Joker reached out instinctively to grab her, Ivy turned tail and sprinted out of the tunnel.

“Wait a minute!” Harley yelled after the two retreating figures, starting to take off after them. But Joker squeezed her forearm tightly, keeping her right where she was.

“No,” he said quietly, his eyes following Batgirl’s dark form as it fled. “Let them go, for now.”



Renee was beginning to wish for a remote-control tea kettle. In the recent months, a mug of Barbara’s strong brew had been a relaxing lifesaver when she watched TV at the end of a long, tense day. Of course, most people didn’t watch the news when they wanted to relax, but Renee found a strange comfort in the evening reports that night.

“…sources confirm Joker’s involvement. While there have been no arrests as of this time, police suspect that there will be no more attacks. The final body count is sixteen, along with numerous complaints of illness, although all living victims report that their symptoms have all but vanished. Should any update on this story become available, we here at Channel 4 will be sure to let our viewers know immediately.”

Renee smiled.

Ivy had wanted no publicity surrounding her rescue of the city. And it had fully been her rescue. With the anti-toxin in hand, Ivy had been able to replicate its chemical formula until there had been enough for everyone the flowers had affected. The only problem left had been distributing it, and Ivy had already developed her plan.

“This was supposed to be a really slick crime one day,” she had explained as the two of them prepared, “But I guess now I’ll have to think of something else.” She had positioned several flowering plants in strategic spots around the city, and on her signal, each flower let off a large quantity of vaporized anti-toxin.

Ivy had wanted none of Renee’s thanks once the chemical had been spread to the rest of the city. “I was planning on using that trick for poison, not antidote. You owe me more than thanks for making me waste it.”

In the end, Renee had owed Ivy her thanks, a pardon for her museum heist, all of the leftover Joker flowers and a generous favor to be named at some point in the future. Renee actually smiled thinking back to it. She wasn’t sure whether or not Ivy had been joking about that last one.

Unfortunately, the uneasy partnership wasn’t part of Ivy’s bargain. Renee hoped that the pair of them might have forged something a little more permanent, or at least the start of something less than animosity. As uncomfortable as Batgirl had been to work with a former enemy, it was always better to have a friend.

Renee switched off the news and went to her window, looking out at what she could see of the sunset. On the street, a group of kids who thought they were tough had spray-painted several colorful words on the side of a brick building. Renee rolled her eyes. She’d always been able to play better April Fool’s tricks than that.

She paused where she was for a moment, before walking to the phone and dialing.

The phone rang several times on the other end. “Yes, hello?”

“Ms. Gordon?” Renee lowered her voice, disguising it as best she could.

“Renee, caller ID.”

“Damn!” But Renee laughed. “Well you’re just no fun.”

“Go prank some dumb teen or something if you have to get your quota in. Once you’ve been a Bat, you don’t get tricked so often.”

“Seriously no fun.”

“But while I have you, you need a congratulation,” Barbara added before Renee could hang up. “I hope you aren’t questioning yourself for letting him go.”

Renee chuckled softly. “I’m a Bat, but I’m not crazy enough to take him myself.”

“And a good thing.” Barbara paused. “You did exactly what you had to. Bruce is proud of you. I am, too.”

A smile crept around Renee’s lips. “Well, you know, he is still out there. I’m gonna go to bed, tomorrow I start my search.”

“WHAT!?”

“April Fool’s.” Renee laughed out loud to hear Barbara’s irritated sigh and the dial tone met her ear.



The sun had gone down. Gotham City was dark and as close to quiet as it ever was.

In the abandoned Tunnel of Love, Harley Quinn slept less than soundly. The white make-up covering her face was rubbing off on her costume and on the stone, leaving splotches of white on the ground and pink on her face.

The Joker didn’t even look over at her from his seat. As far as he was concerned, the girl was still worth keeping around. From the way she had begged for forgiveness after her little slip-up, Joker guessed that she knew already what would happen to her if she did it again. And besides, he thought with a grin, she wasn’t half bad in a catfight.

He stepped outside the tunnel, to where the trees and grass stood in the growing starlight, and laughed again.

“But we’re gonna lose, Mister J!” she had told him before. “They’re gonna ruin it all!”

“We’ve already won, my girl,” he had answered. She didn’t ask why, and he didn’t offer an explanation.

