Go All The Way

Toxic

ShaylaPlumFairy

Summary:

(Mentions of abuse and addictions undertones.See notes for more detail.) Harley Quinn seeks refuge with Professor Jonathon Crane when she decides to give the Joker space. However, she has unfortunate timing, since the professor is working on his newest batch of fear toxins.

Notes:

Mentions abuse in Joker/Harley's relationship. Hints of unrequited feelings on Jonathon Crane's side of his relationship with Harley. Also hints that Jonathon Crane may be addicted to his fear toxins, since they have no effect on him.

Work Text:

“So it’s just an increase in dopamine and adrenaline?”

Jonathon Crane paused, releasing his pent-up breath as he tried to quiet his impatience. Harley Quinn had already been through enough this past week, and the last thing she needed was to feel unwelcome here.

“Among other things,” he replied, setting aside a small vial filled with a filmy green mixture. “The hallucinogens adapt to whatever the person’s fears are.”

“Oh! It’s because the brain tries to make sense of the neural firings the chemicals trigger, right?”

She tilted her head, revealing to him the bruise around her eye. He paused, lips pursed.

“Very true, Miss Quinn,” he replied, smiling slightly. It was easy to forget that she, too, was once a psychologist; the topic seemed to stay somewhere in the back of her mind most of the time.

“Say, Professor, it looks darker than I’m used to it being…” she said, reaching toward the vial.

“Don’t touch that!” He snapped. Her hand shot away, and a look of panic settled on her face.

Crane set his jaw. “Miss Quinn,” he sighed. “If you knock something over, I may need you to—”

“Please don’t kick me out, Professor!” Harley pleaded, leaning over. “I’d have nowhere else to go! Ivy’s in hiding, Ozzy’s probably tired of me, everyone else is in Arkham, and Puddin’…”

Crane stopped a sneer from forming at the mention of the Joker. “What about him?”

She nibbled on the corner of her lip briefly, turning away. “Well…it’s better if I don’t go back for a while. He just needs time to cool down.”

Jonathon despised their relationship—from her blackened eyes and the handprints that would appear at her throat, to the fact that Harley saw only a broken angel who needed fixing, the professor knew that the relationship was no good for either of them. If he’d had any say, he’d keep them separated for their own sakes. As much as he hated the thought of doing anything to help the Joker, he hated the flurry of feelings he would get anytime he’d see Harley hurt.

He clenched and relaxed one hand, slowly breathing away his confusion.

“Miss Quinn, this formula is unadulterated,” he explained. “It’s incredibly dangerous.”

She nodded, turning back around to face the professor.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He pursed his lips. Crane stood from his seat, tugging the sleeves of the lab coat he had on.

“I’ll be just outside for a minute. Don’t touch a single thing,” he warned, laying the white bundle over his stool.

“Yessir,” she replied.

He hesitated momentarily, but walked out the door, keeping his eye trained to the table until it was out of sight.

Crane sighed, casting his eyes around the shabby room. It proved to be a good hideout, as the entire apartment complex had been condemned by the Gotham Health and Safety Board after a young girl had been injured playing in the unfinished homes. The odds that anyone would come here were slim, excluding the teens foolish enough to go looking for trouble. Even then, stupid teens made great lab rats.

He’d just picked up his mask, examining the stitching when he heard a small shatter on the other side of the door, followed by an even smaller curse.

“Quinn…” he growled, clenching the burlap in his hand as he turned to go back into the room. The fog that was creeping through the cracks in the door was one of the thickest shades of rotten green he’d seen.

The formula.

At the thought, he vaulted toward the door, “Miss Quinn?”

She swore again, her voice shaking, and said nothing else.

Immediately he raised a hand to his mouth and shouted. “Harleen? Did something break in there?”

He was met by silence. With a hiss of frustration, he forced the door open.

The fog poured out, and he coughed and sputtered, waving it away with a spindly hand until the air was clear enough to see her.

She was standing in the middle of the misty room, without protective clothing, trembling violently. Her blue eyes were even wider than they usually were, locked on a broken pile of glass.

“Miss Quinn?”

Her eyes shot to him, and the shaking worsened. Harley raised her arms and began slinking away, and Crane’s breath caught in his throat.

“Please, it was a mistake, honest!” She stuttered, fingers shaking.

