Chapter 4: Midnight Comfort
The silence was a living thing. Thick, suffocating, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic drip-drip-drip from a leaky pipe somewhere in the asylum's bowels and Harmony’s own shallow breathing. Harley lay sprawled on her thin mattress, one arm flung over her eyes, the other resting on her stomach. She’d been unnervingly still for hours after her "real show" pronouncement, radiating a coiled energy that kept Harmony pressed against her own cold wall.
Harmony drifted in and out of a fitful doze, the image of Harley’s impossible contortion, the manic gleam in her eyes, replaying behind her eyelids like a broken film reel. The flickering fluorescent light cast long, shifting shadows that seemed to creep closer whenever she closed her eyes.
Then, the stillness shattered.
It wasn’t a gradual thing. One moment, oppressive quiet. The next, a guttural, animalistic scream tore through the cell, raw and jagged enough to scrape Harmony’s nerves raw. Harley jackknifed upright on her mattress, eyes wide and unseeing, pupils dilated black holes swallowing the blue. Her breath came in ragged, panicked gasps, chest heaving violently against the canvas straitjacket she still wore beneath her tunic. Sweat plastered strands of faded pink and blue hair to her temples.
"NO! Get off! GET OFF ME!" The words ripped from her throat, hoarse and desperate, laced with pure terror Harmony hadn’t imagined possible from the chaotic force of nature. Harley thrashed, bound arms straining uselessly against the thick canvas, legs kicking out wildly as if fighting invisible restraints. Her head whipped side to side, banging against the padded wall behind her with dull thuds. "Stop! Please! Not again! Puddin', STOP!"
The name – Puddin' – landed like a physical blow. Harmony knew that name from whispered rumors, from the chilling graffiti scratched onto cell walls. The Joker. Harley’s nightmare wasn't abstract fear; it was a specific, brutal memory replaying behind her eyes.
Harmony froze. Every instinct screamed to curl tighter into her corner, to become invisible. This wasn't the playful, dangerous Harley showing off. This was raw, exposed agony. Terrifying. Primal.
Another choked sob escaped Harley, a sound of utter desolation. Her thrashing weakened, replaced by violent tremors that wracked her petite frame. She curled in on herself, forehead pressed hard into her knees, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The desperate pleas dissolved into broken, wet whimpers.
Harmony watched, her own heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The stark vulnerability was more unsettling than any threat. This wasn't part of the "fun" Harley promised. This was the dark underbelly, the reason the straitjacket was necessary even at night.
Then, without conscious thought, Harmony moved.
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't calculation. It was pure, instinctive reaction to witnessing another human being utterly shattered. She pushed herself off her own mattress, the thin foam sighing under her weight. She crossed the short, terrifying distance on trembling legs. The smell of stale sweat and disinfectant intensified near Harley’s cot.
Harley flinched violently as Harmony knelt beside her, a low growl rumbling in her chest, eyes wild and unfocused, still lost in the nightmare’s grip. Harmony hesitated for only a heartbeat, the fear a cold knot in her stomach. Then, driven by something deeper than fear, she carefully, slowly, climbed onto the narrow mattress beside the trembling form.
She didn't wrap her arms around Harley – the bound arms and the sheer volatility made that seem unwise, dangerous. Instead, she pressed her side firmly against Harley’s back, mimicking the closeness she’d craved during her own panic earlier. She felt the heat radiating through Harley’s thin tunic, the violent tremors shaking them both. Harmony laid her head gently against Harley’s shoulder blade, the canvas rough against her cheek.
"Shhh," Harmony breathed, her voice barely a whisper, shaky but deliberate. She kept her body rigid, ready to spring back at the slightest sign of aggression. "It's okay. You're okay. I've got you."