He spoke now to no one, to the trees and sky that could never betray or misunderstand him.

“Well Gotham, the sun sets on another cheery day. Sixteen smiling dead!” He raised his arms to the sky. “And now the day’s done, they’re still thinking about me.”

In front of an absent audience, the Joker still put on a show. “Sure, I couldn’t get them all. I never would have. I never wanted to. I got all I wanted, of course. Like always.

“They’ve all got little old me on their minds tonight. They’re all terrified that they’ll be next. Because they all know I’m back.”

The Joker’s laughter spilled out over the empty park. “April Fool’s, Gotham,” he grinned. “You only think you’ve won.”

Harley Quinzel skipped along the street without her costume, and still managed to stick out like a sore thumb. She hummed to herself, swinging the bag of supplies that she’d been sent for in a wide circle, occasionally hitting a fellow shopper. Harley giggled with delight as she thought of the plan.

“Just leave it to my Puddin’!” she exclaimed, drawing more stares from the people around her.

There was only one face on the crowded sidewalk that spared no glance in Harley’s direction. The man was writing furiously on a growing pile of napkins in the window of a coffee shop, lost to the world around him, his long legs stuffed awkwardly under the small table. Harley passed right by him, and doubled back when she recognized the face.

“Professor?”

The heavy bag still swinging from her hand, Harley burst through the doors of the café. More than a couple of the patrons jumped at her entrance, one or two spilling their expensive drinks. The tall man didn’t notice—from what she remembered of him, he wouldn’t notice the building falling down around his head if he was focused on his work.

She bounced over to the window table and sat across from him. “Hiya, Professor!”

He looked up from his papers and blinked several times to clear his eyes. “Harley?” A smile spread across his face. “Harleen Quinzel, is that you?”

“Sure is!” Harley beamed back at him, blonde pigtails bouncing spryly. “How’ve you been, Professor Crane?”

“Quite well, quite well. But there isn’t need for titles anymore, Harley. You may call me Jonathan, if you wish.”

“Ah geez, but that sounds so weird!” Harley wrinkled up her nose and Crane laughed again.

“Then Doctor Crane will do fine, child. I’m no professor any longer.”

“Oh, what happened?” Harley asked, her bright eyes wide. “They never kicked you out?”

“Precisely,” said Crane, shooting a bitter look at his tea. “Evidently I’d received complaints about my…methods. The university declined to keep me on their staff, considering the bad publicity.”

“Ah, not that one little accident?”

“The poor girl died, Harley,” Crane reminded her.

“Yeah, but still! You’re a great teacher!”

Crane smiled warmly, but with a faraway look in his eyes. “You may be the only one who thought so, child. Now tell me, what have you been doing with yourself? Is it Doctor Quinzel now?”

Harley would have answered, if it weren’t for the high, loud beep of her watch. “Oh no, oh no, it’s five already? Oh, I gotta go!” she stood quickly, knocking into the table and tipping over the napkin pile. Crane barely seemed to notice. “But hey, it’s great seein’ you!” Harley continued, “You’re back in town, right? Let’s meet up, catch up! I’ll call you, kay?” Harley only waited for his nod and the scrap of paper he handed her before bolting out of the café, shopping bag still swinging wildly behind her.



The Joker tapped his foot impatiently from his spot by the second-floor window, watching as Harley tip-toed around the building, and rolling his eyes at her reluctance to come inside. She always seemed to balk at the door to the blood bank. He didn’t know whether she didn’t want people to see her come in, whether she hoped not to reveal the building as their new hideout, or whether she just didn’t like the sight of blood. It wasn’t all that long, though, before she had scampered up the stairs and through the door. “I’m back!”

“You’re late.”

“Sorry, Mister J.” She giggled and shrugged, dropping her bag on the floor.

“I saw you skirting around outside, you know.” Joker tapped his fingers on the windowsill and Harley cringed.

“I’m sorry! C’mon, Puddin’, look, I got all the stuff!” She said brightly, moving to open up the bag, but the look on his face stopped her before she started.

“I’ve been waiting a full thirty-nine minutes with nothing to keep me occupied.” The Joker stepped slowly across the wood floor toward Harley. “What took you so long?”

“Oh, you’ll never guess!”

