"Even the weary can bloom again if someone remembers to see the flower beneath the ash."
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Location: Robinson Park, Gotham City.
Time: 10:42 PM.
The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened. Gotham hummed with quiet misery.
King walked the path under flickering lamps, hands in his jeans pockets, steam rising off him from the drizzle.
A voice cut through the night—sarcastic, tired.
"Ya know, this park's got more pigeons than people who don't hate me."
She sat hunched on a bench, hair damp, mascara streaked. A half-empty coffee cup trembled in her hands.
King stopped. Looked. Then sat beside her. No hesitation.
He placed a fresh, steaming cup next to her.
"Double-shot espresso. You looked like you needed it."
Harley blinked, caught off guard.
"You buyin' random clowns coffee now? That your thing?"
"I buy tired people coffee. You happen to qualify." Replied King.
She snorted, almost smiling. "Heh. Fair enough."
She took a sip. Steam fogged her cracked lipstick.
"Been a long time since someone gave me somethin' without an explosion attached."
"Gotham doesn't hand out kindness. It's why I do."
A silence stretched between them. A siren wailed somewhere far off.
" I've been tryin', y'know? No more crime, no mallets, no puddin'. Just… tryin'. But nobody wants a shrink with a criminal record. Turns out, it's hard ta' rebuild when the city wants ya dead or locked up."
"You still trying means you haven't given up."
"Oh, I gave up three times this week. Still can't shake the habit of gettin' back up, though."
King leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"You were a psychologist before the Joker, right?"
"Doctor Harleen Quinzel, at your service. Used to study behavior, treat trauma… and then fell for a psychopath. Not my brightest move." Said Harley self mockingly.
" You're creative."
"What, because I'm crazy?" Asked Harley.
" Because I've seen your work. The mural on Fifth Street. The leg tattoos — your own design. You don't just paint — you express. There's pain in the lines but control in the detail."
Her head turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
"You noticed that?".
"I notice everything worth seeing."
Harley looked down at her cup, lips trembling.
"Never thought anyone would look that close." Said Harley in a cracked voice.
" Then you've been around the wrong eyes."
"So what, doc, you think I should pick up a brush and just what paint away my problems?" Asks Harley.
"Not paint them away. Paint through them. You've been trying to erase Harleen Quinzel. Maybe start drawing Harleen Quinzel again but with a Harley Quinn twist."
Harley half-laughs, half-chokes. "You talk like it's easy."
" It's not. But you've survived Gotham. That's harder than anything I can teach."
A beat. Wind brushed through the trees.
Harley asked. "You think I can actually… be somethin' again?"
"You already are. You just stopped believing it."
She stared at him for a long time, mascara shining under the light. Then, quietly:
"You're weirdly good at this motivational crap."
"Experience. I used to be broken too." Said King while looking at the flickering lamppost.
King stood. Offered her a hand.
"Come on. I know someone who can help."
"Lemme guess—Batman?"
"Something like that."
Wayne Manor – 11:30 PM
Alfred answered the door, surprised. Harley Quinn stood awkwardly beside King, clutching her empty coffee cup like a lifeline.
"Sir… there's a—ah—guest." Called Alfred.
Bruce entered the hall, robe draped, expression unreadable.
"You brought her here?"
"She's done running. She wants a second chance." Said King.
"For the record, I didn't know we were goin' ta' billionaire rehab or the billionaire was also Batman."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "You expect me to trust her?"
"No. But I expect you to help her." Said King calmly.
"You're asking me to sponsor a convicted felon?" Asks Bruce.
" I'm asking you to invest in someone who hasn't quit trying. Should be a drop in the bucket compared to how much you spend on the League."
A tense silence filled the hall. The clock ticked loud.
Bruce turned to Harley.
"Why should I believe you?"
Harley met his gaze. Shaky but steady.
" Because I'm tired, Bats. Tired of bein' a punchline. I wanna build somethin'. I used to help people. I wanna do that again. Even if it's just one kid who don't end up like me."
King watched her. Calm. Silent.
Bruce exhaled through his nose. Finally:
"Lucius has an opening in the art therapy wing. It's probationary. You'll be monitored."
"Wait—what? You're serious?"
"He usually is. He just acts like a fool in public."
Harley started laughing weakly "I—I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll show up."
Harley stammered. "Yeah… yeah, I will."
As Alfred led Harley away for paperwork, Bruce turned back.
"You could've ignored her. Why didn't you?" Asks Bruce.
"Because Gotham has enough people tearing others down. Someone has to build them back up." Replied King
"You believe people can change that easily?" Asks Bruce.
"Not easily. But completely." Replied King.
Bruce studied him for a moment, then nodded once.
"You're dangerous, King. But maybe Gotham needs dangerous men who still believe in redemption."
"Or just one who refuses to stop trying." Said King while looking at the sparkling chandelier.
He walked out into the rain again, the echo of his boots fading into Gotham's heartbeat.
Read 12 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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