CHAPTER ONE

"The story wasn't the same: 'Step into my parlor,' the spider whispered to me, but the spider wasn't the most dangerous creature."

Gotham was sleeping, peaceful, calm, boring. The city had grown quiet—much too quiet for the man standing, staring out at the dark streets below.

The mob still worked, criminals still existed, but nothing was as exciting as three years ago. Three years ago the world, well city, had been close to a meltdown. Three years ago explosions wracked every day, haunted every mind. Three years ago the Joker was the volatile mastermind and he had had Gotham clenched in his fist. Everyone had felt their control slipping away.

Those had been some thrilling times; too bad the man had been captured and carted away to the infamous Arkham Asylum. Batman was such a prude. It truly was a pity, but change was just beyond the horizon.

The man's mouth formed a furtive smile, his deep hazel eyes twinkling in some hidden satisfaction. Yes, change was coming, in fact already underway. He wondered if any of the innocent inhabitants of the city could sense the next master prepared to string the population in fear. Most likely not, but that would make the truth all the more cruel and fun to reveal. He would enjoy carrying out his plans, and what plans they were.

The Joker's reign was over. It was time for another expert to take over. Order was its own chaos; this city would bow beneath him. It wouldn't be hard, no—everyone could be twisted to serve his end. He may not be as sporadic as the Joker had once been—he planned his actions weeks, sometimes months in advance—but nonetheless he would see this city's true nature.

He pulled away from the window of his office and tightening his short, ebony pony-tail he returned to his desk. He toggled his mouse and the blaring computer screen reappeared. He sat down, dusting off his khaki pants. Crime could be planned anytime; waiting only tantalized the pot, and how he longed to continue to draw out his plans, his dastardly formulas. Now, however, was the time for work. Wayne Enterprises was expecting a new security update in a week.

Wayne Enterprises? Hmmm, it was a temptation. He raised his hands over the keys, his eyes boring into the screen. Should he tamper with the system? The corporation had advanced technology. He could use it to his advantage. His mouth once again stretched into a grin, his white teeth revealed. Their evenness added to the skin-crawling picture his face made with his eyes alight in dementia.

"Mr. Nashton?"

The dark look vanished from his face as he looked up, his hands stilling from busily typing.

"Yes, Elisa?" He smiled charmingly, the action matching his level voice.

The young secretary blushed lightly. Little puppets, all of them, he thought. She was leaning slightly in the door. "Are you busy, sir? Carol requested you look over this schematic for errors."

"Carol, sure, sure. Give it here, I'll be done in a jiffy." He nodded and held out a hand for the customary folder. She did as told and was soon leaving the room. He placed it on his desk a little too roughly and glowered at it. How long had the woman left this unattended to? He flipped through it quickly and glanced at the clock. Damnable woman, but if the best was expected, he couldn't disappoint. He fished a red pen from his shirt pocket and started reading the numbers and information.

Planning the plan would be all the more pleasurable when all other things weren't being a distraction. The first part of the plan had already been completed; the police were going to enjoy his little message.

Harleen's heels clicked on the mosaic floor of the entrance. Her sapphire eyes took in the subtle art and immaculate appearance of the place. If she didn't know any different, she'd never expect this to be Arkham Asylum. From here it looked rather peaceful, deceptively so. Who could imagine the various "patients" kept here? She could, she'd been deeper into the building when she was interning through medical school, but that had been six years ago. The place had undergone a redecoration, that was for sure.

She was inwardly quaking as she continued to proceed through the entrance area to the front desk. Curious eyes watched her movements. She ignored their stare; her anxiety wasn't caused their gazes. Of course the news had spread through the Asylum, she wasn't even surprised as she heard two orderlies speaking in a hushed tone they thought she would be unable to hear.

"That's his new psychiatrist."

"No way, that's his new shrink? She's a petite little thing. How's she gonna handle him?"

She smirked. How indeed? She wouldn't have taken this job if she doubted her abilities. She ignored all the awed and disdainful glares. Too bad, if she was ruining someone else's opportunity, but they'd requested her. She knew her certification in Forensic Psychiatry probably earned her the position, but she clearly heard other gossip as she made it to the front desk. Snobby, twittering gits.

"Excuse me," she spoke, her voice light and feminine.

The receptionist, an older woman with graying brown hair looked up at her sweetly. "How can I help you?"

Harleen smiled back, "I'm Harleen Quinzel, the new resident psychiatrist, I was told to come to the desk to receive my patient's file." She held out her new, laminated Arkham security I.D. badge. She noted that as soon as she said her name the woman's face paled. She watched the receptionist pulled a hefty file folder, filled with paper from the desktop.

