In Gotham City, inside a small apartment lit mostly by the television, Harleen Quinzel sat curled into the corner of her sofa in loose pajamas, one leg crossed over the other as the news replayed footage from Metropolis.
Daniel appeared again on the screen, black energy tearing through Kryptonian machines while reporters struggled to describe what they were even looking at.
"Wow… what the hell even is this guy?" Harleen muttered, staring at the screen.
Her opinion of him was a mess.
Annoying. Dangerous. Interesting. Completely insane.
Which, unfortunately, only made him more interesting.
Harleen groaned and leaned back against the sofa. That was a problem for another day. Right now she had work.
A transfer request had come in from Central City after local authorities detained a prisoner who had completely broken the medical staff assigned to evaluate him.
According to the reports, three different doctors had either quit or suffered panic attacks after speaking with the prisoner for less than ten minutes.
So naturally, they had contacted Arkham Asylum.
Which meant they had sent her.
Officially, she was there to determine whether the prisoner was genuinely mentally unstable or simply pretending to avoid prison time.
Harleen already suspected the answer was going to be "both."
She pushed herself off the sofa and headed to her room. A while later she stepped back out wearing an office-style black skirt suit that hugged her figure neatly, the skirt ending above her knees while dark stockings disappeared into her heels.
A white doctor's coat rested folded over one arm as she adjusted the sleeve of her jacket with the other hand and grabbed her bag.
She reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
Daniel stood outside smiling at her.
Harleen nearly died on the spot.
"Jesus Christ!" she yelled, stumbling back and clutching her chest. "Do you have some kind of psychological need to appear like a serial killer?!"
"No," Daniel replied. "I was about to ring your doorbell and you opened the door first. What did I do? Scare you?"
Harleen stared at him for a second, still recovering from the near heart attack, before another thought hit her.
How the hell did he know her address?
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
"Okay, no, forget the creepy ghost entrance for a second," Harleen Quinzel said, pointing at him with the hand still clutching her coat. "How do you know where I live?"
Daniel looked genuinely confused by the question.
"You told me."
"I absolutely did not."
"Pretty sure you did."
"Name one time."
Daniel tilted his head slightly, thinking about it. "...huh."
That pause did not help his case.
Harleen took a slow breath, trying very hard not to accept how casually he kept appearing in impossible places. "You know what? Nope. I don't even want the answer anymore."
"That's probably healthier."
"You are not qualified to talk about mental health."
"That feels judgmental."
Harleen grabbed her bag and stepped past him, heels clicking sharply against the hallway floor. "Move. I have work."
Daniel glanced at the white doctor's coat folded over her arm, then at the fitted office skirt suit.
"You dressed up."
Harleen stopped mid-step and slowly looked back at him.
"I'm a psychiatrist," Harleen Quinzel said flatly. "This is called dressing professionally."
"Right," Daniel nodded as he stepped beside her while she walked down the hallway.
"So what is it today? Another day treating those psychos in Arkham Asylum, or something new? Honestly, you should find a healthier job."
"I'm a psychiatric doctor. It is the perfect job for me."
"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Daniel replied. "But your patients aren't just messed up. Half of them feel completely inhuman. At some point it stops being therapy and starts becoming paranormal investigation."
Harleen told him she wasn't going to Arkham Asylum today but to Central City to evaluate a patient.
"Central City? Isn't that far?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah, but the job demands it. What am I supposed to do?" Harleen replied with a small shrug.
Daniel walked beside her down the hallway, hands in his pockets, before speaking again. "I can give you a lift to Central City if you want."
Harleen looked at him sideways, suspicion appearing instantly. "You brought a car?"
Daniel was quiet for a second.
"...That depends on how flexible your definition of 'car' is."
Harleen stopped walking. Slowly.
"Why," she asked carefully, "did that answer immediately make me fear for my life?"
"And yet you still haven't run away," Daniel pointed out before extending his hand toward her. "So, do you want the lift or not?"
Harleen Quinzel looked at his hand in silence.
Every rational part of her brain told her this was a terrible idea. She could still take the train, arrive safely, and avoid whatever insane thing this man was planning.
Unfortunately, another part of her was curious.
Which was probably its own psychological issue.
"I already hate this," she muttered and took his hand.
Daniel immediately pulled her forward.
Harleen barely had time to react before he caught her in a princess carry, one arm under her legs, the other supporting her back.
"Wha—hey—!"
"You should hold onto my neck," Daniel said casually, looking down at her. "This part's usually fast."
"Usually?!"
The next second the ground vanished beneath them.
Harleen's stomach dropped as they shot upward into open air, wind slamming against her face while Gotham shrank below them. Her eyes widened in horror.
Daniel was running through the sky.
Actually running.
On nothing.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHH—!"
Instinct took over instantly. Harleen grabbed onto his neck hard enough to probably qualify as attempted murder while Daniel continued across the air like this was completely normal.
*****
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