Perilous Joy

1. Willkommen

"Leave you troubles outside!So - life is disappointing? Forget it!We have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful...The girls are beautiful...Even the orchestra is beautiful!"(Willkommen, "Cabaret")

Dr. Harleen Quinzel stretched her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles. Flipping her compact open, she gave her makeup the once over, before climbing out of her small grey Focus. In her attempts to appear more intelligent, her blonde hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, and she wore a pair of thick black rimmed reading glasses that she didn't really need, but did so after finding they improved the image her peers and patients had of her. She wore a high collared ruffle-necked shirt under a tight black vest, an almost-too-short-to-be-professional black skirt, and her favorite pair of light purple pumps. The pumps were, admittedly, a bit out of place in her "sexy librarian" costume, as her roommate, Meg, had pointed out as she left their apartment that morning, but Harleen needed the comfort that the color and style of the shoe gave her.

"You're just as crazy as your patients if you think you'll make it through the day without limping in Ithose/I, Harleen," Meg had said.

IThese are comfortable…yeah…comfortable,/I Harleen thought, taking a ragged breath before entering Arkham Asylum.

After a quick briefing from the officer at the front desk, Harleen was equipped with a small can of pepper spray, keys to her office, and a slightly fearful mind. Her heels clipped loudly down the hall in the direction the guard had pointed her, and found a pretty, middle aged brunette standing in front of her door. The woman smiled, her green eyes flickering at Harleen.

"You must be Dr. Quinzel! I'm Joan Leland, I'm the Director of Patient Therapy here at Arkham," she said, shaking Harleen's dainty hand. "Care to step into your office?"

"Sure," Harleen said, unlocking the door and flicking on the light switch.

The office was small, but inviting. A large red leather couch sat in the middle of the floor, two rings drilled into the floor. Joan noticed Harleen's gaze and patted her back lightly.

"They cuff the really violent ones up to that in case they decide to attack you."

"Wouldn't that seem a little disconcerting to a mentally ill patient? Their psychologist's office is supposed to be a safe haven…isn't it?"

Joan nodded.

"It's only for your comfort and safety, Dr. Quinzel. You can always request they be uncuffed, but I wouldn't recommend it until you know your patients, and for some of them…not at all."

"People like the Joker?"

"Yes, well, that goes without saying. You've heard of his…exploits then? Yes, yes, of course you have. I wouldn't worry about him, though, Dr. Quinzel…you won't be working with that case unless we run out of doctors with more experience than you."

"I have experience, Dr. Leland…I…."

"I know, dear, I'm not saying anything against your grades or the internships you've had…it's just the Joker…well, he has a nasty habit of getting into his doctors' heads and driving them mad, or simply killing them outright when he's bored."

Removing her lab coat, Joan pointed to a long, faded scar on her right arm.

"I've been here for ten years, Dr. Quinzel, with no problems, and on our first session, the Joker stabbed me with my own pen. So, it's really nothing against you to say you aren't quite ready yet…it's probably a good thing! I think the only one who can understand the Joker Iis/I the Joker."

Harleen relaxed slightly, and walked over to the small desk set across from the couch, and sat on it.

"Well that's a relief, I thought since my dissertation was on manic narcissism you'd throw me right to him."

Joan raised her eyebrow.

"Really? Dr. Arkham hadn't mentioned that…just said we needed another woman around here to fill our quota," she winked conspiratorially at Harleen, "He's a real dick, you know."

"Dick? Is that your clinical diagnosis, Dr. Leland," Harleen asked with a smile.

"Yes, yes, it sure is," she laughed, "Dr. Quinzel, do you happen to have that dissertation on you? I'd love to read it over and see your thoughts on the matter…mine was on a similar topic when I graduated."

Harleen nodded, pulling out her laptop and pointed Joan to the file's location.

"It's all there…I don't see a printer around my office, or I'd print it out for you."

"No problem, Dr. Quinzel."

"Please, call me Harley, everyone does!"

"Alright, Harley. Call me Joan if you like, as well. I'm going to read this now, if you don't mind…you're welcome to stay here, though when I read, I'm not much of a conversationalist. If you'd like, you can use this time to get accustomed to the asylum…neither of us have patients today."

After waving goodbye to Joan, Harleen walked out into the asylum. Stopping every once in a while for directions, she found her way to the bathrooms, the cafeteria, but became a little lost and wound up entering the violent patient's ward. She made small talk with the guard behind the desk for a while, before noticing his painful shifting on his seat. Harleen looked at him, concerned.

"Everything alright?"

The guard shook his head.

"My shift was over an hour ago, and my replacement isn't here. Didn't get a lunch today because another guy called in sick, and I have to pee like you wouldn't believe, doc."

She smiled, shaking her head and allowing a small, curling strand of blonde hair to be wrought free from her tight bun.

"Go. I think I can hold down the fort here until you get back. I've got nothing to do and I can't stand to see you in such physical distress."

"Thanks doc," he managed to choke out, before running towards the exit. A thought crossed his mind and he stopped before leaving, "That red button's the panic key. You get in any trouble, someone breaks out or whatever, press it, and a glass shield will come up around you to keep ya safe till help arrives! I won't be long, doc, thanks!"

Harleen nodded as he jogged out of the hall, leaving her alone with a dozen violent psychopaths. I"Mentally ill patients,"/I she reminded herself. Joan's mention of the Joker intrigued her…his case had been one of the driving forces behind her decision to work at Arkham, and her dissertation had focused on one of his peers, Dr. Jonathan Crane, as his case was decidedly easier for doctors to understand than the Joker's was. Crane had even published an analysis of himself months earlier, but the Joker was unable to be deciphered successfully. Harleen knew she could do it, and knew that if she could only get him as her patient, she could crack him, publish a best selling tell-all about him, and get a syndicated talk show from Oprah. I"You know, I'd bet my left Jimmy Choo that he's in this wing."/I Seeing no harm in wandering down the secured hall, she decided to give in to temptation.

2. A Chance Encounter

"I must learn to love the fool in me the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries"(Theodore Issac Rubin)

A few muffled hoots and hollers from patients licking their glass walls did nothing to phase Harleen, and she continued to walk, proudly, in search of the Joker. A low laugh stopped her in her tracks as she reached the end of the hall. There he was, in Arkham's blue pajamas, his face scrubbed clean of the makeup he was always shown in the news to be wearing. It made his scars appear even more painful, but Harleen couldn't bring herself to give more than a passing glace to anything but his eyes. He ran his tongue against the inside of his right scar, staring back at her, as an intense and foreign feeling of possessiveness grew in his stomach. He didn't care for it one bit.

"Well, hello beautiful…you aren't the new guard are you? Did someone knock off poor Vic?"

She shook her head, transfixed.

"I'm…doc…doctor Haaarley," she cleared her throat loudly, "Uh, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, that is."

"Haaaaaarley Quinnnzel," he said, beginning to giggle uncontrollably, "You've got to be kidding me."

Harleen smiled and rolled her eyes.

"I know, lame name, right?"

"Riiight."

"Some old lady always winds up calling me trying to order romance novels…it gets so annoying."

"I'll bet. You sure you're a doctor Haaaarley?"

"What does that mean?"

"You don't look like a doctor….you look like a fucking cheerleader. Blonde hair…blue eyes," he laughed, "Hitler's little dream girl, aren't you?"

She grinned and emitted an airy laugh.

"Not quite…it's dyed, of course, and I doubt I'd be Hitler's favorite," she said pulling out a silver Star of David necklace from underneath her blouse.

He laughed.

"Touché, Haaaarley. Fact still remains, though, you don't quite fit the 'doctor' bill here. You can't be more than…26?"

Another dazzling smile graced Harleen's face.

"Just turned 26 last Tuesday, Mister…?"

"J."

"Just J?"

He nodded, glaring at her like she was on the short bus, but she continued, regardless.

"As in Joker?"

He clapped his hands slowly together.

"And the final horse crosses the finish line…very observant Haaaarley."

"Well, since we're playing the age game, can I take a guess at yours? You won't tell anyone, and it's not like we can count the rings around your trunk."

His uproarious laughter filled the hall.

"I like you, Haaaarley…you're quick, no matter what they say."

She smiled.

"Thanks, I think. So, I'm guessing you're about…28?"

"Close enough."

"Okay…and you have no real name? Just Joker?"

"That. Is. My real name."

"Ah. Avoiding the questions? That's not really a tendency associated with sociopaths."

"You think I'm a sociopath?"

Leaning on the glass panel of his cell, she shrugged.

"I can't really make a judgment, Mister J, I'm just going off of what I saw on the news."

"You know it's not PC to call people sociopaths, don't you…doctor?"

"I'm not really a PC kind of girl, Mister J. If you worry about offending people all the time, everyone loses out on the broad experiences of life."

Once again, his laughter filled the hallway.

"My god, Harley, you're a girl after my own heart."

"I'll bet. But I'm out here, Mister J…I can keep my reactions at a socially acceptable level…even if I've had some of the same urges you've had."

"That's abient behavior, Harleykins, you can't avoid those stimuli forever, you know. Or, did you fail that test in psych class and have to spread your dimpled knees for your professor?"

Setting her jaw in a scowl, Harleen turned on her heels and stormed back to the desk. As such things often do, the perfect comeback sprouted in her mind after she had left, so she turned around, smugly, with the intention of returning to the Joker's cell. A solid mass impeded her movement. Towering over her petite form, the Joker smiled down at her, flashing a small switchblade.

"Now, Harley, let's turn that frown upside down."

Mind focused on the panic button a few yards ahead of her, and completely forgetting the pepper spray on her belt, Harleen ran towards the safety of the desk, and jammed her hand on the red button. As the glass enclosure came down around her and the alarms sounded, she breathed a sigh of relief. That sigh turned into a gasp when a cool hand wrapped around her neck and drew her back into the same solid mass she had run from.

"If you wanted to be alone with me, Harleykins, we could've just gone back to my place," he said with a chuckle.

Holding his knife to her neck with one hand, the Joker pulled Harleen close to his chest, rubbing her nipple absentmindedly with his other hand. An almost inaudible moan escaped her lips as his fingers continued to roll over her hardened nub, a sound which drew a knowing grin from the Joker.

"So, Haaarley, are you my new doctor?"

"No," she said in a measured tone, "No, they don't think I can handle you."

"And by they, you mean Arkham?"

"I suppose."

He chuckled.

"You seem to be handling me quite nicely, Harleykins."

"Thank you."

He gave a mock gasp.

"And she's polite in the face of death? Gee, Harls, you really are my dream girl."

Within two minutes, guards surrounded the enclosure, their guns drawn and aimed. The Joker breathed in Harleen's ear.

"Methinks we're going to have to finish our little tit-a-tete later Haaaarley. Don't know why they're all freaking out, though…if I was going to kill you, you'd have been dead as soon as I got out."

"I know," she whispered with a nervous giggle.

Dr. Arkham, a bald, round man stuffed into a black pinstriped suit, was saying something to the Joker, but neither he nor Harleen cared to listen to the man.

Rubbing his face against her ear, the Joker kept his eyes set on Arkham.

"Uh oh, Harleykins, they're going to take some decisive action," he whispered, licking her cheek. "Mm. You taste like coconuts."

"It's 'Philosophy.' Body butter."

He laughed.

"It's nice."

"Thank you."

At Dr. Arkham's command, a guard fired at the glass, shattering it. Instinctively, the Joker dropped his knife, turned Harleen around to face him, and pressed her head tightly against his chest.

"Watch those blue eyes, pumpkin," he said, closing his eyes as the glass fell around them.

After the glass settled, a group of guards rushed on the Joker, one tearing Harleen away to safety. The Joker chortled with laughter as he was easily subdued by the group of guards. A syringe full of enough sedative to knock out a small horse was jabbed into his neck, and his eyes began to flutter shut. Before succumbing to sedation, he winked at Harleen, then turned his attention to Dr. Arkham.

"Come on…I was just giving her a proper welcome, doc, relax," he laughed, before passing out.

His limp form was strapped onto a gurney, and he was wheeled out of the room as Joan walked over to Harleen, and placed a shaky hand on her shoulder.

"I ran down here as soon as I heard, are you alright, Dr. Quinzel?"

Harleen nodded, though a little unsure of herself. She stared at the door the Joker had been wheeled out of, and shook off the desire to follow after him.

"Yes…yes, Dr. Leland, I'm alright. He didn't hurt me at all."

"I saw that," Joan said, raising her eyebrow, "He's never been known to protect anyone before, Harley…sometimes not even himself."

"Well, he did know it was my first day."

Biting back a laugh, Joan patted Harleen's shoulder and led her out of the ward, neither one noticing the fuming, obese doctor glaring at them.

3. On the Rise

"Any dolt with half a brainCan see that humankind has gone insaneTo the point where I don't know if I'll upset the status quoIf I throw poison in the close to everybody's heartAnd hear that breaking soundHopes and dreams are shattering apartAnd crashing to the ground."("On the Rise," Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-Long Blog, Joss Whedon)

Both Vic and Harleen had been reprimanded swiftly by Dr. Arkham for the fiasco that had occurred in the violent offenders ward. Harleen's punishment seemed to be the loads of paperwork stacked on her desk every morning. Three weeks of paperwork were really getting to her. Dr. Arkham treated her like a moron. She knew it, Joan knew it, her roommate Meg and their cat, Buffy knew it. She was getting beyond frustrated, feeling like Dr. Arkham had tainted her appearance in the eyes of all her colleagues, save Joan. They talked down to her, ogled her, snickered at her, and it pissed her off. Royally.

II'm a doctor for sobbing out loud/I, she dreamt of yelling at them. IJust because I'm blonde and have a nice rack doesn't change my degree or my grades or my…doctor…ness! You're on a roll, Harleen, 'doctorness.' That'll teach 'em./I

The stress of not being taken seriously began to cause her to change appearance, though she would deny vehemently that other's opinions of her truly mattered. Even after changing her skirts for long black pants and toning down her makeup, Harleen was still a knockout, Joan reminded her. Always accommodating, Joan had asked for Harleen's help with her patients, each of them hoping that this would show Dr. Arkham the value of an employee like Harleen. It didn't work. If anything, it only served to anger the robust doctor more. He chewed Joan out in front of her colleagues, mocking her "need" for help with her patients, and calling her personal merits into question. Harleen backed off before Joan had to ask her, though the two still hung out in Joan's office between her appointments. Much to Harleen's chagrin, Joan seemingly always steered the conversation to her encounter with the Joker. One such day, the two sat on the red couch in Joan's office, sipping lukewarm coffees.

"Harley, he's never done that before."

"That's what you keep saying, Joan."

"I know, but listen, sweetie, this is a big deal! He's never given up the opportunity to kill a staff member, let alone used that opportunity to shield them from falling glass."

"Well, he knew it was futile, Joan, I wouldn't look too far into it."

"Honey, he's stabbed nurses with own syringes just for the hell of it, with the guards five feet away. He doesn't care if anyone's watching…I think he gets off on people watching him."

"It's probably just to mess with me then."

"Or maybe he sees something interesting in you…he doesn't like to be bored, Harley, maybe you intrigue him."

"Or maybe he just likes my tits."

Joan rolled her eyes at Harleen, began to speak, and then paused for a moment. Harleen rasied an eyebrow at her.

"Joan, I don't think I like that look. What are you thinking?"

Smiling at her, Joan shrugged.

"Oh, nothing…I'm just gonna try and get you a gift is all."

Harleen sat on the couch, clutching her cold coffee, as Joan walked away, humming. The next morning she had been called into Dr. Arkham's office with Joan, and lectured for trying to steal his patient. They had both been called a colorfully PC variety of phrases skirting around their sex and their mental capacity. He threatened Joan's position as Director of Patient Therapy, mentioning that had it not been for affirmative action, neither of them would've been hired for any position higher than head nurse. Joan left the office holding back tears, and asked Harleen if she would follow her out to her car, as she suddenly felt ill. After Joan left, Harleen decided it was time for a long, long walk. The Asylum's back gardens were lovely, and the cooling air felt comforting against her forehead.

A group of patients, mostly nonviolent offenders who were sedated, were having a supervised walk in the yard as well, and Harleen smiled at them, their drugged up grins unsettling her slightly. Walking around a corner, she tripped over a pair of chained feet. She brushed herself off as she stood.

"Oh, oh, gosh, excuse me," she stammered, still checking over her clothing for tears, "I didn't see you there."

A low chuckle emanated above the chained feet. The Joker was grinning at her when she finally gained enough composure to see straight. He was sitting on a concrete bench, chained to the legs, his wrists handcuffed behind him.

"You know for a doctor, you're awfully clumsy, Harleykins."

Harleen, still a little frazzled, managed a faint smile.

"Yeah, add it to my list of faults, Mister J."

Running his tongue under his left scar, he stared at her.

"You're abnormal, to be sure, Harls, and you're letting this place get to you too much…agitated melancholia, isn't it called? You need to laugh, Harls. Laugh it up."

She smiled, this time quite broadly.

"Yes, I guess so, Mister J. Have you been catching up on your psychoses?"

He nodded.

"Read through the 'A' section of the psychology dictionary Arkham gave me to read."

"Well that was an interesting choice…is he trying to get you to diagnose yourself?"

Erupting in a fit of laughter, he continued to stare at her.

"I think so, Harls. He's quite confounded by me."

"I can imagine."

"You know what your real problem is, Harley?"

She shrugged.

"Enlighten me."

He studied her for a moment, before grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You're wearing too many clothes. What happened to that tight little skirt?"

She blushed.

"Yes, I thought it might be a little inappropriate to flit around in that while at work."

"You mean good Doctor Arkham thought that."

"He…he never overtly said anything about my dress…."

"He mentioned it to me."

Anger manifested itself on Harleen's face as a vibrant red.

"What?"

The Joker cackled with laughter.

"I think it was more of a jab at me, Harleykins, don't worry your pretty head about it."

Relaxing slightly, she nodded and smiled at him.

"You could've fooled me. He won't give me any patients because I'm a 'dumb bitch,' who shouldn't be anything but a nurse. I got great grades in college…not the top of my class, but close…my thesis was amazing, apparently," she rambled on, focusing on her scuffed left shoe.

So focused on her shoe, Harleen didn't notice the slight twitch of the Joker's face, and her dejected sigh muffled the almost inaudible growl that escaped his throat. She looked up and smiled at him when he loudly cleared his throat.

"Sorry. Shoe problems make me ramble."

"I noticed. They aren't as nice as the purple ones were."

She nodded.

"Purple's kind of my thing."

"Mine too."

Playfully scowling at him, she huffed.

"Are they why you didn't kill me, Mister J? My purple shoes?"

"Well they certainly didn't hurt."

"If you liked them so much, you could've taken them, you know."

"If I wanted to do that, I'd have dropped a house on you instead of using a knife."

Tickled by this thought, Harleen erupted in peals of laughter; and soon found herself unable to breathe. The lack of oxygen caused her to make a rash decision, and she plopped down on the bench next to the Joker, desperately trying to calm her laughter. He joined her in her giggles, though he was focusing on her face as a stream of opposing thoughts flew through his mind.

IShould carve her up just like me…give me someone to share this life with…course it'd be a shame to ruin such a big smile…beautiful, really, no…no, I should carve her up for being so beautiful…but where's the challenge in that? Could always carve her up where no one can see…her mind seems fairly unstable as it is…wouldn't be too hard to mould her into a nice little companion…just like me, but with that beautiful face. Gotta test that mouth out before I make any commitments though…see how it feels wrapping around my…/I

Noticing Harleen calming down, he smiled eerily at her.

"You know, Harleykins, my smile is the last thing a lot of people see when they're this close to me."

Sobering slightly, she nodded.

"I know. Doesn't make me afraid of sitting next to you."

"It should. I could kill you in four seconds."

"You won't."

His anger began to raise.

"And why not, Haaaaarley?"

She laid her hand gently on his knee before standing up and smiling at him.

"If you wanted to do that, I'd have been dead before I sat down."

Harleen walked away, smiling, as his uproarious laughter echoed throughout the yard, its cheerful melody following her back to her office.

4. A Caring Hand

"Will you lend a caring handto shelter those who need it?"("A Caring Hand," Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-Long Blog, Joss Whedon)

It had been a month since her first encounter with the Joker, and since her first day at Arkham, and Harleen had yet to see a single patient. Her anger was compounded whenever Dr. Arkham would talk to her, intentionally calling her "Charleen." She was frustrated, as Joan was on her behalf, though, from a distance. Over the past month, the two had become fairly close, Joan taking pride in the fact that another highly intelligent female doctor was working alongside her, even if Harleen was still just filling out paperwork.

"Arkham treated me the same way when I started here, Harley," she had said, "You just have to show him it doesn't bug you and he'll eventually give up and let you be the doctor he hired you to be."

Only a select few people, save for one accidental inclusion, called Harleen by her nickname, Harley, even if she would claim otherwise. When she felt comfortable around someone, her somewhat needy personality traits would manifest in her relationship, almost begging the person in question to call her by her pseudonym, laughing it off by saying everyone called her that. Her grandmother, hating the stodgy name Harleen's mother had given her, always called her "Harley," laughing at the opposing natures of herself and Harleen's mother, and the slipup Harleen's mother, Katy, had made in naming her daughter.

"You're named after the best damn motorcycle, kiddo," her grandmother had continuously told her. A fact which Katy, a pious and overtly religious woman, would vehemently deny, begging her not to take Harleen out on the motorcycle which her grandmother always rode. To further the rift between her grandmother and mother, Katy had renounced the Judaism she was brought up with in favor of a very strict sect of Baptists. A fact Harleen resented, as it happened the year her bat mitzvah was supposed to fall on; her grandmother had gone behind her mother's back and threw her a party anyway, though on a smalled scale than Harleen had envisioned. Deciding in high school against joining her mother's church, citing her loyalty to her Jewish roots as the reason had almost destroyed their family's relationship. Harleen was sure that if she wasn't so skilled a gymnast, a talent which her mother was inexplicably obsessed with, they never would've had anything to talk about. Her mother's diagnosis with colon cancer had changed that entirely, and her grandmother had moved in with them to help Katy while she underwent chemotherapy.

When both her grandmother and mother died in a plane crash coming back from visiting her uncle seven years earlier, she was left with a gaping hold in her heart, and her grandmother's beloved motorcycle. She still had both, though she only took the harley out on the rarest of occasions. Left with no family, save from an uncle she rarely heard from, Harleen had sold the small home the three of them had shared in the suburbs, and continued her education, debt-free, while staying in a small apartment with her best friend, Meg.

When Harleen walked into her office, a single white rose lay on her desk with a note attached to it, words scrawled across the strip of paper in purple crayon.

IHappy Anniversary, Harley-girl. I feel in my heart that our next tit-a-tete will be soon.

-J/I

Though a brief flash of fear surged in her mind, Harleen folded the note and placed it in her wallet, then placed the rose in her bottle of Aquafina with a smirk. She begain to lose herself in the thoughts of how the Joker had reacted to her on their first encounter, making her fear for her life, arousing her, and then making her feel safer than she'd felt in years as he shielded her eyes from the falling shards of glass. Her brief talk with him in the garden a week earlier had been surprisingly pleasant. He spoke to her as somewhat of an equal, at least compared to the way he spoke to everyone else, and as much as his ego would allow. Despite the scars, or perhaps even because of them, he was handsome in Harleen's estimation. A sociopath, for certain, but not as insane as everyone seemed to think he was. Perhaps he was hampered by his genius level IQ and that, coupled with the obviously traumatic experience leading to the scarring of his face caused him to be unable to cope with dealing with a masked vigilante.

An urgent knocking on her door shook her out of thinking any further on the matter, and Joan frantically entered her office.

"Harley…he's dead."

For some reason, Harleen felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"The Joker?"

"No, honey…Arkham!"

Harleen visibly relaxed.

"How?"

"Some kind of heart attack or something? Fat old bastard had whatever happened to him coming anyway."

"Joan," Harleen said with a laugh.

"I know! Well…I can't help it. And I'm not sorry I said it. It actually felt good. Ding dong the witch is dead."

"Warlock."

"What?"

"A male witch."

"Oh, right. Doesn't really fit with the song, though, does it?"

Harleen grinned.

"Not really."

"It doesn't matter. This is great news, whether it fits in the song or not."

"Besides the obvious, Joan, why is this so great?"

"Honey, you and I are he only psychiatrists with enough background work and experience to be applicable to take on the more colorful patients here. And I'm going to be a bit busy, so you'll get to field most of them…if that's alright with you."

Nodding desperately, Harleen smiled.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! I mean…thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Leland."

Joan rolled her eyes.

"Oh, cut the crap, Harls. I'm as excited as you."

Laughing, Harleen proceeded to do a cartwheel in the center of her office, much to Joan's amusement.

"Yippie!"

"Exactly, Harley, my thoughts exactly. I'm taking his place you know."

"What?"

"Yep. Starting tomorrow, I'm the new Head of Arkham Asylum!"

"Tomorrow? Oh, Joan, that doesn't give you much time to grieve for poor Dr. Arkham, does it?"

"No, no, it doesn't," Joan said, feigning sadness with a dramatic flail of her hand to cover her face. "Oh, the poor, poor little man…it was too early for such a nice, sweet," Joan trailed off into laughter. "Oh, oh, I can't keep it up, Harley, it's too much!"

"I know," Harleen choked out between gasps of laughter.

Settling down, the women smiled at each other. Joan stood and straightened her skirt, before nudging Harleen to the door.

"Come on, Dr. Quinzel, they're giving us the rest of the afternoon off to grieve for the bastard. I think some drinks are in order."

Harleen smiled, widely.

"I know just the place if you don't mind a bit of a dive."

"Are the drinks cheap?"

"Free. My roommate, Meg, is the bartender."

"Sign me up. As long as there aren't rats running around the bar…you know what? Even if they are. I don't think anything could wreck this for me."

"Don't say that, Joan! Bad luck! They might resuscitate him!"

As they walked out of her office, the flower caught Joan's eye.

"Oooh, Harley! Who's that from?"

Harleen shook her head.

"Secret admirer. Not important. Let's get out of here before they ask us to console the patients in their special grief."

5. A Night at the Evening Star

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." (Hunter S. Thompson)

Luckily close to the same clothing size, Harleen and Joan were both able to shed their work clothes and change into more comfortable attire at Harleen's apartment before going over to the bar. A faded white sign on a chipped metal post called it the "Evening Star," a moniker that Harleen had always found insanely funny. An unleveled pool table say in front of a jukebox inside of the bar; the floor was a faded grey, covered in a film of dust.

"Hey! Harley," a feminine voice called from behind the bar.

Harleen smiled as she and Joan sat down on the duct-tape patched barstools. A slumped over figure wearing a dirty jean jacket, acid washed jeans and a baseball cap was the only customer at the bar. An untouched shot and a half-empty bottle of Labatt Blue sat in front of him, threatening to be knocked over if he moved his arms slightly forward. Joan raised an eyebrow and Harleen laughed.

"That's just Sammy."

The lump moved slightly

"Got a gun?"

His right hand lifted and mimicked a handgun, pressing itself into the back of his skull. His thumb twitched.

"Pull the fucking trigger!"

The barmaid smiled at them, despite Sammy's rant. Her black hair was cut short and styled in an obviously very precise way. She looked young, but upon closer inspection, carried herself in a very mature fashion. Just as pale as Harleen, she looked fairly exotic, if only because of her eyes. The strange orbs were amber with a starburst of dark green around her pupil, giving her an almost cat-like appearance. She had a slight frame, much like Harleen, however, she seemed more voluptuous compared to her roommate's more athletic build.

"Hey, I'm Meg, Harley's roomie," she said, thrusting her hand out to Joan, "You must be Dr. Leland."

Joan smiled.

"Yes, call me Joan, please. It's very nice to meet you, Meg."

"Pleasure's all mine, Joanie. Harley, aren't you guys supposed to be at work? It's only 4."

Beaming, Harleen winked at Meg.

"We're grieving our boss' untimely death!"

"Arkham? Fuckface is finally dead?"

Harleen nodded as Joan was taken over by a fit of laughter.

"Oh yeah, dead and gone."

"Fina-fucking-lly! I'm making us some celebratory shots, girls. Joanie, I rather think you'll be camping out with us tonight."

"My husband probably won't go for that." Joan said.

"Oh, fuck him and the horse he rode in on, Joanie, all I've been hearing about from Harley for the past month is how much of a fuckface that Arkham asshole was, and you've worked there how long?"

"Ten years."

"Smoking baby Jesus on the Cross! Yeah, I think your poor hubby will understand."

Harleen shrugged at Joan as Meg bustled around the bar, mixing shots in a variety of shakers. Joan cringed as Meg poured them a glowing red shot.

"I'm gonna be sick, aren't I?"

"Meg's a good bartender, Joan, don't worry," Harleen said, laughing.

"So…yes?"

"Probably."

"Good to know."

With a laugh, the girls grabbed their shots and raised them to the ceiling. Harleen tried to sound somber as she toasted her late employer.

"To Dr. Arkham, wherever you may be now, I hope you're getting what you deserve."

"A pineapple up the ass," Meg shouted.

"Fuck 'em all, deal with the best," the lump of Sammy slurred, as he sat up, grabbed his shot glass and slammed it down. "Nostrovia," he managed to get out, before collapsing back onto the bar.

The girls snickered and in unison said "Sammy," before following suit and downing their shots. Harleen's face lit up afterwards.

"My god that was good, Meg! What's it called?"

Meg beamed at her.

"Sweettart."

"Delicious."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing, girl. There's more where that came from!"

As it has a tendency to do, alcohol loosened the girls up substantially and allowed them to quickly learn details about each other. Though thoroughly hammered, Joan was able to remember the fundamentals of her psychological background to glean enough information about Meg to figure her out and become fairly comfortable around her. Meg had a mouth that would put a sailor's to shame and she was blatantly sexual, though that persona seemed to be quite the façade. Joan discovered was Meg's real name, well, first name, anyway. A lifelong hatred of Jennifer Lopez movies had created such an intense self-loathing in the bartender that she refused to be addressed by her first name, Selena, instead opting to be addressed by her middle name, Megan. The hatred of one's name created a camaraderie between Harleen and Meg that transitioned into a close friendship. Joan complained, drunkenly loud, that her career had ruined most of the friendships she had, and encouraged Harleen to avoid her mistake. Meg rolled her eyes at her.

"Oh, calm down, Joanie, just plan on a couple of nights out with Harley and me, and you've got yourself two friends!"

"You and I," Joan corrected.

"I'm a fucking English major, bitch, and that was correct usage!"

The bar went silent for a moment before the heap of Sammy at the end of the bar spoke up again.

"You know, you're irksome, Meg," he slurred, and then slumped onto the bar again.

"I think Sammy may have been an English major too," Harleen said, sagely.

