The world is a joke.

We live by these ridiculous, oppressive social standards and the bar is raised every day. The media portrays this "American Lifestyle" but it's shit. It's all bullshit.

She gulped in another mouthful of water as she lay at the bottom of a river, rope tied to a cinderblock attached to her ankles. Her wrists were restrained by zipties and she knew it was over. This was it. This is how she would die.

And she accepted that.

Her bleach blonde hair swayed in the gentle waves of the water, floating above her. She closed her eyes and then opened them, trying to adjust to seeing her underwater surroundings. She felt like a mermaid.

He came, then. The man cloaked in the darkness of night, saving her from the depths of the river that almost consumed her.

Everything leading up to this point was an overwhelming string of fuck ups, and now this man was saving her, for what? So that she can endure more bullshit?

She fought him off of her but it was pointless, he was getting her out of the water whether he drowned too or not, and she couldn't wrap her head around that.

She was finally going to die, and he destroyed it.

Vomit spurted out of the pits of her stomach, all lake water and bile, and she was turned to her side so that her cheek was pressed to the wooden deck.

"Where is he?" The familiar voice rumbled, his hand grabbing her arms in a lock to keep her secured. She coughed a few more times and then smiled weekly, "Mista J doesn't telll no one his master plan. Not even me."

A loud growl erupted from the cloaked man as he smashed her harder ino the ground, "Tell me!"

"Trust me cowboy, I'd love to know too." She said, a solemn tone to her voice. She meant want she said – The Joker put her in this situation and the only thing keeping her and The Bat from getting in a brawl was that they both wanted the same thing – Him.

Batman's face fell slightly, his empathy showing a little despite the kevlar bat mask that cloaked everything but his mouth, yet he remained neutral, unemotional, unmovable. How do people live like that? So shielded?

The hold on her arms grew tighter and she grimaced in pain, but she laughed it out, only making the Bat more angry because she reminded him of Joker. But she laughed, laughed, and laughed some more.

Who would'a thought sweet little bubble-gum pink lipped Harleen Quinzel would turn into this?

CHAPTER ONE

Her heart raced in her chest, but she remained firm, her hands clasped painfully tight on her lap. The man in front of her was large in size and his eyeballs bulged angrily out of his sockets.

"You don't care, do you?" He spit, squirming around in his straight jacket, "You put me back in this thing. You."

Her eyes were wide and threatened to spill tears, but she cleared her throat, "You've been hiding your medication . . . there have been signs of budding mania . . . I only did what was safe for you." Harleen spoke, her voice quivering a little.

He grew angrier, "You don't care."

The strong man before her broke free of his restraints, then reached out to grab her, only to fall to the ground as he forgot his feet were still chained to the cement floor. He screamed out, clawing at her, and she quickly stood up and away from his grasp.

What could she possibly do to reverse this ? She didn't want to just push the panic button like everyone else would.

Staring at the inmate in awe of his strength, she searched through her mind for information he may have given her to a possible weakness. How could she calm him down?

Slowly, she stepped toward her desk.

"What are you gonna record this too?"

She took her clipboard and, standing in front of him, tall and unshaken, she broke it in half over her knee.

"We don't need notes." She said kindly, lowering slowly down to her knees, putting her hands down to touch the ground.

The man stared curiously at her. The curiosity began to take over his anger.

"Can I come closer?" She asked, tilting her head to the right, her bright green eyes staring into his. He was still breathing hard, but he stopped struggling in his restraints so much.

She crawled over to him and carefully reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I care."

His eyes grew kind for a moment, then, as if he'd felt like he'd just let down his inpenetrable wall in front of her, grew angry once more for the invasion.

Harleen stood up and backed away before he could grab at her. He'd been her patient for so long, she could sense when he was going to snap. He was like a cat, gentle to the touch one moment, then angry in the next, ready to claw at you.

She had moved so fast that her pencil skirt ripped down the right side, and she finally gave in and pressed on the emergency button that every employee of Arkham wore.

In minutes, security rushed inside and grabbed at the man as he wiggled in their grip.

"GET OFF OF ME!" He yelled, "DR. QUINZEL, SAVE ME, THEY'RE HURTING ME!"

She knew he was only saying that to make her feel guilty, but even so, she still felt that guilt in her chest. She had to give in, she couldn't mend the situation.

It had been like this for weeks.

She watched as her patient was strapped down to an upright stretcher and taken away to isolation to calm down, and she sat on the corner of the desk, staring at the broken clipboard laying on the ground. She sighed sadly, covering her face with her hands and taking some deep breaths.

If she didn't get her act straight, she'd be sent out here and would be forced to downgrade to a minimum wage job until she could find another asylum to work at. She didn't want to resort to Blackgate – she loved Asylums. She knew she could be a positive change.

But when?

Slowly, she walked down the linoleum flooring, the click-clack of her heels the only sound. She felt powerful when she heard that sound, but right now, it was a walk of shame, and the loud steps made her heart sink lower and lower into the pit of her stomach.