Jonathon’s eye twitched slightly as he rested his sights on a bookshelf by the desk. It was filled with rows of beakers, graduated cylinders, and boxes of syringes. He took slow, steady steps to the shelves, holding his arms up to show that he was harmless.

“Harleen, dear child,” he murmured, “It’s—”

“I’m sorry, I know what you said, and I tried, please…”

He rested his mask on the bookshelf, picking up a small box. He idly wondered, as he tore it open to get to the syringe inside, if he’d have to act like a sappy therapist until he could get close enough to her.

“Relax,” he said firmly, filling the needle with the antidote. ‘I’m not even sure if this will be strong enough…’ He thought in spite of himself.

He turned back to her to find that she’d pressed herself against the wall, her eyes widened with panic. Crane could tell that the Scarecrow would have reveled in Harley’s terror. It bothered him to no end…

“You may feel a slight pinch,” he said. “But I promise you—”

She squeaked, knees giving out, and slipped into a sitting position on the floor. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!” She cried, covering her face with her hands.

…It bothered him to no end that, of all things, this was what she was most afraid of.

“I just need to give you the antidote,” He said, crouching down to her level.

She lifted her gaze, which had turned to one of confusion.

“I don’t need that,” she said, pushing his arm away.

He froze, surprised by the sudden shift of her clarity. “This is the antidote to the toxin, Harleen.”

“I don’t need it!” She insisted, slapping her hands to the floor like a child throwing a tantrum, mascara running down her cheeks. “Please don’t hurt me, professor!”

Crane stiffened. He’d never laid a finger on her before, and he wasn’t even in costume; why would she be hallucinating about…?

“Why do you think you don’t need it?” He enunciated, wondering if anything he was saying was actually getting through to her. Harley flinched away at the stern expression on his face.

“When, when I began working with Iv-Poison Ivy,” she choked out between gargled sobs, “she-she gave me a…a shot, that would make it so, so I could…” Harley stopped, gasping, burying her face into her shaking hands. “Toxins! Ivy gave me a shot so that toxins have no effect on me anymore!  I don’t need that!”

Crane remembered that Ivy had talked about her immunity to plant-based toxins in a group therapy session back at Arkham. The ruined formula that was soaking the dirty carpet was mostly herbal, and Harley did seem to know what she was talking about.

Harley’s look of fear softened as Jonathon stood and backed away, setting the needle down on the desk. He moved her stool, careful not to knock off the lab coat she’d set on top, and opened the top drawer. She winced, as if afraid that he’d hit her with the book he’d brought out.

“Miss Quinn, can you tell me what the title is?”

She took a shuddering breath. “The Nightmare,” She read. “The Psychology and Biology of Terrifying Dreams.”

Jonathon Crane cocked his head slightly, pursing his lips.

“By Ernest Hartmann,” Harley added, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “Why did you ask?”

“I thought that you were hallucinating,” He replied, setting the book back. “But it sounds like my toxins have no effect on you. What happened?”

“Are you mad at me?” Harley demanded, setting her arms to the side.

He sighed, stopping to pick up the broken glass of the vial. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m more than disappointed, but I’m glad that you aren’t injured. What happened?”

Harley relaxed, curling out of her fetal position. “I was taking off my lab coat when I bumped the vial. I know what you said, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking…”

The professor raised a finger to his lips, throwing the shards of glass into the trash. “You don’t have to apologize, just try to be more careful in the future. No serious harm was done.”

“But all of that work!” She stumbled over her words, gesturing energetically. “You must be more upset, I would’ve thought…”

Jonathon didn’t like how her voice trembled when she’d trailed off.

“Thought what?”

She froze, paling. “…Nothing.”

Crane took a step towards her, holding out a hand. She tentatively accepted it, and she stood slowly.

“How did you get this?” Crane ventured, gently resting a finger near her blackened eye.

Harley forced a wide smile. “That? B-man gave me that right before Mistah J and I escaped. It was two days ago.”

“Really?”

Harley’s lips twisted into a slight frown. “Yeah. The day before I left to give him time to calm down.”

Crane’s brow furrowed, looking for some hint that she was lying. He thought that she’d only leave Napier if he made her. He must have done something to make her want to “give him time,” as she’d mildly put it.

Harley seemed to know where his mind was wandering and shook her head softly. “He really does love me, Professor. Honest.”