They erupted in peals of laughter, as Sammy slept soundly on the bar. The pathetic lump of Sammy at the end of the bar was soon driven home by a cabbie that Meg called and, after she was assured that he would be assisted to his front door, gave the cabbie a handful of cash to help him get safely home. Joan found it interesting that someone who came off as so cold and harsh was so concerned with the safety of a fairly helpless creature. As Joan sipped a martini out of a beer pilsner, she contemplated the image of Meg saving a cat from a tree, swearing as she did so.

Four hours and seventy-five shots between them later, the girls meandered across the street and somehow safely made it to Harleen's apartment, blissfully unaware that a pair of hired eyes had watched their entire evening from afar.

The next morning, as the three women were groggily getting out of bed, cursing the sun, sweettarts, and Sammy, the Joker was having a quiet conversation with Vic, the guard.

"Did you get everything I asked you for, Vic?"

The guard nodded.

"Yeah, boss, it's all right here," he said, placing a few pages and pictures stuffed into a manila folder in the sliding tray set into the glass wall of the Joker's cell, "I didn't realize how hard it'd be for me to get in here when I'm not on my shift. I had to slip the overnight guy a twenty just to get him to let me through. I gotta make this fast, boss, he should be back in a few."

Smiling broadly as he flipped through the packet, he took a few minutes to read through all the information and started for a moment at the pictures of Harleen, Joan, and Meg at the Evening Star. He ran a finger over Harleen's smiling visage, before sighing and sending the packet back out to Vic.

"Burn that."

"Sure, boss."

"Oh, and here," he said, grabbing a large envelope from underneath the mattress and scribbling Harleen's address onto it, "Send this out for me, would you, please?"

Vic inspected the envelope, noting the address.

"Sure thing, boss."

When Vic didn't move away from the cell, the Joker rolled his eye.

"Can I do something for you Vic?"

"It's nothing, boss, just…you just said you'd let me know how to get paid after I brought your goods…."

Laughing, the Joker plopped down on the small, grey bed in his cell.

"Of course, it's all about money with your guys isn't it? Well, Vic, you did me a favor, so I'll compensate you. Write this down."

The Joker proceeded to give Vic the address of a warehouse he had rented, citing a specific filing cabinet that would contain an adequate amount of money for Vic. He laughed as the guard thanked him profusely and left him alone again. Humming a jaunty tune as he relaxed in his cell, the Joker waited for the nurses and guards to get him for his appointment with Dr. Quinzel.

IToo bad Vic won't be together enough to come in for his shift…together enough…hahahahahaha/I

A Brand New Day

"This appeared as a moral dilemma

Cause at first if was weird though I swore to eliminate

The worst of the plague that devoured humanity

It's true, I was vague on the how so how can it be that you

Have shown me the light?

…

It's a brand new day, yeah, the sun is high

All the angels sing because you're gonna die,

Go ahead and laugh, yeah, I'm a funny guy,

Tell everyone goodbye."

(Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-Long Blog, c/o Joss Whedon)

Harleen swallowed a fistful of Ibuprofen, washing it down with a cold glass of water she then placed against her forehead. Joan's hangover was short-lived after her stomach was ridded of the glowing red liquor as she hung out of the door of her black Cavalier. Deciding that Harleen was still in no condition to drive, the had carpooled, and Joan got right to work as they walked into the Asylum. Rescheduling all of the appointments for later in the day, she gave Harleen and herself the three patients Dr. Arkham had been hording. Still unsure of a certain classified patient's stability (she had only been briefed of his admittance to the hospital when she arrived in her office that morning), she kept him for her own practice, giving Harleen the other two, Dr. Jonathan Crane, and the Joker.

Crane's appointment was scheduled first, and went off fairly smoothly, though he did attempt to get under her skin by mocking her appearance, specifically her purple pumps. His demeanor did lighten when he learned that Harleen's dissertation had been on his case, and begged to read it, and she agreed, if only to shut him up. The narcissism Crane "suffered" from was differentiated from the type she saw the Joker having, making Crane a far less interesting subject, and far more irritating in her estimation. The fifty minute long session could not go fast enough.

During the break between her appointments, Harleen's headache finally subsided, and she joined Joan in the cafeteria for a quick bite. Staying with bland foods so as not to upset the hangover gods, Harleen and Joan split a bottle of ginger ale and picked at their small bowls of cottage cheese and strawberries. Harleen tried to calm her suddenly spiking nerves as she sat with Joan, though it wasn't quite working as she had hoped. Joan kicked her underneath the table.

"Okay, Harley, what's wrong?"

"Nothing…just…I don't know, nervous I suppose."

"Why? It's not like it's the first time you're meeting him."

"I know, I think it's just because it's the first scheduled meeting, and I…."

"You wonder if he'll be different if it's not a chance encounter?"

"Precisely."

"Harley, if the Joker is anything, it's unpredictable. You can't worry about what you think he might do, because chance are, he'll pick up on that and then do the exact opposite."

"I guess you're right."

"I'm always right. Now get going, or you'll be late. And he hates being kept waiting."

Her mood calmed, Harleen waved at Joan before walking back to her office. She sat in silence for a few minutes before a guard knocked on her door.

"Come in."

Vic steadied himself as he entered the abandoned warehouse near the docks. The interior was disorganized, a mess of papers, clothing, and photos everywhere. He had sent the Joker's letter out before arriving, and hoped that this would be the last transaction that he would have with the psychopath. He wouldn't have considered committing such a travesty of conscience if it wasn't for the medical bills piling up for his small family. His wife, Emily, died giving birth to his son, Richard. At the ripe old age of five, Richard had been in and out of hospitals at least a dozen times a year, because of his curiosity and somewhat sloppy athleticism. Currently, he had a variety of broken limbs following an accident he had suffered while training with his circus performing cousins. Richard was a talented acrobat, however, Vic wasn't entirely sure that he wanted his son associated with his brother's circus, and his health insurance had already been tapped out for the year due to a few incidences with Richard instigating rabid animals to attack him…on three separate occasions. Whatever his reasoning was, Vic desperately needed the money the Joker had promised him for completing his borderline stalking tasks. Vic walked over to the only file cabinet in the warehouse and opened the only unlocked drawer. A giant gun popped out and, before he could react, it shot at him with a loud 'BANG!'

It was a few moments before Vic realized he hadn't been hit, and he opened his eyes to see a small yellow sign sticking out of the gun's barrel with the phrase IBANG BANG! HAHAHAHA!/I written in bright red lettering. The drawer was filled with rolls of hundred dollar bills, and, after stuffing every pocket and sleeve full of cash, he turned to leave. The explosion of a few hundred pounds of dynamite set on a timed device activated by his opening of the filing cabinet stopped his exit, and lit up the side of the docks in a blanket of flames and raining bits of concrete. A few charred remains of the guard were pieced together, including a few fingers, which were used to correctly identify his corpse, as his car parked in front of the building weren't proof enough. The distraught Richard was quickly adopted by his only relatives, the family of his mother's brother, John Grayson, and decidedly lost himself in the daily routine their circus life had to offer.

The guard smiled at Harleen, faintly, as he led the Joker into her office, chaining his straightjacket-clad form onto the ring in the floor. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is this all really necessary, officer? The chain I can understand, but the straightjacket? Seems a bit excessive."

"Nurse Gemmelt got cut up pretty badly today by this one, Doctor Quinzel, we're just doing this as a precaution."

"I would much rather he not be in a straightjacket the next time he comes to see me, officer."

"Sure thing, Doctor Quinzel," he said, sarcasm dripping in his voice, "You just have to write the order out so when he rips your pretty face apart, no one's to blame but you."

Harleen stood up, enraged.

"Pardon me? I'm not sure that I like your tone…what is your name, pray tell?"

"I don't answer to you, lady, sod off."

The Joker laughed quietly.

"His name is Henry Jennings, Doc."

The guard took a menacing step towards the Joker.

"Shut your fucking mouth you psycho clown son-of-a…."

Harleen threw a forceful right hook at the guard's face, the force pushing him back against the wall.

"Watch your mouth, you lowlife."

Sidestepping to attempt to reach the door, the guard scowled at her.

"You can't do that to me! That's assault! I'll have your job for this, you bitch!"

Harleen smiled innocently at him.

"Me? Assault you? Well, I had to, you were trying to force yourself on me in front of my poor patient. I wanted to save his fragile mind from being damaged by that sight, so instead of running and alerting the guards on this floor like I normally would have if I was alone, I had to take drastic steps to preserve the stability of my patient."

The Joker nodded, sagely.

"I saw it all, you know. You're quite the brute Hennnnnry."

Visibly flustered, the guard stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Harleen shrugged and walked over to the phone, dialing Joan's extension. While she spoke, the Joker stared at her, taking in every inch of her frame, and noticing the slight ticks she made while she was lying.

"Joan? Yes, yes, it's Harley…no…no, it's not about that, it's…yes I know I'm wasting my appointment time, but I'll just push it back a bit, I don't mind working a little late. No…no, I had a little mishap with a guard. Yes. He tried to…well, Joan, he tried to attack me…yes, yes right in front of him. Yes, I'm sure he'll vouch for it, but I doubt anyone would believe him, yes…Henry," she looked over at the Joker, hopefully.

"Jennings," he said quietly.

"Jennings. Henry Jennings. Yes, thank you, Joan, I appreciate it."

As she hung up the phone, Harleen noticed the strange smile that had fell upon the Joker's face. Different from the smiles she had seen on him before, this one seemed oddly approving and desiring simultaneously. She straightened her short, grey skirt with one fluid motion, and sat down across from him.

"Well, I'm sorry for that little display…is it fair to ask you to keep it between us?"

"Of course, Haaaarley. Friends keep secrets, don't they?"

She smiled.

"Yes, I suppose they do."

"You wanna know a secret about me, Harley?"

Continuing to smile at him, she picked up her notebook, pen at the ready to transcribe his secret.

"Sure. What about?"

"How I got these scars."

She shook her head, laughing, and put the notebook back down.

"You have a different story for that with every doctor you've had here, Mister J. You're just going to make something up, aren't you?"

He grinned.

"Maybe. But aren't you even a teensy bit interested?"

She sighed.

"Yes…dammit. Go ahead."

Beaming at her, he tried to position himself comfortably on the couch.

"Alright, so I had this cat a few years ago, see? Mittens was her name. It was just me and her in my apartment this one stormy night and she was on my lap watching Jay Leno. I'm not a big fan of his, but Mittens sure loved him, so I figured I would indulge her. So we're watching Leno when this big clap of thunder erupts…sounds like it's right on top of us, you know? And Mittens, well, she was so focused on Leno, she didn't realize that there was a storm until then, and that clap of thunder spooked the hell out of her! So she jumped! Right onto my face! And boy, Harls, did that hurt! She dug those sharp little claws of hers into my face, and she was hanging on for dear life. I tried to pull her off, but she dug even deeper in, and sliced my mouth open!"

Desperately trying to contain her laughter, Harleen found she couldn't look directly at him.

"That must've been t…traumatic for y…y…you, Mister J."

"Well, yeah, I had to throw her out of the window too, couldn't have a manic depressive cat running around the city."

"I imagine."

"What makes it worse is I get afraid that a cat's going to attack me every time I hear a clap of thunder!"

Bursting out in laughter, Harleen finally cast her sparkling eyes at the Joker, who was sitting, smugly, across from her.

"You have to give me points for creativity, at least."

"Indeed," she said, wiping her eyes, "I think you should be a comedy writer, Mister J."

"Harleykins, my whole life is comedy…it's just that no one gets the punch lines. Yet."

Harleen visibly sobered up.

"And what could possibly be funny about all of the lives you took?"

"Oh, come on, Harls, you can't tell me that my little prank with the boats wasn't hilarious."

She shrugged.

"I'll give you that one."

"Thank you."

"Did you have anything planted in the tunnels or bridges?"

He began to giggle, uncontrollably.

"NO! That was the genius of it!"

She grinned.

"Well, yes, that was genius. An interesting psychological inquiry too, I might add."

"Oh?"

"Humans tend to be trained to preserve their own lives, but society dictates that we also have to preserve other humans' lives…it doesn't really fit evolutionally speaking. Survival of the fittest would dictate that the stronger of the species would eradicate the weaker if it was imperative to its own life."

"You got it!"

"I think you just had two boats full of pansies, Mister J."

He beamed at her.

"My thoughts exactly, Harley."

"Not that I condone mass murder or attempted mass murder in any way."

"Of course not."

"But if you were a psychologist and you hadn't rigged up any bombs on the boats but you told test subjects you had, you would've gotten a grant."

"Can I tell you a secret, Harls?"

"Certainly."

"I didn't rig anything up to the detonators on the boats. I just put fake detonators on board to mess with their minds."

"You had no intention of killing them?"

"Oh, of course I did. Just not like that. I had my own detonator hooked up to the bombs and I was going to blow both boats regardless of who pressed a button. You have to see the big picture here, Harls, I was Iovercoming/I them. It was nothing personal…they were weak, like you said."

"You're twisting my words, Mister J."

"No, no, if you only saw them as lab mice, it'd be no different. They're on a lower level than you and I, Harls. All they have to be proud of is their Iculture/I. But what does that mean? All it does is distinguish them from goatherds…sets them 'above' lower societies and species…which is exactly what I'm doing. I'm not establishing a culture, per se, but simply destroying theirs."

"And why destroy it?"

"Because it's fun! And easy…too easy, you know. 'Uncanny is human existence,' my dear, Harley, 'a buffon can be fatal to it.' The world is imperfect…chaotic…it's supposed to be…but people…gosh, people try to set it up in neat little rows and keep the madness out. But I don't want to stay outside, Harls, I want to come in and play," he said, leering at her, and licking his lips. "You wanna play with me, Harley?"

She shook her head at him, and frowned. This was getting difficult…she felt such a sense of camaraderie with him, it was so hard to see him as a vicious murderer. Her mind wandered to one of the many books that Meg had forced her to read so that they could have intelligent discussions on important literary subjects. Damn…she couldn't remember who he was, but the way that the Joker was talking reminded her of Meg's favorite author…Nieman? Neason? Niesience? She couldn't think of it…she mentally noted that she needed to have a discussion with Meg on that topic later.

"Hellooooooo," he sing-songed, rattiling his chains. "I asked you a question."

"Sorry," she said, blushing, "I think it would be difficult to play with you while you're wearing that straightjacket."

He grinned.

"Maybe next time, then? You can let me out to play. I promise I'll be a good boy."

"We'll see."

Smiling at her, he feigned interest as she went off on a long speech about proper behavior and Iblah blah blah blah. What the hell is wrong with her? If I was out of this fucking jacket I'd put that tight throat to good use. Then wrap my hand around it while I fucked her raw into that chair…or maybe bending her over her desk till she…ow…ow! Fuck. Note to self, hard-ons and straightjackets do not mesh well. Is she still talking? Jesus! When I get my hands on her I'm going to have to beat some respect and quiet into her. Pummel her until she shuts…ow…ow! Fuck./I

A knowing smile crossed her lips.

"You weren't listening at all to me, were you, Mister J?"

"Nope."

"What were you thinking about, if I dare ask?"

He paused a moment, staring at her dead in the eye.

"I was thinking about bending you over your desk and fucking you till you screamed."

She blinked at him.

"Mister J, I really don't think that's appropriate."

"Sorry. I'm mentally unstable."

"No you aren't…not as unstable as people think you are. Reacting on a higher mental plane, maybe…unstable? Not at all…you just have a slightly skewed sense of morality."

"As this society defines it."

"I suppose so."

"Is that from your own insights, or did your dead predecesor say that?"

"Doctor Arkham? No, he thought you were as loony as they come."

He grinned.

"Smart man."

"Not really."

"Knew you didn't care for him…you haven't worn those shoes since our first meeting," he said, pointing down to her purple pumps.

"Oh these? I didn't even realize I was wearing them."

Glaring at her, ran his tongue over one of his scars.

"You know, you're a terrible liar, Harls."

"I know," she said, sheepishly.

"That's alright…easier for me to read you. But, if you don't mind my asking, how did the good doctor Arkham shed this mortal coil?"

A light laugh passed through her lips.

"News travels fast here, doesn't it?"

"The walls are padded, not soundproof, Harleykins. Besides, you're my doctor now, so I have to assume something happened," he paused for a moment, and grinned. "Was it terribly dreadful?"

"Well, he was your therapist, so I guess you have a right to know. Dr. Arkham had a history of arterial blockage and combined with the stress of his position, one has to assume that it lead to his…."

The Joker cleared his throat, loudly.

"I just want the synopsis, Harleykins, not the whole movie."

Her smile flitted back onto her face.

"Fat bastard had a heart attack."

"I see…and you think it was from the ssssssstress of his position?"

She nodded.

"That coupled with his sessions with some of the hospital's more…colorful patients."

"Namely me?"

"Well, yes, namely you."

"So I finally did the old bastard in, eh?"

She blanched slightly at his statement.

"I…I doubt it was anything intentional on your part. We are all grieving…."

"You don't look tore up to me, Harls. Now Vic…Ihe/I looks tore up," he said with a chuckle.

"Was killing Doctor Arkham your plan, Mister J?"

"What is it with you people and your Iplans?/I You can't plan a heart attack, and that's the beauty of it.. it's so spontaneous and unexpected, so unpredictable and chaotic. So…unplanned. You see, ol' Doc Arkham was just a chew toy to this mad doggy…I

didn't Iplan/I to chew him till his little squeaker popped, I just enjoyed chewing him. Can't blame me, Harls, it was fun! But given his obvious state of health...I suppose it's only fitting that he had his little...heart troubles."

"So you have to admit, you did know it was gonna happen eventually."

"Well...some things are inevitable...we just got lucky, I think, because now, pumpkin, we can spend ...much more time together."

"So you planned on getting closer to me?"

"You see, Harls, there you are with your Iplan/I again…trying to sound like one of them...but you're not one of them...you're not like them, and they know it, that's why they don't respect you."

"I get plenty of…."

He scowled at her as he raised his voice.

"Don't lie to me, Harls, you get Ino/I respect, you know it and I know it, they know it, and they know you know it, which makes you weak to them. You think I'm the prisoner in here...but it's you, Harleykins, you are the prisoner. You're the prisoner to all your little rules and routines and Iplans/I. My body may be incarcerated, but my mind is free...chaos is freedom, Harleygirl, freedom to do what ever makes me

laugh...and I'll admit, it's more fun out in the world you foolishly call your own, but you can't enjoy it...at least not yet…just because I'm in here, doesn't mean I'm trapped here, but you…you'll be trapped here until you start to see things from my perspective. You can't let all of their Irules/I stop you from getting what you want and need…you have to be bigger than them. Remember, Pooh, 'Man is a polluted river. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted river and not be defiled.'"

He glanced at the clock on the wall, and smiled.

"Well, looks like our time is up, Harls! I think we've made good progress today, and I look forward to our next session," he said, before breaking out into peals of uproarious laughter.

After he was led out and Harleen was left alone in her office, she allowed her shaking hands to rest on her desk, and then laid her head down in between them. She closed her eyes and wished the fear and arousal away. Joan found her, sleeping there, a half an hour later, and had a burly guard assist her in carrying her out to her car. Joan drove her home, leaving Meg with strict instructions to take care of her until she went to work, and call if there were any problems. The violent offender's wing was filled with the Joker's peals of laughter when the guard was informed he would have to wait until they could find a replacement, as Vic, the usual guard on this shift, had been blown into tiny bits a few hours earlier.

Mending

"He possesses a heart who knows fear but masters fear; who sees the abyss, but sees it with pride."

(IThus Spoke Zarathustra/I, Friedrich Nietzsche)

A few hours after Joan had dropped her off, Harleen climbed into the steaming bath Meg had drawn for her. She relaxed in the quiet hours while Meg was at work, and sinking back into the bubbles, she berated herself for losing her composure with the Joker.

IHe changed so drastically from the other two meetings we've had…but why? He was always intense…but this time was so different. Was it my office? My hair? The…the questions! Yes, that has to be it! I had them prepared ahead of time, and he didn't like that! My trying to use a set pattern to control the situation and our conversation took his control away. He needs to be in control…that's why the Gotham Harbour incident threw him off…no one reacted how he anticipated and then that stupid vigilante took his control away, then physically assaulted him! The poor thing…those ignoramuses on the boats couldn't understand what was happening…it was a genius plan, really, quite a wonderful psychological inquiry. People weren't ready for his genius…wait…genius? Geez, Harl, what's gotten into you? Mass murder is not genius…no matter how intriguing a hypothesis it is./I

Wrapping herself in an oversized towel, she stepped out of the bathtub and stared at herself in the mirror.

IJust because he gets you a little revved up doesn't mean that you should condone his actions./I

Harleen walked out of the bathroom and meandered around the apartment. The bright red button on their answering machine was flashing, but she didn't bother checking on it. The messages were never for her; Meg and Joan only called her cell phone and she hadn't heard from anyone else in months. Meg had a new guy calling her every week, but Harleen wasn't as lucky. She was more attractive than Meg, she was sure, but for some reason her affect couldn't entice anyone to call her after their initial date, so she gave up after a while. Despite her attempts, Harleen hadn't had a serious boyfriend since her undergraduate years. Was that right? Harleen mentally tallied her boyfriends…it really had been five years since she had a serious boyfriend, and three years since she had last had sex.

IOh god, Harley, three years? That's not a dry spell, that's a drought! A famine! A global catastrophe! A…bad! Can your hymen grow back? Am I so pathetic I'm revirginized?/I

Harleen bolted to her bedroom and opened her laptop. After a few moments, Google calmed her nerves by telling her that, no, her hymen couldn't grow back, and that many people attempting to complete their doctorate had a tendency to lose their social lives for a while.

II'll just have to get my social life back…just…after I figure out this Joker thing./I

Although she was, admittedly, in a dry spell, Harleen was certainly not as sexually frustrated as others in her situation might have been. She had a very vivid imagination, rechargeable batteries, and a fairly top-of-the-line vibrator to alleviate her frustrations on nights that she couldn't ignore them any longer. This was one such night. Laying herself down on her bed and beginning to pleasure herself, her mind meandered away from her typical knight-princess fantasy when her knight removed his helmet to reveal the scarred and grinning face of the Joker. Shaking herself out of that fantasy, she tried to focus on different fantasies, but her partner in each of them always shifted into the Joker. After a few failed attempts, she gave up completely, and imagined him bending her over her office desk and ravishing her, just at he had told her earlier. Just as she was about to peak, the phone rang, loudly, bringing her out of her fantasies. She sighed and answered it, worried that something was wrong with Meg. Her voice was heavy and her breath slightly ragged.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Quinzel? It's Nurse Gemmelt."

Trying to remember who she was, Harleen feigned interest.

"Oh, yes, of course, what can I do for you?"

"Well, as you know, I'm your patient's supervising nurse overnights."

"My patient?"

"The Joker, Doctor Quinzel."

"Ah, yes, sorry, Nurse Gemmelt…I was just falling asleep so I'm a little out of sorts. It is," she said, glancing at the clock, "2:30...what's wrong with the Joker that couldn't have waited until morning?"

"Well, we're having a problem with him tonight…he's disturbing the rest of the patients."

Harleen sighed.

"What is he doing?"

"He's just…screaming."

"Why don't you sedate him?"

"Well, Doctor Quinzel, we would, but since Doctor Arkham's death, we don't have a valid medication approval for him…as his current doctor, we need you to come down and prescribe anything for him. I'm very sorry Doctor Quinzel, I wouldn't have called if it wasn't an emergency."

"I'll be there in half an hour, Nurse Gemmelt."

"Thank you, Doctor Quinzel!"

As she hung up the phone, Harleen threw her head back and rolled her eyes. This was just what she needed in the middle of the night…being called back into work to calm down the one patient she fantasizing about while she was masturbating. She sighed as she checked out her reflection in the mirror. To avoid soaking her hair in her bath, she had pulled it up into two messy pigtails. After throwing on a few smudges of makeup, she pulled on a pair of black leggings and a long red sweater. She trudged out of her apartment, after leaving a note for Meg, and made her way toward Arkham for the second time in twenty four hours.

The Joker sat, screaming randomly, in his cell. A pudgy nurse with ankles that were invisible underneath her thick calves, knocked on the glass wall, a relieved look on her face.

"Don't you worry, you poor dear, Doctor Quinzel is on her way to help you. You'll be calmed down and sleeping in no time!"

He smiled broadly at her for a moment before continuing his screams. He had come up with his brilliant idea when he had left Harleen that afternoon. He knew she was beginning to crack, and that he had to use every opportunity he had to push her over the edge. Their meeting tonight and the package he had Vic send to her earlier that day would help him work a little quicker. Despite the fun he really was having in Arkham, he wanted out…if only to tease Bats a little more. He still had a few lackeys running around doing the tasks he had given them "just in case," but he was running short on them at the moment. Vic had been a diversion for a few weeks, but he had grown tiresome and greedy, so he had to be disposed of…couldn't have anyone messing up his goals for Harley. At first glance, Vic's death had only served to cover the Joker's tracks and provide him a bit of amusement, but now he could utilize that death to get closer to Harley. Once he could get that first bit of pity from her, he knew that maternal instinct that lingered beneath her toughened exterior would break free. He didn't need anyone to take care of him, but it would be interesting…and it would allow him to focus more on his mission of chaos instead of menial chores like cooking and cleaning.

All of the screaming was getting tedious, though, so he interspersed it with fits of rattling his cot and kicking against the glass wall. He started screaming at a lower level, hoping to minimize the strain on his vocal chords.

IWhat's taking her so long? Where's she live? Albuquerque? Jesus. She's got a sick patient on her hands….ahahahahahahah! It's so boring in here…except when she's around to play with…even blowing up has lost its joy…hahahahaha it must be love! Once I can get her moulded correctly, we'll be able to play together…I always did love dangerous toys…dynamite, gasoline, matches…heheheheahahaha…and woman is the most dangerous plaything of them all!/I

His screams transitioned into a fit of laughter just as Harleen appeared at his cell. She looked…frustrated…more frazzled than he had seen her…and…was that a lusty look in her eye?

IHoohoohoo! What's our naughty doctor been up to tonight?/I

He paced the room for a moment, before plopping down on his cot. He stared at her, his eyes raking over her form and a spark began in his mind. She looked just like a court jester with her hair like that. Oh, this was just too good. She was fighting with the fat nurse and the new guard, though he couldn't make out what they were saying over his own screams. Harleen knocked on the glass wall and stared at him.

"Mister J, it's three in the morning and I'm back here because of you. They're letting me in there to see if I can calm you down without sedation. They'll leave us alone to talk, but you have to promise me that you won't, you know, like kill me or anything. I'll be really pissed if you do."

He silently paused for a moment, nodding at her, before breaking out in laughter again. The guard cautiously let her in, despite Nurse Gemmelt's protestations. While the Joker remained on the cot, she sat, close to the door, on the floor, crossing her legs and glancing out of the cell at the guard.

"I've got my pepper spray, and the call button, officer, I'll be fine. I trust him with me. You can leave now."

The guard raised an eyebrow at her.

"When that psycho kills you, don't complain to me. I'll be back to check on you in a half an hour, Doctor Quinzel."

"Thank you."

The Joker smiled down at her as the two outside the cell shuffled away.

"A half and hour," he said in a low voice, "However will we fill up the time?"

Rolling her eyes, Harleen looked at him.

"You really aren't freaking out are you?"

He tried to look affronted.

IWell, well, well, maybe my little Harleykins isn't going to bite so easily./I

"I'm upset, Harls," he said, stifling a smile, "My good friend just died!"

"You mean Vic?"

He sniffled.

"Yes!"

"He was blown up this afternoon."

"Yes!"

"In a warehouse at the docks."

"Yes!"

She smiled at him.

"News said it was in a warehouse owned by a John Oker, who they can't seem to find."

"Yes…really? What a strange name," he said, barely stifling his laughter, "Ssssstrange name."

She leaned in close to him.

"I'm not stupid, Mister J. You might have everyone else fooled, but I know just how smart you are. If anyone could kill someone while still in lockdown, it's you."

"Why, Harley, I don't know if I should be offended or flattered?"

"Either would work, Mister J, though I'm more intrigued by it than anything else."

"Really?"

"Yes…I've noticed that every employee you've been shown to favor for a while always winds up dead."

"Or brutally maimed," he offered with a chuckle.

"Yes, well there's that too. I would like to know why, Mister J. Are you afraid to let anyone get close to you?"

"It's not about me, Harls, it's about them. They were already falling…I just gave them a push!"

"So you admit to maliciously killing them?"

"Killing them, yes, but maliciously? No, Harls, you aren't getting it."

"I think I am, Mister J. If you're doing it with no purpose, it's evil."

He stood up and leaned over her.

"Evil, Harls? An Ievil/I deed is like a boil…it's not malicious…it's just festering there, itching for you to pop it! From one perspective it's bad to pop it because someone gets hurt…but from another it's not…it had to be done. I'm just getting that irritant out of my system. It's all very philosophic if you really think about it."

"I guess," she said, unable to draw her eyes away from his lithe form towering above her.

Noticing her admiring gaze, he puffed up slightly and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her up easily and pushing her back against the padded wall of his cell. As he pressed against her, his hand dropped from her neck and wrapped around her waist. She moaned faintly as his other hand gently brushed a stray hair out of her eyes before caressing her face. She unconsciously bucked against him as he rubbed his erection against her. He grinned at the lusty haze in her eyes.

"You're getting there, Harley, I can see the little wheels turning away in your head. You can hear the waves…you can sense their power, but you can't comprehend it yet, let me show you."

She nodded and he leaned in close to her face, leaving her only a breath away from the eternal smile so many feared. What happened next, she would attempt to rationalize in numerous ways. She was scared. She was worried about him. She was tired. She always liked the bad boys. It had been three years. She was sick and should be locked up. Whatever the reason, she allowed her body to act on impulse, and flicked out her pink tongue and ran it lightly over his scars. Her action produced a low growl from the Joker's throat and he pressed harder against her, then devoured her mouth in a searing kiss. His fingers found her breasts and massaged them roughly through her sweater, and then one dropped between her thighs, rubbing her into a frenzy. Still pent up from earlier that evening, she climaxed after only a few ministrations of his nimble fingers.

She fell against air when she moved to lean against him. When she noticed he was sitting on the cot once more, she wondered if she had imagined it. The clomp of the guard's shoes announced his close proximity to the cell, and Harleen had a brief moment to collect herself before he saw her. He raised an eyebrow.

"Everything alright in there, Doctor?"

She nodded.

"Yes, I don't think he'll be any more trouble tonight."

The Joker held two fingers up in the Boy Scout salute.

"Scout's Honor, Doc, I'm tired anyway…and I bet you're exhausted."

Rolling his eyes, the guard motioned to Harleen.

"I'll grab the key, Doctor Quinzel, and you can head on home."

