She lunged forward suddenly, ripping the pistol from Gordon's belt and aiming it across the table at them. "Don't be ridiculous, Dr. Quinzel," snapped Gordon, holding out his hand for the gun. "You wouldn't shoot us, and even if you did, you'd never get out of here alive. Don't throw away your life like this."

"I am a clown, Commissioner – I gotta be a little ridiculous," said Harleen, shrugging. "But I don't want to shoot any of you – I just want to make sure me and my Joker can get outta here together. See, I promised him we would, and I ain't breaking a promise to him, not ever again."

"Harleen, please, just stop and think about this," said Dr. Leland, pleadingly. "I know you're upset, and you're going through a difficult time right now, but this criminal is not worth throwing away everything you've worked so hard to achieve. That would be insanity."

"Joan, I appreciate all you've done for me, and I always will," replied Harleen, sincerely. "But I realize now I could never be happy in that life I was working toward. I've been slaving away my entire life in the hopes that if I worked hard enough, people would see me as something else, as something other than a criminal, that they'd see beyond that to someone who has value and skill and use in this world. But the world doesn't forgive, and once you stain your record, it's stained forever, and the stain is all people see. So I'm not gonna play their game anymore – I'm gonna play my own that makes me happy, with my Joker. It's not insanity – it's clarity."

"It's insanity," retorted Dent. "Now I have had enough of this nonsense – you shoot me if you want, Dr. Quinzel, but I don't think you have the guts for it," he said, standing up and reaching out a hand to seize the gun from her.

It happened so fast that Harleen didn't even have time to make the decision of whether to shoot or not – Jack had beaten her to it, shoving Dent back, and suddenly shooting something out of the flower on his buttonhole. It collided with Dent's face, and he screamed, as Jack seized Harleen's hand and raced out of the room, leaving shouting and chaos in their wake.

"Stop them!" shouted Gordon out into the station. "By any means necessary!"

Every cop in the station was on the alert, reaching for their weapons, and Harleen could sense they weren't getting out of this alive. But she felt strangely calm about the whole idea, and the acceptance of her own death was strangely freeing. Oddly, the last thing she felt was regret – she had never felt more alive than she was in this moment, her heart pounding in excitement as she held the hand of the man she loved.

But then something landed at her feet, something that instantly released a thick cloud of blinding smoke. Harleen began coughing and choking, and she heard the others in the station do the same, as shots were fired randomly into the cloud.

"Little trick I learned from a Bat-friend!" chuckled Jack in her ear, and she felt him pulling her swiftly away from the ricocheting bullets. Then they were through the doors and outside in the cool, drizzly Gotham night. "This way," said Jack, never letting go of her hand. "Hurry. I have another hideout they'll never find."

"This is right around the corner from the police station," said Harleen, as they ducked into a building.

"Which is why they'll never find it," chuckled Jack. "Nobody ever looks close to home. You wanna hide something, hide it in plain sight, while they're off scouring the streets for us."

"What was that back there?" asked Harleen.

"Smoke bomb," replied Jack. "I told you, the Bat uses those. And sometimes it makes sense to fight his way against the people who endorse him."

"No, I mean…what did you shoot at Mr. Dent?" asked Harleen.

"Ah, trick flower," said Jack, beaming. "It's like one of those ones that clowns wear, only mine shoots acid instead of water," he said, activating it so it splashed a jet onto the floor, which hissed horribly. "Gotta be careful not to accidentally set it off!" he chuckled.

"He's…probably gonna be disfigured for life," said Harleen, slowly.

"So?" asked Jack. "He deserves it for the way he was talking to you. Nobody talks to my gal like that. Anyway, if you were serious about what you said back there, about giving up everything and not caring anymore, you gotta learn not to care when people get hurt. Especially not people who are asking for it," he added. "Which that guy definitely was. Had to rain on your parade there, just when you had finally got the joke."

Harleen nodded slowly. "There's…no turning back from this now," she murmured. "What happened is going to be all over the papers and the news – my name and picture will be splashed around, as well as any dirt the reporters can dig up on me. Whatever hope I had of any kind of professional reputation is gone forever."

"You regret that?" asked Jack.

She smiled at him. "Not in the slightest," she replied, putting her arms around his neck. "I feel like a colossal burden has been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time I can remember, I feel…free. And happy. Very happy," she said, smiling at him. "You gave me that happiness, Jack. I can never thank you enough. It's just like you said – I chose to give up everything, and you were my reward for doing that."

"I'm glad," he said, smiling back. "And…you'll stay with me, won't you, Harley?" he asked, touching her cheek gently. "I…I need you. I…can't remember who I used to be, but I guess you loved him. Do you think…you could ever be able to love me too?"