“Don’t make me,” Joker said in a tired voice, bringing a hand to his temple.

Harley didn’t seem to notice his mood. “I ran into my old college professor! It was so weird, I haven’t seen Doctor Crane in…well, I guess not that long,” she admitted, chattering excitedly even as Joker lost interest and started to go through her shopping bag. “I only left last year, but Profess—I mean, Doctor Crane got sent off even before I did. He was tellin’ me about how he got fired again—can you believe it, Mister J?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” He shrugged and wandered back over to the window.

Harley’s pigtails drooped slightly once she realized he wasn’t paying attention. “Well, it was really good to see him, anyway. I got his number, so I’m gonna call later and meet back up.”

The Joker snapped his head up, suddenly interested again. “Tell me about this fellow, Harley.”

She perked back up instantly. “Oh, Doctor Crane was the best! He was my psychology teacher when I was at Gotham U, we had all kinds of cool projects with him. In fact, onea them was what kinda got me started learning about you, Puddin!” Harley beamed as she remembered. “We had a report to do on what makes people afraid, so I picked killers, right? And it was right around when you were startin’ out, so there was all this news and all kinds of papers, and I decided I wanted to write a book all about you! So really, Professor Crane brought us together,” she concluded, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

The Joker shrugged her off and turned back around to face her. “Then that’s when you dropped out to chase down your beloved convicted felon.”

Harley missed the sarcasm. “Uh-huh! Ooh, it’s so great to see him again.” She practically glowed, and didn’t notice the attention with which the Joker was studying her face. “Some days I thought he was the only one who got it, ya know? All the other teachers had to get bribed to pass me, but not Professor Crane. He always told me I was his favorite.”

She smiled up at the Joker, but couldn’t read the expression hidden behind his painted grin.

“Harley, I’m afraid I don’t like the sound of this man,” he said, rolling his shoulders back and standing taller, speaking with more authority. He started to pace across the floor and Harley’s face fell. “Who knows what a mongrel like that could be up to?”

“Aw. C’mon Mister J,” Harley pleaded, fluttering her lashes at him coyly and adding a gentle dig, “Can’t be any worse than what you are!”

He shot her a disgruntled glare before straightening his face again. “Now Harley, m’dear, I just won’t allow it.”

“Allow it?”

“I just can’t in good conscience allow you to keep seeing this man,” he clarified, waving a finger in her direction. “It’s my job to look after you, now isn’t it?”

Harley gave him a quizzical look, cocking her head so that her blonde hair bounced. “Mister J?”

He crossed the floor in a few long strides and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Harley, my dear, my darling, I won’t have you mixing around with riff-raff! You’re in top company now, my girl, and I won’t have you going back. Got it,” he added, in a voice much gruffer than the light tone he’d been using.

“Okay…”

“Now, now, chin up, Harley Quinn.” He grinned down at her and took her cheeks between his fingers, angling her face up to his. “Let’s see that smile!”

When she let her lips twitch up, he let go of her and wandered off to the window with an “atta girl.”

Harley let her hand curl around the scrap of paper in her pocket, and bit her lip as she watched her love look out at the city. “D’you need me anymore, Mister J? Can I go?”

“Harley, you don’t even know why we’re here!” He shouted, pounding his fists on the windowsill before turning back to her.

“Puddin’?”

“Oh nevermind. Just forget it. Go, then. I’m not in the mood.” Joker folded his arms across his chest and glared at the red cross that hung outside the window.

A little worried, but a little relieved, Harley quietly slipped back out of the room and down the stairs, and felt his eyes on her back as she scampered away.



“I must thank you again, my dear girl. It’s been wonderful to hear from you again.”

“Aw, don’t even.” Harley smiled across the table and took a long drink of her soda. The sun was starting to set over the Gotham skyline, drenching the former teacher and student in warm golden light. The other patrons of the sidewalk café gave the pair a wide berth on instinct alone.

Out of nowhere, Harley whimpered and ducked down, peering up over the edge of the table and coughing before quickly sitting back up. She glanced behind her and bit her lip. The long, pointed chin she thought she’d seen reflected in her glass was nowhere to be seen.

Crane tipped his head to find the thing that had Harley so afraid, and, seeing nothing, looked at her with a gentle worry in his eyes. “Is something the matter?”
“Ah, no.” Harley dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing. Not a thing. I’m great!”