"Yes, thank you."

The Joker's eyes tunneled into Harleen's, and he smiled when he found a small spark of adoration dancing behind their cool blue depths.

"There's a lot of suffering in this place, Harls, you give me something to look to and forget it for awhile…you're my intoxicating joy here, Doc, thank you."

Blushing furiously, she collected herself before the guard let her out. She cast one long glance back at him.

"Good night, Mister J."

"Sweet dreams, Harleykins."

The guard grabbed her shoulders and pulled her out of the cell, roughly.

"I'm sick of this shit, Doctor…enough is enough. He's going to kill you if you're in there any longer."

The Joker lunged forward, and the guard tasered him. Harleen shrieked and clawed at the guard, pushing him out of the way as she forced her way back into the Joker's cell. She cradled his head in her lap, and checked his body over. He was fine, a bit uncomfortable, but fine, but he used her reaction to his advantage. He stared up at her, his eyes moistened slightly, and he whispered to her.

"You've gotta get me out of here, Harls."

A group of heavily armed guards rushed into the cell, and pulled the two apart, hoisting Harleen up and dragging her out of the cell. The Joker raised his hands and moved to lie on his cot, and the guards walked out of the cell, giving Harleen a dirty look. Nurse Gemmelt frowned at her.

"What medications are you going to prescribe to keep him sedate, IDoctor?/I Or are you just going to let his actions go unpunished?"

"Medications are not to be given as punishment, INurse/I. You might have learned that if you went to any schooling beyond community college. You are not to give him any medication until I prescribe it, or I will have your jobs."

Nurse Gemmelt and the group of guards in the wing went slack-jawed, but Harleen held her head high and walked briskly out of the area. She made it to her car before the guilt rose intensely enough to make her dizzy. When she realized that guilt was focused not on her inappropriate actions with her patient, but on her own inability to break him out of Arkham, she shuddered.

IWhat's happening to me?/I

After Harleen had left his cell, the Joker was left with an emptiness he didn't care for. Seeing the guard rough-handle her and then watching her basically mentally bitch-slap the lot of them turned him on…he couldn't tell whether it was because she coddled him, defended him, or kept her cool, but he liked it. And he wanted to feel the crunch of the neck bones of the guards who had touched her and he wanted to watch the blood pour from the gut of the fat nurse who had dared to offend his girl. She was his toy to play with after all, and no one else should have the right to touch her…if he wanted her harmed, that was one thing, and he would do it with his own hands. Anyone else harming one hair on her pretty little head would hinder his plan on getting closer to her. IPlan? Plan? I don't plan anything! What's happening to me?"/I

Slipping

"Behold the good and the just! Whom do they hate most? Him who smashed their table of values, the breaker, the law-breaker-but he is the creator."

(IThus Spoke Zarathustra/I Friedrick Nietzsche)

A dark figure glided over the remnants of the warehouse that had exploded that afternoon. As he landed, Batman scanned the area for any intruders. Commissioner Gordon had assured him that he would leave the area mostly untouched until he had swept the site. Although the bat signal was still destroyed, the new commissioner and Batman had devised a way to keep in touch. Batman had given Gordon a red cell phone, with his mobile number programmed into it. After Gordon had given him the basics of the situation: a guard at Arkham was found dead in a warehouse owned by a John Oker, Batman had figured out the joke quickly.

"John Oker? J. Oker. Joker. The Joker owns it, Gordon," he had said earlier that evening.

"That's what we figured. But I'd like you to take a look, just to be sure. See if you can find anything we missed. I'm not sure what to make of it…that Asylum's new director says that he's cooperating with his new psychiatrist."

"New psychiatrist? What happened to Arkham?"

"Dead. Heart attack, apparently, a few days ago. But the Joker hasn't acted up since he started seeing this new doctor. Granted it's only been a few days, but still, they figure that any step forward is good news."

"What wing did the guard work in?"

"Violent offenders ward, why?"

"Of course…what's the name of this new doctor?"

"A Doctor Quinzel, Batman...do you need the address?"

"I've got it."

Sorting through the debris on the floor, he raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a half-charred manila folder from beneath the area where the majority of the guard's body had been found. Scraps of paper and a few nearly-destroyed photographs were tucked neatly into it, mostly clumped together in a pulpy mass. As he lifted it, a fairly unscathed photo of Harleen dancing at the Evening Star caught his attention. He felt his heart jump a bit as he stared at Harleen's smiling visage.

IGood lord, this girl is gorgeous…who is she? And why is her picture in this warehouse? God, I hope the Joker hasn't killed her yet…I've got to find her…after Rachel, I thought I couldn't feel like this…but, God, it's like a lightning bolt with this one. I have to have her./I

He placed the photo in his utility belt and made his way to Doctor Quinzel's apartment, unaware that it was her visage grinning at him, and that Quinzel was female. Finding her building was easy, though it was seemingly empty. He found his way into the apartment, and was met with a swift kick to the groin. His padding softened the blow, but it still smarted. Meg stood before him, her hands on her hips, glaring.

"And what the fuck do you think Iyou're/I doing here, Batsie?"

"I'm looking for Doctor Quinzel…is he here?"

She laughed.

"No, Doctor Quinzel isn't home, I'm afraid. Do you need something, or do you just like to break into young ladies' apartments in the middle of the night?"

He frowned at her, before raking his eyes over her form. She was beautiful…not the knockout that the girl in the photograph was, but still…at first glance, she was nothing special, he thought. Then he took a second look. There was something about her that intrigued him…he couldn't put his finger on it. He shook himself out of his thoughts and sighed.

"Who are you?"

"Doctor Quinzel's roommate, Selena. Selena Kyle. Everyone calls me Meg, though, guess you aren't the only one with a pseudonym, eh Batsie? Funny," she said, silently cursing herself for allowing his broad shoulders and handsome demeanor to let her slip.

She thought she saw him roll his eyes, but couldn't be sure. He stood, stoically, by the window.

"I'm trying to save him from the Joker."

"Isn't the Joker in the Asylum?"

"Yes, but…."

"And aren't there guards and such at the Asylum?"

"That doesn't mean…."

"Doctor Quinzel can handle anything the Joker throws, Batsie. Not everyone is as weak-minded as you seem to think. We don't all need some vigilante in spandex swooping down and mucking up our lives, thank you very much. And your whole 'mask my voice by obviously speaking way raspier than I normally do' is really lame in my opinion."

He scowled at her, but she didn't notice, as she turned her back toward him.

"Time to leave my apartment, Batsie."

Silently jumping out of the window and gliding to the lower rooftop apartment complex next door, Batman decided he needed to talk to Doctor Quinzel at Arkham in the morning, though in a decidedly different persona.

Harleen awoke the next morning to her person being violently shaken. When her groggy eyes focused, Meg was scowling at her.

"Come on, Harls! Up, up, up!"

"Wh…what time is it?"

"9:45. Almost time for me to go to bed," Meg said with a grin.

"9:45? Oy vey! I'm so late! I was supposed to be there two hours ago!"

"I know, I already talked to Joanie and she heard what time you got home this morning. Said not to rush it, just make sure you're in for your first appointment at twelve."

Harleen smiled at her, groggily.

"Thanks, Meg, I owe you one!"

"You owe me two, girl. You got a gentleman caller this morning while you were taking care of the Joker."

"What? Who? What?"

"All very good questions, Harley. It was Batman."

"Batman?"

"Yeah. Imagine my surprise when I get out of the bathroom to find the caped crusader skulking about our living room."

"That must've been…interesting to say the least."

"It was…he was looking for you, you know."

"Why?"

"Something about loverboy being a risk to you."

"Loverboy?"

"Geez, Harleen, for such a smart girl, you're a dumbass. You think I haven't noticed? You and the Joker."

"Meg! There's nothing going on there, I'm just trying to be a good doctor, and…."

"Bullshit, honey. I've known you how long?"

"Since the fifth grade."

"Yeah, and after all this time, Harley, I know Ithat/I look! You got that same look when you and Bobby Fletcher got paired up for the science fair in sixth grade. Your eyes get all glittery and you have this little smirk all the time."

"I do not!"

"Yep, and there it is," Meg said, pushing her finger to the corner of Harleen's mouth where the hint of a smirk still lingered.

"Maybe it's about someone else then…the mailman is cute, and…."

"Nope, it's not. You got the hots for a crazy, Harley. Heh, heh, you're Icrazy/I for a Icrazy/I!"

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"I am…," Harleen sighed, "Yeah…yeah, I am aren't I?"

Meg nodded.

"Yeah, you are, sweetie, but don't worry about it. You've liked worse guys."

"Worse than a mass murderer who's locked up in a nuthouse?"

Pausing for a moment, Meg stared at her sagely.

"Two words. Harold Abonowitz."

The women broke out in laughter, leaning against each other for support. Their cat, Buffy, who had recently gained a substantial amount of weight, decided that she had enough noise and slinked out of an open window, and down the fire escape.

When Joan answered the incessantly ringing phone in her office, she expected to be greeted by Harleen, freaking out about being late. To her surprise, it was the Asylum's largest monetary benefactor, Bruce Wayne. As he had been out of town when Doctor Arkham died, he apologized for the belated condolences.

"Doctor Arkham was a very strong member of the community, and I'm sure you'll be just as good if not better at his position, Doctor Leland."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

"I'd actually like to meet with you today if you're available, to go over my annual contribution needs to the Asylum. I've heard there are a few new doctors and a few more families of 'accidental' deaths to compensate."

"Yes, we have had a few more deaths recently."

"Any reason for that?"

"Well, we did get a highly dangerous psychopath admitted to our facilities a few months ago."

"The numbers of deaths and injuries have tripled since his admission, if the papers are correct."

Joan cringed.

"Well, those numbers have lessened since we got a new psychiatrist for the Joker."

"Really?"

"Yes, just last night Doctor Quinzel calmed him down while he was close to a nervous breakdown."

"Is that so? I'd like to speak with Doctor Quinzel today if its possible…I want to make sure my funding isn't going to just house psychopathic rampages."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne! I have a meeting with Doctor Quinzel at two this afternoon, if you would like to take it, I don't have anything imperative to discuss that can't wait until after hours."

"Yes, I'm available, thank you, Doctor Leland."

Her heart leapt when she disconnected their call. She always had a bit of a crush on Bruce Wayne, but then, what Gothamite girl didn't? She glanced over her reflection in her office mirror and frowned. Grabbing a tube of red lipstick, she began to apply it to her lips when a loud knock at her door startled her. She jumped, leaving a large red streak of lipstick across her cheek.

"Fuck!"

"Joan? You there? It's me," Harleen said, slowly opening the door and peering her head around it. When she noticed the makeup disaster, she smirked. "Okay, Joanie, seriously, I have to deal with one nut wearing smeared makeup and that's enough! I can't handle two of ya!"

Joan frowned at her.

"Yeah, thanks, Harley."

"Anytime! Whatcha' getting' all dolled up for anyway?"

"Nothing…well…nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing!"

"Yes, well, our largest benefactor is coming in to take a tour of the asylum today."

"Oh. Who is it?"

"Bruce Wayne."

Harleen made a disgusted face.

"Yuck! That jerk-o? Joanie, he's the worst!"

"No he isn't, Harley! He's handsome and rich and…well…and…rich! Harley, he's not married either! I might have a bit of a schoolgirl crush on the man but you have a shot at landing him, you know! You're a beautiful, vivacious young lady, and…."

"And he's got four or five chicks just like me lined up already, Joanie. He's got a new skank on his arm every week…and he probably has, like, super syphilis too!"

Sticking her tongue out at Harleen, Joan moved toward her desk.

"Whatever, Harley. You'll have to reel your cynicism in because you have a meeting with him today. I may be lax on your behaviour elsewhere in the asylum because we're friends, but where Bruce Wayne is concerned, I'm very strict."

"Dominatrix."

"Harleen!"

Harleen grinned at her.

"Sorry. Habit."

"Well don't let your habits show with Wayne, Harley, I don't think he's the laughing type. Doesn't seem to keen on your funny patient…he might cease funding the asylum if he continues his little 'humorous' killing sprees here. If you want to keep the Joker under your care, you have to convince Wayne that he's really reforming. We'll have to send him to Burgess otherwise."

Harleen's face faded to white.

"Burgess? Joan, Joan no!"

"What can you expect? Burgess can handle his case much better than we can. Arkham was planning on sending him there before he died anyway."

"They'll lobotomize him there!"

"Harley, he is a violent psychopath…I certainly hope he'll respond to your treatment, but if he doesn't, I'm afraid Burgess is where he'll end up."

Harleen was taken aback. Her head started spinning, and she felt a frozen shudder run down her spine.

"Joan…you…you would condone that cruel, archaic treatment? They aren't even legal in this country anymore!"

"I know, which is why we send the 'special' cases to their asylum in Wales. Lobotomies are less cruel than leaving him to his own destructive personality! He's a danger to everyone and everything around him, including himself."

"But he's a genius…tested and proven! That procedure will take all of the good out of him, all of the bad too, but still…he'll…he'll be a vegetable, Joan! A shell."

"It's safer, Harley, for everyone. I know you're a good doctor, but if he doesn't respond to you, then it's over. You can't blame yourself for that, though, he's basically a hopeless case."

"No case is hopeless, Joan."

"Whatever you say, Harley."

Harleen straightened up and visibly sobered.

"Yes…well, when is my appointment with Mr. Wayne?"

"Two. Right after your session with Doctor Crane."

"Would you be able to take that one for me today, Joan? I want to prepare for my meeting with Mr. Wayne."

"Of course, dear, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she lied, smiling, "Just nervous. He is really rich and all."

"I understand. I'd better get going then, you know how Dr. Crane hates waiting!"

A fake laugh that sounded real even to Harleen's ears escaped her lips and she excused herself from Joan's office. She needed a walk, she decided, and made her way down to the recreation room, hoping to find some escapism with a few of the nicer patients. What she found there surprised her. The room was empty, aside from the deformed person of Gotham's white knight, Harvey Dent. He glanced up at her from where he sat at a chess board. She noted that he had the black pieces set before him and kept his gaze lowered after his initial glance at her form. She smiled at him, despite assuming he wasn't watching her.

"You need an opponent?"

He chuckled.

"I've had quite enough opponents for one lifetime, thank you."

"Ah."

"Games of chance are more my style anyway, no real opponent but lady luck," he said, his distorted visage attempting to smile.

"I can play a mean hand of Old Maid, but other than that you'll whoop me."

A legitimately amused laugh fell from Harvey's destroyed lips. He looked up at her, with what she assumed was a happy expression.

"I think the Nurse has a few decks behind the counter."

She nodded and went to the desk, and quickly received a new packet of playing cards from the elderly nurse. She smiled and sat down across from Harvey.

"I'm Doctor Quinzel, but you can call me Harley, everyone does!"

"Harvey Dent."

She smiled kindly.

"I know who you are, Mr. Dent. I voted for you in your last election."

"Ah. Sorry to let you down with the short term."

"Politicians work best in short terms," she said with a light laugh.

Another real laugh escaped his lips and he took the deck from her to shuffle.

"So I guess that you've guessed I'm not dead."

"Yeah, I figured that one out a minute ago. Let no one say that this blonde is Ithat/I dumb."

"It was the Batman's idea I guess. Once Commissioner Gordon found out I was still alive…they didn't want the public to know what I had become."

"Your face? Harvey, it's not that bad. Really. Gives you kind of a distinguished air."

"Are you kidding me?"

She blushed.

"Well I tried."

"Thanks for that."

"Sure thing. But I'm serious, Harvey. Once you get over the initial shock, I don't find your face disconcerting at all. I rather like it."

"Well, you do have the Joker as a patient so I assume you're used to dealing with…special faces."

"My face reflects who I am. Part of me is good, part of me is…evil."

"You aren't evil, Harvey."

"I killed people. That's what they didn't tell you in the papers. Why the Batman took the fall and all that nonsense. I killed people because…because…."

"Because your fiancé was killed and you were injured while no one did anything! I talked to the Joker about what happened that night…and it's no one's fault but the Batman! You aren't to blame and neither is the Joker, Harvey. You both were just pushed too far."

"The Joker killed Rachel."

"He set up the bombs, yes, but that whole plan was about the Batman. And he allowed the Joker to kill Rachel because he needed you in power. The Joker told me that he told the Batman exactly where both of you were in time to save Rachel and have the police save you and he did nothing for her! He left her to die because he needed something from you. The Joker isn't the evil mastermind everyone assumes he is…he simply sets up the righteous to fall, but if they were so righteous, they wouldn't fall in the first place."

Harvey's right eye twitched and he gripped his pair of cards tightly. He set his final pair of cards down and nodded at Harleen.

"I'm afraid you lost, Harley, and my rec room time is up. It was nice to meet you."

He motioned to the nurse, who called a guard in to help Harvey back to his private cell. Harleen glanced down at the single card in her hand, the 'old maid' in their game: the joker. She smiled and placed it in her coat pocket before gathering the deck up for the nurse. She walked, silently, back to he office, somehow more prepared for her meeting with Bruce Wayne.

Intermission

"Kissing is like drinking salted water, you drink and your thirst increases."(Chinese Proverb)

Harleen veered off into the ladies' bathroom instead of going directly back to her office, just to give herself the once over in a well-lit room. She frowned at the tight bun her hair was set in, and pulled it free, allowing the blonde curly strands to fall freely around her shoulders. She wasn't trying to impress Bruce Wayne, but if there was anything she could do to keep the Joker from being sent to that awful asylum, she'd do it…even if it meant flirting with someone as disgusting as Wayne. IWhen I get back to the office, I'll have Megs give me the once over…glad I left our webcam connection on…it takes so long to get connected on this stupid server…uck…I wish I could just bypass this meeting and go straight to my appointment with the Joker. No…no I have to take this appointment with Wayne seriously. I have to protect my poor, sweet Puddin' from anything that could hurt him…wait…'Puddin'?' Wow, Harls, Meg was right…you are nuts. Oy, and getting a wrinkle!/I As she was taking stock of her appearance in the mirror, a hard, laughing force from her side knocked her onto the floor. Disoriented, it took her a few beats to realize what had happened. The Joker towered over her, grinning and wriggling his way out of his straight-jacket.

"Hello Haaaaaaaaarley."

She raised an eyebrow and held her hand out to him, signaling he should help her up.

"Mister J, was that really necessary? You don't know what scum could be on this floor."

"Harley," he said with a grin, ignoring her outstretched hand, "the scum is waiting outside of your office…not on this nice, clean floor."

She nodded and stood herself up, casting a glare his way.

"Great. I'm really not looking forward to…wait, Mister J, how are you here? Shouldn't you be in your cell or…."

He beamed widely at her.

"Yeah…they were moving me from my cell to the showers and I saw that…gentleman…standing outside of your office…so I had to come find you."

"And how did you know I'd be in here?"

He shrugged.

"Lucky guess?"

"I don't quite buy that."

"Smart girl."

He looked her over for a moment and smiled, then glanced at the door.

"I can sense people, Harls…call it a seventh sense."

"Seventh? What's your sixth?"

"Humor," he hurriedly said, pushing her into a stall and standing, crouched down, on the toilet. "Lock the door, quick, and sit down."

"Wh…?"

Wrapping his hands around her neck and tightening so her oxygen was cut off, he put his mouth against her ear, gently.

"Just do it, Harls."

She forced a nod and did as he asked, just a moment before the door leading to the hall was kicked open and three guards ran in. A deep voiced guard pounded on the stall door.

"Who's in there? Identify yourself!"

"Doctor Quinzel," Harleen managed to choke out after the Joker let go of her throat.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Sir, it's a bathroom…what do you think I'm doing in here?"

"Are you alone in there?"

"Again, it's a bathroom stall! I'm trying to…do my business, and may I remind you that this is a ladies room? I'm a lady and a doctor for sobbing out loud…I wouldn't be treated like this at any other hospital, I can tell you that! What's your name? I'm going to your supervisor you son of a…."

Harleen could hear the other guards quickly vacate the bathroom, as the guard she was speaking with cleared his throat.

"I…I'm so sorry Doctor…I…it's my first week here so I…one of the violent offenders just escaped custody, so we have to check every area…I'll…I'll certainly leave you in here to finish your…but we have to lock down every room until we find him, so you're going to be stuck in here until we find where he went to. Can I get you anything while you wait?"

She stamped her foot, and it was all the Joker could do to keep from breaking out in laughter.

"No! Just get out of here!"

"Yes, yes ma'am. We'll let you know when lockdown is lifted."

"Knock first."

"Will do, ma'am. Have a good…good day."

The guard left the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The Joker hopped down and grabbed a fistful of Harleen's hair, pulling her up to face him.

"I like your hair like this, Harls…loose…provocative…who are you trying to impress? You don't have a session with me for a few hours, so this can't all be on my account. Could it be you were getting yourself all dolled up for little old Bruce Wayne?"

She shook her head.

"No, no, Mister J, you're misunderstanding…."

A flick of his wrist revealed a small knife held close to her jugular.

"And how am I misunderstanding, Harleykins? Seems to me you were trying to get on Brucey-boy's good side, eh? Getting sick of playing around with poor old me, Harls? Need some vapid rich boy toy to get your…motor revved up?"

"N…n…no, Mister J, I'm trying to protect you!"

His grip on the knife faltered slightly, and Harleen's neck was relieved from its pressure for a moment.

"Protect me? How so, Doc?"

She stared up at him, her wide blue eyes filled with tears.

"They…Joan…Dr. Leland…Arkham…they…send you," she choked on her words and began to sob uncontrollably.

Sheathing the knife safely back from whence it came, the Joker pulled Harleen flush against his chest, petting her back soothingly. She melted against him, wrapping her arms and pulling herself tighter against his body. A manically benevolent smile passed over his distorted lips, and he placed a series of light kisses on the top of her head.

"Now, Harley, don't you cry…tell your Uncle Joker what's wrong, hmm?"

She nodded against him, relaxing slightly, before relinquishing her grip so she could look him in the eye once more.

"They want to send you to Burgess."

The Joker's face contorted ever-so-slightly, into something that Harleen would liken to disappointment mixed with fear. She stroked his face lovingly and stared up at him as if he had lassoed the moon for her.

"I'll do anything I can to keep them from sending you anywhere, Pudd…Mister J."

His demeanor regained its normal vivacity and he laughed at her.

"Were you about to call me 'Pudding?'"

Bruce Wayne was leaning against the locked door of Doctor Quinzel's office when panic ensued in the Asylum. When the Joker had caught his eye from the other end of the long hallway, he had been slightly unnerved and hoped that he hadn't made the connection. It appeared, for the moment, that he hadn't, however, after five minutes passed, the alarms were sounding and all of the Asylum was being placed on lockdown. He was quickly shuffled into Dr. Quinzel's office and told, in no uncertain terms, to stay put. He briefly scanned the office as he tried to think of a plan, but the diploma hanging proudly on the wall stopped him. IDr. Harleen Quinzel, PhD. Psychiatry./I Another quick glance around the office assured him that yes, indeed, Dr. Quinzel was a woman, and, from the look of the few pictures scattered around the office, was the same woman as the one in the picture he had found in the destroyed warehouse. Or her twin. She was missing somewhere in the Asylum now, as was the Joker…something was up, he was sure of it, and he was thankful that he had his 'costume change' tucked into his briefcase. Bruce was fully unaware that across town, Harleen's roommate, Selena 'Meg' Kyle, sat at her laptop, watching him undress (and hitting record from the moment the tie first loosened), and then redress into his Batsuit.

Metamorphoses

"My mind leads me to speak now of forms changed

into new bodies: O gods above, inspire

this undertaking (which you've changed as well)

…

Before the seas and lands had been created,

before the sky that covers everything,

Nature displayed a single aspect only

throughout the cosmos; Chaos was its name."

Ovid, IMetamorphoses/I

Harleen groaned as the Joker pressed against her, pushing her back against the door of the bathroom stall they still occupied. They hadn't moved from their position for twenty minutes, and stood, staring into each other's eyes. He leaned his head to rest in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Harleen felt as if she was about to burst with a mix of anticipation, arousal, and stark fear. Against the warnings of the diminishing voice in the back of her mind, she allowed her instincts to take over and wrapped her arms around him, and bared her neck more fully to him in the process. This display of adoration and trust caused another stirring in the Joker's chest that he didn't care for. Pushing it back from whence it came he rubbed his erection against her writhing form. In one fluid motion, he pushed her skirt up and ripped her panties off, and shoved them into his Arkham uniform. He freed his long, pulsating member in the process, and, without any hesitation or desire to ensure she was readied, thrust his length into her. Harleen gasped at the intrusion, and the burning pain which accompanied it, her face contorting slightly. He grinned at the pain in her face and thrust even harder into her.

"Oh, Harls…it has been a while for you hasn't it?"

Wrapping a leg around his back, she allowed him even deeper access to her body, and stared, lovingly into his face.

"Years, Mister J…but…you…you're worth it…ungh! I'd…I'd do anything for…"

He cut her off with a swift punch to her jaw, which sent her flying out of the stall she had unlocked by writhing against it. She stared up at him, eyes full of confusion and hurt. He laughed at her, loudly. He blocked the bathroom door with the couch that for some reason needed to be in every ladies' room in the asylum. His laugh reverberated through the ceiling and reached the ears of a certain caped crusader who was skulking around halfway across the asylum. Glaring at her, the Joker stalked toward her sprawled out form, his rigid cock still on display.

"How about now, Harleygirl? Wouldja do anything for me now?"

He kicked her in the stomach and climbed on top of her when she fell back. He thrust inside of her again, pleased as punch (he applauded himself at the irony of that clichéd saying) to find that she was even wetter than before. She looked up at him, her jaw throbbing and kissed him. He allowed the kiss to continue for a few moments, his tongue ravaging her eager mouth, before puling back and slugging her on the side of her right eye. It began to swell almost instantly, the sight of which nearly pushed him over the edge. She writhed beneath him as he drilled into her, and she pressed a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"I'd do anything for ya Mister J," Harley whispered into his ear, "I love you."

Some normally frozen thing in his chest leapt at her words, and he looked down at her in confusion. He was about to wrap his hands around her neck but something stopped him. Some unknown feeling he could never remember feeling.

IYou love her too, you putz. Just because you're crazy doesn't mean I am too.I

He shook the surprisingly clear thought from his mind and barreled harder into her. A strange noise from the ceiling caught Harley's attention and she began to struggle underneath the Joker. She caught his eye for a moment and motioned upward. He smiled at her as she screamed to the moving panels.

"Help me! Please! Someone! Help!"

He had to force himself to keep from laughing and he punched her in her face again, though using very little force at all.

"Shut up, Doc!"

He continued to piston into her until Batman dropped into the bathroom, weapons drawn. The Joker sighed and looked up.

"We're making house calls now, Bats?"

"Let her go, Joker!"

The Joker rolled his eyes at him, slowing his thrusts into Harley, but never removing himself from her slit. She cried and feigned an attempt to push him away.

"Stop, please," she cried.

Laughing again, the Joker quickened his pace.

"Now why would I wanna do that? She's all warm and…inviting," he said, pulling a small knife from his cuff and pressing it against Harley's neck. "I'd back off there, Bats, I'm not big on multitasking and I might slip!"

Harley summoned all of her acting prowess and began to sob.

"P…please, no! Ah! Please, you're…hurting me! Batman, please stop! Just…just do what he says…I don't want to die, please!"

The Joker pressed the knife into the flesh on her shoulder, allowing the blade to cut into her flesh but not do much damage. He continued to thrust into her quickly, before throwing his knife at Batman, distracting him for a moment, so the Joker could rapidly thrust into Harley and finally come. He leaned his head down to her ear opposite Batman as his body convulsed and pressed a soft kiss on it. She screamed and cried as Batman swiftly pulled the Joker off of her and threw him against the bathroom wall. The Joker shoved his cock back in his pants with a chuckle and looked at Harley.

"Excellent session, Doc. I'm glad my insurance covers these meetings!"

While he broke out into peals of laughter, Harley stood, crocodile tears still streaming down her face and straightened her skirt, a moment before the guards finally broke into the bathroom. Batman backed off as they subdued the now docile Joker, who winked at Harley as he was led out. Batman had to fight the urge to tear him apart as Harley began to sob again. She calmed instantly after he left the room and she looked up at Batman.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Please don't mention…please."

Interrupting his reply, Joan pushed her way into the room and gasped when she saw Harley.

"Oh, oh, god, Harley! What did he do to you?"

Harley allowed Joan to pull her into a quick hug and cast a pleading glance at Batman. She pulled back and smiled at Joan.

"Well, I was in here for the lockdown and the Joker must've been hiding in here and surprised me. I was running to get help and he held me down so I wouldn't get away."

"Did he…he didn't…Harley?"

"No," she said, quickly, "He just wanted to knock someone around I guess. Call it aggressive therapy."

"Are you okay? You look…hey where'd he go?"

Batman had disappeared again, and, unbeknownst to Harley or Joan, was booking to get back to Harley's office to make sure Bruce Wayne was there to talk to her if he could get the chance. Harley shrugged.

"No clue. I'll be fine, though, Joanie, really."

"Well, I'll take your sessions with him off your hands until we transfer him."

"No!"

"No?"

"No, Joanie, don't you see? I'm finally getting to him. He could've killed me…again, I might add, and he didn't! If anything, I take his hitting me as a good sign. He has trouble expressing himself in other ways…and if he hadn't caught me off guard it wouldn't have happened."

"Harley, that's nuts."

"I just know him better than anyone. I mean, I've been his therapist for months now and this is the first time he's laid a hand on me and it was only under severe mental distress."

"Harley, his whole mind is distressed twenty-four seven."

"Joan, trust me. It's a black eye and a couple of cuts. I've had a lot worse from patients I treated in clinicals. I think it'd be best to increase the frequency and length of his sessions now. Possibly a walk daily with me will calm him down. Have him chained of course, but what do you do with a dog that bit you? Give him more good attention and long, healthy walks. Have him use his bad energy constructively until he's worn out and docile."

Joan shook her head and grabbed her compact from her pocket. She handed it to Harley and motioned towards the mirror.

"You're a braver soul than I, Harley. If you're set in this, I won't be the one to stop you, but you've got to convince Wayne. Cover that bruise as best you can and go. He's been in your office since the lockdown, waiting."

Harley smiled and threw her arms around Joan.

"Thanks, Joanie! I'll work my magic on him, trust me! How do I look?"

Her black eye, though visible, was very diminished now, and Joan grinned at her.

"Fabulous as always."

"Wonderful! Wish me luck!"

Harley walked, confidently, to her office. As she was about to enter, her phone rang. She sighed and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Harls! Harls it's me!"

"Meg? What's wrong? Did you find Buffy? Is she okay?"

"No, no, I haven't, but that's not important now, Harls! I have big news!"

"How big?"

"Like I found a five dollar pair of shoes at Saks big."