She kissed him tenderly. "I do," she whispered. "I do, my Joker."

…

"Another late night, sir?" asked Alfred, entering the Batcave to see Batman hunched over his computer, with several windows open on the giant monitor in front of him. "May I ask what it is you're doing?"

"Research," replied Batman, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. "The Joker's struck again."

"The Joker?" repeated Alfred, setting down the tray with the newspaper and pot of coffee he had brought. "Rather an unusual name, sir."

"That's his alias – I don't know what his real name is," said Batman. "Although he does look vaguely familiar – maybe I came across him before he took on the clown identity. I mean, he had to have been a criminal – that's not the kinda thing you just become overnight. He's hard to recognize under all that makeup though."

He brought up the CCTV video from the police station of the man with the clown face entering holding the hand of a woman. "He's the man who disfigured Harvey Dent," said Batman. "Using acid stored in a trick flower on his lapel, like the popular clown toy. He does everything in a clown style – that appears to be his MO."

"And the woman, sir?" asked Alfred, studying the screen.

"She's easier to track down," said Batman, opening some new windows. "She's the Joker's little playmate, goes by the alias Harley Quinn. Her real name is Harleen Quinzel, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, actually."

"Doctor?" repeated Alfred. "Rather unusual for an intelligent woman like that to turn criminal."

"Well, just because she's a doctor doesn't mean she's intelligent," retorted Batman. "She did have a criminal record from an early age, so she must have cheated her way through medical school or something – I doubt she came by her qualification fairly. Criminals are a crafty, conniving bunch, and someone who started that young has gotta have a few tricks up her sleeve. She used to be employed at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, but it says here she wasn't very good at her job. Only one successful rehabilitation, Mr. Chuckie Sol, a former gang member but now an artist, if you can call that a successful rehabilitation. She treated Selina Kyle for her kleptomania, and we all know how that turned out," he sighed. "One of Dr. Quinzel's patients, Buzz Bronski, was murdered by another patient of hers, Jack Napier, who then attempted to kidnap her, and used her as a means of escape. So she's clearly not very bright," he concluded. "Or vastly overrated her own abilities as a psychiatrist. No wonder she had to turn criminal – she wasn't fit for anything else, it seems."

"Now that you mention the name Quinzel, I think there was something in the paper about her," said Alfred, picking it up. "Some lurid story about her having an affair with her patient and aiding his escape. Here it is – Despite her former employer, Dr. Joan Leland, refusing to comment on Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Police Commissioner Gordon confirmed that Dr. Quinzel herself confessed to having been romantically involved with her patient, Jack Napier, and staging her own kidnapping at his hands. Earlier this week, she and this same Jack Napier, wearing clown makeup, entered the police station together with several hostages, and gave testimony against the vigilante known as Batman, claiming that he had caused an accident at an abandoned chemical factory which had permanently disfigured Mr. Napier into looking like a clown. Dr. Quinzel and her lover, now calling himself the Joker, then made their escape from the GCPD after disfiguring half of assistant District Attorney Harvey Dent's face with some kind of acid hidden on the Joker's person. Mr. Dent is reported to be out of danger, although he will retain permanent scarring from the incident. Commissioner Gordon gave his statement as follows: "This was a completely unprovoked attack on a distinguished member of this city dedicated to upholding law and order. As the tapes made of the incident will show, after both Mr. Dent and myself challenged the completely unsubstantiated and frankly laughable allegations made against Batman, Dr. Quinzel became agitated at her delusions being contradicted, seized a weapon and threatened us, and when Mr. Dent attempted disarm her, the Joker attacked him. After this regrettable tragedy, there can be no doubt that the Joker and Dr. Quinzel, alias Harley Quinn, are seriously dangerous and disturbed people. If sighted, do not attempt to approach or engage with them, but please do contact the GCPD immediately."

"I don't think the GCPD can handle them on their own," said Batman, standing up. "I think they're going to need my help."

"Did you encounter a Mr. Napier at a chemical factory, sir?" asked Alfred, looking up at him.

"Yes," said Batman. "But I thought he died in there. He fell."

"How did he fall, sir?" asked Alfred.

"He fell," repeated Batman. "It was an accident, Alfred."

He buckled on his utility belt. "It's going to be a long night," he said, heading for the door. "Don't wait up."

"Be careful, sir," said Alfred.

"I'm always careful, Alfred," replied Batman.

"I hope you are," sighed Alfred, as the door slid shut. He went over to the computer, closing the open tabs, but pausing to watch the scrolling CCTV footage of the clown and the woman holding hands in the police station. "Poor girl," sighed Alfred. "Whatever could have driven her to throw her life away like that? Terrible tragedy," he sighed, shutting down the computer. "But then what can one expect from a criminal?"

The End