Crane knew her well enough to recognize her excessive protests, but said nothing.

Even Harley had to admit to herself that she was in a terrible state. Every shadow and trick of the light looked like the Joker waiting to punish her. She had barely been able to enjoy the dinner that she’d eaten, or even listen very closely when Crane had told her about his latest firing. All that she had caught was a vague description of a plan involving the special invention her old teacher had finally perfected.

Finally, after yet another sharp and sudden jump, Crane laid a comforting hand over Harley’s on the table. “What is it, Harley? You don’t have to hide from me.”

She brought her blue eyes up to meet his, and couldn’t smile.

“What are you afraid of?”

Harley pulled her hand away quickly and stood up from the table. “Nothing. I just…I gotta go. I should, someone’s waiting…I think…”

“A man?” Crane asked quietly. Harley looked back at him again and nodded. “The Joker.” It wasn’t a question.

With the briefest moment of hesitation, Harley nodded again.

Crane kept his eyes on her for a very long minute, then sighed. “Be careful, Harley. I won’t stop you. But please, stay in touch? Just because you aren’t my student any longer, that doesn’t mean I can’t care about you.” A small, thin smile flickered across his lips.

“Aw, thanks, Professor.” Now Harley did smile, as she picked up her pocketbook and started for the exit. “But don’t worry. I’m fine, kay? I’ll call you. Don’t worry,” she repeated, and left.

Jonathan Crane looked after her, left his money on the table, and slowly stood up to leave. He ignored the stares as always when he passed through the crowd.



This is not good, thought the Joker as he paced the floor of his new headquarters. This is very much not good.

He should never have let her leave. He was kicking himself for having slipped up. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where Harley had gone for so long. It was his fault, really, forbidding her to go. He sneered at himself. He was too good to be making those kinds of mistakes.

“Little lost Harley’s found another haven…” he muttered, staring out at the people walking back and forth on the street. This was not acceptable. The Joker was no stranger to the minds of women—despite all rumors to the contrary. He knew quite well that Harley wouldn’t put up with him for very much longer if she had anyone else to turn to. This Crane needed to be out of her life—and quickly.

Joker jerked out of his thoughts at the squeak of the door opening. Harley’s blonde head peeked in through the crack, nervously checking to be sure he was not still upset with her.

The Joker swallowed his anger and plastered on the kindest smile he could find. “Harley! Where have you been?”

“I went out wi—“ she caught herself mid-word and changed her answer. “I went out to eat.”

“Oh did you?” Joker stepped closer to her, advancing slowly, still smiling. “With whom?”

Harley gulped, and found that she couldn’t lie. “I met Professor Crane.”

“I knew it.” The honeyed tone that Joker had adopted dropped away, and Harley cringed to hear the gruff anger in his voce. “I told you not to mix around with him, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she answered sadly, staring at the floor and twisting her foot back and forth.

“And why did I tell you that?”

Harley brought up her eyes to look at him, confused and apprehensive. “Mister J?”

“I’m only looking out for my Harley’s well-being,” he answered his own question, pacing circles around her and softening his voice again. “After all, I can’t help but worry with you in the company of strange and dangerous persons.”

Harley’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, and she looked into his face with renewed courage. For a split-second, the Joker was sure that she had figured him out—she was smarter than she looked, she knew what he was doing.

But her face broke into a smile and the moment passed. “Aw, Puddin! You’re jealous!”

With only a flash of confusion, the Joker took the cue and ran with it. “I am not,” he insisted, folding his arms and turning his back to her.

Harley was completely fooled. She smiled and hugged him from behind, standing on her toes to hang off of his shoulders. “Aw, Mister J!” She almost squeaked. “You know you don’t have to be jealous! Don’t you worry about a thing. Professor Crane, he’s my teacher, he’s like my dad or something! Not like you at all. Oh Puddin, I’m all yours!”

The Joker grinned in spite of Harley’s crushing embrace. “Very well then, Harley. But don’t give me any reason to worry.”

“Oh I won’t, I won’t I promise! I’m so glad you’re not mad at me!” With a final giggle and squeeze, she skipped off toward the door—but Joker grabbed her arm before she could leave.