"Oh, jeez, Meg, what is it?"

"You left your webcam on in your office and I got some interesting video you need to see."

"Of what?"

"Bruce Wayne undressing!"

"You're a perv, Meg."

"And don't you forget it. But this is better than just seeing his schlong or whatever."

"How so?"

"I have a question first. Did you happen to get a visit from a certain flying rodent today?"

Harley paused and nearly dropped her phone. Meg scoffed at her silence.

"I'll take that as a yes. Guess who accidentally found out Batsie's secret identity while she was bumming around our apartment in her pajamas?"

"No…Meg…there's no way…Bruce Wayne?"

"Cross my heart, Harls. Check the vid. I sent it back to ya."

"I've gotta go…I have an appointment…with Bruce Wayne."

Meg tittered with laughter as Harley closed her phone and calmed herself before walking into her office. Bruce Wayne, looking slightly ruffled, stood when she entered. Harley smiled at him and thrust her hand out.

"Hi, Mr. Wayne, sorry to have kept you waiting, we had a bit of a problem today."

Shaking her extended hand, he smiled back.

"No problem, Doctor, are you alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

She chuckled and sat behind her desk.

"Something like that, Mr. Wayne. Now, Dr. Leland says you wanted to discuss my patient's incarceration here at Arkham?"

He nodded, feeling intense pity for her, but also a pulling sense of admiration for her courage to continue on after what the Joker had done to her less than an hour earlier. She reminded him of himself.

"Yes, well, I think it's in the best interests of my financial status to have some…thing like him sent elsewhere.

She nodded.

"Mr. Wayne, a few hours ago I might have agreed with you, but this afternoon, to be honest, within an hour my feelings have changed."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my patient escaped this afternoon and found me instead of running to escape. He knocked me around a bit but that's nothing that an asylum employee doesn't expect. But he had the chance to kill me for the second time and didn't take it. I have to see that as a good sign, Mr. Wayne, and moving him now would ruin any chance he has at rehabilitation."

"Dr. Quinzel, I have to disagree, I…"

"Please, Mr. Wayne, I've been through a lot today," she said, forcing her voice to quiver, "I have to see this in the best way possible. I have to help him…if not for his sake, for my own."

A few crocodile tears rolled down her face and she made a point to wipe them away dramatically.

"But we always have Batman to come in just in the nick of time, don't we, Mr. Wayne? He saved Harvey Dent at your party, didn't he?"

"Yes, well, he…I…I suppose you're right, Dr. Quinzel…but Batman can't be everywhere at once and I…well, I don't want someone as intelligent and beautiful as you to get hurt because you relied on a vigilante who…."

"An angel," she said, with an adoring tinge in her voice that almost convinced herself. "He's not a vigilante, Mr. Wayne, he's an angel. I know the truth about what he did to save Harvey Dent and I know how he saved me today."

"The DA? Isn't he dead?"

She smiled coyly.

"You know as well as I do that isn't true, Mr. Wayne. I know you pay the bills and it's admirable that you want to help your friend. You're a hero in this too, Mr. Wayne…you just don't get the credit for it."

Bruce colored slightly.

"I…I'm no Batman, Dr. Quinzel. I just have the resources to help and I…."

"Please," she said with a kind smile, "Call me Harley, everyone does."

"Alright, Harley."

"Would you please reconsider, Mr. Wayne? I'll try my best I assure you."

"Dr. Quin…Harley, I'm just very unsure of him and I…."

"What if I went over some of my notes from my sessions with him? Would that give you peace of mind to see how far I believe he's come from when I first started treating him?"

"Isn't that confidential information?"

She winked at him.

"Accidents will happen, Mr. Wayne. And if I've had a few too many glasses of wine after dinner one night and slip up, I don't find it unethical."

He shook his head and smiled.

"Alright, you've convinced me…on one condition."

"And what would that be, Mr. Wayne?"

"You let me take you out for that dinner tonight."

She grinned.

"Deal."

"I'll pick you up at eight?"

"Sure. Do you need my address Mr. Wayne?"

"I'm sure I can find it."

"Money talks, eh?"

"I have a phonebook, you know."

Harley laughed, genuinely, and smiled at him.

"Touché, Mr. Wayne."

"And call me Bruce, everyone…well…not many people do, but still."

"I'll keep that in mind, Bruce. I'll see you at eight."

Bruce nodded and quickly left the office, a huge grin threatening to break forth. His adoration for the resilient doctor had skyrocketed once he saw how she was able to swiftly recover from being beaten and raped by the Joker. Never once did it cross his mind that had the sexual attack been real, a twenty minute recovery time would have been impossible. He didn't care if the Joker had assaulted her and had her before he could, he was so attracted to her and that assault only heightened his desire to have her to protect, just as he had failed to do with Rachel.

Harley leaned back in her chair and watched the video of Bruce changing into his Batman ensemble in her office before he crawled into the ceiling. She shook her head and laughed.

"I'm going to teach you for laying a hand on my poor, sweet Puddin'! I didn't even get to finish because of you!"

A sharp knock at the door broke her out of her thoughts and she closed her laptop.

"Come in."

A beautiful woman with long black hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail led the Joker into the office. She looked as if she had been pulled off of a fashion runway, tossed into a guard's uniform and sent out this afternoon, but something about her stuck Harley. She had an extremely confident and dangerous air about her. She caught Harley's gaze and raised an eyebrow at her bruised face.

"Will you need a guard in here for his session today, Dr. Quinzel?"

"No, thank you, that won't be necessary," Harley said, smiling, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name?"

"Talia…Talia Head."

"Well it's nice to meet you Talia, I'll call you in if I have any problems."

Talia nodded and left the office. The Joker sat on the couch and smiled at Harley who was unsuccessfully trying to stifle a grin.

"Well don't you look like the cat who caught the canary, Harleykins. Tell your Uncle Joker all about it."

Not So Much "Planning" as "Arranging"

"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything,"

Friedrich Nietzsche

The Joker wriggled his way out of his straightjacket a moment after the guard left. He patted his lap and motioned for Harley to sit on his knee, which she did, as quickly as her feet could carry her. She giggled as the Joker bounced her on his lap. He stroked his surprisingly soft hands up and down her legs before his right hand traveled beneath her skirt. He smiled at the cool stickiness he found between her thighs.

"Haaaaarley…you're quite the naughty little girl, aren't you? Didn't even wash up after we got you all filthy."

She stared at him, a serious look falling on her face.

"Mister J, I always wanna have you on me."

The Joker pulled Harley down and crushed his torn lips against hers. While Harley was surprised at his strangely tender act, she already knew better than to show it, and allowed him to have access to whatever he wanted to do with her body. When his head lowered to mouth her breast, she nearly told him the information she had found out about Batman, but something in the back of her mind stopped her.

IYou gotta be sure about this, Harls…a video from Meg that she coulda pranked you with and a coincidental Bat drop in…ha ha ha! 'Bat droppin'!' But if…if ya tell Mista J and he gets excited and you're wrong, he'll be so embarrassed! And if he beats ya when he likes ya, just think what he'll do if he's angry./I

The Joker sighed against her and slapped her harshly on her now bared chest.

"It's rude to ignore someone who's paying so much attention to you, Harleykins."

"I…I'm sorry, Mister J."

"Your mind is elsewhere, isn't it, Pooh?"

She nodded, her heart soaring at his pet name.

"I have something to tell ya, Mister J."

The Joker leaned back as Harley shifted, nervously, on his lap.

IUhhhhhh what could she possibly have to say now? 'Blah blah blah, I miss you, blah blah blah I love you, blah blah blah.' Yeesh, Harls…it'll be a waste if I have to kill you now after all my hard work!/I

"Well. Go on then," he said, sighing.

Steeling herself for the blow, Harley squeaked out her confession.

"I hadta work with Bruce Wayne today cuz he's the benefactor for the Asylum and if I didn't they wanted to send you to Burgess to get a lobotomy and I'd rather die than see anything like that happen to you, and the only way I could get him to believe me and not send you away was to agree to go out on a date and who him my notes about you, but I won't really give him any of my real notes, just the fake ones I'll write later and it's not really a really real date, at least not for me, Puddin', cuz I think he's a moron and he's nothing compared to you, and I don't wanna do anything with anyone else besides you, because I love you!"

Harley smiled nervously at the Joker, who was staring at her, his face eerily calm. She stoked his neck gently, her eyes shifting, trying desperately to read his face.

"Puddin'?"

He chuckled at the pet name before his eyes focused on the surprisingly sharp letter opener that sat upon a pile of unopened letters on Harley's desk. Heaving her back so she lay on the couch, he placed a lingering kiss against her left breast before grabbing the letter opener. Harley's eyes went wide as he jumped onto her, the letter opener wielded in his right hand. She squeaked as he pressed it into her mouth. Despite his violent action, his left hand snaked around and gently gripped the back of her skull, his fingers petting her. He smiled when he felt her neck muscles relax against his grip slightly.

"Did I ever tell you how I got these scars, Harleykins?"

"Y…yes, Mister J, you did…your…your cat."

"My cat? I never had a cat, Harls…what's going on in that pretty little brain of yours?"

"I…I…."

He shrugged.

"I had this wife, Harls, and she," he trailed off, overcome by laughter for a moment, "She was a naughty girl, Harls, just like you…but she found another 'friend' to keep her warm at night. She forgot who she belonged to, see? And she came home one night and I tried to show her…after everything was done, I went to sleep, and I woke up a few hours later to her doing this to me. I tried to stop her, but she kept doing it…said I couldn't touch her anymore because she didn't belong to me."

Harley's eyes were wide.

"What did you do, Mister J?"

"I sliced her up and sent her to her boy toy. He could keep an eye on her better that way. And I learned, my dear little Harlequin, to always claim what's mine."

Holding Harley down, he jammed the letter opener into her left breast. His free hand reached around to cover her mouth as he shushed her. Her mind raced as she felt the sharp letter opener drag underneath her flesh. A strange flash in his eyes caught Harley's attention, and her squirming stilled.

IHe…he loves me…he won't kill me…he's just…just making his mark on me. Calm down, Harls, just let him do what he needs to do. Just support him like that stupid bitch of a wife should have done. /I

After a few more tugging pulls on her skin, the Joker sat back and admired his work. He smiled and stood, licking the letter opener clean before replacing it on her desk. The Joker smiled at her and grabbed her skull, pushing her face into his lap. Not one to deny him anything, Harley pushed the pain to the back of her mind, and focused on the task of freeing his cock from his Arkham pajamas. An almost inaudible hiss escaped his lips as she swallowed his rigid member with a moan. Holding her head down, he pumped quickly into her mouth, causing tears to stream down her face. He laughed, mercilessly, and pulled her up, bending her over her desk and thrusting into her drenched quim. She bucked against him and came with an intense fury when he reached forward and caressed the bleeding wound on her breast. Wrapping a hand around her throat, the image of strangling the life out of her pushed the Joker over the edge, and he filled her again with a grunt.

"I've been thinking about doing that since I met you, Harls."

She turned her torso so she could see him, and gave him a blindingly bright smile, blissfully unawares that he didn't quite mean what she thought he did. He pulled out of her and tucked himself back into his pants, and then pushed Harley onto the couch. She stumbled, but regained her composure before sitting down. He grabbed a dark sweater that had been hanging by the door and tossed it onto Harley's lap, before sitting down next to her and licking the blood on her breast clean.

"Wipe that down later, and wear the sweater until you leave tonight. If anyone asks why…kill them."

Harley pulled the offered sweater on and stuttered.

"K…k…kill them?"

"It was a joke, Harls, jeez, lighten up."

Her face contorted into a confused look, before she broke out into an infectious laughter, which the Joker quickly joined in with. He pulled on the straightjacket, flashing Harley a telling glare.

"A little help, Pooh."

Harley quickly obliged, securing him, however loosely, in the straightjacket. She glanced at the clock.

"We still have a few minutes, Mister J."

He chuckled.

"Still want to play doctor, Harley? I thought that ship had sailed."

"I just have a question…call it an educational learning experience, Puddin'."

He sighed.

"Fine."

"If you were able to torture the Batman, say, you found out his secret identity, what would you do?"

He jumped up and planted a giant kiss on her forehead.

"Now that's the kind of therapy I've always needed, Harley!"

She beamed with pride.

"I try my best, Mister J."

"Good girl," he said, laying down, "Well, first I'd find out who the one person who made him happy was, and when he least expected it, BLAMMO! I'd hit 'em with a truck."

"A truck?"

"Well, it doesn't all have to be boat bombs and exploding zinnias, Harls."

Still at their apartment, Meg pouted at her cell phone.

ISure, I do all this work for nothing! Harley doesn't even appreciate it. Well, fine, then, bitch. If you don't care, I don't care, and this little bit of info is going right In the garbage. You can find your own way to a million bucks…a million bucks…no, no, Megs, it's the principle of the thing!/I

Before she could talk herself out of it, Meg deleted the file containing Bruce Wayne's Batman reveal and signed onto Harley's email address.

"Geez, Harley, what'd I tell you? Never use your birthday as your password!"

After purging the file from all of the venues she could access, Meg leaned back in the computer chair and sighed. A bevy of tiny mewings from the kitchen caught her attention and she ran in to find her cat, Buffy, with six tiny kittens feeding from her. The kittens were young, but not just born. She looked over at the open window leading to the fire escape, and assumed that the cat had systematically brought her kittens up one-by-one after they were a little more robust.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me! Buffy, you little slut!"

She laughed and plopped down next to the furry family. Three white kittens were huddled together and were sitting next to a pair of black and white spotted kittens. The smallest sat by herself, and was especially tiny and entirely black. Meg picked her up, entranced by her sleek fur and long neck. When the kitten looked up at her with shining amber eyes, she was struck with the proper moniker to bestow on the runt. Feeding her with an eyedropper full of milk, Meg found herself totally enamored with Isis.

Underground

"But anyhow what can a decent man speak about with the most pleasure?

Answer: about himself.

So then I, too, will speak about myself."

Dostoevsky, INotes From Underground/I

The Joker laughed almost the entire way back to his cell from Harley's office, even though they had to make a pit stop for his daily shower time. It didn't register with him yet that she hadn't left his mind for an hour. It was the first time in quite a while that his mind was this lucid, even if his thoughts of her were disjointed, if you didn't count his musings on Batman. Harley's little venture into his imagination for getting one in on Bats really put him in a good mood. For reasons he didn't notice at the moment, Harley was the one thing that could draw his focus away from torturing Batman, but when she was focusing on his new favorite pastime, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and dance for hours, giggling along with whatever music happened to be playing. At the moment, he was giggling along with Beethoven's Ninth as it played through his mind. His guard, Talia, didn't appreciate his peals of joyous giggles, but he could honestly care less.

IMost guys would think she's attractive…long, lean frame, stern face…little dominatrix…not me. I like my girls a little more like a china doll…delicate features, beautiful faces, and easily breakable./I

Talia brought him out of his musings with a swap from her nightstick.

"Can it, clown."

He sobered for a moment, and ceased walking, instead, choosing to stare into her face.

"Interesting last name you have there, isn't it? Very…Anglicanized for an obviously…alien member of our society. What is that tinge of an accent you have there, Talia? Hmm? Now, my Arabic is a liiiiiiiittle rusty…come to think of it, my Dzongkha's even rustier…maybe you can give me a hand? I seem to remember a very interesting name that translates into 'Head.' Ras….rasa…huh, it's gone. Shoot. What waaas that name…?"

Talia paled at his words, but quickly regained herself. She had inherited her father's composition, after all.

"It's unimportant. Back to cell now."

The Joker, pleased to have gotten under her skin so easily, shrugged and obliged her, and walked calmly into his cell. As she reached forward to shut the door, he cleared his throat.

"Would you be a lamb and see when I'll be going for my walk today? I recall good Doctor Quinzel saying something about that earlier. And I want to…catch her before she leaves for the day."

Talia nodded and walked, briskly, away, leaving the Joker alone in his cell. He noticed he was still in his straightjacket, but he nimbly divested himself of the constriction in a few seconds. As he sat, patiently, for his entertainment to return, his mind began to wander.

IWonder if that little memento I left on Harls is still bleeding…heh heh heh she probably keeps reopening it bouncing around her office. She's so close to being complete…a few more incisions and she'll be all ready to play with…a perfect little harlequin doll…just have to whittle those imperfections out of her so she'll make a suitable partner. Can't help but love the little twit…wait…what? Love? Pshhh…I didn't think that…I just…appreciate what she's becoming…a counterpart…a double…yin to my yang…or yang to my yin…I forget how that works. Heh heh maybe we can start a family of little ones who'll be ahead of the curve like me./I

He broke out into hysterical laughter at his thought, much to the chagrin of the other inmates in the wing.

IKids? Hahaha hoohoo heehee listen to me! I can't have kids now! I'm still a swinging bachelor…they should replace that dolt Wayne's picture with mine for most eligible!/I

Stuck by intense jealousy for some reason, the Joker's laughter ceased, and his face hardened.

IThat stupid girl…whoring herself out to keep me here for herself…keep me from being sent away. Me! Like they could send me anywhere I didn't want to go. I'm only here because I enjoy her company…be…because she's interesting enough to stick around to toy with…ha…ha…I've gotta get out of here! I'm going crazy!/I

The Joker stalked around his cell like a caged tiger; his thoughts juggernauted through his skull in discombobulated fragments, until a quiet tap came from the cell's window. There Harley stood, attempting to stifle her desire to see him while the perturbed guard looked on. Harley's face fell slightly when she saw how frustrated the Joker seemed.

"Are you alright, Mister J? You look pale."

A small smile betrayed his happiness to see his mentally decaying doctor. When he realized it, he forced a scowl and leered at Harley.

"I didn't ask for you to come down here, doc, just needed to know when I'll get my walk."

Harley's obvious pain at his words sent his mood soaring.

"Talia, you may go back to your desk now, I need to speak with my patient in private for a moment. Can you unlock his cell, please?"

Talia began to voice her discomfort with the idea, but a glaring look from the Joker silenced her. She unlocked the door and handed Harley a stun gun.

"Call me if you need anything, Doctor Quinzel."

"Thank you."

After Talia was gone, Harley stepped into the cell and was immediately pushed against the wall by the Joker's strong arms. His eyes were wild, flickering between boring into hers and traveling over her shivering body.

"What are you doing to me?"

"Mista J…wh…what do you mean?"

He let her fall to the floor, and paced back and forth in front of her.

"You're…you're in my head! I wish…I just," he growled and punched the wall where her head had been. "I wish I could just strap you to a rocket ship and send you to the moon!"

Harley stuck her bottom lip out in a pout and sniffled, looking up at the Joker with doe eyes.

"Pow, right in the kisser, Mista J?"

The Joker scowled at her, then broke out in laughter, sliding down the wall so he was leaning against Harley's scrunched-together form. He pressed a kiss onto her forehead before relaxing, his back against the wall. Harley tentatively reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing every digit diligently. Pulling his hand free, he threw her back onto the floor and pushed her skirt up around her waist. He freed himself from his pants and thrust into her, pumping at a painfully quick pace. When she reached her left hand up to cup his face, he grabbed her left ring finger and sucked it into his mouth. Harley came with a gasp, and he released her finger from his mouth, but grabbed it again with his right hand, tightly. As he continued to thrust into her, he snapped her finger back. He covered her mouth with his free hand as she screamed in agony, and he felt himself come at the pained expression on her face. The Joker rolled off of her and pulled her skirt down, his hand still covering her mouth as she whimpered and wept at the burning pain in her finger. He pulled her up so she stood, on shaky legs, before him, tears streaming down her face. He licked the salty beads from her cheeks and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Every bride cries at her wedding, doesn't she, Harls?"

Harley's eyes squinted in confusion, but her crying ceased and she righted her outfit, trying not to put any pressure on her broken digit.

"I…I…I have to go, Puddin'."

She walked out of the cell and, in her confusion, forgot to lock it after she closed the door. She smiled at Talia as she dropped the keys off at her desk.

"Have a good night, Ms. Head. Please take him for a walk around the grounds at your leisure. I'll write you a pass."

Talia nodded, not desiring to question the doctor.

"Goodnight, Dr. Quinzel."

Harley scribbled out a pass for the Joker, then briskly walked out of the wing and forced the lingering doubts in her mind to silence. She stopped at the cafeteria and bought a melting grape popsicle, which she pressed against her broken finger as she walked to her office. She shoved the sugary ice into her garbage can and went about the task of setting her broken finger with the popsicle stick and some scotch tape. She left a few minutes later, and when she got to her car, she pulled her shirt open to reveal the quickly scabbing, jagged letter "J" that he carved into her breast earlier. Her broken finger ghosted over it and she shuddered, her eyes rolling back into her skull. She buttoned up her bloodied shirt and drove home, wondering how she would be able to concentrate on anything other than her Puddin' while out on a date with the man she was ninety-nine percent sure was Batman.

The Joker's mind went blank with rage after Harley left his cell. How dare she leave him without saying goodbye? And why was he getting upset that she didn't say goodbye to him? If she was with him right now, he'd be covered in the confetti he'd make from her skin and intestines! In his anger, he kicked at the door, and was surprised to find it swing open. His grin spread across his face, even more so than it normally did, when he realized that one of the nurses had left a clipboard hanging outside of the door. He slinked out of the cell, broke part of the clipboard off, and, in a flash, pulled Talia against himself and was holding a surprisingly sharp hunk of metal up to her throat. She writhed against him, and he resolved to ignore the fact that her ministrations did nothing for him compared to his little Harlequin doll's similar movements. He snarled at her and put his lips close to her ear.

"Do you have a car?"

Before she could respond, the pudgy Nurse Gemmelt waddled in, pushing a cart full of butterscotch pudding cups. The Joker, catching sight of what the cart was carrying, burst out laughing, before he rushed over to her and snapped her neck. He took a cup off of the tray and emptied it into his mouth. Talia's face went pale and she gasped.

"What…my god, how could you do that?"

He shrugged.

"It was my pudding. See?"

He held up a list he found on the cart and pointed to his name.

"Everybody gets dessert at the same time."

"No…Nurse…she…she was a grandmother! You could've just knocked her out or…you didn't have to kill her! She…she defended you to the other guards, you know!"

"Why does everyone ask me Iwhy/I I do things? Why do I kill? Why do I torment? Why? Because it's too boring to sit there with folded arms. I get…I get flourishes that need to be expressed. But that's unimportant now. Where…is…your…car?"

She shuddered.

"I…it's in the lot…I'll do whatever you say, just…you aren't going to rape me then kill me, are you?"

He was overcome by laughter.

"No! I'm spoken for, sweet cheeks, but I appreciate the offer. Let's go already."

Talia led him out, his hands seemingly secured in chains. She had no intention of blowing him in, lest she suffer the same fate as the overweight nurse, or, possibly worse, have her familial history revealed, and be pursued by the Batman. She'd be damned if she let her father's choices ruin her chances in this country…and she'd rather die than return to his encampment in Bhutan. When the Joker demanded they detour to Harvey Dent's room, she willingly complied, and guarded the door while he spoke with the former DA. Harvey sat up when the Joker entered his room with a broad grin.

"I just figured I'd say goodbye, Harvey…I'm going on a little vacation…need to clear my head, you know. Just me and," he motioned to the door with his thumb and rolled his eyes, "What's her face…unless you wanna join me? I'm sure we can squeeze you in!"

"Join you? Why the hell would I want to join you?"

The Joker shrugged.

"We can get Mc Donald's. Or Burger King. Or both!"

Harvey stared at him for a moment, before standing with a deranged half-smile.

"We'll flip for it."

A Date With Destiny

"Badness is of the self, the one, the you or me on our oddy knockies, and that self is made by old Bog or God and is his great pride and radosty. But the not-self cannot have the bad, meaning they of the government and the judges and the schools cannot allow the bad because they cannot allow the self. And is not our modern history, my brothers, the story of brave malenky selves fighting these big machines?"

Burgess, IA Clockwork Orange/I

Harley bustled around her apartment, clad only in a red thong, her favorite purple pumps, and a black t-shirt, which covered the scabbing "tattoo" the Joker had given her earlier that day. She had pressed a little India ink she had picked up on her way home to give the scar a little…panache? Whatever her reasoning was, she was sure that she wanted to keep her little…mark a secret from Meg for as long as possible. At the moment, Meg was plopped on their leather couch, stifling a laugh while she watched as Harley ran in and out of her bedroom, each time holding up a different outfit. Flipping through a magazine, Meg sighed.

"Harley, for a date with someone you don't like, you sure do care a lot about what you're gonna wear."

Harley scowled at her, holding a short dark silver dress in front of herself. It was high-necked, and accented with a pleated ruffle which would fall just above her clavicle, hiding her scar from the world, but giving the impression to everyone else that she was just trying to seem demure.

"It's not about Bruce Wayne, Meg," Harley said with a groan, "I just know the type of attention he attracts, and I want to look my best in the papers…you know…provided I get into any of them…just so, you know, everyone will see me at my best."

"And by 'everyone,' you mean the Joker."

"What?"

Meg rolled her eyes.

"You still aren't over that, are ya?"

"Over what?"

"This…thing, whatever it is, with the Joker."

"There's nothing going on, Meg. Now, is this dress presentable or not?"

"You were presentable ten outfits ago, Harls…you're just killing time now. And what's with you hiding the goodies? I've never known you to shy away from flaunting your assets," she said, pointing at Harley's breasts.

Harley stuck out her tongue at Meg.

"You're just jealous."

"Of what? Your smaller tits, or your date?"

"Either. Or both!"

Meg scoffed.

"Oh yeah, because I'm dying to trade down to a B cup and go out with the B-man," she said with a cruel chuckle.

"Shit! I didn't even think of that! What if I slip up and call him Batsie?"

"Laugh it off?"

"You sound just like Mista J," Harley said with a longing sigh.

Meg raised an eyebrow at her.

"Mista?"

Harley turned her back to Meg and took off her t-shirt before pulling the dress on.

"You know my accent slips out when I'm nervous…just like my Mom."

"And the Joker makes you nervous?"

When Harley glared at her, Meg nodded.

"Stupid question."

"I should say so."

"You didn't answer my question, though, Harley."

"About what?"

"About why you're suddenly being so modest…whatsammata? Got a love bite from your clowny snookums?"

When Harley didn't answer, Meg jumped up and grabbed her shoulders, wrenching her around to face her.

"Harley? What's going on? Did he…did he do something to you?"

"No! Meg…I…we…."

"Harley! Don't lie to me! Take off that dress and show me!"

"No!"

"Harleen Quinzel, if you don't take off that dress right now, I'll rip it off of you and you'll have nothing to wear tonight!"

Harley opened her mouth to protest, then closed it with a sigh. She sat down on the couch and hung her head in her hands.

"Megs, I think I'm in trouble."

Meg nodded and walked into their kitchen. She grabbed a rolodex off of the counter and flipped through it, before grabbing a card and handing it to Harley as she walked back into the living room. Harley raised her eyebrow at the card, before shoving it in her purse.

"What's this for?"

"Call it a safe house," Meg said with a sigh, "It's where I went when I had that fight with Merkel."

Harley nodded, sagely.

"Petey really did a number on you, girl."

"Yeah. Good thing for him he's locked up now. I'd kick his ass now if I got the chance…thank God for tae kwon do, eh? Don't care how bendy that son-of-a-bitch is, I'd catch him and beat the bend outta him."

"It'd serve him right."

"You bet. Just promise me if you and 'Mista J' ever get in a tiff and for some reason he gets outta Arkham, you'll go have Pammy hide you out."

"Pammy?"

"My boss' sister. Pam Isely. Owns a huge plant nursery just outside the city. She's sweet…relatively speaking."

"A diamond in the rough?"

"Closer to the nectar from a cactus. You know it's there, but you'll get tore up before you can get to it."

Harley rolled her eyes and drew Meg into a hug.

"I love you, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's hope you never have to go there. What's he done to you anyway? Hickeys all up and down…."

Harley pulled down her dress' top to reveal the torn flesh on her breast. Meg's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped.

"Harley…."

"He had good reason to do it, Meg…and it's not as bad as it looks! I put India Ink in it which is why the color looks a little off. It's the only physical thing he's ever done to me besides biting me a bit and screwing me really hard, and…."

"Yet. That's all he's done yet, you idiot! He's not going to stop, Harley…believe me. Pete didn't stop. If you let him…you can't…you have to break it off with him, Harls. Give him another doctor and be done with it."

"I can't! He…he needs me! I know I'm in way over my head, but I can't give up on him! I thought you would understand that…maybe just give me some tips on how to make him happy so he won't….God! I can't believe I even told you!"

"You can't treat that Ithing/I, Harley. He's disgusting."

"He's not a thing! He's a god!"

"Harley! Listen to yourself! Just because you think you're in love with him, you let him assault you? Cut you up? Mark you? He'll kill you when he gets tired of this game, Harley, and you're a bigger idiot than I thought if you can't see that."

Harley's eyes filled with tears. When a car horn sounded outside, she pulled her dress back up and grabbed her purse.

"He would never…I'm not a game to him…an…and maybe I'm in over my head because he's so ahead of the curve! I'll just have to catch up to him, that's all."

Harley slammed the door as she ran down to Bruce Wayne's waiting limousine. She smiled sweetly when he asked if she was alright.

"I'm fine, Bruce, really. Just a catfight with my roomie. Not a big deal. Now, where is the most eligible bachelor in the city going to take a little criminal psychologist for dinner?"

"A surprise," Bruce replied with a charming smile. "If you'll indulge me."

She nodded and relaxed in the plush seats of the limousine.

IGirl could get used to this. Wonder if Mista J has ever been in a swanky car like this. Ha! I bet he wouldn't think much of it. He's a guy of simple tastes after all. Though it might be fun to dress up and go out with him like this some night. I can't believe I ever doubted my sweet angel! I need to protect him from people like Meg…people who don't understand him because they're too stupid to realize he's so far above them…like the Batman. Oy. Look at him over there smiling at me…oh, yeah, yeah I'm oh-so impressed that you have a fucking limo. Oh, you're so great, your parents got offed and now you play dress up at night and beat up poor, defenseless geniuses like my Puddin'! And even poor Doctor Crane…and Harvey! I bet if I was in a costume, he'd knock me around too! At least Mista J doesn't need an excuse to hit me…he's doing it for me. For me to grow. He just wants to help me. Oh, shit…has he been talking this whole time? Oh…oh, oh god, ok…ok…just smile and nod, Harls./I

Bruce motioned to the now opened door of the car and slid out before offering her his hand. She smile and climbed out, trying desperately to ascertain her surroundings.