"Dear, you're the doctor?" She tried to joke, but Harleen could tell she was unnerved. "Yeah, I'm Dr. Quinzel." She held out her hand, which the woman took while the other received the file folder. "How'd they black-mail you into taking this man's case?" "They didn't, I was quite happy to take it, actually." The woman nodded, but Harleen already knew her next words.

"Are you crazy?"

Harleen chuckled, "I think we all are in some way." She shugged, "Maybe, who's to know? Thanks for the file. May I ask you something? Could you possibly tell me what time I'm to report here tomorrow for my first session with him? Dr. Arkham didn't tell me."

"Of-of course, dear." The woman typed on her computer for a moment. "Dr. Quinzel, your first appointment is at 3:00." Harleen nodded, "Thank you." She smiled and turned to go. "Good luck, dearie." She flashed the receptionist another grin of gratitude.

"So," she heard as she exited the building, "that's the Joker's new psychiatrist. How long you think this one will last?"

"Fresh meat? I give her less than a month."

That was confidence, huh? She shook her head, her mid-length flaxen locks catching the bright sunlight of the afternoon. She ran her fingers through the loosened strands and smiled. A month?

She'd last much more than that, of that she was confident.

This was an exciting prospect for her—of course she was a little wary, as well, who wouldn't be if they were requested to work with the Joker? The man had no motives, no past (he wasn't talking about it, anyway). He was a pathological liar, except when he "gave his word", and his mind was a puzzle. He was insane, but intelligent, two things that often didn't mix, at least in the context he used his I.Q. for. He was a challenge, and Harleen loved challenges. Her heart fluttered in anticipation of the next day, overriding her fear. She'd remember the dangers posed, however, and would not let her excitement shadow her sense; that was a mistake her new patient would love for her to make. No, she would not underestimate this man; she'd respect him.

The buzzing of her cell-phone interrupted her exultation. She shifted her load of papers in her arms and extricated the device from her pocket.

Gotham MCU.

Her eyebrows furrowed. It'd been a year since the place had called her. She'd long ago left the job of criminal profiling to pursue actual psychiatric work in treating people, not testifying for or against them. The field was enjoyable, but working with the sole reason to map a person's mind for law purposes had bored her; it had never posed enough of a challenge for her. The criminals were easy to read, and often had rather bland mental problems. But, she was good at her job, and had kindly offered to help if the department ever needed her again.

"Hello, this is Harleen Quinzel speaking." She answered the call respectfully.

"Miss. Quinzel, have you seen the news in the last hour?" A man's voice asked, a little frantic.

"No."

"Heard the radio?"

"No, I've been working." The man sounded extremely stressed, which caught Harleen's attention. "Are you free currently?" "Yes, I've just gotten off of work."

"Please, could you down to the station immediately? Do you know the way?"

"Yes to both, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Officer, what's happened?"

The man's voice was distracted, but it hadn't lost its edge, "You'll be filled in when you arrive, or maybe you'll find out on the way here. It's being blasted on every radio and T.V. channel."

"See you then, then." She shut the phone without waiting for a return of the phrase and rushed to her car.

The black sports car started up and Harleen turned on her radio with the volume escalated.

"…not in yet, but there's been a mass number of casualties at Wayne Enterprises as well as what is being reported as a mass heist of millions of dollars of technology. Jackie, do you think this should be considered a security threat for the whole city? Wayne Enterprises' technology was manufactured for army intelligence and communication operations and…"

Harleen was speeding from the parking lot before the message had finished. The situation sounded like some generic organized crime plot, but if the police were in a panic then it was worst than just that. The government was hiding the truth of the crime in order not to cause the city to break into mass hysteria.

The Major Crimes Unit of Gotham was bustling with chaotic energy, an energy that reminded Harleen of three years ago. It made her skin tingle in excitement, reminding her why the job of criminal profiling had attracted her all that time ago.

The feeling of not knowing, of having to solve a mystery with little to no clues, was chaotic and Harleen loved the feeling. She was drawn to the zeal. Yet, the fervor would often be drenched, the criminals were too easy to find after she had completed the mapping of their characteristics. The challenge had been too brief to keep her.

'Don't get yourself too comfortable, this will probably be done a matter of hours. The criminal will be found because of the profile and this problem will be solved.' She told herself and composing her appearance and stepped further into the building.

"Miss Quinzel!"

She turned her head at the sound of her name. A man while short, graying brown hair was waving her. It took no time for her to recognize him, though it was surprising he knew her.

"Commissioner Gordon," she smiled kindly however.

His gray-blue eyes were haggard, but there was a determination there. He held out a hand to her.