The effect was instantaneous. Harley’s ragged gasps hitched. The violent tremors stuttered, then stilled abruptly. The low growl died in her throat. An unnatural, charged silence descended, thicker than before. Harmony could feel the coiled tension in Harley’s muscles, the sudden, rigid stillness beneath her touch.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Harley turned her head. Her cheek brushed against Harmony’s hair. Her eyes, when they met Harmony’s wide hazel ones from inches away, were no longer black voids. They were sharp, terrifyingly lucid, and filled with a profound, bewildered shock. Sweat glistened on her pale skin, her pupils contracting rapidly as she surfaced fully from the nightmare’s depths. Her breath, still uneven, warmed Harmony’s face.
Harmony held her gaze, her own fear momentarily eclipsed by the sheer strangeness of the moment. She saw no trace of the playful clown or the calculating predator. Just raw, stunned disbelief. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
Harley blinked. Once. Twice. Her gaze flickered down to where Harmony’s body pressed against hers, then back up to her face. Her lips, usually twisted in a smirk or a snarl, parted slightly. The confusion in her eyes deepened into something almost alien – vulnerability stripped bare.
Her voice, when it finally came, was a raspy whisper, stripped of all its usual manic energy, laced with something Harmony couldn't quite name. Bewilderment? Suspicion? A terrifying kind of hope?
"...Why?"
The single word hung in the air, sharp as broken glass. Closer than she’d ever been, Harmony saw the minute tremors still running through Harley’s muscles beneath the rough canvas, smelled the sour tang of terror-sweat cutting through the antiseptic stink. Those unnervingly lucid blue eyes bored into her, stripped of their usual manic gleam, replaced by pure, animal bewilderment. The silence stretched, thick with the hum of the lights and Harley’s ragged breathing.
Harmony flinched as Harley suddenly jerked away, scrambling back against the wall like a cornered animal. The vulnerable shock vanished, instantly replaced by a feral snarl, lips peeling back from clenched teeth. "Get off me!" The rasp was thick with venom, a stark contrast to the broken plea moments before. Panic spiked in Harmony’s chest, cold and immediate. She scrambled backwards off the thin mattress, landing hard on her hands and knees on the cold linoleum.
She didn’t retreat to her corner. Breathless, heart hammering against her ribs, she stayed kneeling beside the cot. Harley watched her, coiled tight, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed slits. The straitjacket straps creaked faintly with the tension in her body. Harmony swallowed, the taste of copper sharp in her mouth. "I... I just..." Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the padded walls. Why had she done it?
The memory of Harley’s scream, that raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure terror, echoed in her mind. Not the playful chaos, not the calculated menace, but genuine, soul-crushing fear. It had mirrored something deep inside Harmony, something she’d spent nights muffling in her pillow. "You screamed," she whispered, the words tumbling out rough and uneven. "Like... like someone was..." Her gaze flickered towards the heavy door, then back to Harley’s rigid form. She couldn’t say the unspeakable name. "Like I do."
Harley’s eyes didn’t soften, but the snarl eased slightly, replaced by a watchful, dangerous stillness. Harmony wiped her sweaty palms on the thin fabric covering her thighs. "It was... loud. Scary." She paused, searching for the truth buried under her own terror. "And... it stopped." Her voice dropped even lower. "When I... when I touched you. It just... stopped." She wasn’t comforting Harley; she was confessing her own cowardice, her desperate need for the awful sound to end. "I hate the screaming."
Silence descended again, heavier than before. Harley didn’t move. Her gaze remained locked on Harmony, dissecting her, stripping her bare. The flickering light danced across the sharp planes of her face, shadows pooling in the hollows of her eyes and cheeks. The raw panic, the bewildered vulnerability – all of it had vanished behind a mask of unnerving stillness. Only the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat betrayed any lingering internal storm.
Harmony could feel her own heartbeat loud in her ears. The admission hung between them, pathetic and inadequate. She’d intruded on a nightmare, touched a sleeping viper. She braced for the lash of sarcasm, the mocking imitation of her fear, or worse, sudden violence. Her knees ached on the hard floor. She should crawl away.