IOkay…street sign street sign street sign…dammit! Why don't they put signs up around this friggin' city? And we're walking…on a dark street. In the middle of Gotham City. Good lord, is he trying to get some creep-o to try and rob us so he can act all heroic? Oy vey. Yeah, my mother woulda loooooooved you! 'Oh, Harleen, he's not a docta, but he's a good man! He can take you out for dinner and save you from muggers! And that hair! Oh! Imagine the grandchildren you two will give me! Maybe he can get you to go to church with him! Those Waynes were good Catholics, you know…maybe if you start going to mass right away you'll wind up in limbo with all the unbaptized babies instead of burning in hell! Yes, yes, I know I still have the accent, Harleen! Don't take that tone with me, young lady! Jesus was a Jew too, you know, and he…Harleen! He's talking to you and you're ignoring him again! How am I going to get grandchildren when you ignore the best man that ever…' Oy./I

As Harley's mother's voice faded from her mind, Bruce cleared his throat, bringing her back to the moment. He was holding the door to a small Mexican restaurant open for her. She forced a smile and entered.

"La Galera? Bruce, I've never even heard of this place…what brings us here?"

"You mean aside from what I mentioned about my father sneaking us here when I was young? I like their enchiladas," he said with a laugh. "But it reminds me of him…he never told my mother about our trips here, though…it was always between him and me…and Alfred."

"Ah…I see. I just…I didn't really pit you for the spicy food kind of fella."

"And what kind of food do I seem like?"

Harley rolled her eyes to one side and bit her lip, as if in deep thought for a moment, then grinned at him.

"Warm toast."

Bruce frowned as they were seated.

"I'm toast?"

"Warm toast. Possibly with butter. It's nice…toast is comforting, and safe."

"And pretty boring."

"It has crumbs! Crumbs aren't that boring, and you can always put jelly on toast!"

A brief silence fell on them, which Bruce shattered with a laugh.

"And what food would you be, Harley?"

She shrugged.

"A cupcake, maybe? I don't know…I don't think I'm finished cookin' yet…maybe a piece of cinnamon gum…spicy at first, but sweet at the end," she said with a wink.

"Fair enough. What about our reason for being here tonight?"

"Huh?"

"The Joker. What food would he be?"

"A cayenne pepper filled with toothpaste that's been deep-fried in a vat of butter and cyanide, topped off with smooshed-up escargot and a lit stick of dynamite stuck inside of it right before it's served."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at her.

"Multiple personality food, I think."

"He's multiple personality? Is that your professional opinion?"

"Actually, not in my estimation, no…he…he transcends normal psychological studies, Bruce…if you get too involved with him you lose yourself, but he can be so charming that it's easy to forget what he's done…which is why so many of his doctors failed so miserably. If I'm going to help him and keep my sanity, I have to be able to understand that."

Bruce smiled sadly at her, his mind replaying the scene he witnessed of her being "raped," from his perspective, by the Joker.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're keeping your wits about you. You have my attention, Harley…why should Arkham keep such a threat to the city around here? Wouldn't he be better off…wouldn't we all be better off if he was just sent off to Burgess and lobotomized?"

Harley shook her head, vehemently.

"No! He…Bruce, even if they did that to him, there's no guarantee that he won't become even worse! Sometimes lobotomies calm patients…and other times…other times they become more violent. Aside from that, if he's gone, I think I'll be out of a job. At the moment, he and Dr. Crane are my only patients, and as much as Joan likes me, she can't keep me on staff to take care of one patient."

"And we can't have you out of work."

"Of course not! No one likes a doctor who's out of a job…sitting at home and eating cold Spaghetti-O's all day long, letting someone else pick up the bills," she said, grinning. "But I honestly believe that he's changing."

"Didn't he attack you today?"

"Yes, but he's never really done that before, at least not where I was actually assaulted."

He glanced at her, taking note of the broken finger on her left hand…he didn't remember seeing the Joker break the digit earlier, but he could've been mistaken.

"Is that how you broke your finger?"

She looked down at her wrapped finger and blushed.

"No…no, I did that to myself…slammed it in my car door when I got home. Hurt like you wouldn't believe. But I would've understood if he had broken it…he was under such stress, and just…he just got scared and acted out. I just happened to be at the wrong place and the wrong time. He could've killed me…and he didn't."

"But he will if given another chance, Harley. We've had a slew of doctors and nurses killed because they thought he was getting better."

"I understand your concern, Bruce, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm safe with him, I think. He's had so many opportunities to kill me and he…well, he's had a knife at my throat more than once and he…he falters when he's there. He acts like he doesn't want to do anything, but he's just trying to call out to me to help him. The first time I met him, he grabbed me and kept me from getting glass in my eyes when it fell around us. I have to think that's because he understands that I really want to help him…not for some recognition or any other purpose…but just because I want to help him. He's a narcissist, so anything that's all about him is of interest, I think."

"Why do you think he falters? Does he…," Bruce trailed off, searching for the most delicate way to put his thought without dredging up the pain he supposed Harley would feel at his sentiment. "Do you think that he has some ulterior motive for not killing you? Perhaps he…he has some attraction to you beyond having someone to fuel his narcissism?"

Harley suppressed a smile and shook her head.

"No…no, but I believe he's found that he can open up to me. I've read file after file about his lies and I've noticed his tics…where he tells the truth, and how, and I can read his expressions when he's lying and when he's not. I can tell when he's bullshitting me, and he realizes it. We have…an understanding, at least, and I've gotten him to tell me bits and pieces about his past that I've compiled into a legitimate history."

Bruce's interest was piqued.

"Really? Can you share anything?"

"Well," she said, smiling as she leaned forward across the table, "Did you ever wonder how he got those scars?"

Curiosity Killed Her Cats

"Curiosity can do more things than kill a cat; and if emotions, well recognized as feminine, are inimical to feline life, then jealousy would soon leave the whole world catless."

O. Henry's Schools and Schools

The Joker stood in Harley's kitchen, his eyes flitting around the apartment, taking everything in. He was dressed in the pair of dark pants, a purple shirt, black trench coat, and black fedora that he made Talia procure for him before she dropped him off at the apartment. The outfit didn't have his usual flair, but it was preferable to his Asylum pajamas. He suggested as he climbed out of her car that, after she dropped Harvey off, she take a vacation out of the country. At the very least, she had successfully gotten him the correct type of stage makeup that he liked to use. He leaned over the sink in her kitchen, staring into the mirror which hung above it, and applied his trademark "show" face. When he was done, he glanced about his surroundings. The package he had so meticulously made sure to send out to Harley while he was still incarcerated in Arkham sat on the counter, underneath a pile of assorted letters and bills. He rolled his eyes as he picked it up and opened it.

IStupid little twit…letting my joke go to waste./I

Inside of the envelope was a simple picture that he had drawn in his cell. It depicted a crayola colored version of himself and Harley, her cartoon self bent over her desk in her office, and his animated image stabbing some nurse with her pen as he looked to be mid-thrust deep inside of Harley. On the back of the page was written a list of her "hangouts," which his recently deceased employee had documented. He had scribbled a love note of sorts to her after his list, saying, "Doc, if I can find out all of your info, how easy is it for the scum on the outside? You really should padlock your door at night, Pooh." He was slightly happy that she hadn't read it, as it made it that much simpler to break into her apartment. He crumpled up the picture and tossed it onto the floor.

He sighed as his eyes fell on a picture of Harley and some dark-haired girl he assumed was her roommate in bikinis at the beach. The picture was slightly faded and Harley's hair was noticeably shorter. He supposed that it was taken a few years earlier. He glared at their smiling faces for a moment before picking the picture up and heaving it at the wall. The cheap faux metal frame snapped in half and the glass exploded into confetti on the floor. He laughed quietly as he imagined Harley stepping on the shards with her bare feet. A tiny mewing brought him out of his mind's musings. The Joker glanced under the kitchen table at a black and white cat feeding a bevy of kittens. Their patchy fur betrayed their recent birth, but their eyes were open and bright. A sleek black one, the smallest of the six, was standing successfully, albeit on wobbly legs. They were propped up on a small pillow, embroidered with the phrase "Cats Always Land on Their Feet." His smile reflected eerily in the half-opened window. Taking one of the white kittens by the scruff of its neck, he held it a few inches above the floor and then dropped it. With a little cry, it landed on its feet. He stood up and scowled.

"Huh."

Grabbing another kitten, he stood straight up and dropped it a few feet. Again, it landed on its feet. He picked it up again and dropped it, after positioning its back towards the ground. It twisted in the air as soon as the Joker's hands left its body, and landed on its feet. The kitten attempted a ferocious growl at him, before stumbling back to its mother's side.

"Well I'll be," he said, before glancing up at the window, his attention drawn by the sound of a horn honking. He peered out of the window, seeing that the cause of the noise was a limping man attempting to cross the street and get to the bar. His mind landing back on his task at hand, he poked the window's screen in front of him. He opened the window and pulled the screen out and threw it behind him, not caring that he knocked a vase of red roses onto the carpet. While he was occupied with this, Isis, the tiny black kitten, wobbled away and went for a nap under Meg's bed. Picking up one of the black and white speckled kittens, he ignored its tiny mewings as he dangled it out of the window by the scruff of its neck. He dropped it, his attention intently focused on watching the tuft of fur fall. When it landed in a broken heap, he giggled.

"Nope."

He repeated the process with each kitten, save Isis, who he did not care to realize was not in the bunch. After each kitten subsequently was dropped to its death, he laughingly said, "Nope." Buffy, the mother of the newly deceased kittens, was growling, in an attempt to make her anger known. The Joker scowled at her.

"Gooooood kitty, kitty, niiiice kitty…you wanna go for a ride? Huhhhh? Come on! It'll be fuuuun!"

He grabbed her, but not without receiving a few scratches on his arms. He was offended at the affront to his person, but put it out of his mind as he held her out of the window. He tossed her out into the road below. She faltered as she landed on the ground, and he marveled at her agility as she landed, on her feet. He began to wonder if there was some age-related stipulation to the rule, but he was cut short when a car barreled over her, embedding her into the asphalt. Pausing for a moment, the Joker stared down at the crushed and limp bodies of the cats, then broke out in peals of laughter. Leaning out of the window, still laughing, he caught sight of the man who had been making his way across the street. The man, in a dirty baseball cap pulled over scraggly hair, was leaning on the outer wall of the bar, smoking, and talking to a woman he recognized acutely. He picked up one of the many pictures of Meg and Harley that littered the apartment and held it up against his view of the raven-haired woman.

"Yep."

He looked at the clock, double-checking that he still had time before he guessed that Harley would be home, and smiled.

"I think I'm long overdue for a beer."

He pulled the fedora over his eyes and popped the collar of the trench coat up around his chin, before meandering out of the apartment. As he walked down the stairs, he passed a lanky, middle-aged woman who was holding a full laundry basket on her hip. Her hair was a brassy, bleached-blonde where her roots hadn't grown in, her eyes were dull and uneven, and she had the overwhelming odor one can only achieve after being in an unventilated room with a dozen cigar smokers for hours. Her nostrils flared at the sight of him, and he thought, for a moment, that she recognized him.

"You're with one of those little twits upstairs who always steal my parking space, aren't you? I had to park on the side lot because of you and those stupid little skanks!"

The Joker was under a severe amount of stress. Breaking out of Arkham, killing the fat nurse, performing a scientific experiment disproving the validity of the "cats always land on their feet" hypothesis, made him tired. And when he was tired, he was…well, crankier than usual. Not that he needed a reason for violence, but he was an agent of chaos, after all. His hand flew out, his previously hidden knife swinging back and forth. It found her neck and sliced deeply into her jugular. Blood spurted out in a pleasing manner and, after gurgling for a moment, she fell onto the floor in a heap. After checking to make sure that she had no pulse, he smiled and grabbed one of the sweaters from her spilled laundry basket and wrapped it around her neck.

"Since Harls is out on a date, I guess it's only fair I get one too, don't you think? And I can't have you bleeding all over me, now can I?"

He hooked one of her limp arms around his shoulder and carried her across the street to the bar. To his relief, Meg and the staggering man had already gone back inside, and the left the body of Harley's dead neighbor propped up in the small foyer he had to walk through to get into the bar. The Joker walked into the Evening Star, his face fairly covered by the trench coat's collar. The bar was empty, save the lump of a man sitting with his head hanging over a bottle of Labatt Blue and a half-empty shot of Crown Royal. The man muttered something that sounded a bit like "Always good to see ya," before he looked over at the Joker. He stared at the Joker for a moment, his eyes half-closed, and blinking at different intervals.

"What's up? She's in the back if you want a drink."

The Joker raised an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"You know damn well who! Meg! She's a good girl."

"Ah…right…the one that lives with the little blonde across the street?"

"Yeah. She's a good girl too…but she bitches way too much."

The Joker laughed.

"I think you may be right, uhh…."

"Sammy…well, actually it's Santos, but don't call me Santo Claus."

Sammy took a swig of his shot and wobbled on the seat, laying his head down on the bar and slowly passing out.

"You got a gun," he asked sleepily, holding a limp arm up to the back of his head, "Pull the fuckin' trigger!"

"Sammy, don't say that," Meg said, her head down as she focused on tossing ice in the cooler. Without looking up, she directed her question at the customer she didn't realize was the Joker.

"What can I getcha, hon?"

He grinned widely as she looked up, her eyes widening in horror as she recognized who he was.

"Jack and coke?"

Meg's scream was cut short by a knife jutting out across her gut. The Joker hopped over the bar and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels off of the counter. He hit her over the head with it, and she collapsed into bloodied unconsciousness. He pulled the top off of the bottle, and doused the bar with the whisky, before going about and dumping the contents of all of the other bottles of alcohol behind the bar onto the floor and counters. As the bottles shattered around the seemingly lifeless Meg, the Joker lit a match and tossed it into a puddle on the floor. It ignited instantly, and he hopped over the bar before tossing a match on it as well, and setting it ablaze. Despite the noise and heat of the fire that was making its way to him, Sammy didn't stir. The Joker walked out of the bar, but turned back around and dragged Sammy out, leaving him in the parking lot, before running across the empty street and back into Harley's apartment. He figured that he could further the cause of chaos more by leaving a creature like Sammy alive. He laid down on Harley's bed, stretching his legs out, and listened, giggling continuously, as the sirens made their way closer to the burning bar across the street.

Meg woke to the scent of smoke. A ring of fire surrounded her, and she backed up against the cash register, desperately trying to think of an escape route. Had she not seen the Joker's eerily wide grin for herself, she would have assumed that Sammy, the convicted arsonist that he was, had set the blaze. The soda gun was within her reach, and she grabbed it, dousing a part of the flame, and clearing a large enough path the she could run out of the back entrance usually reserved for the owner's family who lived above the bar. Before she ran, she realized that the Joker would most likely be holed up in her apartment, waiting for Harley, and she had no cash to fund an escape. She popped open the register, thankful that for once, her boss had forgotten to change drawers between shifts and shoved a few hundred dollars in her pockets before booking out of the burning bar. She felt the key to Harley's motorcycle in her back pocket, and wheeled it from its parking space in their apartment's lot, trying desperately not to focus on the bodies of the dead cats that lay strewn about the asphalt. Meg started the motorcycle at the end of their road, and drove off into the night, not looking back, as she headed to the only safe-house she knew about.

In the Temple of Venus

"First in the temple of Venus maystow see

Wroght on the wal, ful pitous to biholde,

The broken slepes and sykes colde,

The sacred teres and the lamenting,

The fyry strokes of the desiringe

That loves servaunts in this lyf enduren."

Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, The Knight's Tale (lns 1918-1923)

Harley half-listened to Bruce on the ride back to her apartment. He kept talking about, well, it seemed pretty much anything he could think of. She focused on the purple shoes she was wearing.

IHow can one person talk so much and say nothing? Mista J doesn't always say much…but at least it means somethin'! He thinks he's so much better than my Puddin'! Like he could even come close to being like my genius angel!/I

Flashing red and white lights pulled Harley out of her focus on her shoes and the Joker. A fleet of fire trucks were crowded around the charred remains of the Evening Star. Harley's eyes scoured over the people standing outside of the bar, finally falling on a form covered by a white sheet on the ground.

"Oh, God, no!"

Harley ran out of Bruce's limousine and bolted across the road, not caring that she was nearly run over by a speeding taxicab. She felt a pair of strong arms holding her back as she reached for the sheet. Bruce pulled her back, restraining her with some difficulty.

"Harley! What in the world are you doing?"

She turned, eyes blazing back at him.

"Meg! She was working tonight! My roommate…my…my…my…my best friend!"

Bruce motioned to one of the firemen with his head, his arms still holding the struggling Harley. The fireman came over quickly, his light skin and kind eyes smudged with soot from the remnants of the burning building. Bruce attempted to smile at him.

"My friend's roommate was the bartender working tonight…has there been…is that…have you found anything?"

The fireman adopted a quiet and somber tone.

"Caucasian female between twenty and thirty-five?"

Harley nodded fervently. The fireman clutched his helmet in his hands.

"We…we found a body fitting that description ma'am. Could've been someone else though…we can't say for certain at this point…gotta wait for the dental records and such to come back."

As the fireman walked away, Harley ripped herself away from Bruce's grasp and walked back to the limousine, leaning against it with a sigh. She stared blankly ahead of herself, not caring that Sammy waved at her from the back of a police car. She nearly jumped when her cell phone rang, bringing her out of her trance.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Harley, oh thank God, it's Joan."

"Joan…I…I can't come in now…Meg is…she…the Star burned down and they can't…they found a b…b…body…and…."

"Where are you?"

"Outside of the bar…I was about to go home."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Harley…you need to get someplace safe."

"Why?"

"The Joker escaped."

Joan went into detail about his escape and the havoc he wrought on the Asylum, but her speech fell on deaf ears. Harley had turned around and was facing her apartment, as Bruce continued to speak with the firemen. A movement at her window caught her eye. As her gaze fell to the ground beneath, she could make out the lifeless bodies of her cats. A loud beep sounded in her ear.

"Huh?"

"Harley! Are you there?"

"Yeah…sorry, Joanie…do you know where he went?"

"Well, all we know now is that he absconded with one of the guards…Talia Head."

Harley felt her heart boil with jealous rage, but pushed it out of her mind.

"No clue where they went?"

"Nothing so far, but they found her car in a ditch."

Harley's heart danced around in her chest.

"Is she dead?"

"They don't know…there's no sign of her, but with the Joker, I assume the worst."

Scowling at Joan's comment, Harley tried to calm herself, but failed.

"I see…Joan, is this really important? Meg is…Meg is missing and I…."

"Well I'm sorry to bother you, Harleen, but I was worried for your safety and, as your superior, I have to alert you to any dangers that…."

"I can handle myself with the Joker, Dr. Leland. Thank you for your concern."

Harley flipped her phone shut and turned her attention to Bruce.

"Bruce? I need to go home and get some things…the Joker escaped."

Bruce's face paled and he rushed to her side.

"What? He's behind this, isn't he? I…."

A hazy beam of light in the clouds above made Bruce falter. Where the batsignal once shone in the night sky, a jagged letter "J" now sat. Across the street, the Joker grinned at the image projected in the sky, and patted himself on the back for his genius in telling Harvey to do one small favor for him in return for his breaking him out of Arkham. Bruce's jaw tensed and he turned to Harley.

"I'm sorry, I…I have to go. I'll send Alfred back to drive you wherever you need to go."

Harley nodded absentmindedly and allowed Bruce to hug her gently before he had Alfred drive him off into the night. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse again along with the card that Meg had given her earlier that evening. She dialed the number and was taken aback when a frustrated-sounding woman answered after a few rings.

"Hello?"

"Um, yeah, hiya, um, my name's Harleen Quinzel, and I…uh…may I speak with Pamela, please?"

"Speaking. Wait…Harleen? Harley? You're Meg's friend, right?"

Harley shuddered.

"Yes…she, uh…she said if I needed a safe house I should call, and I…."

"Need a safe house?"

"Yeah."

Pamela rusted some type of paper near the phone and it sounded as if someone coughed in the background.

"Yes, yes, of course. Any woman seeking asylum is welcome here. I assume it's a man you're running from?"

"Sort of…."

"When do you expect to arrive?"

"I shouldn't be too long…my…friend is sending a driver to take me."

"Ah. Alright. Well, we'll get a room ready for you."

Harley flipped her cell phone shut. After speaking briefly with one of the police officers, and leaving her phone number for them to contact her with if they found out anything about Meg. Two of her neighbor's children were wandering across the street as Harley made her way home, their eyes lost and frightened. Lumps of fur and blood spattered the ground outside of her apartment, and Harley staggered around, staring at the lifeless bodies of her cats. So engrossed in the deceased felines, Harley failed to notice that her motorcycle that only she and Meg had keys to was gone. When there again came a slight motion at Harley's apartment window, she was drawn from her repose. The slight glimpse of a light-skinned hand only solidified her sense of who was lurking in her apartment. She scowled inwardly when her heart skipped a beat.

IHarleen Quinzel! He's evil! He's insane! He broke out of the Asylum…left your care…and killed your best friend! And your cats! And he's probably messed up your apartment! He's a bad, bad man…a monster! You need to get out of this right now…cut your losses…move on maybe with Bruce…probably a good choice to move from the Joker to the Batman. Mista J…the Joker…he couldn't possibly love you. Not if he killed Meg in cold blood! He's just using you as a foil…a flophouse…a…a semen deposit box! Oy, Harls, you've really gotten yourself in way over your friggin' head! You should go up there and give him a piece of your mind. Tell him he can't go around knocking off your friends! That lousy stinkin' clown son-of-a…./I

As Harley silently mulled in the street, the window above her slid open, and the Joker stuck his head out, slightly.

"Haaaarley! Get up here! I'm hungry."

When he pouted and pulled himself back inside, Harley suppressed a grin.

IHe needs me! That poor, sweet angel!/I

A Winning Smile

"Choose me, to be a champion,

I am possessing of a very righteous style,

I understand what's happening,

I have charisma, and, of course, a winning smile."

(Rasputina, "Choose Me To Be A Champion,")

Bruce, in full Batman regalia, stood on top of Gotham PD with Commissioner Gordon. Gordon sighed as he shut off what once was the Bat signal.

"I couldn't get up here. The door…he must've locked it from the outside, or I would've gotten here sooner. God only knows how he pieced the thing back together."

"It's alright. What do we know?"

"Well, the Joker's broken out of Arkham. Killed a nurse, probably a guard, but we haven't found a body yet, and there's no trace of him. It's like he fell off of the radar…no one has a clue where he could be now."

Batman felt his heart drop. It would make sense if the Joker went after his poor Harley…he was probably behind her friend's bar being torched, and her subsequent death. Gordon cleared his throat.

"Two Face…er, Harvey's escaped too. We think…well, I think the Joker needed him for something. We have video from the Asylum of the Joker going into Harvey's room and helping him escape…the guard was in cahoots with them, but I honestly think she was forced into it. She looked terrified."

"He probably threatened her."

"Most likely. So…do you have any idea where he could've gone?"

Batman nodded.

"His doctor. He attacked her this afternoon…my God, he's probably there now!"

He leapt off of the roof, his costume's wings extending as he coasted down to the ground before jumping into the Tumbler. Gordon leaned over the edge and shook his head.

"That guy and women!"

Harvey drank his cocktail through a long straw that he kept pushed to the right side of his face. No use getting a stain on the borrowed shirt he was lucky to fit into. A short, round man with three fingers and a thumb on each hand leaned against the wall before him, peering untrustingly at the former DA. The fingers on the man's right hand were fused together, suggesting an obvious birth defect; his left hand was normally developed, aside from one missing digit and a dark brown scar where it used to sit. Years ago, he had lopped the finger off just so his hands matched better; he was a little obsessive that way. His nose was long and hooked, and one visible eye was beady. The other was obscured by a large monocle that rested on his face, lending a strange air of regality to his otherwise disheveled appearance. His suit was black and ill-fitting; it was obviously expensive, at one time, but the arms now rode up, and there were worn patches on the elbows and neck. He peered at Harvey, who had surprised him that evening by stopping into his club, the Iceburg.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Dent? You have yet to enlighten me."

"I told you, Ozzie," Harvey said, stretching his arms out in front of him, "it's Two Face now."

"Ah yes, I've been noticing that trend in this town lately. Everyone deems it necessary to adopt a new moniker, as it were. Perhaps I should jump on the proverbial bandwagon and adopt one myself."

"You really don't have to, Ozzie. Everyone already did it for you."

Oswald's face turned red.

"What?"

"Come on, Ozzie…you can't blame people. Your hands….your," he looked Oswald up and down, "Uh, your stature…that snappy suit, and your beak, er, nose?"

"Dent…."

"Oh, come on, Ozzie! You own the freaking IIceburg/I Lounge! What do you expect? Of course people are going to come up with the Pengu…"

"That's enough, ITwo Face,/I" Oswald interrupted with a leer. "At any rate, please tell me why I'm having the pleasure of your company. I haven't seen you since, well, since you died."

"I just need a hand…little trust fund, if you will, to get me back on my feet, Ozzie. It's a bit difficult to access your funds when you're dead."

"One would imagine."

"And you do recall all of those favors I did while I was still Ialive/I don'tcha, Ozzie?"

Oswald sighed and sat down across from Harvey, his round belly pushing up slightly, making him look slightly like a very pregnant woman.

"What do you need, Two Face?"

Half of Harvey's face grinned.

"I have an old friend who I need to pay back."

Harley shuddered as she turned her key in her apartment's lock, only to find that it was already open. She was prepared for the worst, as she had passed fresh pools of blood on the stairs leading up to her apartment. Steeling herself for a blow, she quietly entered the apartment and closed the door gently behind herself.

"Honey, I'm home," she said, tentatively.

The Joker chuckled in the darkness before stepping forward and tossing her into the living room. Harley fell, with a huge crash, into the glass end table sitting by her couch, sending shards of glass everywhere. The Joker chortled with laughter when she stared up at him, folded nearly in half, struggling within the center of the table.

"Oopsie! Sorry, Harls, my aim's a little off right now."

He sauntered over to her and lifted her out of the table's frame with a surprisingly gentle grip on her waist. He held her in his arms, despite her struggle to get down.

"Calm down, Pooh, we don't want you to step on any glass now do we?"

She stopped struggling and shook her head.

"Nnnno, sir."

He smiled at her, his eyes lighting up at the desperate look in her eyes.

"That's my girl. Now how about making Daddy some nosh, hmmm?"

Harley nodded and the Joker put her down in the kitchen, after quickly ascertaining that no shards of glass had reached the tile floor. She smiled at him and flitted over to the cupboard, throwing the doors open before turning around to face him.

"Any preferences, Mista J?"

"Just something edible, Harleykins."

He sat down at her kitchen table and watched as Harley bustled around the kitchen, tossing various foodstuffs onto the counter. Humming as she cooked, Harley mentally checked off the ingredients she needed for her basic go-to meal, a large pita covered in pizza sauce, cheese, tomatoes and anchovies. She glanced at the Joker and held up the salty fish before putting them on the pizza. He nodded.

"Pooh, how did you know?"

"Dunno, Puddin', just came to me!"

After she put the mini-pizza in the oven, the deep-fryer at the end of the counter caught her eye. Almost unable to contain her pride in the idea, she turned the machine on and grabbed a few wrapped Twinkies and candy bars from the freezer. She mixed a quick batter and rolled the sweets in them, before dropping them into the heated oil. The Joker, watching her now more intently, stood up to get a better look at what she was doing.

"Harls, what in God's name are you doing?"

"Just getting' things cookin' for ya, Mista J!"

She smiled at him, then turned around and grabbed the now-ready pizza from the oven. After cutting it and placing it on a bright red plate, she handed it to him and motioned for him to sit back down as she opened the refrigerator.

"Whaddaya want to drink, Mista J? I got Root Beer…Lemon Lime…Orange Soda…Diet Cola…chocolate milk…water?"

With a grin, he sat down and took a giant bite of the pizza.

"Half Orange, half Root Beer," he instructed while chewing, which allowed bits of pizza to fly onto the table.

Harley set his drink in front of him before fishing the crispy brown sweets from the deep-fryer. She blotted them on a napkin before arranging them, and a dollop of whipped cream in the middle, on another bright red plate, and handed them to the Joker. He looked, warily, at the deep-fried treats, but, as he was pleasantly surprised by her skills in at least making him an edible pizza-type creation, decided to give it a go. The Joker raised a fried treat to his torn lips and took a small bite.

Within four minutes, the Joker had cleared the plate of both the fried sweets and the whipped cream, and Harley was sitting across from him, beaming.

"You know, Pooh," he said, leering at her, "They aren't right when they say that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

Her smile vanished and she looked dejectedly at him.

"Was it that bad, Puddin'?"

He patted her head as he rose to rinse his hands from the grease leftover from the treats.

"It's through his ribcage."

"Huh?"

"It's a joke, Harley. Geez, lighten up. You'd think someone Idied/I or something."

Harley's eyes filled with tears and the Joker sighed, not really wanting to watch her waterworks at the moment.

"It was fine, Harls. Remind me to pick one of those up for the lair."

"Lair?"

"Of course! You don't expect me to move into this chickie pad, do you?"

"I…uh…I hadn't even thought about it, Mista J, I…."

The Joker shushed her, placing a dish soap-smelling finger to her lips.

"Hush, Harls. You're ruining the moment."

"I'm sorry, I…."

Lifting her again into his arms, the Joker carried Harley into her bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. He stood before her, and forced her legs open so he could stand between them. The way her eyes flitted over his face, searching for some sort of assurance made his heart skip a beat. He desperately tried to rid his mind of the attachment to her that it was screaming, when her shaky voice broke him from his thoughts.

"Puddin'? I have a question…I…um…did you…uh…did you kill Meg, tonight?"

He sighed in relief that her mouth had finally done something useful aside from sucking his cock.

"Heavens no, Pooh! What kind of guy do you think I am?"

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Oh! Oh, Mista J! I was so worried that you had killed her! But it was all just a misunderstanding!"

He grinned benevolently at her.

"Of course it was, Pooh. I didn't kill her. I let the fire I started do that!"

Harley's face fell and she stared up at him, her eyes a mix of fear and pain.

"No…n…nnno, Mista J, you didn't…she…she was my best friend…you…."

The Joker's grin widened and he wrapped a possessive hand around the back of her neck, his thumb reaching around and putting slight pressure on her windpipe, effectively silencing her.

"There, there, Harleykins, don't you worry your pretty little head about that."

Tears were now streaming freely down her face as he climbed on top of her. He tore her outfit off of her frame and threw it to the floor. He cackled with laughter when his fingers discovered that she was wet, despite herself. Straddling her, his tongue flicked out and licked the tears off her cheeks while his fingers pumped in and out of her slit. He growled into her ear as she climaxed, her muscles contracting and drenching his fingers.

"I'm the only one you'll ever need, Harley. I'm your only friend…you know none of the rest of 'em understand you like I do. You're nothing without me."