She was headed to Warden Sharp's office regarding her last session with her inmate. It had only been a matter of time until he would take her away from him.

All that time getting to know him, the disability leave when he'd hurt her, the ways in which she'd made progress where others hadn't . . . all down the drain.

No one could take care of her patients like she could. No one.

Stopping in front of his office door, she stared at his gold name plate, her body growing tense. She mustered up the courage and lightly tapped her knuckles against the wooden door.

The muffled voice of the warden welcomed her in, and she swallowed hard as she slowly twisted open the handle and stepped inside.

"Have a seat, Miss. Quinzel." He spoke, stacking papers and using a stapler to clip them together. He continued to organize his desk as she sat down, placing her purse on her lap as she shyly watched him finish up.

"Okay," He said, folding his hands on the desk and staring back at the young doctor in front of him, "I assume you know why you are here."

She mashed her lips together and held her purse tighter, "Patient Seth Brown, Sir?"

He nodded, "That's correct."

There was a silence as he took a sip of scotch and sat the ice cold glass onto a coaster.

"You've made no progress. We thought a bright mind like you with such grades could crack the code to his psyche, but he's only seemed to get worse."

Her heart began to beat faster and she believed she was in the middle of a panic attack, but she shoved it away so that she could remain professional in front of her boss. She did not want to seem nervous, but she was sure she was in the middle of being fired.

"So, we've put together a new case for you." He said, and her eyes widened.

"You're not—" His laughter interrupted her, and he shook his head.

"No, you're not being fired. You're being moved to a new patient. Someone a little more complicated."

She was confused. "More complicated? I'd think you'd send me back down to the simpler inmates ..."

He leaned back in his chair and lit up a cigar, "Oh, no, we think that Seth is untreatable. You didn't make any progress, but you put up with him for a long time – longer than anyone else has. You deserve someone … trickier."

Excitement boiled in her chest as she listened to her boss.

"Are you familiar with the recent robbery in the Gotham Merchant Bank?" He asked, taking short little puffs of his cigar.

Harleen leaned in closer, "Yes, I've been watching the news on it whenever I can."

"Well, Doctor," He said, "There's reason to believe that The Joker is behind it."

She visibly drew back, her nerves creeping up on her, "Oh . . . really?"

Warden Sharp nodded, smoke swirling around the dimly lit room, "He was restrained and taken back to the Asylum last night. We gave him a round of electroshock and tied him to his bed in a bullet proof cell in the Intensive Treatment Center."

"Okay . . . I've been reading all about this, actually, The Joker has always fascinated me. But . . . what does this have to do with me?" She asked, her brows furrowing together.

"You are going to be The Joker's new Psychiatrist."

It took her a moment to process, but when she did, she scooted back in her chair.

"I've read a lot about his last Psychiatrists . . . how they always end up."

He nodded, "It's a dangerous case. But we believe a young mind like you, beautiful and charming, could make some progress with him. We need fresh outlooks on a complicated man such as The Joker, and you could be a very valuable asset to his file."

She looked down, staring at her heels, picturing the scenario in her head. How would she act when she first meets him? How will he react to her? What will they talk about?

She wasn't sure if she could do it.

Though, when she came in here, she thought she was going to get fired. Maybe this was a test to see how committed she was to her job? She couldn't afford to say no, not after all the work she did to get here.

"I'd be honored, Sir." She said, smiling a little, "I appreciate your understanding."

He seemed surprised that she didn't turn down the proposition, but rolled with it anyway.

"Right now he is being sedated, as he tends to be more on the manic side the first few days of coming here. He will calm down when he's used to the structure of the asylum."

She felt a pinch of sadness for him, but didn't allow herself to sympathize with a mass murderer just yet – she hadn't even met him yet.

"Okay. So when do I start?"

Pulling out a case file larger than she'd ever seen, he dropped it down on the desk in front of her.

"Right now. Study up on him and create a plan."

She stared, eyes wide, at the folder in front of her, but picked it up and held it close to her chest. She stood up as the warden did and gave a firm handshake.

"Good luck, Miss Quinzel. I'll be looking forward to seeing what you can do."

"Thank you so much. I won't let you down."

When Harleen stepped out of the office and walked down the flooring, she headed straight to the break room to brew some coffee. The smell woke her up, and the cigar Warden Sharp smoked no longer lingered in her nostrils. She opened up her file and, low and behold, there he was. A picture of him, the notorious Clown Prince that ruled Gotham City's underworld.

"Shit." She whispered, her chest tightening, and she looked around to see if anyone was there before popping a few valium and chewing them before swallowing them down with a sip of black coffee. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, rubbing her temples in frustration.

She could do this. This is what she's always wanted, a real challenge.

But she had to admit, she was scared to death.

Alright, so that's chapter one! I've been delaying on posting anything until I had a decent amount written, and I should be posting once a week. Today is Tuesday, so I'll try to get another one out next Tuesday. Thank you for reading, I am open to constructive critiism - any comments would be greatly appreciated. 3