“Harley, you do know why we’re here?”

She blinked. “To make ‘em laugh before they die?”

“No, no!” He let go of her arm with a violent twist. “Here, this place, this building.”

“Why are we over a blood bank, you mean?”

“Right.”

“Why?” Harley asked, shrinking back a little bit.

Joker growled and paced back to the window. “I thought it was such a good joke! A blood bank! Don’t you get it?”

Harley shook her head.

“Blood! One of the humors!” Joker waited for her to react, but all Harley could do was stare. He threw up his hands in frustration. “Simple-minded, idiot, hack city! What good is a smart joke if the people are too dumb to get it?”

“Maybe we just gotta make ‘em smarter.”

Joker whirled around to tell her off, but stopped himself and turned over the idea in his mind. “Hmm…maybe...” He broke into a new grin. “Harley, my girl, that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.”

She beamed back at him, and kissed his cheek before skipping away again.

When the door slammed behind her, the Joker allowed himself a sigh of relief, and a smirk. It really was too easy. He should have known better than to think she’d actually leave him.

All the same, he thought, I’d better be more careful with this one.



It was well into the night when Harley came home again. She skipped up the stairs and into their small stolen apartment, humming all the way. “I’m home!” she called into the air.

Harley beamed when the Joker stepped back out into the open room, his chalk-white face tinted orange by the streetlights coming in through the window.

“Hiya Puddin! I just went and saw Profe—I mean, Doctor Crane again, and he thinks just the same as me, and I’m really hope you’re not still all mad at him cause like I told you, you got nothing to worry about!”

Joker’s eyes narrowed, his face hidden by the shadows in the dark room. “You saw him again?” he asked quietly.

“Well yeah—Puddin, I told you! It’s okay, you don’t gotta worry,” she tried to reassure him, but even Harley couldn’t miss the dangerous expression on his face.

I’ve told you not to see him!” Joker snarled, pushing her hand away where it had tried to touch his shoulder. “Are you disobeying me, Harley?”

“No, Puddin, come on, It’s not like that,” she pleaded.

“I don’t see how it’s not.” He started to pace around her, forcing Harley to turn in place, her eyes locked onto his. “I gave you instructions and you didn’t follow them. Twice now you’ve broken the same rule!”

“Mister J, please!”

“I don’t ever want you to so much as think about going to that nutty professor again, do you hear me?”

“Yessir,” she squeaked, too frightened to say anything else.

He shot her a glare and stopped pacing, turning his back to her. “I expected more from you, Harley. You’ve disappointed me.”

She let out a soft whimper, staring at the back of his green head. In a barely audible whisper, she squeaked out another scared, pleading, “Mister J?”

“I’ve worked hard for what I have and I’m not about to let a willful little whelp share in my triumphs!” He glared daggers at the wall, but kept his back to her, knowing that it would hurt her more.

“Puddin, I—“

“Don’t even try it.” He was a second away from throwing her out, but he forced himself calm. The Joker knew from his long years that his anger was far more useful when it was simmering deep within the mind.

Harley swallowed hard and bit her lip, waiting to be sure that a further rebuke wasn’t coming her way before she spoke. “Well, I just thought you’d wanna know, Professor Crane thinks my idea’s really good, y’know, getting people smarter, so they get all your jokes, and—“

“You told him?” His voice seethed with a new surge of rage.

“Well yeah…Mister J?” She asked, alarmed by the way he stood so still, so dangerously calm.

“Get out.”

“But Puddin-“

“I said get out!” He shouted, and she flinched. “And don’t you ever spoil one of my jokes! You can’t go around telling the punch line before it’s set up!”

Harley had never, ever seen him this angry. He had turned back to shout at her directly, eyes blazing with anger, clenched fists shaking at his sides. She cowered under the pressure of it all, shrinking into herself, even taking a step backward. It wasn’t until he turned back around in disgust that she could dare to approach him again. “Mister J I’m sorry…”

“Go away.”

She took a few tentative steps toward him, her pigtails shivering, bright eyes glossing over with tears. She reached out a shaking hand and carefully laid it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I—“

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

SMACK.

Harley was sprawled out on the floor, her elbow throbbing where it had hit the ground, her cheek red where it had been hit. The Joker stood over her, his raised hand still stinging from the impact. The room had gone silent.