"I know," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

With a leer, he pulled his fingers out of her. When she whimpered in response to the abandonment, he smiled.

"Poor little Harley. You know, Pooh, I think it's about time we christened your beddie bye. Unless you're too broken up about your friend, Maybel or Mary or whatever the fuck her name was, to play with your Uncle Joker?"

Harley shook her head frantically and tried to pull him closer to herself by wrapping her legs around his back and thrusting her hips up. She unbuckled his pants and freed his cock, reaching her hand down to stroke its length. She couldn't risk losing him after she'd lost so much already…he was right, she needed him. Desperately.

"No, Puddin'! You're all I need!"

He stroked her face gently and smiled before thrusting into her. She moaned as he pumped faster and harder, and she quickly peaked around his cock. When she was still climaxing, the Joker grinned and pulled his fist back, then struck her in the cheek. As he continued to fuck her relentlessly, he pummeled her head with his fists, each blow more in tune with his thrust than the last. She lashed out her fairly strong arms and landed some resonating blows to his face as well. One in particular threw his stability, and allowed her to free herself from underneath him. To his amusement, Harley didn't run, but instead, flipped him on his back and straddled him, hurtling herself down on his rigid member. After allowing her the honor of being able to treat him in this manner for a few moments, and feeling his climax quickly coming, the Joker again took control by delivering a harsh blow to Harley's temple. Her head fell to the side and she slumped over onto the bed, allowing the Joker to turn her back onto her back, and come inside of her, without being forced to look into her doting eyes, or listen to her cries of love. The Joker positioned himself comfortably on her bed, then pulled Harley's limp body to his own, spooning himself around her before allowing himself to slip into his dreams.

Harley awoke to the feeling of being held tightly against someone. As she opened her eyes, she realized that her head was swimming due to the pounding caused by the blows the Joker had given her before she fell unconscious. A cool sticky feeling between her thighs told her that he had finished, and she couldn't remember whether he had done so before or after knocking her out. The Joker's arm tightened around her, as if acknowledging that she was thinking about him. Harley turned slightly to look at him. He was fast asleep, and his face, aside from the few darkening bruises, seemed oddly peaceful and relaxed. A strange sense of ease came over her and she stared at his calm face. His eyebrows twitched, and he grunted in his sleep. She reached an arm back and caressed his face gently, and he relaxed with a quiet sigh, smacking his lips together.

"I love you."

Harley's heart leapt at his words, and she cuddled back against him.

"I love you too, Puddin'," she said, allowing her eyes to flutter shut, and dreams of babies, white picket fences, and growing old with the Joker, to take over her mind.

The Joker didn't respond, instead, continued to dream about his favorite knife.

Revelations

"That man must have an awful lot of things on his mind, seeing that he still thinks about them even when he's making love," Voltaire, IZadig/I

Alfred pulled up to Harley's apartment, his eyes grazing over the parking lot that was still littered with the corpses of her cats. Something, other than the dead felines, was making the area feel…off. He had expected the visibly shaken young doctor to be waiting for him when he returned. Alfred honked the limousine's horn and looked expectantly at the apartment building's front door. He waited for a few minutes, then scowled. He locked the limousine after grabbing a crowbar from the trunk.

"Well, let's see if I still got the magic touch."

Gripping the door handle in one hand and lifting it, he shoved the thin end of the crowbar into the gap between the door and its frame and pushed with all of his might. When it popped open after a brief struggle, he grinned. His grin fell when he was greeted by drying pools of blood in the hallway.

"Bollocks."

A quick glance at the flat mailboxes embedded in the faux brick wall of the foyer allowed him to figure out Harley's room number. When he made his way upstairs to her apartment, he wasn't entirely surprised to find that it wasn't locked. Alfred crept into the nearly silent apartment and was greeted by a small black kitten, purring and rubbing its lithe form against his ankle. He smiled down at her and pressed a finger to his lips, shushing her. In a surprising moment of feline lucidity, the kitten padded silently back to Meg's room, and the safety she had found underneath her bed. A soft clearing of a feminine throat piqued Alfred's interest.

IMaybe Dr. Quinzel just fell asleep…after crashing into her living room table, that is./I

Alfred stealthily walked towards the sound coming from Harley's room. The door was opened, and he quietly peered in, his eyes falling on the intimate embrace before him with horror. Harley was curled in the fetal position, a dreamy smile hanging on her lips, and her bruised neck resting on the Joker's left arm. His right arm was wrapped around her waist, hugging her tightly to his body, his own sliced face reflecting Harley's serene smile in a vicious manner. Both were covered in bruises and dried blood, but Harley's cheek was still dripping a small stream of flesh plasma, which left a line flowing down to her mouth, giving her an eerie resemblance to the Joker's torn smile. Alfred stumbled back, realizing the implications of the scene. He needed to tell Bruce, but first, he needed to get the hell out of there. In his haste to leave, Alfred stumbled over a pile of clothes on the floor, catching himself, with a loud bang, against the doorframe. The Joker awoke with a start, pulling a knife out of the holster he kept strapped to his ankle. He hopped over Harley, who was groggily waking up at his movement, and grabbed Alfred. He tossed the butler against the wall with a growl. Alfred, slumping down to the floor, looked up at the pair, his eyes darting from one to the other quickly.

"What's going on here?"

The Joker grinned as he pulled his pants on, not really desiring to give the older man a full show.

"I had a slight mental breakdown and needed to talk with my doctor. She always helps me calm down."

"I can see that," Alfred said, shooting a glare at Harley.

The Joker's anger flared at the look, and he rushed forward, grabbing Alfred's face in his hands and kicking him in the stomach.

"Look at me! You keep your fucking eyes off of her! She's mine!"

Alfred's eyes turned back to the Joker, who had dropped his grip on him and stepped back towards Harley. The butler, despite his fears, raised an eyebrow.

"'s that why you're killin' off her chums and beatin' her? You're a worthless piece of…."

Harley's foot connected with Alfred's head, which snapped back and struck the wall. He fell over in a heap, but Harley continued to deliver short kicks to his gut.

"Respect…your…superiors…fucker!"

As she reached down to grab his head to snap his neck, she was pulled back into the Joker's arms. He spun her around and planted a lengthy, wet kiss on her lips. After making out with her became tiresome, he let her go and pinched her rear. When she squealed, he smiled genuinely at her.

"You're getting better everyday, Pooh. Now who is this?"

Harley sighed.

"Bruce Wayne's butler, his name's…."

The Joker backhanded her, sending her head careening to the side, and a spurt of blood to fly out of her mouth.

"Don't say that name around me again, Harley."

She turned back to him and bowed her head.

"Yessir."

"Now who is this guy?"

"Just some butler," Harley said, shakily, "He was supposta drive me somewhere, but I don't think he's gonna be doing that tonight, is he Puddin'?"

The Joker shook his head and grinned.

"No, no I'm afraid not…the question is, what ever shall we do with him?"

Harley's mind raced as she looked over Alfred's slumped form.

IIf I know Bruce…or Batman, for that matter, he'll come after his butler. Son of a bitch…Harls, you gotta work fast!/I

"Puddin," she said tentatively, not wishing to ignite his rage again.

He glared at her, his good humour quickly fading.

"What?"

She ducked her head again and focused on the carpet beneath her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"I…I just…I have a suggestion? If you don't mind…the Batman was the one who sent this guy to me to drive me to a hotel," she said, the lie falling from her lips far too easily. "If I'm right, he'll probably be showin' up here soon if this guy hasn't called him yet, and he'll be lookin' for me…and…."

The Joker kicked Harley in the solar plexus and punched her chin, sending her stumbling back into the living room. A shard of glass jabbed into her bare foot and she yelped. A panicked jolt betrayed his heart, and the Joker rushed to Harley, scooping her into his arms. He carried her to a chair in the kitchen and sat her down in it.

"You got any rope?"

When she nodded and pointed to the closet, the Joker swiftly grabbed the rope, cut it in half, and tied both Harley and the still-unconscious Alfred to the kitchen chairs. He pulled them both over to the large pane window in Harley's bedroom and kicked the glass out. It was large enough for the chairs to be pushed through without any effort, so it suited his purposes. Once his set up was complete, the Joker turned his attention to the whimpering blonde in the chair before him. He lifted Harley's foot, taking care not to push her out of the empty hole in the wall, and yanked out the offending shard of glass. Once her foot was relieved of the intruder, she relaxed in the chair, and the comfortably snug rope that held her to it. The Joker tossed the offending hunk of glass to the corner of her room before wetting an end of her bedspread with his spit and wiping her foot with it. He tore off a strip of her bed sheet and wrapped her foot with it, taking surprisingly gentle care of her. After wrapping her injured foot, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and smiled at her.

"All better, Pooh?"

She nodded.

"A-okay, Mista J! Thank you for taking care of me…I love you so much!"

"I know you do, Harleykins."

With a quick strike, he whacked Harley's skull, sending her into unconsciousness. If the Batman was going to be their guest, he needed to perform at his best, and that meant setting the right scene. He bunched up a hunk of a pillow that he sliced apart and jammed in in Alfred's mouth, securing it as a gag, with a strip of bed sheet tied around his head. Another choice…one life for another. It was so simple, yet so effective. The Joker positioned Harley and Alfred's chairs at the edge of the window, and stood between them. He chuckled quietly to himself.

IHope he doesn't take the back route, or he'll be popping in from this direction, and that won't do me any good./I

He waited. And waited. And waited. When he was beginning to wonder if Harley was mistaken, he heard the crash of a window in Meg's room. He grinned, but tried to suppress it in lieu of appearing menacing.

"We're in heeeere," he sing-songed.

Batman ran into Harley's bedroom and staggered at the sight before him. Harley, whose consciousness was quickly returning because of the effect of Pamela's serum, was tied to a chair perpendicular to his butler's…the Joker held an unopened switch-button blade at each of their throats.

"Ah, tut-tut-tut, Batman…you come any closer and I might slip and kill 'em both!"

Batman stopped, and glared at the Joker.

"Why can't you leave that poor girl alone, Joker? Upset that the closest thing you can get to making someone yours is to rape your doctor?"

The Joker's screaming laughter finally brought Harley out of her unconscious state, and began to rouse Alfred, his eyes blinking at different intervals. When Alfred's eyes focused on Batman, he smiled behind the make-shift gag, relieved that his employer had come for him. The Joker, still holding the knife to Alfred's throat, made a point of longingly stroking Harley's head. When she gave a little whimper, Batman ran towards the Joker, his mind blanking out and fueled only by rage. He was going to kill the Joker if it was the last thing he did. Seeing the deadly intent in his eyes, Harley let out a desperate wail.

"Bruce, no!"

Huh?

"Ah, women. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent"

Friedrich Nietzsche

Batman stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Harley in disbelief. Alfred's face grew pale and he mumbled something beneath his gag. The Joker's mouth twitched slightly as he looked between Batman and Harley, before breaking out in peals of laughter. After a full minute, his laughter had not let up, and the rest of the group had yet to move. The Joker's eyes were watering and his chest pulsing with laughter when he smacked Alfred on the chest, sending the butler toppling over the edge of the open window and causing the Joker's footing to loosen. He grabbed onto Harley's chair for support, which, incidentally, caused it to topple outside of the window as well. Chaos, the Joker would later argue, allowed his proposed choice for the Batman to occur even though he had given up on it. As Harley's chair fell a few seconds after Alfred's, Batman leapt out of the window, leaving the Joker to remain in her apartment, continuing to laugh uproariously. Batman grabbed Harley in midair and shot his grappling hook into the apartment building's wall, saving them from crashing onto the ground. His reach was too short to grab Alfred, and Batman watched, in horror, as the older man fell with a crunching thud onto one of the cars parked below. The police, who was still across the street at the remnants of the Evening Star, rushed over at the commotion and swarmed into the parking lot. Batman let Harley, who was still tied to her chair, gently down onto the ground before scaling the wall with his grappling hook and climbing back into her apartment.

The Joker was still in stitches, giggling maniacally and holding his sides, when Batman entered the apartment again. After noticing the intruder, the Joker became silent and stared at Batman, his eyes murky and frightening, until the corners of his mouth twitched again, and he let out a shuddering breath.

"Hhhhiiii…."

Unable to contain his mirth any longer, the Joker again burst out laughing. He looked up at Batman and shook his head.

"It's…it's too much!"

The door to Harley's apartment broke open, and a troupe of police officers stormed in, guns drawn. The Joker, still laughing, raised his hands in the air and sat down.

"I've had more than enough for one day," he said between chuckles, "take me home."

Batman backed away into the shadows and leapt from the building. Alfred was being loaded onto a gurney, an oxygen mask strapped to his face. From what he could ascertain, the butler was unconscious, which gave Batman a small amount of comfort that at least his choice hadn't killed his friend. Harley was sitting on the back of an empty ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and an ice pack pressed to her skull. She was sipping slowly out of a steaming cup, her sore neck relaxing as the warm coffee slid down her throat. Her face was cut up more substantially than he had realized and Batman kicked himself for not getting to her sooner. He gave her a sad, longing look before jumping into his new Tumbler and speeding off into the night.

As the Joker was brought out into the parking lot, his laugh quieter but still going strong, Harley felt her heart lurch. She had to hold back a smile when he broke out of the officer's grasp to run over to her. He swung his handcuffed arms over her neck and pulled her into an embrace, causing her to drop her coffee onto the pavement. He smiled at her, his face lacking its usual malice, and ignored the shouts and clicking of guns behind him.

"Thanks, Doc, I really needed that laugh," he said, before kissing her forcefully on her bruised cheek.

He threw his arms up and over her head, releasing her, before pushing her back into the ambulance. He laughed as an officer tackled him to the ground, and Harley drew her knees up into her chest, trying to avoid seeing him get injured. She heard a car door slam, and then an incessant tapping. Her tear-filled eyes glanced up to see the Joker in the back of a police car, knocking on the window. When he caught her attention, he smiled and waved to her, then mimicked a machine-gun with his handcuffed-hands, allowing the invisible bullets to "kill" all of the officers around the lot. Harley had to try hard to stifle her laughter, until the Joker pointed the invisible gun at her and "fired." He "fired" again, then looked down at the invisible gun and frowned. He mimed pointing it downward and "fired" it again. This time, it apparently fired, and his eyes grew wide and he stared at it before "throwing" the imaginary weapon down, and then looked back at Harley. Tears were rolling down her bright red face, and she was covering her mouth with her hands. The Joker looked around at the police officers who were as oblivious to his theatrical performance as they were to Harley's reaction to it. He smiled and shrugged at her, raising his hands up and pointing a thumb at the group of officers standing closest to him. She shrugged back and mouthed the word "lazy" to him, which drew an appreciative chuckle out of the Joker. The police officers, who finally remembered they had a psychopathic clown in the back seat of a squad car, got into their respective cars and drove the Joker to Arkham Asylum, convoy-style. Harley stared after the cars longingly until a gentle throat clearing drew her attention back to where she was. A fireman was standing a few feet from her, holding another cup of coffee. He handed it to her when he had caught her attention.

"Sorry to bother you, miss…I…uh…I noticed that you dropped yours."

She smiled at him, silently hoping that he hadn't seen the little play that she and the Joker had put on earlier.

"Thanks, uhhh…."

"Garfield Lynns," he said, with a sweeping bow, "At your service."

She laughed and thrust her free hand out to him.

"Dr. Quinzel, pleased to meet you."

"Doctor your first name? Your parent's must've hated you!"

"Oh, because IGarfield/I lends itself to the proof of your parental affection."

"Touché. So what is your name, kid?"

"Harley," she said with a giggle, "So, Garfield, what brings ya here?"

"Pleasant atmosphere."

Harley raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, fire joke."

She smiled.

"It's alright. You enjoy your job, then?"

"Probably a little too much."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, I used to be a bit of a pyromaniac in my youth…tried working in visual effects at a theatre when I was in high school…ehhh…didn't turn out too well."

"You don't look that old…couldn't have been too long ago."

"Five years…got out of psych care at eighteen and decided I should try to work out the urge from the other end."

"Any reason for that?"

He shrugged.

"On Topamax…it helps…to a point."

"Are you still in therapy?"

"Not really…why, you a shrink?"

"Sure am," she said with a smirk. "It does help to talk to someone about your problems, you know? Helps you calm down when you think you're going to go crazy."

He nodded.

"Who do you talk to when you're going crazy, Dr. Quinzel?"

Harley paused for a moment, pulling her blanket tighter around herself.

"The Joker."

Devotion

"Some curséd fraud

Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown,

And me with thee hath ruined, for with thee

Certain my resolution is to die.

How can I live without thee, how forgo

Thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined

To live again in these wild woods forlorn?" Milton, IParadise Lost/I Book 9.903-910

Harley waved to Garfield, the firefighter, as he drove away. He had generously offered to drive her to her safe house, genuinely concerned that she would be too shaken up to get there in one piece. Worried that she would take his kindness as a come on, Garfield made it a point to put the thought out of her mind.

"For someone who's been through the shit you've been through tonight, you look damn good, honey."

Harley grinned as a blush crept to her cheeks.

"Thanks, Garfield, I, uh…."

"You're welcome, toots. Too bad you ain't my type, we'd have cute kids."

Raising an eyebrow at him, she glanced at Garfield, who still had his eyes fixed on the road.

"Oh? And what's wrong with my type, Mr. Lynns?"

Garfield looked over at her an winked.

"You don't have the necessary equipment, honey. I'm more of a Bruce Wayne girl, myself…gotta say you are one lucky minx to be dating him."

"Oh…ohh! Oh, oh, okay," Harley stammered, her eyes bulging out with the realization of his reference. "Bruce is alright, I guess…he isn't really my type, if you wanna know a secret."

Garfield nodded.

"I figured. Your body language was all off kilter. Didn't look like you were into him at all. He's got it bad for you though, doll."

"Really?"

"Hohhhh yeah. You lucky bitch…you got him and you don't even want him."

He sighed and they drove in silence for a moment before breaking out in giggles. Harley peered over at Garfield and smiled.

"You know who I think would be my type, though?"

"Who?"

Harley sighed, dreamily.

"Matt Hagen."

"Oooh! Did you see him in 'Thomas of Cantimpré?"

"No!"

"Amazing! I swear, the things that man can do with his face!"

Harley had given Garfield her card as she climbed out of his truck, telling him to call her if he was ever in need of therapy, or a date to the next Hagen flick. Taking in her surroundings, Harley felt a pang of guilt climb in her throat. The Joker was most likely being prodded and pushed in the Asylum. They'd probably have doped him up by now…and here she was, taking a vacation at what appeared to be a greenhouse. The building was short and stout, and there was something unpleasant in the air, but Harley couldn't quite place it. The walls of the greenhouse were grey and covered in bright green ivy, that lead all the way up to the glass panes on the roof. She walked up to the green door and knocked. A short, petite, redhead in dirt covered overalls threw the door open and looked Harley up and down.

"You're Harleen, I presume?"

"Yeah, but you can call me Harley, everyone else does."

"Great. I'm Pamela. Come on in."

She glanced at Harley's empty hands and raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

"Don't plan on staying long?"

"No…I…I didn't even think to grab anything…I've kind of had a rough night."

"Ah. Well, I have some clothes I think you can squeeze into…might be a little snug, but you're welcome to try," she said, giving Harley a soft smile.

Harley nodded as Pamela led her into a small guest room. Plants lined the route, both potted and hanging, as well as the ever-present vines of ivy that grew on the walls. Pamela's hair was long and hung in waves down to the small of her back. She was wearing a soft green tank top and dirt-covered khaki overalls. It was clear to Harley that she had interrupted the smaller woman's work in the greenhouse. Pamela's arms were muscular and Harley could tell that the rest of her barley five foot frame, though covered by the baggy overalls, was toned and appealing. A strange feeling of lightheadedness washed over Harley, causing her to swoon slightly and she leaned against the wall for support. Pamela's almond-shaped eyes widened and she rushed out of the room, silently cursing herself as she grabbed a pre-filled needle from her workbench. She rushed back to Harley's side, to find that the blonde was unconscious, which made it somewhat easier for Pamela to inject her with the serum that the vial contained. The glowing green serum flooded into Harley's bloodstream, latching onto her cells and strengthening them. Pamela sighed and tossed the used needle in the garbage before picking Harley up and laying her on the guest room's bed. She stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her, and glanced up when her other guest cleared her throat. Meg motioned to the guest room.

"She asleep?"

"Yes. I didn't expect that she would react so quickly to the toxins."

"Well her diet lately leaves something to be desired. Immune system's probably gone all wonky."

"One would assume. She'll be awake in a few hours, have you decided where you're going to be?"

Meg shrugged.

"Dunno yet. Think I'm going to keep my being alive a secret between you and me, Pams. Can't trust Harls anymore, what with the clown getting into her brain."

"That's probably a good choice."

"I'm going to go back to the apartment while she's here to grab my shit and leave her bike. Here," she said, tossing Pamela a small blue velvet bag, "Thanks for the help, Pammy."

Pamela nodded and handed Meg a long black box.

"The next two injections are in that set. Take the next one in two hours, the last one six hours after that, alright? You'll have to finish them or they'll do you no good…and your liver will fail."

"Good to know."

"I'll put this to good use," Pamela said, after taking a large emerald out of the velvet bag. She inspected it for a moment and looked back at Meg. "Where ever did you get it, dear?"

"Not important."

"Well, I just need to know so I know where I can sell it."

"I wouldn't broadcast you've got it, Pams. It was the only one of its kind Gotham Museum had…course I've got a matching one back home I heisted from Lithman's a few months ago."

"I'd love to add it to my collection."

"Yeah, keep dreaming, girl," Meg said, pulling a black leather coat on and smiling at Pamela. "I'll drop something else off from the next heist in a week or two…it'll at least cover Harley's serum."

"See you around, Meg."

"Meg's dead, Pammy. It's Selena now…thought I'd never go back to that life, but que sera sera, eh?"

Pamela chuckled and shook her head.

"Indeed. Another life gone from your nine. You've got to be more careful, 'Catwoman.'"

"Well you know what they say," Selena said as she walked out of the greenhouse, "We always land on our feet."

The Joker laughed the entire car ride back to the Asylum. He laughed as they dragged him out of the police cruiser and out into the rain. He laughed as they walked him down the hallway, guns drawn, back to his cell, where a very perturbed visitor was awaiting him. Joan Leland stood, her arms crossed in front of her body, glaring at the Joker as he was brought towards her. Her face was red with rage and grew redder when the Joker calmed his laughter to grin broadly at her.

"Hiya, Doc! You mad at me cuz I left my room a mess before I went out?"

"Where is Doctor Quinzel?"

"Who?"

"Doctor Quin…Harleen. Where is Harleen? What did you do to her?"

"Ohhhhh….Haaaaarley. Well why didn't you say so? But you know, Doc, I don't know where she is! Last time I saw her, she was covered up in a blanket in the back of an ambulance…."

Dr. Leland pushed him back against one of the armed guards. The Joker gasped, his eyes growing wide, but still dancing with mirth.

"Tsk, tsk, Doc. It's not nice to push your patients around. Not a good way to establish doctor-patient trust."

"Fuck you, clown. You've done something to her and I'll be damned if you'll get away with it. Lock him up."

The guards pushed the Joker into his cell, locking the door after him. He frowned and looked down at his shackled wrists and ankles.

"Can't I get comfortable in my own room, Doc?"

Dr. Leland scowled and stormed off, instructing the guards not to let him out of his straightjacket, allow him to be fed, or converse with him at all. The Joker relaxed on his cot, and soon wriggled free of his restraints. He stretched out his feet, parting his toes and wriggling them. It was experiences like these that he lived for…the pleasure of a good stretch, a felled "moral" paragon, the delightful sensory overload caused by the snapping of a delicate neck.

IHome again, home again, jiggity jog…hahahahaaaaha…ahh, hell. Where the devil is Harley? Hope the stupid little dear didn't get herself killed while I was en route to my…apartment, so to speak. It's not her place to do that! It's mine, afterall…I created her, dammit, I should be the only one who gets to destroy her. Stupid little thing…I need her here! She's supposed to keep me from getting bored! She needs to get here now…I need…no…no, no I don't. I just want the distraction…just want to revel in my success at breaking her…I…I…oy, I'm in trouble. /I

The Joker paced back and forth in his cell like a caged tiger. He wasn't usually so nervous in his cell, he had grown accustomed to it over the months and, in all honesty, somewhat enjoyed the solitude. When the idea that Harley's presence in his life at Arkham was what made it passably pleasing, he kicked the cell door. To his chagrin, it didn't open. He sighed and laid back down on his cot, willing himself to sleep, in the hopes of escaping his feelings that betrayed his heart. When he finally drifted off, his usual nightmare, wherein a faceless woman heavy with child calls out to him before falling into darkness, commenced, it was decidedly different. When the woman called out to his dream-self, her face was visible. It was Harley.

Taking Flight

"Love is a thing as any spirit free."

(IThe Franklin's Tale,/I Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales")

Harley awoke from a dreamless sleep the next morning to the burning sensation of being injected with something. A glare of red floated above her and Harley squinted, trying to discern what it was.

"Red…?"

When her eyes focused, she saw Pamela hovering over her, her hands steadily administering a glowing green serum into Harley's outstretched arm. Pamela glanced calmly up at her.

"Don't move, it's almost over."

Harley held as still as she could manage, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes tightly.

"Ooooh! I hate shots! I hate shots! You'd think after working with Mista J, I'd be used to a little pain."

Pamela raised a well-manicured eyebrow at Harley.

"Mista J?"

Harley shrugged.

"The Joker…my…patient."

"Do you have pet names for all of your patients, or is he just special?"

Beaming as Pamela extracted the needle from her arm, Harley let out a happy little sigh.

"Oh, he's somethin' special all right, Red. You'd betta believe it!"

At Pamela's vacant stare, Harley frowned and looked down at her arm.

"This junk ain't gonna kill me, is it?"

"You'd be the first…of course, you're only one of four people who've gotten this injection, so I suppose you could be the first. Never had a clinical trial, per se…."

Harley's face paled slightly.

"That's not very reassuring."

"Don't worry about it, Harley."

"What is this stuff anyway? It's making my chest feel all wonky."

"Vitamins, of a sort."

Harley scowled.

"Of a sort, per se…what is it with you and not so answery-answers, Red?"

Pamela sighed and motioned towards the bedroom door.

"How about I tell you over breakfast? You must be famished…you look like you haven't had a good meal in a while."

"Actually I had a lovely dinner with Bruce Wayne last night."

"You must just have one of those faces, then…freshen up, at least. I'll make us something small to eat, if you're not that hungry…."

"Oh, no," Harley said, standing up and stretching, "I can eat. Which way to the loo, Red? I feel like a bus hit me, backed up and let out the Gotham City Panthers on my neck! Hot shower'd do me a world of good."

With her first unforced smile in quite some time, Pamela motioned down the hallway.

"Second door on the right. Shampoos and the like are already in the shower."

"Thanks," Harley sing-songed, before proceeding to skip down the hallway and into the botanist's bathroom.

The Joker awoke with a start, his face covered in beads of sweat and his eyes racing around his cell. He'd had "the dream" again…but Harley had made an appearance.

IThis is not good…no, no, this won't do at all! Dreaming of my doctor? Yeesh, what am I, thirteen? Wait…what am I anyway? Hmm…17 times…carry the denominator…reduce by pi to the…oh, never mind! Hahaha…this is bad news, bad news indeed…for Harley…not for me…no, nothing's bad news for me…can handle everything…the Bat, Arkham, lo…loo loo loo, I got some apples…hah ha hah hah…wasn't going to say Bthat/b word, no no no. It's all relative anyway. She's just popping into my dreams because I've been seeing so much of her lately…like that commercial for Weetabix…yeah…exactly…can't help it if the subconscious plays back annoying little jingles…Robin Hoood…Robin Hoood…could be in a fix…Robin Hoood Robin Hoood…spies the Weetabix…does he retreat, back to Sherwooood? Course he should, course he should….hehehehhahahahohoho…see? Just like Harley, showing up at inopportune times…what does Robin Hood have to do with breakfast cereal anyway?/I

The Joker sighed and sat on his cot, hanging his head in his hands.

"I'm going to have to kill her…and get some Weetabix."

Harley sat in front of bowl filled with two oat bricks. She glanced at Pamela, who had her back turned to her as she prepared a plate in the kitchen. With a sigh, Harley drenched the oat bricks with the soy milk Pamela had placed on the table. As she began to choke them down, Pamela sat across from her, placing a plate full of vegetables and fruits in between the two of them. She pointed at a small oak box on the counter. It was opened, and contained a syringe filled with the same glowing green serum Pamela had injected her with earlier.

"The shots keep you from dying out here in the toxins."

"Toxins?"

"I raise very poisonous plants, some of which emit spores and gases that would kill the average person within an hour without my antidote. Nevermind the fact that this whole area is on a toxic waste dump…it's condemned, Harley. That's why you fainted last evening…if I hadn't treated you right away, you'd be dead."

"Oh…and here I thought it was just cuz I had a rough night," Harley said, her voice shaking with nervous laughter.

"That may have been a factor," Pamela said, spooning a few chunks of melon onto her plate. "So, Harley, why did you need to come here anyway? Meg was never one to discuss things in depth with me."

"Well, I'm a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, working with the higher level psychotics…and I…."

"Psychotics like the Joker?"

Harley's eyes darkened.

"Mista J is Inot/I a psychotic! He's a genius and he…," Harley trailed off and cleared her throat. "I'm…I'm sorry, Red…he's a touchy subject."

"Obviously."

They sat in the kitchen, silently, for a few minutes before Pamela decided to break the tension.

"Well, I wonder what's going on in Gotham today."

She grabbed the daily newspaper from the counter and dropped it onto the table. The blaring headline drew Harley's attention.

iJoker's Midnight Romp Claims At Least Five and Brings the Batman Out of Seclusion/i

Harley sat down at the table, perusing the story fervently. Feeling a little tug on her heart when she saw Meg's name listed amongst the presumed dead, Harley quickly moved on to the first hand accounts of the Joker's ride back to Arkham. The officers described him as surprisingly cooperative, having been put in such a good humour by his Arkham psychiatrist, a one Dr. Harleen Quinzel, before being taken away. The story went on to describe her as Bruce Wayne's newest conquest. Harley's face faded into a near-white shade.

IHe's going to flip./I

"Oh God."

"What's wrong?"

"This," Harley wailed, shoving the paper over to Pamela. "Yeesh, you go out to dinner once with a guy, you're automatically schtooping him! Oy, Mista J is gonna plotz when he sees this!"

Pamela raised her eyebrow at Harley.

"That was an awful lot of Yiddish, Harley…is it that big of a deal? It's not like he'd get jealous or something…I mean why would your patient be upset if you…oh…oh! Oh my God! You and the Joker?"

Harley blushed and focused on the bowl of soggy wheat biscuits in front of her.

