A/N: Dedicated to a favorite reader and writer, RecoveringIntrovert

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After twenty minutes of reckless pillaging, the party moved on to a nondescript building with a generic sign: General LLC files and Holding.

Of all the fun places, the Fatmen had to go and surprise Harley with a dull move like this.

"Why are we here? Nothing shiny at all." Harley circled about the office, smashing lamps with a crowbar as she went.

One masked crusader waved at the filing cabinets and kissed his fingertips, as if to say they'd arrived at the creme de la creme. The thieves still had yet to say a word, perhaps cognizant of the cameras, but they weren't above laughing.

As they raided the files, their laughter reached a fever pitch, resulting in a victory cheer. Fatman number 1 threw up a stack of papers in the air, declaring, "Eureka!"

Fatman number 2 strolled out the back door, whistling, "Easy Street".

Nosey, she snooped through the closet drawer and pulled out a file. Inside was a lotta boring legal mumbo jumbo about a hospital, Gotham General Hospital to be exact. The fact meant little to her, until she opened up five more, then ten more files detailing the same organization. Harley picked up the file folder they'd emptied out, labeled CHILDREN'S CHARITY FUND.

"Ugh, c'mon," she sighed.

So unoriginal. She thought the Fatmen were all about destructo-rama, but on a responsible scale. Hurting kids never turned out well for anyone. The few times she'd lowered herself, it'd been hella hard to climb back out. She didn't want to get caught in that dark well, the one where the laughs sounded like screams, and the tears from other people pierced through her...No. Not again.

The Fatmen had disappeared, but not for long. She caught sight of their capes flapping in the wind, and whistled after them. They ignored her and hightailed it around the corner. She stopped chasing after them to consider the options: go home and finish a fun but predictable game, or capture two new toys. Stealing from a children's charity on Christmas Eve amounted to bad, but not that bad. This was more of a side-job for the Bat, but screw him. Well, screwing him might be fun, but she shook off the wanton images. One smooch from him didn't mean they were going steady, but damn, that didn't mean she could easily forget it. The Bat almost kissed better than Mr. J.

No need to put a stupid bat-shaped cloud in the sky and ruin everyone's Christmas. Still, help wasn't a bad idea. She considered calling her Kitty friend, but no, they weren't really friends anymore. Red was next on her call list, but she hesitated.

A present for yourself.

Who said she needed anyone's help? Kickin' the Fatmen's asses would be her pleasure, and hers alone. If they survived and made it to Mr. J., that'd just be a lovely bonus.

First, she needed one thing. Harley high-tailed it to the car, grabbing her trusty-rusty bat. She ran her hands lovingly along the wooden handle, humming more Christmas tunes. She honed in on a persona from years ago, from her days as an assassin. Her tracking skills, dormant but not gone, kicked in. A couple blocks down, she spied a store sign flapping, and a motion floodlight. Ah, they made it almost too easy.

Harley hurried on their trail, leading to an empty alley. A metal door with the words YOUR MOTHER spray painted on it was the only possibility, and she kicked it open. The Fatmen squatted on the floor, the files spread between them and two laptops. Their masks were up, revealing two scraggly male faces. They weren't young, and they were even less attractive and bulkier than she had assumed. No matter.

"Hey, you don't look like doctors to me!" Harley drawled.

They dove for the files, but relaxed minimally when they saw who had crashed their hideout. In a few moments, they wouldn't be so relaxed. They'd be laughing, hard.

Fatman number 1 eyed her, hands clutching some papers. "What do you want? Score's done."

She ambled into the room, making sure the weapon was visible. "I brought one of my best girls." Harley swung the bat in the air, catching it in her other hand. "She'll help you rest."

Fatman number 2 edged towards the door, but in a flash, Harley struck him, the bat connecting with his temple with a satisfying thwack! He collapsed in a heap, out cold. Even so, she beat about his melon a few more times, effectively caving it in.

"Ah, pretty," she said, briefly admiring her work before advancing further into the small space.

Fatman number 1 fumbled around, presumably for a weapon. He found none and appealed to her sympathies.

"Please, don't hurt me."

"Oh sweetness, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna put ya to sleep." He crawled back, the papers with bank accounts and and dollar signs crinkling beneath him. With that, Harley drew the bat back, and then lowered it. "Wait, I feel really bad."

Fatman looked hopeful. "You do?"

Harley nodded. "Yeah, I forgot to tell your buddy Merry Christmas!"

Then she hefted the bat and put him to sleep.

~*~