She took a slow, shuddering breath, her wide eyes staring up at him, unable to blink as the first tears spilled over. Her face was the picture of shock, of betrayal. Slowly, she got to her knees, then her feet. For a very long moment she only stared, her slim fingers running over her cheek.

Then she turned and ran out the door, down the stairs, into the street. And she could feel the Joker’s eyes on her back as she ran.

[/i]

And now an interview with the ever-talented creator behind this series, Gotham Girls' own Samantha Chapman; the questions being asked by Don Walsh and Boris Mihajlovic!

[/i]

Don Walsh: Let's start from the beginning, with how Sam came to join up and work on Gotham Girls.

Boris Mihajlovic: Yeah, and maybe why she chose the name “Mockingbird.” Seeing that she used that name for two characters in two stories, the killer in Gotham Girls #2-3 and then the Mockingbird over in DC2's Birds of Prey, that interests me.

Samantha Chapman: Well, the story behind the name is just that i was reading....which Crisis was it? Infinite Crisis right, with Alex Luthor and Superboy-Prime? "Mockingbird" was the code name that one of the Lex Luthors was using at the time

Boris: Sounds logical haha

Samantha: Mockingbird the serial killer came about afterward, because the name made me think of the children's song that his crimes were based around. And I can't say much about the Mockingbird in BoP without spoiling.

Don: Wow, was Infinite Crisis that far back? I've lost track, man time flies.

Samantha: Incidentally, because I'm a huge geek, i thought about using "Snapdragon" for my handle....because that was Lex Luthor's AIM screenname when he was secretly contacting Tim Drake. I'm kind of glad I went with Mockingbird instead

Don: And Mockingbird as the serial killer was partly my fault, since my comments about the story back on our old board, where all of Earth-Five started, kept calling the killer Mockingbird and it stuck. Plus, Lex using Mockingbird for the Secret Six in Infinite Crisis is also the reason we use Mockingbird for Birds of Prey, a concept we both stole from the original Secret Six espionage series from back in the Sixties and Seventies.

Boris: Hah! Okay.

Samantha: And I keep getting a little cuckoo-clock noise when anyone types Mockingbird so we can end that question.

Don: What inspired you to pitch the Gotham Girls title? How did you come about developing this concept, one of the more enduring ones in Earth-Five.

Samantha: Well, way, way back on the old board, I started off writing an Elseworlds Joker story, more like a Batman:The Animated Series episode than anything ongoing. I've always been a fan of Harley and the Joker and they're fun to write. After that mini-series was well-received, i finally agreed after lots of prodding to start up a real series. I had a lot of help from Don coming up with the pitch - especially using Renee Montoya as my Batgirl, since Cass Cain and Barbara Gordon were already established on Earth-Five. I knew for the first story arc I wanted to do the Harley/Joker relationship and then I just kind of went from there.

Boris: But why Renee as your main character in the role of Batgirl instead of any of the other females that have been Batgirl over the years?

Samantha: At the time I knew even less about the overall DC universe than I do today - I started reading with the Bruce Wayne: Murderer arc, and I still don't know much about Batman before that time. I was vaguely familiar with Renee from the animated series, and I thought she'd be fun. I thought it would be neat to have an ex-cop in the role too, and I could show off some of what I was learning in a forensic science class at the same time.

Don: As you look back over the early issues, are you pleased with what you've done? How it was laid out? Was there much early planning, or were you winging it?

Samantha: I was very much winging it, and when I look back I think I've definitely gotten better at planning farther in advance. The end of issue 6 was one of the only things I had plotted out when I started the series, and everything else was moving toward that, eventually. I'm still mostly happy with what I've done, and it's difficult for me to go back and revise things once they've been written. But I think if I had these ideas today, I might have worked harder at making them make sense and be more realistic.

Boris: Realistic being a good keyword. What is your secret in making the characters seem so realistic? Who are the writers you take clues from?

Don: I have to agree with Boris here; despite what might seem implausible, cartoony stuff in the background, the characters seem so very real, three-dimensional.