"I'm sorry we've called you back here," he explained as they shook hands, "but we've got an interesting case on our hands, and our other workers can't make heads or tails of it."

"I'll certainly try my best, Commissioner, but I'm sure I'm not that special," she flushed humbly. Gordon smiled, "You've certainly got something if the boys suggested I call you." Her face turned redder, and her smile got bigger as she averted her eyes. "Well, thanks. So will you fill me in on what exactly's going on? I know the story being broadcasted isn't the whole truth."

"You are sharp," he commented and gestured for her to follow as he continued to speak. "Lt. Hawkins, the man who called you will be giving the basic run-down of the situation. I need to start at the beginning, though."

"The beginning?"

"Yes, just a week ago the Gotham Police Department received a strange letter. At the time it was treated as some prank, they happen often here, but today on the crime scene was another message, written on the same kind of paper. And there were other similarities."

"So this criminal made his presence known before striking?" Harleen made a mental note. The person then was looking for some enjoyment. He/she wanted recognition; they wanted their prey to know who was pursuing them. There was one trait, then. This person was narcissist. They were proud of their crimes and they wanted the world to know it.

That reminded her of the Joker. She'd seen the broadcasts, heard the stories. The man was narcissistic as well. She puckered her lips; maybe this would be interesting after all. She'd been unable to work on the Joker case, she'd been out of town for his reign. Her parents had needed some attending to, but once she returned the re-runs of his chilling campaign and threats were broadcasted on every news station to celebrate his capture, and she was disappointed that she had missed such an opportunity, but at least the guy had been stopped. She'd been sore that she'd been unable to profile the case, though, for weeks.

Her best friend, Pamela Isley, had soothed her assuring the slightly younger girl of how much luck she had, happening to go out of town when she did. She understood that was how the world turned, and she soon let it go; what an opportunity that would have been, though. Profiling the criminal that held Gotham captive for perhaps weeks—it would have been exhilarating.

Gordon had left the woman to her thoughts as they maneuvered through the rush of the unit as everyone continued to try to make sense of the sudden attack. No one could figure out what the motive had been—heaven forbid they get another mastermind who had none.

"Dr. Quinzel," Commissioner Gordon stopped. Harleen too paused and brought her attention back on the man. He pointed to the door they stood beside. "Here we are, step into this room and everything will be explained."

The room was an office. She stared around quickly and her gaze came to a stout man with a receding gray, hairline. She took a seat beside him in front of the desk.

"You must be Lt. Hawkins, we talked on the phone. I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel." She bowed her head slightly.

Lt. Hawkins tipped his head and smiled, "Ma'am."

"Okay, now that the introductions are finished," Gordon began as he took a seat behind the desk—so, Harleen thought, this washis office, "Ryan, let's begin." At a nod from the officer, Gordon turned his attention to Harleen.

"Here is the letter the department received a week ago from an unknown source. Our crime lab has dusted for foreign fingerprints, but nothing came up." He handed the woman a folded, emerald card. On outside was drawn a carefully crafted, black question mark. She nodded and opened the card.

Good day or perhaps night to all of you at Gotham's illustrious police department. I do hope you are having a wonderful time, after all crime is easier to fight now-a-days, right? I just wanted to thank you guys for clearing the streets of that awful Joker character. We can all sleep better at night. Furthermore I have a question for all of you.

Want to play a game?

The message was typed eloquently, but what caught her attention more was once again the hand-crafted signature. It was a cluster of four golden question marks circling a single dot.

"And you say there was another, similar card at the crime scene today?" Harleen asked placing the card before her on the dark, oak desk.

"Yes," Hawkins replied, "but first I'll tell you what happened. Last night at about what we believe to be two in the morning, someone disabled the security grid of Wayne Enterprises; a difficult task, let me tell you. As a result there is no surveillance footage, but the job was carried out by multiple men, because there is no way more than one person was able to make it from the ground floor to the sixth, killing fifteen guards in the process on their own. The equipment taken also would have required various men repeatedly returning to take it down. A window was also destroyed, that's how they lowered the larger devices. There is a mastermind, a person leading these guys. We want the mastermind; we find their followers, however, and we'll find them, we hope."

Harleen listened carefully and held out her hand, "Let me see this new letter, then." Gordon handed it to her. "It was sticking out of one of the dead guards' mouths."

Once again it was emerald with the question mark there, perfectly resembling the prior card. A stamp, Harleen concluded. She opened it.

You never answered my card, so I thought I'd begin this game of chess. I made a quite a mess of your pawns, didn't I? Forgive me, but they were keeping me from the king. I've decided that you will play my game, whether you want to or not. Normal life has become boring, no challenge.

