'Progressing like a constant war,
There's no one to feel ashamed for' - Roses In The Hospital, Manic Street Preachers.

The sound of the soles of their shoes tapping against the floor could be heard from down the hall, most occupants of the cells they walked past chose to ignore them, or just take a quick sideways glance.

Doctor Jeremiah Arkham and a member of his team walked along the hallways briskly.

"Now, Edie, as I'm sure you've heard, our newest patient has already ploughed through two other doctors, I honestly don't know what he does to them." Arkham sighed, so far he had lost two of his most valuable psychologists. Both had cracked under pressure and rigorous questioning on the patient's behalf. Both had been headstrong and able doctors to say the least, the fact that they had failed was not their fault, the elderly doctor had surmised, but a fault on his part for not taking an interest, or pushing for a more formal setting in the workplace.

Either way, however, Arkham Asylum's newest mental patient was proving to be more than a handful, and quite frankly most of the staff were terrified of him. He didn't seem vicious yet, he was rather quiet and made comments full of wit – occasionally he got a bit snappy, but Jeremiah was sure that was only the side effect of his new medication and that he was adjusting to a new environment.

"Sir, you've been talking about this man for the past ten minutes, but still haven't given me a name."

Doctor Arkham hesitated, and his reluctance showed in his face. "Well, you see. This is where things get difficult."

Edie raised an eyebrow, "Difficult, sir?"

Arkham nodded and motioned for them to keep walking, "We don't actually know his name, well… We don't know his real name, anyhow."

"You don't know his name…" She mumbled to herself, a puzzled expression on her face. How could they expect her to help a man whose name she did not even know?

"We do, however, know the name he gives himself."

She shifted her gaze from the plain concrete wall to Jeremiah's face, studying his ageing features as he spoke,

"He calls himself 'The Joker'."

Edie gasped sharply, coughing when she took in too much air.

The Joker? The wanted her to treat The Joker?

The crazed homicidal clown who blew Rachel Dawes sky-high?

He was a danger to all those around him, how could they keep in a place like this? He should be in solitary confinement, not in an open Asylum. And he must have been there for a while, considering he'd already made mince meat of two other highly able doctors. If he had destroyed them, how could she be so sure he wouldn't do the same to her?

"I'm sorry, Doctor Arkham… But The Joker?"

Arkham nodded his head gravely and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Yes, now, Edie. I'm afraid I can't let you decline either. I fear that you may be the last hope before we have to bring in the 'big guns', so to speak."

She nodded her head and turned to look at the door, she desperately needed to get out of here to clear her head. "Alright, Sir. But, I can't promise I'll be able to do anything, if Doctor Smith and Doctor Jacobs have already, well…. You know."

Arkham nodded his head once again, and shook her hand. "You'll do a fine job, Doctor. Now, go home. You've got a lot to think about before tomorrow."

Edie nodded her head and turned on her heel, hitching her bag further up as she gave Jeremiah Arkham a small wave and left through the side exit.

The car pulled up outside a small, painted green house.

Edie climbed out and tottered up the path to the front door, wobbling slightly in the high heels she forced herself into each morning. As she unlocked the door, and gave it a push to open, the sound of a meow echoed through the hallway. There to greet her every day was Smurf, her long-haired, overweight and completely white cat. He rubbed his body against her legs and purred, his angular face staring up at her as she fitted her key into the lock and turned it quickly, it had become a force of habit now. Whenever she left or entered the house within the first few seconds of doing so she locked the door, and checked it multiple times. The idea of someone, or something sneaking or forcing their way in if she forget made her shiver in repulsion and fear. Gotham was no safe place, no matter what area you lived in.

She fit the bill of a lonely cat lady already, she was twenty-seven years old, deceased husband and no children. But unlike the typical cat lady, she had her job to distract her from obtaining any more feline friends. She picked up Smurf with both arms, he had long ago gotten too heavy to be picked up with just one, and walked across the living room. She gave the door a nudge with the side of her body and it swung open to reveal a plain, beige infested living room.
On the side table were two photo frames, both holding in pictures of smiling people. She dropped Smurf to the floor and picked up the one nearest the door, gritting and grinding her teeth as she stared at the young man in the photo.

He had died two years ago.

Apparently it was suicide, but it was never proven as a body was never found, nor any DNA. He'd simply disappeared, and the police had no lead to go on, and ruled it as 'accidental/suicide' when a shirt had been discovered by the docks.

She placed the photo frame down on the table and walked away, promising herself that she would try her best to keep moving on – there was no point in dwelling on the past like she was doing so.

Groaning with frustration, she kicked off her shoes and climbed the stairs, unable to bring herself to do anything when in a mood like she was currently in.
She walked along the small hallway of the upstairs and nudged open the door furthest away from the stairs and closed it gently behind her. She shrugged off her white lab coat and slipped out of her dress. Blinking back tears, she landed on the bed with small thud and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The file in front of her had its pages splayed to the middle, and there were only a few pages. Obviously the other doctors had been too distracted to make notes, which didn't surprise her. From what she had read so far, he had been proven as difficult, not giving enough information to make fully informed notes.
But from the information left by the previous doctors, he seemed a fully functioning, intelligent and able man. Murder, arson and organised crime were some of his biggest talents, she surmised.

There were no photos of him in the file, and she only knew what he looked like from seeing those horrible videos on Gotham City News.

Just as she was about to flip over the page, an orderly by the name of Adam popped his head around the door, clearing his throat loud enough to gain her attention. Her eyes widened for a moment, the adrenaline of even seeing the file had done something to her, and now she was completely on edge. She gulped quietly and blinked a few times before spinning around on her chair and offering Adam a smile,,
"Hey." He said rather quietly, a smile on his face but his eyes seemed clouded over, but with what she didn't know.

"Is there something wrong?"
"The Joker is waiting for you, he's got his cuffs on just in case he gets a bit… violent." His smile left his face and he shuddered for a moment.

"Does he have his… make-up on?"

Adam nodded his head, "Yeah, Arkham said it would be best for him to settle in slowly, take away one bit at a time, if you get what I mean."

Edie nodded her head and pulled out a camouflage patterned notepad and rose from her chair, adjusting her name tag as she followed Adam out of the door.

"Be careful in there, he's dangerous, you know."

The Joker was already sat in the room waiting for her to arrive, a smug expression on his face.

When she finally emerged into the room with a smile on her face and settled into the chair across from him, his expression faltered, anger seemed to pool up in his eyes for a brief moment as his gaze trailed over her face and body, his mouth clamped shut and for the first time since he could remember, he didn't feel all that much like smiling. But the flicker of contempt vanished as soon as it had appeared, and he was left sitting there with his permanent grin.

"Good afternoon, my name is Doctor Napier." Edie tried to sound as friendly as possible, but the tremble of fear was easy to spot in her voice. But who wouldn't be a little afraid if they were sat in a room with The Joker? She pulled out her notepad and began to jot something down, stopping when she realized she had no clue on what to call him, "And your name is…?"

The Joker smirked and leaned forward,

"Joker. You can call me Joker."

I know that this story probably seems a lot like Harley Quinn's origin right now, but it's far from it.
I've always wanted to write a Nolanised Harley, but I really can't do it and I don't want to ruin her character like that.
So, this has nothing to do with Harley, and once I get the ball rolling it won't bear a resemblance to the story of The Joker and Harley (I hope)

Soooooo, yeah. Reviews are more than appreciated, and inspire me to write more sooooo.
Thank you for reading, I'll stop rabbiting and fishing for feedback, *cough cough*