The ambulance sirens were a steady wail, but it was muted within the rear compartment where Harley was sobbing over a body draped in a white sheet.
"We're in the clear," the ambulance driver said over his shoulder.
"Good," Harley said, sitting up with no trace of the sadness she'd been pouring out a moment before. "This plan had better work because I've ruined my mascara."
"How was my performance?" asked the sheet covered body.
"Award winning, Clayface," Harley said, pulling back the sheet. "I am curious as to how you pulled it off as you don't have any blood."
"Wayne had donated blood recently, and I absorbed it," Clayface explained with Bruce's face and voice. "Once I was shot, it was simply a matter of squeezing the ruptured bags at the right times to indicate a heartbeat. If anyone tests the blood, it will come back as his."
"I have to know how you volunteered to be Bruce's decoy," Harley pressed.
"I didn't exactly volunteer," he corrected. "When the League caught up with me, I thought for sure they were going to tie up loose ends by trying to kill me. Imagine my surprise to find Batman leading them and offering me a deal. Considering the League had me frame Batman in the first place, I never expected to find them working together."
"What was the deal?" Harley directed the conversation back to her topic of choice.
"I help the League fake Wayne's death, and the League wouldn't hunt me anymore. They offered me something extra, but the first was enough to sell me on the deal," Clayface told her.
"What extra?" Harley insisted.
"They didn't say," Clayface admitted. "I was told if everything went according to plan, Wayne would provide something extra to me when it was over. I didn't want to question them and possibly make them want to revisit the idea of disposing of me."
"Fair enough," Harley accepted. "Where do we go from here?"
"Once we arrive, the hospital will pronounce me 'dead' and send me to the morgue," Clayface said. "The League has people there who will provide all the necessary documentation, and even an urn of ashes for you to carry out in case anyone is watching. As far as anyone else is concerned, Wayne is gone."
"I really appreciate you doing this," Harley told him.
"They didn't give me much choice," Clayface replied, but then he smiled. "It was fun."
"Did you do many death scenes back in your movie days?" Harley asked.
"A few," Clayface confirmed, sitting up on the gurney. He shed his Bruce Wayne disguise, becoming a humanoid shape with the appearance of wet mud. His eyes were large white orbs, and his mouth nearly split his wide face in half horizontally. "The fun I was talking about was being in the crowd. Since I was transformed, most people run screaming at first sight. I mean, look at me!"
"I don't see anything so bad," Harley offered. She touched the side of his face in a gentle caress.
"Thanks, but you're crazy," Clayface denied.
"Being able to see what others can't isn't always a bad thing," Harley pointed out.
His face shifted into what she assumed was a sad smile, but it was hard to identify expressions on a pile of wet earth.
"I could fake being human from time to time," Clayface said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard from him before. "I can only hold a shape for so long, so I'd always have to be careful and unseen, ready for a quick exit if my control slipped. Today, for a little while, I wasn't a freak."
Clayface pushed Harley's hand away as he turned back into a deceased Bruce Wayne. Laying back down, he covered himself with the sheet and grumbled, "Let's get this over with."
***
"Why didn't you tell me the whole plan?" Harley demanded.
"I would have, but when I made the deal with Clayface, you were at the doctor for a checkup," Bruce answered. "I did tell you what you needed to know."
The alley was dark, only barely reached by the streetlights and the neon signs of various businesses, but it was enough to cast highlights on their hair and faces to the point where they could see each other. Dumpsters were overflowing, and bags of trash were piled around the metal bins similar to sandbags stacked against a flood.
"If you had faked your death without telling me beforehand, I would've killed you for real," Harley stated.
"Which is why I told you," Bruce announced like a lawyer finishing his case before a jury and fully expecting a rendered verdict of innocent.
"What else haven't you told me yet?" Harley asked.
"Just this," Bruce replied. "Hagen."
A dumpster to their left changed from a metal box of flaking green paint to a humanoid shape constructed of wet mud.
"The name is Clayface," the creature said in a voice sounding like it was bubbling up from underwater. "Matt Hagen died when I became this...thing. The League said I had to help you, rich man, so here I am, but don't push your luck."
"Alright, no problem," Bruce offered quickly, backing up a step and holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. Carefully, Bruce reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket with one hand and withdrew a silver cylinder.
"What's that?" Clayface demanded.
"The League has access to a number of pools of regenerative fluid they call lazarus," Bruce explained. "They let me have a sample for analysis, and what I made from it can help you."
"You can't regenerate what isn't there," Clayface snarled. "I'm no longer human!"
"Some of you remains," Bruce countered. "You aren't just clay. You still have your senses, and you have a mind to think and control your shifting abilities, so there are traces of who you were in there somewhere. This compound will purge the mutagenic chemicals from your system, and the lazarus will regenerate what remains until you're you again, the real you."
Bruce offered him the cylinder, and Clayface reached out a hand but hesitated. "Why would the League want to help me?"
"Destroying you is within their ability," Bruce offered, "but I think the fight you'd put up would make it a costly victory. It's far easier to make Clayface go away by having Matt Hagen come back. Then again, if Batman is running things, maybe the League is trying to be better and hoping you would like to do the same."
Clayface took the offered cylinder, absorbing the container, unopened, into his hand.
"Aren't you going to use it?" Bruce asked.
"Not yet," Clayface denied. "I'll put it somewhere safe, but I can't stop being Clayface yet."
"Why not?" Harley inquired. "I thought you'd want this."
"When first transformed, I thought I was trapped and I'd never be Matt Hagen again," Clayface told them. "I did a lot of damage, and I really didn't care who I hurt because I hated the world and everything and everyone in it. If I'm to have a second chance, I need to earn it. I need to make amends, and I can do more with powers than without. Consider this my penance."
Clayface reached up, his arms becoming long and thin strands as they ascended to the roof of a nearby building and latched on. He didn't pull himself up as much as shift his substance up through his extended form until more of him was on the roof than in the alley, then he drew up what remained, walking away and out of sight.
"Do you think he'll reform?" Harley queried before rephrasing her choice of words. "You know, stay the course?"
"I think so," Bruce confirmed. "A chance to leave the past behind and become himself again, it's a powerful motivator."
"What about you?" she questioned. "Are you ready to leave behind your past self?"
"We'll still need to look in on Gotham from time to time, just to make sure everything is in order," Bruce admitted. "As for leaving my past behind, Bruce Wayne died. Isn't that enough?"
"It's a start," Harley giggled.
He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. "Since the old me is dead, I see no reason why we can't start new lives together."
"It's just what I wanted to hear," Harley said with a smile before kissing him.