So here's your first clue to the next move I'll make:

With no wings, I fly. With no eyes, I see. With no arms, I climb. More frightening than any beast, stronger than any foe. I am cunning, ruthless, and tall; in the end, I rule all.

You ponder over that, it's the first part. Here's the second.

I do not talk myself, others do through me. I weave fantastic dreams, but can also cause horrid screams. I can be anywhere at anytime, but only if I'm placed there.

The signature was the same. Another stamp, then.

"This person, whoever they are, is not your normal average thug," Harleen began. "They are very intelligent, the fact they hacked into and shut down Wayne Enterprises' security system is evidence of that, unless the person enlisted another to do that, but they know the layout of the place. There were no thugs dead on the scene were there?"

"No," Gordon shook his head.

"The guy who planned this heist, yes, this was planned, knew the layout of the place and knew exactly where the guards were. They killed them off strategically. So either they've studied and been within the corporation, or Mr. Wayne has an informant within his circle of trust."

Gordon was writing this down. "Anything else?"

"The criminal you're looking for is a narcissist. They enjoy telling you what they're planning before they do it. They take pride in their talents. They are also Obsessive-Compulsive. The insignia and signature are both perfect replicas, which points to a stamp being used. It has to be perfect, which is a reason why the messages are typed and not hand-written. I foresee that this person was bullied in school, their intelligence a result of their reasoning to become superior to their predators. This person has a motive, that is more of my opinion, but it seems they are planning much too thoroughly not to. They have an end result in mind."

Both of the men's faces seemed to become less tense at her statement that the culprit had a motive. They were dealing with a schemer. Gordon sighed, "Dr. Quinzel, thank you so much for sacrificing time to come down here. May I ask that you work with us on this case?"

Harleen bit her lip. Should she offer her services to help these men? The culprit was a complex character; even she had no idea who the person could be yet. They were very thorough in covering their tracks and unlike the Joker, didn't leave a calling card and dead thugs. She stared straight into Gordon's eyes. "I will help you, Commissioner. May I suggest that you figure out those riddles first?"

Hawkins and Gordon smiled. "We'll do that, would you like copies of the cards to look over as well?"

"If it's not too much trouble." Hawkins stood up and took the cards from the desk and Harleen's hands. "Be back."

That left Harleen and Commissioner Gordon alone. "Dr. Quinzel, I know you must have a very busy life, and I do not wish to interfere with your job."

"Don't worry, I just started today at Arkham Asylum, and I'll gladly help. This case certainly seems worth my time, I do love tests." She smiled and Gordon returned the gesture softly. "You are working at Arkham now?"

"Yes, I was offered the job a few days ago."

"What kind of patients have they given you?" Harleen was aware he was making sure they began on a trustful foot, made a friendly environment. "I currently only have one patient to my assignment, but if I told you who you'd not believe me."

"Oh," he raised a brow, "who?"

"Maybe later…before I leave." She smirked. She wasn't in the mood for the questions that would surely follow that answer. Gordon nodded and chuckled. "Fine, I'll play the game. So why did you did leave the precinct?" Harleen sighed, "Honestly, Commissioner, the crimes weren't a challenge to me. I was shrinking beneath the ease of the cases so I quit and took up treating patients instead of analyzing them for reasons to why they would commit a crime. I do, wish sometimes, though to come back, especially when the case is challenging."

"You have your wish, but I'll not ask you to join us full-time. We have your number, so we'll call you."

Harleen nodded, "Sure, you can call anytime, day or night, I mean it."

"I'll remember that. I have feeling you will be vital for this case."

The door opened and Hawkins returned, handing Harleen a sheet of paper with an image of both letters copied onto it.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, I must go, I'll have to look over this and my patient's file before I head to bed tonight, not to mention, a girl's got to eat." She stood up and began to leave.

"Commissioner, my patient, he's," she opened the door and flashed a smile back at the two men. "He's the Joker." The door shut behind her leaving both men in silence. She chuckled to herself and made her way out of the building. Maybe having the guy as a patient would help her catch this new criminal.

Months ago I saw The Dark Knight and for weeks on end I wanted to write a fanfic with Heath Ledger's Joker. I wasn't planning on a Harley/Joker fic, but suddenly it made sense. I hope I can impress and show originality when it comes to this pairing, which has been done before in this genre. This is my first fic for this category and constructive criticism would be appreciated. I'm excited to unveil this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Knight or any of its characters. However Harley's personality, Edward, Lt. Hawkins, and any other character not associated with Christopher Nolan's franchise belongs to me.