Then, Harley’s lips twitched. Not a smile, not quite. A minute tightening, a ghost of something unreadable. Her bound hands flexed slightly within their canvas prison. "Hate the screamin’, huh?" Her voice was still rough, stripped of its usual sing-song bounce, but the raw edge was gone. It was flat. Assessing. She shifted her weight, the mattress springs groaning faintly. "Join the club, sweetcheeks. Gets real old real fast." She tilted her head, the movement predatory yet strangely tired. "Especially when it’s your own."
Harmony stared, caught off guard. No mockery. No rage. Just... that. Harley met her wide-eyed gaze. Something flickered in those blue depths – a shard of understanding, perhaps, or just the reflection of the erratic fluorescent light. A beat passed. Two. Harley’s expression remained unreadable, the shadows clinging to her like a shroud. She didn't look away. The faintest sheen caught the light on her cheekbone, below her left eye. Not sweat. Something clearer. Thinner.
The tear-track glistened on Harley’s cheekbone, stark against the pallor beneath the flickering light. Harmony saw it, a silent counterpoint to the rigid tension still thrumming through Harley’s bound frame. That single, bewildered "Why?" hung between them, sharp as the scent of bleach and old fear. Harmony’s own knees ached against the cold linoleum, her palms damp.
Harley’s gaze remained locked on her, unnervingly lucid now, stripped of the nightmare’s haze but filled with something equally unsettling – a wary, almost painful scrutiny. The predatory stillness hadn’t vanished; it had just changed shape. Harmony swallowed, her throat tight. "The jacket," she whispered, the words scraping out rough. She gestured vaguely towards Harley’s chest, where the thick canvas straps pressed into the thin fabric of her tunic. "It... it looks like it hurts."
A muscle jumped in Harley’s jaw. Her bound hands flexed again within their prison, fingers curling uselessly. "Doesn't tickle, sugarplum," she rasped, her voice flat, devoid of its usual manic lilt. It was just tired. Raw. "Kinda the point." She shifted slightly, the movement stiff, restricted. The mattress springs groaned softly beneath her.
Harmony hesitated, the memory of Harley’s scream – pure, animal terror – warring with the image of her impossible contortion earlier. Both were true. Both were Harley. She took a shallow breath, the antiseptic air burning her lungs. "Earlier... you got your arm partway out." Her voice gained a sliver of steadiness, fueled by a sudden, desperate need to do something, to bridge the awful vulnerability hanging in the air. "Maybe... maybe I could help?" She met Harley’s piercing blue eyes, forcing herself not to look away. "With the buckles? In the back?"
Silence slammed down, thicker than the padded walls. The fluorescent buzz seemed deafening. Harley didn’t blink. Her expression didn’t change – no surprise, no mockery, no immediate rejection. Just that intense, unnerving scrutiny, dissecting Harmony’s offer, weighing its sincerity, its danger. Harmony could feel her own pulse thudding in her ears, a frantic drum against the stillness. Had she crossed an invisible line? Offered a hand only to have it bitten?
Harley’s gaze flickered down to Harmony’s trembling hands resting on her own knees, then slowly traced back up to her face. The corner of Harley’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. A tiny, involuntary spasm. Her eyes, still locked on Harmony’s, held a complex storm – suspicion warring with a bone-deep weariness, a flicker of something that might have been disbelief, and beneath it all, the faintest, terrifying glimmer of something dangerously close to need. She shifted her weight again, turning her torso slightly, presenting the complex arrangement of buckles and straps cinched tight across her shoulder blades and spine. The canvas looked impossibly heavy.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Just held Harmony’s gaze, the air crackling with unspoken challenge and a terrifying fragility. Then, slowly, deliberately, Harley Quinn dipped her chin. Just once. A single, sharp movement. Her voice, when it finally came, was a low, gravelly scrape, stripped bare of everything but exhausted acceptance.
"Yeah."