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It was a quiet day in the Arkham recreation room. Jervis Tetch had been retrieved for a therapy session, which left Jonathan Crane as the sole inmate, at least for a few minutes. He calmly put the chess pieces away, then went to the bookshelf. He selected a volume of short horror stories and went to the couch.
Jonathan was in the midst of Edgar Allen Poe's "Hop-Frog" when he was joined by another inmate.
"Hey, Professor Crane!"
He glanced up at the bright, bubbly voice. Jonathan gave Harley Quinn the faintest smile and returned her greeting.
"Hello, child," he said, gently, before turning back to the book.
Harley came to join him on the couch. She turned on the TV and caught the last two minutes of a cartoon before it turned to commercials. Jonathan, used to other inmates coming in and changing the station to whatever they desired, ignored it and kept reading. Harley settled back and pouted at the ad for some kind of flower shop, then turned to her companion. She noted that they were the only two people here aside from the two orderlies, who were talking quietly amongst each other while they observed their charges.
“Hey, Professor Crane?”
Jonathan didn’t look up from his book as he answered.
“Yes, Harley?”
“Can I ask you something?” She lowered her voice a bit. “Something, well...kind of personal?”
“You may,” Jonathan said, as he finished the paragraph and turned the page, “but depending on the nature of your question, you might not get an answer.”
Harley shrugged. Fair enough.
“Have you ever loved someone?” she asked.
Her question brought up many thoughts, some more prominent than others. There were times in his life that Jonathan thought he might have, but upon reflection, realized weren’t actually love, but rather trying to play a role in an attempt to seem normal and gain some level of acceptance. Sherry Squires had been his first awful lesson in that.
Jonathan never actually loved her, as time eventually revealed. He loved the idea of being with her, for it meant some level of acceptance amongst the rest of his peers due to her popularity. The night Sherry shattered that idea had not only been a cold, hard realization that her affection for him was fake, but that Jonathan’s own affection was akin to a flimsy house of cards that fell around him.
He stopped trying to force it after that.
And yet, there had been rare times where he felt actual affection for another human being. The difference in trying to play a role to not be an outcast, and the true desire to be in another’s company was distinct in a way that was difficult to describe, yet he longed for a word to adequately define it.
Harley watched him carefully. Jonathan Crane often held a grim, serious expression that contrasted with her own bright smile. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell if he was actually thinking or simply ignoring her, but Harley looked for other cues, like the way his forefinger brushed against book cover or how his already quiet breathing grew quieter.
“Loved, or been in love?” Jonathan asked, after a moment.
The clarification caught her off guard, but Harley accepted it, as it meant she might get an answer.
“In love,” Harley said.
“No,” Jonathan replied.
“But you have loved someone?” she asked.
“Not in any romantic sense,” Jonathan replied, “but yes, I have. Once.”
“May I--?” Harley started.
“Her name was Molly Randall.”
Harley did not expect that sort of blunt answer from him, but the fact he not only anticipated her question, but answered it so quickly had her quiet down as she knew she was going to get a story. Jonathan turned the page as he collected his thoughts, and stared at an illustration of a burning mass of skeletons hanging from the ceiling.
“She was a student of mine,” Jonathan said. “She was quite passionate for knowledge, brilliant, charming. I’ve never met someone so eager to learn, so knowledgeable in so many subjects.”
His fingers gently brushed over the illustration.
“There’s never been another person I simply wanted to just exist within their company,” he said quietly. “I was at my happiest to simply have a cup of tea with her and talk about music and poetry.”
Harley swore she caught the briefest hint of a smile on Jonathan's face. The bright way he spoke about Molly, the sense of joy he rarely expressed in anything outside of fear...she smiled, but in a bittersweet way. Harley picked up enough to know that Molly was no longer in his life.
"...What happened?" she asked.
Jonathan remained quiet for a moment. A dark look crossed his face as he remembered how Molly came to him, the fear and hesitation in her posture, her tears staining his suit coat, the tremors in her voice as she explained why she came to him that night.
He could almost feel the warmth of her body trembling in his arms, faintly smell her perfume, feel the tight grip of her fingers in his lapels as she desperately sought comfort and solace.
Never in his life had Jonathan been so furious on behalf of another, at how such a sweet, sensitive girl like Molly had been hurt and violated for nothing more than some brute's amusement.
Never before had he wanted to protect someone.
"...Another student harmed her," Jonathan said after a moment, "and I took matters into my own hands."
His fingers pressed tightly against the page.
"I showed him what it was to feel terrified and helpless," Jonathan continued. "His life would have been mine had the Batman not stepped in."
He turned the page, possibly to continue reading, possibly to stop staring at the illustration.
"Of course, my true identity came out over that incident," Jonathan said. "I haven't seen Molly since."
"You could--" Harley started.
"No," Jonathan said firmly. "Molly doesn't need me complicating her life. I've kept tabs. She's graduated, and has since moved from the city to pursue her career. She has the peaceful life she deserves."
Harley nodded and sat with that information for a moment.
"...You love her enough to let her go," she whispered.
Jonathan held up the book, though it was difficult to tell if he was actually reading, or distracting himself.
"I suppose that's one way of putting it," he said.
Harley watched the commercials flip back to the cartoon. She watched for a moment before she spoke again.
"That's really sweet, Professor," she said. Harley gave him a smile, and made a zipping motion across her lips. "But don't worry. I won't go blabbin' that the big scary Scarecrow has a soft spot."
Jonathan scoffed, but there might have been the faint trace of a returned smile across his lips for the briefest second.
"I appreciate it," he said, dryly.
Harley nodded and went back to her cartoon. The gears turned in her mind as she considered something else he said earlier, about loving, but never being in love. Harley never saw him show interest in other people outside of his fear experiments and the occasional somewhat friendly camaraderie with Jervis Tetch.
This story with Molly only seemed to confirm something for her, how all he wanted from her was to share a cup of tea and talk.
"So you've never felt attracted to anyone, or been in love with them," Harley said.
"I don't have a word to describe it," Jonathan said, "but essentially, yes."
He might not, but she did.
"Have you ever considered you might be asexual?" Harley asked. "Maybe aromantic?"
Jonathan turned to her. Harley caught the contemplation in his face as he pondered this.
He'd come across the first term a few times in his psychological studies, but it had also been several years ago. And yet his mind was already breaking down the words to their base definitions.
Asexual. Without sexual attraction. Aromantic. Without romance.
"...That," he said, "actually sounds about right."
Jonathan gave her a knowing glance.
"Though I suspect you already knew," he said.
Harley smirked and crossed her arms behind her head to use as a pillow as she settled back into her cartoons.
"I have a way with love," she said, "and helpin' others find their own version of it."
She returned his knowing glance with one of her own.
"And I kind of got the vibe it was something you needed to put your finger on."
Jonathan smirked.
"It does help to have it defined," he said.
"You're welcome, Professor."
Jonathan went back to his book, where Hop-Frog and Tripetta slipped away into the night, never to be seen again.
"...Thank you, Harley," he whispered.