Harley cradles the photograph between her fingertips, standing alone in Scarecrow's bedroom. Jonathan is working himself half to death in the lab tonight, poor guy. He still avoids looking at her like it's painful.
The girl in the picture has a smile just that side of naughty. Her hair has been straightened, dark brown, faded and wrinkled on paper. Harley imagines her eyes would glitter, and it would look so-very-pretty in the moonlight.
They both understand what it means to love, to hurt, to be hurt. They are both intimately familiar with the ways of kindness and cruelty, what it means to break a boy's heart because he can never, ever have you. Not really.
Harley wants to cry, but more than that she thinks as she brings her nail over the contours of this dead, beautiful girl's face she wants to kiss Sherry quietly and to tell her that she knows. She knows.