Samantha: If I knew how I do what I do well, I'd write a book. I was really influenced by the animated series especially at first, and especially Paul Dini. Harley has always just been easy for me to understand and sympathize with. Renee in the beginning was a lot more reactive than active, but I like to think I've gotten a better handle on who she is and what she wants. And Ivy, for the longest time I thought I'd never develop her, that I had no idea what I was doing. But other people seemed to like her characterization. If I can chalk it up to anything, it's just practice; spending more time with the characters until I figure out what sounds right and what doesn't, and what they would and wouldn't want to do. I think that might be the key to it: knowing what it is that they want, and what they'll do to get it. I think that's the basic skeleton for a good character, even if it takes a lot more than that.

Don: Do you have comics writers that inspire you and your style? Who do you like to read and inspire you? Outside of comics as well, that is?

Samantha: It's really hard to say - I tend to be inspired by whoever I'm currently reading. Right now I'm on a major Neil Gaiman kick, and that's strongly affecting the original fiction I'm working on. For comics, I've learned to look toward Marv Wolfman, after finally getting my hands on some old issues at last year's ComicCon. He has a great sense of character, and knows how to make things important. I read Harry Potter at a pivotal part of my development as a writer, and I think Rowling's style is something I try to imitate at least a little bit, more focused on clear, simple prose than on trying to be too artsy and lose the meaning of what's being said.

Boris: Harry Potter? Really? I didn't see that coming. haha

Don: I find Rowling to be an excellent choice to read for how to model combats in prose too, I have to say.

Boris: So, let's talk about the issues a little bit more. I really enjoyed the first meeting between Ivy and Harley

Samantha: I'm glad.

Boris: Why did you choose to let them meet in front of Arkham Asylum instead of inside?

Samantha: I really liked the image of Harley just kind of mooning in front of the gate. If I were using original characters, and no one knew she was nuts, it'd really beg the question of who this girl is, and why she WANTS to go into the insane asylum.

Boris: Seeing that Harley used to be a psychologist in the comic, why did you decide to make her more of a teenage fan-girl?

Samantha: I also started out with my Ivy in something of a retirement; I can't remember now when I made that official, but I probably had the idea. Ivy's living by herself, not imprisoned anywhere, so she couldn't really be doing too much active villainy. I wanted to do something different. Everyone knows the Mad Love origin, so I wanted to change it up. I also thought it was more plausible that the Joker would accept the henchmanship that Harley begged to give him, rather than seducing her. Plus, I was pretty fangirly as a teenager. I was...seventeen when I started writing that, so it was a little bit of 'write what you know.'

Boris: haha Good answer.

Don: Indeed. Always a good lesson. After a rather light-hearted opening clearly inspired by Batman: the Animated Series, you go into the Mockingird two-parter, and focus a bit on Renee. In my mind a good choice to make, really helped to show the depth the series can reach for stories, but what inspired such a dark turn so quickly into the title's life?

Samantha: Honestly, probably just that I had the idea, and I needed something more to do. When I got up to year 2 it was easier to plot an entire year's worth of stories out, but in the beginning I was just going with whatever I had on-hand to write about. In hindsight, I think it was a good choice because it did let me establish early on that I wanted to do both kinds of stories. I think if I'd waited much longer to do something that dark, it would have been too much of a switch in tone. This way, within the first several issues I had established that I was going to do both, and in the future I could pick between serious and light-hearted stories without worrying too much that it wouldn't fit with the rest.

Boris: Definitely a good choice. How would you describe the relationship between the characters in these first issues? Joker - Harley - Ivy - Renee

Samantha: For the first part of the series, I think Renee was a lot more removed from the other two girls. Although I did let her team up with Ivy for the first time during the April Fool's issue, and that turned out to be a good idea. I think that I did a good job setting up Harley's relationships, and having Ivy as a friend that she could eventually turn to. Ivy also started out more removed, and I think it surprised her that she ended up becoming friends with Harley. But I like the dynamic that I ended up with, with the Joker on one side of Harley, and Ivy on the other.

Don: The April Fool issue is the first one that really brings your stars (and lurking ominous clown-faced shadow) together for the first time. Did it come out the way you hoped? Was there a scene or line you particularly liked?

Samantha: I think it did turn out pretty well for what it was. If there's a moment that I particularly like, it's probably that this was the first time the Joker consciously started manipulating Harley. I also really like the abandoned Tunnel of Love for their first hideout, I thought that was pretty fitting. And I like the reason that I did find for getting Ivy involved against the Joker. There are a hundred schemes that Joker could come up with that Ivy would just have left alone, but using the flowers made her mad.