"Yeah, wow, Red, these cereal things sure are delish! Mm mm mm!"

"You don't have to lie to me, Harley…I'm not quite in the position to judge," Pamela said, pointing to the story that was beneath the Joker's headlining chronicle.

iRare Plant Exhibit Stolen From Gotham's Modern Art Museum: Three Guards Fatally Poisoned by Mysterious "Poison Ivy."/i

Harley skimmed through the article, glancing up at Pamela every once in a while.

IThree guards were killed early yesterday morning, poisoned by the same toxin that has claimed the lives of sixteen within the last month. The deaths, now being dubbed the "Poison Ivy Murders," are caused by a toxin that the unknown female assailant uses on her victims. The toxin causes the rapid development of debilitating diseases usually associated with radiation exposure, though its basis is a purely natural element. All of the victims in this string of crimes are male, the sole survivor in any of the attacks was a female worker at an ore factory where five workers were killed three weeks ago. Despite police interrogation, the woman could not identify any pertinent traits in this serial murderess that had not already been ascertained via the security tapes recovered from the Dolan Condominiums murders two months ago. While the identity of the female assailant remains unknown, she is described as a five-foot-three-inch white female, under thirty, with red hair. Any information concerning the whereabouts of this "Poison Ivy" should be reported to Gotham City PD as soon as possible, she is considered armed and extremely dangerous./I

Harley's eyes grew wide as she let the paper fall to the table.

"You…you're 'Poison Ivy?'"

Pamela nodded.

"The one and only."

When Harley's face blanched as she stared down at the mark on her arm.

"This junk ain't what killed those guys, is it?"

"Again, it's the antidote. Geez, Harley, you'd think you never dealt with a criminal before…if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. And I certainly don't serve breakfast to people whom I plan on killing. That's just being a poor hostess. I mean, you deal with the Joker…he likes you, I assume, since you're still alive…if you're on our good side, you've nothing to worry about."

"Usually."

"He's violent? Uh, Harley, how cliché," Pamela said with a roll of her eyes.

"He's not a cliché! He's so far above that! You don't even know him!"

"Nor do I wish to."

"He only hits me to help me get better…to make me stronger…I could never be as strong as Mista J, but…."

"Sweetheart, with the shots I've given you, you already are stronger than him."

"Huh?"

Pamela sighed and pushed a glass of pinkish beet juice towards Harley.

"Drink your juice and I'll explain it."

Bruce kicked an errant garbage bin down the long white hallway, sending balled up Kleenex and empty pretzel bags flying. He hated hospitals, and being within the gradually rebuilding walls of Gotham General was no different. It seemed that no matter what, the Joker's ripple brought him back to various places in their history. Now he was here again, waiting for another one of the Joker's victims, that he couldn't manage to save in time. Alfred was in a coma, and had been ever since he was loaded into the ambulance at Harley's apartment. Bruce paced back and forth down the hallway in front of Alfred's room, before running into, and knocking over, an orderly's cart. As the orderly tried to clean up the mess, a tall, thin doctor stalked towards them, an irritated look on his face, the red blush of rage coloring his pale skin.

"Vat are you doingk, you fool? Zis medication is vital!"

Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

"Sorry, I've had a rough night…doctor…?"

"You've had a rough night? Dummkopf! Do you have any idea how much zis zerum vas worth?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the doctor.

"I…I only caught about half of that."

Another doctor, catching the tail end of their conversation and seeing her colleague preparing to kick the rich playboy's behind, ran over and patted the other doctor on his back. Her skin was glowing with deep amber undertones, her eyes unfathomably green, and hair jet black and shining. The golden nametag was pinned to the lapel of her lab coat, and read "Dr. S. Wu-San," it clashed with the silver ankh that hung from her neck. She looked at Bruce with a kind smile, hoping that he wouldn't berate the German doctor…he was under enough stress with the unchanging comatose condition of his wife.

"Doctor Fries! I've been looking for you…you're needed in the O.R. Oh, I see you've met our Mr. Wayne!"

Dr. Fries looked, expectantly, at Dr. Wun-San.

"Mister Wayne?"

"Yes, Bruce Wayne, of the Wayne Foundation…the foundation that is rebuilding the hospital?"

Dr. Fries' face faded back to its sallow pallor, and he cleared his throat. He stuck his shaking hand out to Bruce.

"Ah, yes, vell, I am Doctor Victor Fries, Mr. Wayne…I…ahh…apologize for znapping at you, you zee, zis medication vas intended for my vife, Nora…she is…ahh…having a difficult time coming out of her coma."

Disturbed by the thought of Alfred's state slipping into the same fate, Bruce tasted bile in the back of his throat.

"Is that a common occurrence?"

"No, no…Nora, she…she contracted ze Triple E? Ja? Ah…Eastern Equine Encephalitis…ve are transferring her into cryogenics lab vithin ze next few days…ve just have to prepare her body for ze change."

"We were lucky that none of the cryogenics equipment had arrived until after the terrorist attacks, Mr. Wayne. An anonymous donor sent them over a month ago," Dr. Wu-San said. "But that type of disease hopefully won't effect your butler."

Dr. Fries nodded.

"Yes, vell, if you vill excuse me, I must get replacement medications to give her before I am delayed any further."

Dr. Fries briskly walked away, leaving Bruce and Dr. Wu-San to stand in silence. After a few moments, Dr. Wu-San smiled.

"Well, the Germans aren't known for their people skills, eh, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce nodded and walked down the hallway towards Alfred's room. -San sighed.

"And doctors aren't known for their comedic skills," she grumbled under her breath. "Oh, yes, Mr. Billionaire Playboy? Oh, my name is Sandra Oh that's your favorite name? You want to get married? Lovely! Just let me pack up my things…you'll get me new things? Wonderful!"

A loud buzzing from her belt alerted Dr. Wu-San to the need for her help elsewhere in the hospital. She straightened her lab coat before taking off to another part of the hospital where some poor sap who had been poisoned was coding.

Hiatus

"They do not love that do not show their love.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

Love is a familiar,

Love is a devil.

There is no evil angel but Love."

(Shakespeare)

Joan Leland paced in her office. She had no clue what to do next, and Dr. Arkham's "mentoring" hadn't prepared her for this. She sat down on her leather couch and stared at the television. Surveillance tapes didn't lie. But there had to be some other explanation for this…disgusting occurrence. She'd been sick after she watched it first, but needed to see it through to the end for some type of closure. Joan felt…guilty watching in on such an intimate act, but, then again, it was her duty as the head of the Asylum to make sure everything was running smoothly. And it wasn't. Not by a long shot, not if this way any indication of what was going on. As she played the tape again, she was glad that she was the only person who was ever going to see it. There was no reason to instigate any situation, and no reason to keep the tape as evidence after she was assured of what was going on…the last thing the Asylum needed was a Joker sex tape getting out. The security camera she had installed in Harley's office a few days ago was a precaution…Joan's attempt at figuring out just what was going on with the doctor's deviant patient, as Harley hadn't been too forthcoming with the information. Joan regretted and felt vindicated in her decision now that the truth had come to light.

The recording opened in on a grainy image of Harley's office. The blonde doctor was sitting in her chair, tapping a pencil impatiently on her desk and glancing up at the clock every few seconds. After a minute or two, the door opened and a guard escorted the handcuffed Joker into the office. Harley held her hand out to the guard, expectantly, and he dropped keys into her waiting palm. As the Joker sat down calmly on the couch, Harley shooed the guard out of the office, before turning around and plopping onto the Joker's lap. He sneered and stood up, allowing Harley to spill onto the floor, limbs akimbo. She stared up at him adoringly, kneeling before him and unlocking the handcuffs from his wrists and ankles. Joan shuddered as the Joker used his new freedom to backhand Harley before stretching out on the couch. Harley recovered quickly, and moved to the end of the couch by his feet. She removed his slippers and began to massage his feet, saying something to him that the silent recording couldn't reveal. It was something humorous, however, because after a pause, the Joker broke out in a little fit of laughter, which Harley joined in on without missing a beat. He leaned back in the couch, his arms behind his head, and allowed Harley to massage him while he smiled languidly. Without warning, he delivered a swift kick to her skull, which sent her flying back onto the end table next to the couch. She fell on the floor, and didn't have a chance to pick herself up before he was on top of her, straddling her body and forcing her lab coat open. He caressed her breasts roughly and lowered his mouth to her neck as she struggled beneath him. Joan glanced away for a moment, knowing what was happening at that moment from watching the tape earlier. Harley's body arched up as the Joker bit her neck, and the pair began kissing fervently, their bodies writhing together on the ground. Harley's skirt was pushed up, roughly, and the Joker's pajama bottoms were pulled down halfway before he thrust into her. Harley visibly, if not audibly from Joan's perspective, cried out in ecstasy with only a few thrusts from the Joker's member, but she continued to moan after reaching her peak so early. The Joker slapped her as he continued thrusting inside of her, before finally wrapping his hands around her neck and pulling her face to his to kiss her surprisingly gently. They were still for a few moments before the Joker rolled off of Harley and laid, stretched out, on the floor next to her. She crawled to his side and he allowed her to curl up against him for the next twenty minutes of the recording. When she finally stood again, straightening her outfit, the Joker stared directly into where the camera was. Joan froze for some reason, feeling like his eyes were boring into hers. When he smiled and gave a little wave into the camera, Joan audibly gulped, then shut the tape off. She took it from the tape deck and tossed it into the burning fireplace in her office. For once, she was grateful for the opulent decorations that came with Dr. Arkham's old office. Joan sighed in relief as she watched the tape melt into oblivion. It hardly mattered what Harley had done with the Joker, anyway…chances were, she was already dead. A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, her voice shaky.

Harley, dressed in a short black dress and a fitted red blazer popped into the office, a bright smile on her face.

"Afternoon, Doc! Sorry I'm late…had a bit of a rough night, if you know what I mean."

"Harley! God, where have you been? I thought…."

"Just spent the night at a friend's house, yeesh, didn't think anyone would worry about me!"

"The Joker broke out of the Asylum and killed Meg, of course I was worried about you, Harley!"

"Oh, well, there's that. But he wasn't going to hurt me. Plus Bats showed up and 'saved the day,' you know, Doc? It's in all of the papers."

"Harley, please, sit down."

"Can't, Doc. Got patients to see, files to file, etceteras to etcetera."

"Dr. Quinzel, please."

Harley peered at Joan as she took a seat on the senior doctor's couch.

"What's goin' on, Joanie?"

"Harley, what is your relationship with the Joker?"

"I'm his doctor."

"Harley. I know…I know you…God, Harley, there was a surveillance video in your office of the two of you…."

Harley's face paled and she glared at Joan.

"That's invasion of privacy! Invasion of doctor-patient relationships! Invasion of my personal space! Joan! How could you?"

"Harley, I didn't expect that you two would be…god, Harley, how could you with that thing?"

"He is not a thing. He is a man. A genius. You don't know him, Dr. Leland. And you can't know what kind of therapy I'm giving him. It's working, for the most part."

"It's working? He broke out of here and killed half a dozen people last night, Harley, probably more. And your idea of therapy is fucking some lunatic while he slaps you around? That's therapy? Is that what they're teaching in the colleges today? Fuck Therapy 101? Harley, you're insane!"

"I am not. I'm just ahead of the curve."

"There, now you're repeating him! Harley! Harley listen to me, you've got to nip this in the bud. What about Bruce Wayne? He likes you…he's called me every half an hour trying to get ahold of you. He's worried sick about you, Harley! And he isn't some looney tune guy in a costume trying to change you."

Harley's dour face lit up at that, and she allowed a smile to fall across her features.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, Harley, please. I know that you've been trying your best with the Joker and that he can get into your head…you need a break, I think. Time to yourself, to figure this stuff out, yeah?"

Harley nodded.

"Uh huh. Yeah, thanks Joan…I'll get right on that. I'll take a vacation or something, but I really have to get to work right now. Patients don't like to be kept waiting, you know?"

"Harley. You're not taking any patients today."

"What? Mista J will plotz if I don't give him his therapy as scheduled, Dr. Leland," Harley said, her eyes darting back and forth.

"He'll have to deal with it, Harley. You're fired."

"Fired?"

"Dr. Quinzel, I'm sorry, but I can't condone this type of relationship with a patient. It isn't helpful to either you or the patient…you need to rest, take some time to speak with your own mental health professional, and get your life back on track. You spend too much time in this place, you turn out crazier than the patients. Not everyone is cut out for this line of work. Now, if you go quietly I will get you a stipend pay for your leaving, as it is a medical necessity, and I'll give you a glowing recommendation wherever you wish to work, as long as it's elsewhere. This is really for your own good, Harley."

Harley quietly took the dose of Pamela's serum from her purse and injected herself with it, before standing and kicking Joan squarely in the jaw. The blow knocked Joan out, cold, and allowed Harley to slip out of her office and make a break for the violent offender's ward. She needed to see the Joker, especially if it was the last time she would see him within the walls of the Asylum. Harley scowled at the guard watching a glowing television at the station in the violent ward.

"I need keys, please."

"Sure thing, doctor," he said, tossing a large ring of keys onto the counter, and never once taking his eyes off of the screen. "Bring 'em back when you're done."

Harley nodded, took the keys, and walked swiftly down the hallway to the Joker. He must have heard her coming, or anticipated it, because he was sitting, smiling out at her as soon as she could make him out.

"Afternoon, Pooh," he said, grinning at her flustered appearance. "What's gotten you all in a tizzy?"

"Oh, Mista J! We've gotta get you outta there! They're kicking me out and…oh, oh, Puddin', I can't bear the thought of you being alone!"

The Joker scowled.

"Firing you? Why the devil are they doing that, Pooh?"

Harley's face was now streaming with tears.

"Joan…she…had…*hiccup* seen…some tape…of us…*sniffle* schtooping…and we…."

"Harley. Calm down. I can't piece a thing of what you said together."

Harley gazed at him, her eyes wide and full of tears.

"Dr. Leland had a security camera installed in my office and saw us…together."

"And…? Harleygirl, that's not a surprise to me."

"What?"

"You can't kid a kidder, Harls. No one pulls one over on your old Uncle Joker."

"You're not mmmmad?"

The Joker smiled benevolently at her.

"Not at you, Pooh. You did the right thing coming to me."

Harley nodded, sniffling as her crying ceased.

"Tttthanks, Puddin'. I love you."

"I know you do, Harls. Now why don't you let me out so I can hear that without a glass wall between us?"

Skipping over to the door, Harley slid the key into the lock, only to hear the cocking of a gun behind her.

"Drop it, Dr. Quinzel," the guard said from behind her.

Harley turned around, careful to leave one hand on the doorknob and the key in the lock, to face the guard and Dr. Leland, who was holding an ice pack against her skull.

"Harley, step away from that door," Joan said, her voice seething with anger.

With the gun pointed on her, Harley did as asked. not bothering to fight back, and the guard wrangled her onto the ground with ease. The Joker tapped on the glass wall and pouted at Harley. It was the last straw. Under such intense stress, Harley was incapable of controlling herself. Her body was teeming with Pamela's serum, and as it coursed through her veins, it increased her adrenaline levels, pushing her over the edge. With a little cry of anger, Harley sat up, pushing the guard off of her and throwing him against the glass wall. The Joker laughed and clapped his hands together as Joan pressed the panic button on her belt. Harley leapt at her, doing a series of flips on the cold tiled ground before kicking Joan in the abdomen, then in the head, knocking her out once again. As the reinforcing group of guards ran into the hallway, they focused on Harley. One of them, a dark-haired man of no more than twenty-four, called out to her frantically.

"Doctor! Get down! He's out!"

"Huh?"

Harley turned to see the Joker standing outside of his cell, grinning, and holding Joan's limp body against his own. He placed his hands around her head and twisted sharply. The loud crack and the resulting giggle assured Harley that he had snapped the other doctor's neck, killing her. Her stomach turned, but when one of the guards cocked his gun behind her, she reacted instinctively.

ISave Mista J./I

Harley lashed out erratically, her body reacting more quickly than she thought possible. With only a few minutes passing, Harley was soon standing over the lifeless corpses of five guards, with the Joker standing across from her, having yet to move. He grinned and applauded her, allowing Joan's lifeless body to fall from his hands.

"Good show, Pooh! I didn't know you could move that quickly!"

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into his cell, allowing the door to lock them in together. Harley looked up at him in disbelief.

"I thought you'd want to get out of here tonight, Mista J."

"Later, Harleygirl," he said, soothingly, caressing her face.

"But, Puddin'."

"Shut up, Harls, you're ruining the moment," he snapped.

"Yessir."

He smiled and guided her hand to grasp at the bulge in his pajamas. She reacted as he expected, with an eager grin. He allowed her to pull his member free and begin to dote upon it with long licks of her pink little tongue. The Joker relaxed on his cot, watching Harley suck him joyously for a few minutes before he pulled her off of himself and laid her on his cot. He positioned himself above her, pushing her dress up around her waist and smiling when he realized she hadn't worn any panties. She blushed when she noticed his focus, and he laid a soft kiss on her forehead before thrusting harshly into her wet folds. They writhed on the cot together for what seemed like hours before the police finally arrived after a cleaning woman had seen the dead bodies during her nightly routine. Knowing what was coming, the Joker wrapped his hands around Harley's throat just before the police had entered the wing, and she slipped into unconsciousness after a pulsating orgasm rocked her form. The Joker came hard as the police outside of his cell stared at the pair in disgust. He pushed the limp Harley onto the floor and laughed uproariously as the officers tried to figure out what to do next.

Passion Play

"Past the point of no return - no backward glances:the games we've played till now are at an end...Past all thought of "if" and "when" - no use resisting:abandon thought, and let the dream descend...What raging fire shall flood the soul?What rich desire unlock its door?What sweet seduction lies before us...?

Past the point of no return, the final threshold -what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?Beyond the point of no return…"

(The Phantom of the Opera, "Point of No Return")

Harley had been hoisted into a police car as soon as the Joker had been restrained. Despite what the situation seemed, there were too many odd coincidences linking the Joker and Harley to ignore. The blonde doctor was nothing if not cooperative, and she was escorted into a small interrogation room without much difficulty. A large red-headed detective had berated her with questions, but Harley refused to respond. He left in a huff, saying that she'd rot in the interrogation room. Perhaps after seeing her shifting in her seat in obvious discomfort, a young female officer came into the room after the red-headed detective had verbally assaulted her, and escorted Harley to the restroom. Harley smiled at the officer in thanks as she led her back to the interrogation room. And there she sat, for what seemed like an eternity, in a dimly lit room, fully aware that she was being watched through the one-way glass set on the wall before her. Harley sighed and looked down at the empty paper cup she grasped in her hand. She could really go for a drink after the night she'd had, and she doubted she'd get strong enough stuff from the cops. After an hour and a half, Commissioner Gordon entered the room, without much pomp. His face was sullen, his eyes bloodshot and sunken. He handed Harley a cup of black coffee and sat down in front of her. She took it with a weak smile.

"Thanks."

"Now, let's try this again, Ms. Quinzel."

"Doctor."

"Pardon?"

"Doctor Quinzel. Sorry. I didn't spend six years in med school to be called Ms."

Gordon nodded.

"Right. Sorry, Doctor Quinzel. Yes, well, let's move on. Detective O'Malley said that you were being a little…uhhh difficult when he attempted to question you earlier?"

Harley scowled.

"Yeah! The big schmuck was screamin' and howlin' and pacin' and causin' an awful ruckus in here! And when I wanted to go to the little girl's room, he said that only law-abiding citizens got to use the can! What kind of establishment are ya runnin, Commish? Ain't a lady allowed to have use of the facilities when they gotta go? And ain't I innocent until proven guilty?"

Blanching slightly, Harley glanced at Gordon, whose jaw was slightly agape.

"Sorry. It has been a very stressful week, Commissioner Gordon. You have to understand that within the past forty-eight hours, I've lost a friend, been absconded with by one of my patients, been assaulted, seen multiple dead bodies, including those of my cats, had my apartment completely trashed, and watched as the bar my dead friend worked at burned to the ground. I'm sorry if I've been a hindrance to your investigation, but I honestly am trying to cope with everything as it's coming in. It's what we call an emotionally passive response to psychological trauma…the brain begins to shut off the emotional receptors when the stress becomes too great. It's a defense mechanism, to be sure, but at this point, Commissioner Gordon," Harley said, her eyes wearily looking up at him, "I don't think I'm going to be much help in your investigation. In a few days when this hopefully short-term representation of post-traumatic stress disorder is resolved, I will be happy to assist you."

Commissioner Gordon stared blankly at Harley for a moment, and then nodded.

"Yes, yes of course, I'm extremely sorry, Dr. Quinzel, it's just…you understand how it looks, and how these situations are dealt with. We've been a little understaffed recently, what with the budget cutbacks and the general wariness at joining the police force in Gotham…but that doesn't excuse Detective O'Malley's treatment of you…do you still need to…?"

Harley shook her head.

"No, no, a younger woman came in a little while ago and escorted me after your detective's little rant."

"Ah. Montoya. She's new, but I think a very promising officer."

"I would have to agree with you on that, Commissioner. May I leave now?"

Gordon sighed, but nodded, reluctantly.

"Yes, I suppose it isn't going to be harmful to let you leave before…."

A knock at the door startled Gordon and annoyed Harley.

"Come in," Gordon said.

The red-headed Detective O'Malley stuck his head in the room, shooting a death glare at Harley.

"Commish, you better come see this. You ain't gonna like it."

Commissioner Gordon followed the Detective, excusing himself for a moment from Harley, who remained seated in the interrogation room. On O'Malley's desk sat a large, dirty brown-paper package. Gordon glanced at it with a raised eyebrow.

"This is what's so important, O'Malley?"

O'Malley nodded.

"Yeah. Our guys found it when they were cleaning up blondie's apartment. It's addressed to her dead friend."

"And?"

"And guess who's prints are all over it?"

"The Joker?"

"Bingo. We don't know if we wanna open it yet…we sent for the bomb squad, but…."

"Open it."

"But, boss."

"Open it. If it was going to blow up, it would've done so at Dr. Quinzel's apartment."

Cautiously, O'Malley tore through the brown paper packaging to find a few assorted papers and thousands of dollars in cash. In purple crayon, the top page read: "IMegs, thanks for the extra help, couldn't have done it without ya, kitten. Don't tell the doc about our arrangement, she won't understand…too white hat. -J./I" O'Malley squinted at the paper, in obvious frustration.

"White hat? What does white hat mean?"

"A good guy," Gordon responded. "Lone Ranger. I think we can safely assume that Dr. Quinzel's roommate was the associate of the Joker…Quinzel must've just gotten caught up in the crossfire when some deal went south. She's a strong, intelligent woman…I don't think that there's any way that the Joker could've corrupted her. I'm going to go release her."

Walking alone towards the interrogation room, a slight pressure drop caused Commissioner Gordon to stop.

"You're right," a deep voice rasped from behind him.

"You know you can't keep skulking around in here…they're still blaming you for Dent. They want to hang you," Gordon said, turning around to face Batman.

"I can handle it. It's Quinzel I'm worried about."

"And why's that?"

"She's been too strong for too long…everyone has a breaking point…I just hope nothing pushes her over."

"I agree that she's been through quite a bit, but it's nothing that the strongest of us haven't…."

"The Joker raped her, Jim," Batman said, his voice cracking slightly. "I saw him do it…I…I couldn't do anything to…he had already…and she wanted to help him get well after that…she's a moral paragon…just like Harvey. We need to make sure she doesn't fall."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'll take her from here. I'll watch her, take care of her for the next few days until she's out of the woods."

Gordon nodded.

"Come on, then."

Harley stood when Gordon opened the door, a small smile creeping to her lips when Batman followed behind him.

"You aren't bringing him in here to give me the same third degree he gave the Joker, are you, Commish? Cuz I've gotta say, that ain't no way to treat a lady."

Batman motioned to the doorway and Harley threw a glance at Gordon.

"I don't have a choice in this, do I?"

"Harley, please," Batman said, his eyes searching hers.

She sighed.

"Alright, lead the way, B-man. Thanks for the hos…pitality, Commish, it was swell!"

Batman led Harley, his hand holding her elbow, out the back of the station. She climbed into the modified Tumbler, silently, and he climbed in, revving the engine before they pealed out into the night. They drove for a few miles before he broke the silence.

"How did you find out, Harley?"

"Find out what?"

He scowled at her.

"Oh. That. I just did my research. You really should be more careful when changing in a woman's office."

"What?"

"My webcam was still on. Caught ya undressing and redressing into your rodent costume."

"Oh," he said, his voice wavering. "Is it…still on your computer?"

"Nope. Deleted after I watched it. Gone to mpeg heaven."

"Did anyone else see it?"

"Just Meg. And she went kaboom, so I'm guessing she isn't going to say anything about it."

"Ah."

They fell into silence again. Harley loudly sighed after ten minutes had passed.

"This is too tense, I wanna listen to the radio," she said, leaning towards a promising red switch.

"No!"

Harley sat back with a start.

"Sorry! Yeesh, you're touchy, B-man."

"That button doesn't work the radio, it's the on switch for the psychofraculator."

"The what now?"

"Psychofraculator."

Harley scrunched up her nose.

"Saying the name again doesn't tell me what it does, Bruce. So who are you planning on fraculatin'?"

Batman rolled his eyes.

"Psychofraculating."

"Still get fraculated."

"It's an emergency service."

"Like AAA?"

"Yes. No…no…it's not like AAA."

"Oh. Well, I've got AAA if we break down, and you won't have to fraculate nobody!"

Batman shook his head in disbelief.

"What has gotten into you, Harley? You're very different from the girl I saw on our date."

"Humour."

"What?"

"Humour. It's my defense mechanism," she replied with a shrug. "Patient relapses into non-chalant and self-deprecating states when under severe stress."

"Your doctor say that?"

"Yup."

"Recently?"

"No. Right after my mother and grandmother died a few years back. I was gonna drop outta school and be a stand-up comedian, but I wasn't that funny…nobody laughed at me. They didn't throw tomatoes, mind you, but still, I got the message."

"Is that the Joker's excuse too?"

"The gramma thing? I doubt it."

"No…the humour as a defense mechanism thing."

Harley rolled her eyes dramatically.

"What is it with you and Mista J? You're all the other one talks about, yeesh, why don'tcha get married already? Makes a girl jealous when her fella is obsessed with some costumed freak."

Batman smiled, wrongly assuming that he was not the 'costumed freak' Harley mentioned. They pulled into the Batcave slowly, Bruce having installed an alternate entrance that didn't necessitate travel through a waterfall.

"So," Harley said, glancing around as she climbed out of the Tumbler, "This is your lair?"

"I guess you could call it that," Bruce said, pulling his mask off.

"It's nice."

"Thank you."

"Sure thing, B-man. So, why'd ya come to get me, anyways? It's not like we're schtooping or anything, guys usually don't come to a girl's rescue unless there's something in it for them."

Bruce shook his head and sighed, taking a moment to walk behind a covered screen, before re-emerging in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Or it could be that I actually care about your well-being, Harley, and I doubt it would be good for your psyche to be stuck at Gotham PD for a few more hours."

"That's true. It was pretty crummy."

"I know. If you don't want to go back there, Harley, you have to stop covering for him. You can't protect him…after what he's done to you…God, it's admirable that you still want to help your patient, but he's a monster, you can't help him."

Harley's jaw set in a firm clench.

"You don't even know him."

"What?"

Catching him off-guard, Harley leapt toward Bruce and landed a forceful kick to his groin. He doubled over in pain, giving Harley the opportunity to wrap her arms around his neck. He struggled beneath her, surprised at her strength, but still not wanting to hurt her. She pressed her lips to his ear and planted a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks for bailing me out, B-man, but nobody talks about my Puddin' like that! Nighty night!"

A swift pinch to the two pressure points on his neck sent Bruce into an unconscious slump on the floor. Harley grabbed his grappling hook from the pile on his suit in front of her, and engaged it. With the excess rope, she tied Bruce's arms and legs together, in effect, hogtying him. Realizing that he wouldn't be out for long, Harley had to act fast. Sifting through the weaponry in the Batcave, Harley grinned widely when she found a bevy of large guns sitting in a glass case. She shattered the glass with a kick, and grabbed a bazooka and a rocket launcher, strapping them both across her shoulders. Harley then grabbed a few pistols, strapping them to her legs and at her hips. With a glance back at Bruce, assuring herself he was still out, she made her way upstairs and out of the half-rebuilt mansion. A Lamborghini with the keys still in the ignition sat by the garage. She gently laid the rocket launcher and bazooka in it before hopping in and revving the engine. Harley grinned as she took off into the night, leaving Bruce unable to free himself for the time being.

Batzooka?

"I'm under your spellNothing I can doYou just took my soul with youYou worked your charm so wellFinally, I knewEverything I dreamed was trueYou make me believe."

("Under Your Spell," BtVS 6.07 "Once More With Feeling")

The Joker, still alone in his cell, sat up with a start, his eyes lighting up, despite the cocktail of medications that teemed throughout his system. The drugs had incapacitated his body enough to keep him from divesting himself of the straight jacket he still wore. He smelled the air; it was the same lemony tinged scent that rose from the tiled floors, but it held something else in its little olfactory particles.

ISomething's coming…what, oh what could it be? Maybe my little Harleykins finally snapped and is going to be my new cellmate! Hahaha! Wouldn't that just beat all? Course it'll make my sessions more trying…uhhhh…what is it with that girl making things harder for me? That stupid little thing can't do anything right! I'll have to instruct her a little better. I've been too easy on her and she's slacking off. Can't have that, now, can we?/I

The Joker stood, trying to writhe his way out of the straight jacket, but failed, falling to his knees, his head spinning. He may be a god among men, but his body was still relatively human, and could only stand so much. The drugs Doctor Leland had given him could've felled an elephant, or at the very least a zebra, he thought, emitting a wobbly little laugh. It attested to his greatness that he was at least somewhat coherent. He wriggled his way to his cot, moving it back, slightly, so it rested against the wall. With a shudder, he knelt above the edge of the cot and, with all of the strength he could muster, launched his stomach against the edge, and began to heave. He leaned to the side, the contents of his stomach quickly flowing onto the floor beside his cot. After a few more gagging heaves, his mind began to clear. He shook his head as he regained a bit more composure, and grabbed a scratchy blanket off of the cot with his teeth, dropping on the vomit by his bed. It'd do him no good for Leland to come by and see the evidence, for he was sure she would force feed him more pills. He lay on the cot, suddenly struck by a wave of sleepiness.

IJust a quick nap and the rest of this junk will have worked it's way outta me./I

The Joker succumbed, finally, to the sedatives that remained in his system, sleeping soundly.

Harley floored it through Gotham City without any trouble. She wondered, briefly, where all of the police were.

