Harleen Quinzel was a beautiful child, perhaps this lead to her sexual trauma at a young age. When growing up she would notice the attention boys gave and the glances of distain from girls. When she wanted a friend, one was hard to find. Her life was like a revolving door, everyone coming and going when their needs weren't met. This example induced her to do the same. Focusing on meeting her needs became her goal. This meant using her body when necessary. Since she recognized that her body was her best tool, she exploited the resource through gymnastics. Again she received praise for her appearance, but the excellence in performance led her mind down a slightly different path. Maybe she could achieve more. Just when she was starting off on that track, her dreams were cut short. The college professor she had been using for success was thinking of cancelling his end of the deal. She sealed the deal and retained herself to her coursework. It wasn't that she couldn't do it- she just knew how to get an A without working for it. Throughout her life she knew men as beings that wanted to grab and hold and touch and taste. She was used to it but it made her squeamish. She had no idea what she wanted to do with her life after all of her schooling, and she found herself placed in the field of psychology. She would admit that she was curious to know why people did the things they did. Maybe this would allow her to better utilize them. That was all people wanted from life, right? To use others? The day soon came when she was introduced to Arkham Asylum. A tell-all book could really give her the money she needed to finally support herself and realize what it was that she wanted from this life. That was the idea, until she saw a certain smile.
She was listening to Joan go on about inmates as she glanced to and from their holding cells. She looked back and forth between the faces, and suddenly stopped. She stopped looking, she stopped walking. She stood in the presence of the Joker. She was paralyzed for the first time in her life. He gave her a wink. This made her mentally shake out of her state and she smiled back. This wink of his made her think; perhaps he was like other guys. Perhaps his interest in her could allow her to better utilize him. The next day she became his psychiatrist. She started off asking him the questions when for the first time she was asked, "How's your day been, Doc? Treating you nicely?" She looked up from her paper. This caused something to awaken in her heart that had died in childhood. It was fluttering and her stomach was in knots. She had to excuse herself for the day. She went home to think about why she came to Arkham in the first place. All she could think about was his concerned expression. She felt that concern was for her, it was surprising. She felt guilt for the first time as well. She went back the next day and found herself wanting to touch him, but not like the other guys. It was hard to explain, but she knew it was different. Of course he picked up on it. "Want to tell me what's wrong?" he queried with sentiment. Just like some father in a sitcom. Perhaps this elicited the response, "Yes, Daddy." Oops, where did that come from? Her face flushed as she noticed the largest smile she had ever seen on the Joker's pale face. "I- I'm sorry." She stammered, "What I meant to say was-" She didn't know what she meant to say. He nodded his head knowingly. "It's alright, come sit on Daddy's lap, I'll make it better." He cooed. She moved over apprehensively, and just contacting her thigh with his on the sofa nearly sent her over the edge of bliss. She had to excuse herself again. She went home and splashed ice water on her face. Come to think of it, his skin was like ice. Cold and calm and awakening- she soon found herself in the shower with freezing water lapping at her skin. She realized this risk of hypothermia, but felt such relish and release she couldn't leave the water's comfort. She closed her eyes and lost consciousness.
When she woke up she found herself in the arms of a dark figure. The negative image of the Joker, and the epitome of his opposite. His skin was warm through the fabric, though it felt like it was burning into her. She sat up with a start from this sensation, instantly realizing she was in a nightie 100 feet above the ground. His skin made her blood boil, "What the heck is going on here?!" She shouted as they soared through the night wind on his bat wings. "I see you've regained consciousness. You were suffering hypothermia, good thing I stopped by." His speech held no sentiment and was gruff. Completely the opposite once again. "Gee thanks for stoppin' by- my shower!" Harleen huffed as she crossed her arms. "It looks like the treatment Alfred gave you brought some vitality as well, good." Batman replied. "Well Mister Batman, thank you. But why the hell were you at my apartment in the first place?" They glided to a stop on the balcony of a building. "Doctor Quinzel-" He said seriously, "The Joker has escaped." Harley tilted her head, "And that means you peek in my shower?" Batman coughed. "You had fallen out of your shower, I thought that he got to you." This took Harleen a minute to process. "Got to me? You think he'd want to kill me?!" The man in the cowl nodded solemnly. She burst into laughter at the concept. The man who comforted her and appeared to be the authority figure of a sitcom's dreams, he wouldn't do that. No way. Then she stopped laughing. What was the reason he was in Arkham again?