Boris: Absolutely. When I read this issue I was thinking, "Oh wow, he really pissed her off."

Don: Yeah, don't mess with Ivy's plants, that's the lesson there.

Boris: And having shown Ivy and her hatred for Joker using plants as weapons, I really liked to see you show her wandering through the wood outside of Arkham in the next issue when she met Two-Face.

Samantha: hehe. And it was something that Joker wouldn't have thought to watch out for - it was something he couldn't expect sitting there the whole time.

Boris: When you introduced Two-Face in the next issue, did you already have the plan for the following issues with him?

Samantha: Hm...not nearly to the extent that I ended up with. I didn't quite have the “Facades” story arc in mind yet. All I really knew was that I liked having all these inter-connections between the villains in Gotham. Two-Face and Ivy have a history, Scarecrow and Harley have a history, I was just having fun setting those up and setting the stage for later stories.

Oh my. Can I just say, I'm not very happy with how I introduced Two-Face. [laughter] If I could do it over again that whole issue would be really different, and make more sense. I would have found something for Two-Face to do, for one thing.

Don: I like the connections you establish too, like building a true sub-community among the Gotham freaks. It does allow for all manner of stories to pursue down the road.

So now we come to the turning point in the series though: Joker and Harley. Tell us how this came about, and more importantly, did you ever think that such a minor act of violence from Joker would get possibly the biggest reaction the series or any series (in Earth-Five at least) ever got?

Samantha: I hoped it would be powerful, yeah. That very end of issue 6 was one of the only things I had really put together in my head. I'd blocked it out and thought about it, and when it came time to write it I knew exactly what I was doing. I was so glad that I did manage to build it up strongly enough in the first 5 issues, that it would get a good reaction. I knew that Harley and the Joker would be together through year one, and I knew that they were going to break up eventually - I still don't know if I'll put them back together, eventually, down the line. But that's going into year three, so I'll stop. But I needed to have that powerful moment of a wake-up call, and I knew Harley needed to ignore it for a while. But that way the end of year one doesn't come out of nowhere. Was it really all that powerful, incidentally?

Don: The initial reaction, I remember, from the original UDCU site, it had a lot of response. I remember the discussion swirling around it. And I know it was brought up on DC3 as well. It's weird, that this one little thing from Joker should rile the readership like it did.

Boris: In issue seven (I think) you introduce my favorite place in the whole series: Ivy's house and the garden where everybody gets sick. Where did you get that idea from?

Samantha:Well Ivy having a house at all was lifted straight out of B:TAS. I liked her having that established place; I already had Joker and Harley in hiding, and I just didn't feel like making Ivy have to be running away too. The toxic air just gave an excuse why she was allowed to stay there, being a known figure in Gotham. Even if the police weren't allowed to chase her, you'd think someone else would try. Hence, Ivy (and those she inoculates) is the only one who CAN be on that land for any significant amount of time. Problem solved.

Don: I also liked the house, it has so much to play with. The origin of the place (we learn later, come back for volume two heh), and really let Ivy get set-up as a domestic, as well as green, goddess.

Samantha: And it ties back in with the idea that she's in retirement. She's acting within the law as far as anyone can tell, and she's lost the edge that she had when she first started out (as we'll find in later issues).

Don: So is there a summation you'd like to make about your writing the series, or the characters? It's obvious you have a dear place in your heart for all of them; you'll be returning to them for a third year in the regular series I hope.

Samantha: I hope so, I really will try. I have some ideas bouncing around that just need time to come to a boil. I don't really know what to say to sum it up, except that I'm glad everyone's enjoyed the series so far. It really does feel good to know that I have something people want to read, and keep reading. It's done so much for me as a writer, and I hope that I can use all the experience I've had here to keep getting better.

Don: Thanks a lot, Sam, for giving us some great insights to your series, it's been fun. And thanks a lot to Boris, ace artist for the whole DC2/3 community, for joining us for this talk. Hopefully we can see everyone back here for the second volume of Gotham Girls.

Samantha: Thanks a lot to both of you.

Boris: It was my pleasure.