Connors maintained three separate residences in Gotham, a necessary precaution in a city that preyed on predictability. The one he currently shared with Harley Quinn was a high-rise apartment with a commanding view of the city's concrete canyons. He'd thrown out the cheap, questionable bedding left by the landlord and bought all new linens, including the pristine, snow-white pillows now on the bed.
He gripped one of those pillows, his fingers sinking deep into the plush core, his knuckles white. The soft filling shifted and compressed under his hands as he braced himself. Because of his spider-sensing, all of Connors' senses had become more delicate, the specific manifestation being a far better sense of experience. The feeling was exquisite, an overwhelming torrent of sensory data that threatened to drown him.
A deep groan vibrated through the bedframe, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that was not his own. Harley's nails raked down his back, and her hips arched off the mattress to meet his every thrust. The world narrowed to the slick heat of her body, the frantic rhythm of their movements, and the sharp, sweet scent of her skin. His senses, dialed to eleven, captured every detail: the tremor in her muscles, the hitch in her breath, the way her hair felt like cool silk against his heated skin. It was intoxicating.
An hour later, the shaky bed had gradually calmed down. Connors lit an after-smoke and looked with satisfaction at Harley Quinn, who was lying in his arms. A notification hovered in his vision.
[Melon Today: A Night with Harley Quinn][Submit?]
It was three in the morning, and the Melon-eating System had begun recording today's big melons. Connors lit a cigarette, pondered for a moment, and then selected "no." There was no need to be in a hurry; the new day had only just begun.
He got up and walked to the massive window, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. Outside, the rain continued its relentless assault on the city. Through the downpour, he could just make out the bat lantern projected by Commissioner Gordon, still imprinted on the dark clouds.
Harley stirred behind him. A moment later, she was at his side, her movements a fluid, feline sway. She peered out the window curiously.
"So, Mysterious Sir," she purred, her voice a playful murmur. "You said you were gonna take me to turn Gotham City upside down. To do that, a guy's gotta have some skills. Let me guess…"
As she spoke, it happened. A violent, electric jolt shot up Connors's spine, and the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. It was an unmistakable, primal warning from his spider-sense. Danger. Someone was watching them. From outside.
"Guess what," he growled, his voice suddenly hard.
He spun around, grabbing Harley by the arm. In one swift, rough motion, he pulled her down to the floor, forcing her to kneel in front of him, out of sight of the window. His eyes narrowed as he stared out into the black, rain-swept night.
He couldn't see anything with his naked eye, but the spider-sense was giving a crazy warning, indicating that there was someone outside. They were on the nineteenth floor. The building's exterior was a sheer glass curtain wall, impossible for any average man to scale. But in Gotham City, there was one exception: Batman.
Fortunately, the bedroom window wasn't floor-to-ceiling. With Harley held down by him, anyone looking in from the outside would only see Connors with his upper body naked.
"Hey, are you still busy?" he murmured, as if talking to himself. His sight could not see outside, but he still locked onto Batman's position with the help of his spider-sensing and looked over with burning eyes.
He ran a quick mental calculation. Batman couldn't see Harley. Infrared vision could penetrate the wall, but it would make it difficult to see what she looked like. According to the timeline, Harley Quinn's identity in the outside world was still that of a consultant hired by Arkham Asylum, "Harleen Quinzel," not really Harley Quinn yet. And the monetary reward from the Melon-eating System had given him a legal identity on his third day here. Whatever the angle, Batman had no reason to capture him and Harley Quinn.
After figuring this out, a smile appeared at the corner of Connors' mouth, and his look at Batman outside became even more unscrupulous.
"Alfred," Batman's voice was a low growl, transmitted from the storm-swept rooftop. "Help me find out about this 'Connors Patterson' guy." His eyes were fixed on the young man on the 19th floor opposite who seemed to have discovered him.
"Has a new goal emerged? One moment, sir." Alfred's calm, unhurried voice replied through the comms, followed by the faint tapping of a keyboard. Word quickly arrived:
"Connors Patterson, twenty-five years old, idle, has been a regular presence at 'Ghostface Bar' lately, has no criminal record." There was a pause. "However, these information are all fake. The only real information is his frequent visits to bars. Master Wayne, any discoveries?"
"Not yet, but this guy seems to be able to see me," Bruce Wayne said. "Put him on the watch list."
"No problem. Next, shall you go ahead and find the Joker?" the butler asked.
"I'll observe for a little longer."
"A reminder, sir," Alfred added, his tone laced with dry amusement. "The other person is naked now. Master Wayne, when did you have this hobby?"
"…"
In the spider's induction, Batman outside did not retreat, and Connors also did not return to bed, instead standing by the window.
My identity should be under investigation now, Connors thought. There is nothing wrong with my identity, but it should be possible to find out that it was forged through the methods of the Wayne Group. But even if they find out, they definitely don't know anything about my true information. I don't believe they can find out that I've traveled through time.
During the time he was thinking, Harley Quinn, who was kneeling in front of him, tried to stand up several times, but he pressed her down. Finally, she couldn't help it.
"Hey, what the hell are you going to do?" she protested, her voice muffled. "My knees are going to swell!"
She still didn't know his name, so she always used "Hey" instead.
Connors caressed Harley Quinn's head with his hand, stared out the window, and said softly, "You used to work as a consultant at Arkham Asylum, right?"
Harley Quinn nodded like a chick pecking at rice.
"The Joker's enemy is Batman, you should know that too, right?" Connors continued to ask.
She kept nodding.
"That guy is watching from outside right now."
Connors finished, and Harley Quinn understood. "Are you afraid of him? I'm not afraid."
Connors laughed. He was innocent now, what was there to be afraid of? Harley Quinn wasn't afraid of Batman either, and there was nothing wrong with that. After all, she had just transformed from a psychiatrist into a crazy beauty and hadn't officially fought Batman yet. The Joker had eaten defeat at Batman's hands; she never had.
Then, Connors understood exactly how "unafraid" Harley was. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she blatantly decided to put on a show for their audience. She lowered her head.
"Hiss…"
Connors sucked in a sharp breath. The presence of the spider-induction doubled the stimulation, making him almost shiver. But with Batman outside, it didn't matter what Harley did, he had to tighten his nerves and maintain his composure.
When he finally regained his mind and looked out the window, his Spider-Sense had completely lost track of Batman.
At the top of the twenty-third floor of the building where Connors was located, Batman felt a rare moment of embarrassment as he listened to the teasing of Alfred, the butler in the walkie-talkie. He was Batman, not a peeper, and it was something he didn't expect to be true tonight.
"Seeing that young people are so energetic, Master Wayne, you have to find a partner quickly."
Bruce Wayne, without saying a word, turned off the intercom. He leaped from the tall building, his cloak fluttering as he glided toward the bat-lamp spot.
Today, a psychological adviser named Harleen Quinzel freed the Joker, who was being held in Arkham Asylum. With the help of Poison Ivy, all the inmates inside escaped en masse.
It would be another sleepless night.
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