II guess with Bats incapacitated they're probably all tied up!/I

She broke out in a fit of giggles and pulled over to regain her composure. When she had calmed down, she glanced up at her surroundings. She was parked in front of a twenty-four hour costume store.

IHa! What are the odds? Mista J probably won't wanna get movin' without some supplies when I bust him outta the clink! Won't he just plotz when he sees I took care of everything for him? Oh! He'll be so pleased!/I

Trying to remain as stealthy as possible, Harley left the car and walked into the costume shop, leaving all of the guns, aside from the pistols strapped to her hips, sitting in plain view in the backseat. And older Asian man scowled at her behind the counter as she walked in. Harley dumped a dozen bottles of red, white, and black greasepaint into the shopping basket she absentmindedly swung as she perused the aisles. As she dropped a few tubes of an earthy green hair dye into the basket, a flash of red and black at the back of the store caught her eye. Walking, awestruck, towards the red and black skintight costume that hung on the wall, Harley's eyes fell to the sign hanging adjacent to the costume:

IHarlequin/I.

She laughed aloud at the sheer humour of it all when the store's owner cleared his throat behind the counter.

"That too expensive for you! You don't touch. Get it dirty. Very expensive material."

"Oh," Harley said, her crestfallen face distracting the man from the slight movement of her hand to her hip. "I can't just have it?"

"What? Have…no! You get out now," he screamed, his face shading as red as the apple he held in his hand.

A shot rang out and he was silenced. Harley didn't acknowledge the man as he slumped to the floor, dead before his head hit the tile. She smiled as she skipped to the changing room with the outfit. The lycra suit formed to her shape like a glove, and Harley grinned at her reflection in the mirror, taking note of the diamonds that adorned her thighs and shoulders with a giggle. She frowned for a moment, noting that her reflection still needed something, when it dawned on her. Smearing white paint across the majority of her face, then accenting it with a black greasepaint domino mask and lip coloring, Harley felt her ensemble was finally completed. Taking the shopping basket in hand, she skipped to the entrance, dumping the paints in a plastic bag, and grabbing the dead shop keep's apple from its resting place on the counter. She took a big bite and grinned down at his corpse.

"I look so good in it I can keep it, no charge? Gee, thanks, mister!"

Humming a happy tune as she exited the shop, Harley was met with a bevy of whistles from the street. A small gang of street hoodlums surrounded the Lamborghini, their attention now focused on the knockout in a clown costume before them. The largest of the three ogled her with a leer, and took a step forward.

"This car yours, doll face? Little lady like you sure can't handle the horsepower that thing's got to offer…why don't we trade? I think you'll be able to handle a smaller engine better," he said, motioning to a beat up pale blue Cadillac Fleetwood parked in front of the Lamborghini.

Harley frowned for a moment, then grinned at the hoodlum.

IIf I know Batsie, he'd put a tracking device on all his cars…ditching it now will at least buy me and my Puddin' a little more time!/I

"You know what, kid? Why not? Just let me get a few of my unmentionables out of the back," she said with a grin.

The teens stood back, unsure of what to do next as Harley pulled the rocket launcher and bazooka out of the Lamborghini, hoisting them onto her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, a strange label on the bazooka caught her attention. In blocky yellow script, the bazooka's label read: I"Batzooka."/I

"Batzooka?"

Harley broke out in a fit of hysterical laughter, tears rolling down her face, leaving little trails of liquidy makeup on her chin. The three teenagers looked at her, then at each other, and back again, unsure of what to do. As her laughter died down, she smiled sweetly at them, stretching her hand out, expectantly.

"Keys, please?"

The largest hood shakily gave her the keys to the old Cadillac, and she handed him the keys to Bruce's car with a grin.

"Take care of her, fellas! Oh, and if you're ever lookin' for work of the morally reprehensible variety, let me or Mista J know! He's always lookin' for new minions!"

"Mister J?"

"The Joker, you big magoo! Have a nice night boys!"

Harley took off towards the Asylum, leaving three very confused teens, and one very dead shopkeep, in her wake.

Bruce awoke, his head feeling as if it had been beaten against a wall for several hours. He growled when he noticed the immobility of his arms and legs, looking down his torso to see them tied together with his own grappling hook.

"Harley!"

Harley sauntered up to the guard's station at the Asylum and shot the guard in the head without batting an eyelash. She blew and loudly popped a bubble in her cinnamon gum as she reached in the booth and pressed the button disabling the outbound alarm system.

IDr. Arkham sure was a moron leavin' the fate of the employees and inmates up to one stupid button in the entranceway's guard post. Oh, well, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Harls!/I

"Thanks, uhh," she said, trailing off as she pushed the guard's dead body back so she could read his nametag.

She burst out laughing as she skipped back to the Cadillac.

"Thanks, Bruce!"

Harley loaded herself up with the weapons she had brought and stealthily crept up to the Asylum, barley able to contain her giggles when she thought of the bazooka's Ireal/I name.

"Heh, heh, batzooka," she laughingly sighed, under her breath, as she walked up to the Asylum's door.

Her passkey was still active, Dr. Leland must not have had enough time to disable it, what with her being dead and all. Screwing a silencer onto one of the pistols, and silently thanking the hoods she swapped cars with for leaving that little gem sitting in the glove compartment, she disposed of the small handful of guards that crossed her path to the Joker. Harley strutted down the hallway and stopped at the Joker's cell, smiling dreamily at his sleeping form. She tapped on the glass, and he woke, groggily glancing up at the noise. Harley waved at him, grinning through her greasepaint.

"Hi, Puddin'! Meet your new and improved Harley Quinn!"

The Joker shook his grogginess off and grinned at her as she aimed the bazooka at the bottom of the glass partition separating them. She motioned for him to get to the ground.

"Take cover, Puddin'!"

The Joker dove under his cot and pulled it over providing a shield for himself, giggling with glee. Harley fired at the floor directly in front of the partition, the "batzooka" sending shockwaves through the glass, shattering it, as it jettisoned into the ground. As the shards settled, the internal alarms in the Asylum sounding. Harley hopped into the Joker's cell and behind his cot, helping him to his feet.

"We gotta get outta here, Mista J!"

The Joker grinned at Harley as she handed a pair of pistols to him. She blushed through her greasepaint.

"Sorry it ain't your usual style, Puddin', but I was strapped for time!"

"Harleygirl, I could kiss you!"

"Can't believe I'm sayin' this, Mista J, but there's no time! Now let's move!"

The pair ran out of the Asylum quickly and efficiently, only needing to off a few dozen employees. As they ran out toward her waiting car, Harley tossed a glance over her shoulder at the wing that had held her lover hostage. She lifted her rocket launcher to her shoulder and aimed it at the building.

"Consider this my two weeks notice!"

As the Asylum wall rocked with the explosion from Harley's rocket, a low rumble echoed in the distance, followed suddenly by a larger explosion which demolished the entire south wing of Arkham.

"Oopsie," Harley exclaimed as the Joker giggled uncontrollably in her car, "Musta hit a gas line! Oh well, just roll with it, Harls! Hope ya didn't leave anything' important in there, Puddin'!"

With a flourish, Harley leapt into the driver's seat, leaving her rocket launcher and the batzooka on the Asylum's gravel driveway, and sped off towards the glowing lights of the city.

An Ace in the Hole

"The unique and supreme voluptuousness of love lies in the certainty of committing evil. And men and women know from birth that in evil is found all sensual delight."

(Charles Baudelaire)

Harley drove through the night, silently following the directions the Joker gave her prior to succumbing to an intense drowsiness that overtook him. Smiling at him, she kept stealing glances at his calm face, finally covered again in the makeup that she had stolen for him. She pulled into a small apartment complex located on the shore of the harbor that section of Gotham was encompassed by. Shaking the Joker's shoulder lightly, Harley parked their "borrowed" car on the apartment's small dock.

"C'mon, Puddin', we gotta move!"

He nodded, groggily, and collected himself before stepping out of the car. Harley grabbed a pair of pistols and the bag of makeup and hair dye before shifting the car into neutral and hopping out. The pair pushed the car into the harbor; it sank quickly and without incident into the deep waters. She smiled at him and thrust a gun into his hand.

"So, we hoofin' it, Mista J, or are we stayin' here for the night?"

The Joker shook his head and motioned to the cars in the parking lot with his pistol.

"Find one that suits you, Pooh, and we'll take it. Still have a little ways to go."

Harley squealed with delight and skipped merrily around the parking lot before stopping at a bright red convertible, its top conveniently down.

"Hey, Puddin'! I got one!"

He chuckled and nodded at the passenger's side.

"Alright, Harleygirl, I was going to try for stealth, but if my girl wants it, I'll provide it. Just relax for a moment while Daddy starts our car, hm?"

Harley nodded and hopped into the convertible, stretching out while the Joker hotwired the engine. When the engine started, the Joker stood and climbed into the driver's seat, taking off quickly, the wheels squealing slightly as they drove away from the complex. He glanced over at Harley's stretched out form and smiled. Running his free hand over her thigh, he squeezed it gently, a low rumble of laughter echoing in his throat.

"We've got a bit of a drive ahead of us, Harls…why don't you come over here and help your Uncle Joker pass the time?"

Harley eagerly slid over to the Joker, her face hovering above his lap, her hands nimbly freeing his erect member from its constraints. She thought, with a passing grin, that she would miss his Arkham pajamas once they escaped and he returned to his previous fashionable state. She took his length into her mouth as far down her throat as she could manage, her small hands gripping the base of his shaft as she bobbed up and down on it. The Joker moaned as Harley flicked her tongue across the tip of his cock, and thrust his hips up unwittingly. Harley gagged, but didn't cease in her ministrations. He gripped one of her pigtails, covered by her costume's cowl, as he came, grunting loudly as he did so. Harley sat up with a smile after tucking his now makeup stained member into his pajama pants. When she relaxed back into her seat, the Joker backhanded her, holding back most of his force, but still allowing the blow to sting. Her eyes filled with tears, and she stared at him, dumbfounded.

"W…w…was it bad, Puddin'?"

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"No…you looked like you were going to nod off. There's no time for that now, Harley. We've got to stay on our toes."

"Oh," she said, sitting up, her face set in a serious mask. "How far away are we, Mista J?"

"Not far. Just hush, Harls."

"Sure thing, Mista J."

They drove in silence for an hour, finally reaching the sparsely inhabited area of the suburbs surrounding Gotham City. The Joker pulled into the darkened driveway of a small one-story house. It was yellow, Harley thought, or at least that's how it looked when seen with only the headlights giving any illumination to the area. The Joker climbed out of the convertible and fiddled with the security pad on the garage door, leaving Harley in the running car. After a few moments, it opened and he pulled the vehicle into the confines of the diminutive garage. Harley raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as they got out of the car and entered the house. The Joker, ever able to perceive even the slightest changes in people, smiled at Harley.

"It's a repossessed house. No one's been here for years, and the back taxes are too high for it to be a viable investment for anyone. They don't bother showing most of the houses on this street, especially this one. I've stayed here once or twice…there are a few provisions here, not much, but we're just starting out, right, Harleykins? A fixer-upper will give you something to keep you busy for a little while."

He moved forward a few paces, searching for a decaying oaken dresser that was close to the door. The Joker pulled a pack of matches and a few long taper candles. He lit two and handed one to Harley, who smiled when she noted its purple color. She walked through the small house, familiarizing herself with its layout. It was devoid of most furnishings in the main rooms; a red lamp was placed on a small iron end table, rusted in sections, which sat next to a brown recliner that was covered in dust, holes, and grime. The tiled kitchen had appliances that Harley assumed weren't functioning, as the electric was out; the white refrigerator, nonetheless, had black and red magnets of the card pips upon it, suggesting that perhaps it may be useful, if only for displaying notes.

Harley made her way to a small bedroom, smiling as she entered. A ratted heart headboard was leaned up against a large mattress, which rested on the floor. The mattress was stained and had no sheets or pillows adorning it, aside from a small red blanket bunched up at its foot. The padding on the red heart headboard was torn, the stuffing falling out of it in tufts. There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom, which Harley wandered into; she placed her candle in the sink, and perused the contents of the bathroom. To her surprise, there were a few provisions to be found within the cupboards. In the medicine cabinet she found an unopened toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste, and a variety of pills in a prescription canister. A few half-empty bottles of cleansers were underneath the sink, in addition to a bottle of shampoo and a dirt-encrusted hunk of soap. With a cringe, she pushed the soap to the back of the cupboard, hoping that the shampoo could double as a body wash for them.

IBut how are we going to shower if there's no water?/I

In her perplexed state, Harley didn't notice that the Joker had walked up behind her and was staring, intently, at her costume. The wax from his candle had dripped all over his hand, but he ignored the warming irritant as he looked, lustfully, at his former doctor.

"Haaarley…."

She jumped at her name and whipped around to face him. He smiled and pushed her back against the countertop of the sink.

"Harls…I haven't gotten to tell you how much I love this costume on you…I'm a little sad you didn't get any clothes for Daddy, though…."

"Oh, Puddin'! I'm so sorry, I didn't even think!"

"Shh, shh, shh, Harls, I'll just have to teach you a little better, won't I?"

Harley nodded fervently.

"Yessir!"

"Blow out those candles, Harls. Daddy's tired. Let's go to bed, hm?"

Harley was led, silently through the dark, back into the bedroom, the Joker's hand gripping hers tightly, the wax cooling and forming to the shape of their intertwined hands. They laid on the mattress, Harley instantly forgetting its dirtiness when she stared up at the Joker as he positioned himself above her. His hands raked over her frame, stopping for brief moments to grasp her breasts and rear. He stroked her back lightly and unzipped her costume, helping her remove it from her frame, then throwing it onto the floor next to them. When Harley reached to her cowl, the Joker grabbed her hand.

"Leave it on, Harls," he growled in a low voice, lowering his head to a peaked nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

Harley gasped out in delight as the Joker's hand slipped between her legs and into her already soaking folds. His torn lips still set around her nipple, the Joker groaned as Harley's body responded to his movements, her hips moving up as her inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Moving his mouth down her breast beneath her nipple, the Joker bit down as hard as he could, causing Harley to scream in pain. Tiny trickles of blood flowed down her ribs as the Joker sat up and freed his cock from his pajamas. He thrust into her, his fingers tracing the streams of blood on her torso. They moved together, the Joker pinching her wound ever so often, causing her to gasp. When he bent down and flicked his tongue lightly against the still scabbed letter "J" on her left breast, Harley lost it, finishing in gasping waves of pleasure, her blue eyes staring up at his smiling face. He followed suit soon after, with a grunt, burying his face in her neck, pressing a feather-light kiss as his orgasm pulsed through him. He rolled off of her and onto his back, then sat up, grabbing the bunched up blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it over their bodies. Lying back down, he pulled her to himself again, forcing her head onto his chest and wrapping a protective arm around her. He fell asleep almost instantly, leaving Harley to stare at his sleeping face again, before drifting off within a few minutes.

Across town, Two Face was sitting across the street from Commissioner Gordon's home, smiling as Batman dropped down from the rooftop. Two Face pulled a detonator out of his coat pocket and pressed the sole button on it. Gordon's front porch exploded in flames, and Two Face drove off, silently, toward the hideout his connections had furnished for him.

Subsistence

"I do not expect the sprit of Penelope

To enter your breast, for I am not mighty

Or fearless. (Only our love is brave,

A rock against the wind.) I cry and cringe

When the cyclops peers into my cave.

I do not expect your letters to be lengthy

And of love, flowery and philosophic, for

Words are not our bond.

I need only the hard fact

Of your existence for my subsistence.

Our love is a rock against the wind,

Not soft like silk and lace."

("A Love Poem," Etheridge Knight)

It had been three months since Harley had broken the Joker out of Arkham. The days had drifted by without either of them noticing the length of their "vacation" until the snow covered Gotham in a blanket of white. Since their escape from Arkham, the pair had uprooted themselves every week, ever on the move to a new hideout. The small yellow house they had first occupied was still a safe house because of their precautions, though a few of the other homes and warehouses they had resided in were now covered by police scrutiny. The majority of their trail was made up by the missing persons eventually found dead in the basements of their houses the clowns had besieged over the past three months. Ever the showman, the Joker always left evidence of his habitation in the homes they had taken over, usually in the form of a candid photograph he would have Harley snap of himself lounging on a couch with one of the dead owners propped up next to him.

Their patterns of choosing shelter was erratic, the choices driven only by the chaotic emotional impulses of the Joker. Always staying one step ahead of the police, and without the looming figure of the Batman lurking behind them in the night for some reason, the duo had been successful in hiding from sight. Without much opposition, the Joker and Harley had taken over the underground, and had hundreds of henchmen in their employ, and had managed to secure a large financial surge flowing into their own pockets. After a while of ruling unopposed, the Joker was bored, and longed for some diversion. While he and Harley were cruising through the darkened city one evening, they happened upon an abandoned toy factory. The Joker's humor was tickled so much, he couldn't resist moving them into it posthaste, not bothering to inform their henchmen where they were staying. Their capers became smaller, neither of them needing to prove any point without the caped crusader's intervention. After a week of solidarity in the factory, Harley began to get antsy.

Harley stood, her arms folded and mouth set in a pout, in their makeshift bedroom within the toy factory. She sifted through her sparse rack of clothes, made up mostly of duplicates of her costume that the Joker had assisted her in sewing as he was replenishing his own wardrobe. A tiny red negligee popped out at her and she smiled, wickedly.

The Joker sat, hunched over a charred desk in the office of the factory. He was scribbling across various papers scattered about the desk, grunting as he did so. The Joker felt more relaxed, more at ease in the toy factory than he had been in years, but tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him that it was due to Harley's presence, and the lack of distractions stopping him from giving her his attention.

"Come on, Puddin'," Harley cooed as she crawled seductively onto his desk. "Don'tcha wanna rev up your Harley?"

His hand jutted out, knocking her onto the dusty ground.

"'m busy. Go 'way."

Harley pouted as she stood, brushing herself off with a whimper.

"But, Puddin'! It feels like weeks since we've had any 'quality time,' and I wore this little number special for ya," she whined, indicating her lacy negligee with a flourish.

When he grunted in response, she sighed and stomped back into their bedroom, a scowl clearly etched on her face. She plopped onto their bed with a huff. She had attempted to make a comfortable home for them, wherever they went, but when she noticed that the Joker felt more at ease within the toy factory, Harley went into overdrive. Their bedroom was a veritable hodgepodge of bright, childlike elements. Each wall was a separate color, one green, one red, one purple, one blue. The ceiling was a vibrant yellow, and Harley had bedecked the floor with a large orange throw rug. Their bed was giant, a California King covered in red striped sheets and set inside of a wooden red racecar frame that Harley had created with the scrap wood and spare time she found in the toy factory. There were various clown toys strune about the room, and a dilapidated toy rocking horse in the corner of the room. A crumpled newspaper sat on its wooden back, and Harley frowned. It was going to be another one of "those nights," she was sure.

The Joker grumbled to himself after Harley stomped out of the room. Couldn't she see he was Iworking/I? The girl didn't know what was good for her. He scanned over the papers on which he had been scribbling. He had outlined the formula for his "Smilex" fueled take-over of Gotham. Silently, he thanked Harley's presumably dead friend, Meg, for introducing her to Dr. Isley. He had found the botanist's card while rummaging through Harley's things one boring Sunday afternoon. Pamela wasn't too glad that he had contacted her, but was happy to receive the case full of money that he had offered her in exchange for a single concentrated gallon of Oenanthe crocata liquid. While Harley busied herself with the upkeep and decoration of their new hideout, the Joker had successfully developed a gaseous variation of the legendary Sardinian Cabbage. Though he had yet to test it out on humans, he was certain it would work. He had killed a pile of fish in his tests, each of them dying with a large grin on their faces. With a grin, he remembered his last meeting with the plant queen. He had driven out to her greenhouse one evening as Harley slept, soundly, after he had plowed her into the land of Nod. The small fire he started at the door of her greenhouse quickly spread through the entirety of the land, and caused a huge explosion. The Joker grinned and drove back to the toy factory, confident in the fact that he had gotten rid of someone he was sure would pester him by giving Harley an ego-enhancing influence. What he hadn't counted on was the genetic mutation that the explosion, coupled with her own self-induced immunity to many toxins, caused within Pamela. Her skin shaded to a shamrock green, and the ivy that had been blown onto her body as the plant toxins exploded adhered to her skin, allowing her to become one with the plants she so loved.

Harley grabbed and uncrumpled the newspaper that lay on the rocking horse, then flopped onto the bed on her stomach, her long legs swinging up above her, kicking back and forth. A battered, but smiling, image of Bruce Wayne stared up at her from the center of the front page, the headline above him reading "Wayne Finally Out of the Woods After Neal-Fatal Carjacking." Harley broke out into a fit of laughter as she read through the story, realizing that the poor saps she'd traded the Lamborghini with were now in custody, charged with attempted murder after Bruce's near-immolation. She had no idea, really, what had happened to Bruce, or the less-injured Commissioner Gordon, nor did she care. Despite wanting Bruce to stay out of their lives, Harley did realize that the Joker needed the Batman to be his foil. They could exist apart, but not very well…it took its toll on the Joker, and Harley would bet it was doing the same to Bruce. And Bruce…well, that was another thing that bothered Harley. The Joker had yet to address the fact that Batman's secret identity had been revealed…he'd laughed when she'd called after him at her former apartment, but after that…it was almost as if hadn't really heard her. Perhaps he'd only thought that it had been a hilarious joke. Harley wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to press her luck asking the Joker anything that might shock his already volatile moods. His voice rang out from the other room, pulling her out of her repose.

"Haaaarley! Let's get a move on! We've a scheme to pull off!"

With a sigh, she pulled on her costume, pushing her questions to the back of her mind.

"Coming, Puddin'!"

Bruce was wheeled out of the hospital by a still-shaky Alfred. The butler smiled down at him.

"Well, we're a pair, aren't we, sir?"

Bruce nodded.

"Yes, I guess we are. So," he said, with a strained tone in his voice as Alfred helped him into his Lincoln town car, "What do you remember from that night?"

"The night I got knocked into a coma, sir?"

"Yes."

"Bits and pieces, Master Bruce."

"An effect of the coma?"

"No. I'm trying to forget what, precisely, I saw. It was a bit of traumatic."

"So, Dr. Quinzel and the Joker?"

"In flagrante delicto when I walked into her apartment, Master Bruce. Didn't seem like it was something she was forced into, either."

"He brainwashed her from the start, didn't he, Alfred?"

"I can't rightly say either way, sir. He was very…protective of her."

"He pushed her out of the window!"

"I'm just telling you what I saw, sir. She…she had a very prominent scar, as well. Didn't look fresh, if that's any help."

"Not really. I've got to find them, Alfred. Maybe she isn't beyond help…if we can get her some psychiatric help…get her away from the Joker…."

"Perhaps, sir."

Alfred pulled into the now-finished Wayne Manor, and helped Bruce out of the car and into the familiar, yet new, stone walls.

Harley drove through the snowy streets of Gotham, following the directions the Joker barked at her. Her stomach was still a little woozy from the pill the Joker had forced her to take earlier that evening. What was it with her pals making her take medications? He'd said it would protect her from his special gas, "Smilex" or something like that. He had only glossed over it as he forced the pill down her throat. They had fucked as soon as she swallowed it…a raw, hurried coupling that Harley couldn't even romanticize into the term "making love." Her good mood wasn't diminished by the roughness of their sex, rather, she found, it was enhanced by it. She came to a halt in front of a jewelry store in the heart of the city, the doors that were usually barred were now open and its lights were blinding in the haze of the Christmas cheer and commercialism that held a tighter grip on the city than the Joker had. The pair hopped out of the SUV, the Joker grabbing an aerosol can marked with a giant yellow smiley face, and Harley absentmindedly fiddling with the large mallet she had gotten accustomed to using on their "shopping" trips. The Joker always seemed to enjoy watching her turn an everyday shop keep into a puddle of person-colored goo, and she delighted in indulging in anything that gave her "Puddin'" a smile. She always kept one of the pistols she had stolen from Bruce on her person, just in case, tucked into the top of her right boot. As they entered the jewelry store, the warming fluorescent lights shining over the reams of glittering goodies made Harley grin.

"We here to get me a Chanukah present, Puddin'?"

The Joker smiled at her as he strolled toward the young woman working behind the jewelry store's counter. She was alone, save from an elderly man who was wandering the store, lost in a senile world. The clerk cursed her bad luck as the Joker stopped in front of her, grinning like the mad man she was sure he was.

"What do you say, Miss? Care to show my girl your finest finery?"

He sprayed her in the face with his aerosol can, causing her to cough uncontrollably, then break out in laughter. After a few moments of her violent laughter, she fell to the floor, a frozen smile set on her face, her body rigid, her heart rate slowing swiftly until it finally stopped. The Joker hopped over the counter and grabbed the keys to the display boxes from their place around her wrist. The elderly man still puttered around, unaware of what was happening. The Joker regarded him for a moment, ultimately deciding to let him continue wandering without killing him, as long as he didn't get in their way. He smiled at Harley.

"Come over here, Pooh, let's pick out whatever you want, hm?"

Harley hopped the counter, squealing with delight, and greedily taking stock of all the jewels that the store had to offer. She snatched the keys from the Joker's outstretched hand and ran around the display cases, opening each as she went.

"Easier this way, don'tcha think, Puddin'? This way we can just grab 'em!"

"Quite right, Pooh," the Joker said with a smile.

"Oh, Mista J, I want 'em all!"

He laughed.

"Just like a dame. We have a limit, Harls."

She pouted as she bedecked her arms with rows of pearl and diamond bracelets. A case containing rows of engagement rings caught Harley's attention, and she gasped, staggering over to it, a dopey smile hanging on her lips.

"Ohhh," she sighed, dreamily.

"What'd you find, Harls?"

He walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her torso, his head peaking over her shoulder.

"Engagement rings? Harls," he said, spinning her around to face him. "You really think I'm ready for that kind of a commitment?"

"You're ready to be committed, that's for sure," a raspy voice said from above.

The Joker's face lit up for a moment and he pushed Harley to the floor, then stared up at the ceiling the voice had come from.

"Batsie! You're back! It's a Christmas miracle. Sorry, Harls."

"You can call it a non-sectarian holiday happenstance for all I care, Puddin'," Harley said, standing up with a grunt.

Batman dropped down from the rafters, taking a fighting stance before them.

"You're going back to Arkham tonight. Both of you."

"I don't know if you heard, B-man," Harley said with a grin, "But I ain't welcome there any more. Got my pink slip, ya know? Nice of you to offer, though."

Batman scowled at Harley.

"Harley, what happened to you? What's the attraction? This sick infatuation with the Joker…. "

"Look, Bats, when I was a doctor, I was always listening to other people's problems. Then I met Mista J who listened to me for a change and made everything fun!"

The Joker leaned against the display case containing the rows of engagement rings and smiled.

"Not that I mind being the center of attention, but what makes you think we're going to go with you? We've been doing just fine without you interfering…haven't hurt anyone," he trailed off as he glanced at the dead clerk's body. "Well…no one important. Don't you have bigger fish to fry, Bats?"

"I'm getting back into the swing of things, Joker. You two just happened to be first on my list."

"We're not goin' anywhere, Batsie," Harley sing-songed. "It's almost Christmas, and we ain't spendin' any happy holidays in the slammer!"

"Harls," the Joker said with a smile, "You don't even celebrate Christmas."

"I celebrate anything that gets me somethin' sparkly, Puddin'!"

The Joker laughed, then glanced over at Batman.

"At least she's honest!"

The old man meandering around the store puttered out the door, grumbling to himself about damn kids. He stopped, suddenly, as the Gotham City police swarmed the area, Batman having alerted Commissioner Gordon to the Joker and Harley's whereabouts. As the officers ran in, the Joker backed up slightly and grabbed the aerosol can of "Smilex" from his coat pocket.

"Why are you all so serious? Let's put some smiles on all of those…oh…shucks," he said, shaking the can in frustration. "It's out."

The Joker grabbed a grenade from his coat pocket and threw it to the ground. It released a spewing gas of nitrous oxide, causing the police officers, Batman, and even Harley, to break out into giggles. When Batman dove at the glass doors, shattering them and allowing fresh air to billow in, negating the effects of the gas, the Joker was already gone. But Harley wasn't. She smiled nervously at the lot of them, reaching her hand behind her neck and rubbing it, sheepishly.

"Ha-ha…hiya, fellas…don't suppose I can tell ya I just gotta run home to light the menorah before ya take me to the big house?"

Harley was led to her cell at the Asylum on Christmas Eve. Her trial had been swift, Commissioner Gordon and her former peers at the Asylum attesting to her mental illness, and requesting that she be committed for her own and the community's safety. The Joker was still at large, and Harley hoped that he would soon come to bust her out…perhaps as an early Christmas gift? She was saddened that she wasn't able to keep the jewelry they had tried to heist…they'd never gone to rob a store like that, it was always simple, necessary items that the Joker was intent on making off with. That last trip was special…it seemed like he had her interests at heart, for once. And then the Batman had to go and ruin it all. If it was the last thing she ever did, she'd make the pointy-eared menace pay for ruining her Puddin's special gift.

With a sigh, she plopped down on her cot and laid back, her eyes focusing on the ceiling above her.

IWell, this is a change, Harls. Great thing you've gotten yourself into now. Stuck in the asylum you used to work at, all of your former coworkers are poking' and proddin' you and treatin' you like the other crazies here! And you ain't the crazy one! They're the crazy ones! They were always jealous of your relationship with Mista J. Speakin' of my purple-suited hunksicle, I wonder where he is…he'll come, Harls, don't you worry. He loves you. I'm sure of it./I

Harley laid on the cot for a moment before rolling over on her side, tears beginning to brim in her eyes. A flower on her side table caught her eye. It couldn't be. A single red rose sat in a small purple vase, a note hanging from it. She grabbed the note with a grin and read.

IHarls, sorry I can't come for you right away. Hope your Christmas gift makes up for it. Check inside the vase. Happy non-sectarian holiday. -J/I

Harley flipped the vase upside down, the rose, water, and a shining bauble falling to the floor with a clink. She picked the shiny trinket up with a shaking hand, grinning widely when she realized what it was. It was the most valuable engagement ring from the display case she had been ogling at while they pulled their unsuccessful heist of the jewelry store. It was large, nearly three carats, and differed greatly from the ordinary diamond engagement ring. Reminiscent of a blooming lotus, a large diamond sat in the center of leaf-like embellishments accented by flecks of smaller diamonds. Her heart leapt as she slipped it onto her finger; it fit. Falling back onto the cot, she held her ring-bedecked hand close to her heart, a goofy smile hanging on her face. When screams, shots, and a low explosion rang out from another part of the Asylum, Harley giggled uncontrollably. This was, most certainly, the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

~THE END~