Crane's breathing hard when Harley straddles him, hooking her knees over the chair's arms. Her short nurse coat bunches around her hips, revealing black garters and stockings.
She finger-combs his hair, yanks his head back so he'll look at her. His eyes are wide, unfocused, and tiny whimpers catch in the back of his throat. The leather straps he once used on his own victims creak as he struggles against them, but do not give.
"Relax, it's all gonna be over soon," Harley coos, running gentle fingers over his cheeks and lips, shushing him. Her voice sounds strange to her ears, deep and far away, filtered through her gas mask. "And stop squirming, please. You don't wanna excite me when Mister J's around. He'll get jealous. You won't like him jealous."
Another muffled grunt.
"Okay, I'm gonna pull out that hanky, and you'll start talkin', alright?"
His head wobbles which Harley counts as a nod, pushing two fingers into his mouth and pinching the ball of fabric there.
She eases out the first inch of pink handkerchief, until a knot appears, giggling as she reveals handspan after handspan of colorful squares.
Crane gags when his oral cavity's free of intrusion.
"Ah, I've always loved that trick. Now, the code? We ain't got all day."
"I'm sorry," Crane yammers instead, "I'm so sorry, Harleen. It was me. I killed your goldfish."
"What goldfish?" The effect on his brain must've been more severe than anticipated. Sure, they've tripled the dose of his fear toxin on him, but Harley would've thought he's immune by now.
"The one in your office, at Arkham."
"That was you?! Aww, I loved that little fella. Why'd you do that?"
"It was an accident," he practically sobs. Poor guy, his toxin must be pretty potent.
"You could've said something."
"I'm sorry, I... couldn't risk once again becoming a laughing stock after I've worked so hard to build up my reputation as a doctor. And... I couldn't risk you hating me."
"Oh, you sweet thing. And people call me silly." She yanks off her gas mask and kisses him, feeling a little sorry. She likes him, she really does. He's always been nice to her. And she repays him with poisoned lips.
"Two–eight–zero–seven," Crane blurts when Harley releases him. "The combination to the S.T.A.R. Labs vault."
"Thanks!" Harley squeaks, crushing him to her chest. "That's all I wanted."
"Harley?" her puddin' calls from the door. "What's taking you?"
"Comin', Mister J!"
Crane watches her hand vanish down her cleavage to fish out a vial.
"It was nice knowin' ya," she says, spraying him with the contents.
Crane convulses as the two-part poison acts. Her puddin' watches gleefully.
Once Harley's untied Crane and dumped his grinning corpse where the Bat would see it, she forces herself to smile and skips over to Mister J, buries her face into his arm, laces their fingers together.
In time, she'd smile for real again. She always does.