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Harley keeps vigil by Christina's bedside night and day, sleepless and on edge. She's back to being Harleen again, boring clothes and hair and all. It's a risk, still. She has no idea how stable Christina is or how much of a trigger her face might be if she recognizes it. So far, no one else has, or she wouldn't be sitting here, monitoring Christina's vitals.
Her recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Henry's bullet had lodged in her shoulder, but missed any major blood vessel, keeping her from bleeding out like Albert and Johnny. Later, the Batbrat somehow retrieved Freeze's research and synthesized a cure.
Now, here they are, unsure if she would wake and if she did, how much she'd remember.
Harleen herself has been on antipsychotics since Christina's operation. Self-prescribed, true, but even if her pharmaceutical knowledge is outdated, she's still a doctor. And she needs to be focused now, on what's best for Christina, not on what her own chaotic impulses dictate.
When Christina wakes, Harleen has to bite back tears. She's wearing a red blouse and a black skirt underneath a labcoat, like she did on her first meeting with her—with the Joker. It doesn't jog Christina's memory, not even when Harleen introduces herself as her psychiatrist.
It's wrong, she knows. Not only because she's lost her licence, but because she can't think of Christina as her patient. Still, it's the safest way to stay close to her. Harleen wouldn't survive losing her again.