I don't want to be your other half;
I believe that one and one make two.
Alanis Morissette

Author's Note: The rating is for violence, primarily. There will be (as far as I can see at this point) no strong sexual tones. Language may be rough in places.

This is an AU (for those of you who are not familiar with the term, Alternate Universe, ie: I grant myself permission to obstruct and/or ignore any and all other storylines within the target fandom—how humble, I know) story, first of all. If that's an immediate turn-off, then you may not find the end to your liking.

Meredith Walker is a creation of mine, as are a few other minor characters (if you don't recognize the character from anywhere, probably just a made-up thrown in for some filler, I mean, err, detail). No, she isn't modeled after myself (don't you hate it when people do that?), no, I personally do not have any obsession with Two-Face (though he is quite intriguing), and unfortunately no, I am not a Two-Face expert in the slightest.

As goes for all my works: ANY and ALL reviews are appreciated. I'd encourage you to be constructive of course, but if you think this is the worst pile of crap you've ever read (and then I'd say you haven't been on long, ha. ha.) then please tell me so: I'm a big girl, I can handle it, promise.

Chapter One

From the recorded journals of Meredith Walker, August 27th:

I AM NOT HARLEEN QUINZEL!

How many times do I have to explain this? I'm not her, I'm nothing like her—this isn't like that! Why do I feel like I have to keep analyzing myself, like I'm doing something wrong? It's not wrong, it's not wrong to be in love.

Christ, I'm a doctor, I don't know how I could have let this happen.

The truth is, I know that I should see something wrong with it.

The truth also is, that I know that it's the most right thing in the world.

Look at me—I'm already started to deal in polarities. What am I going to do? I can't handle HIM knowing, that's what makes it so bad, that's what makes it unbearable.

HE's just waiting for me to completely lose it, waiting for me to start some killing spree. It's the sad look in HIS eyes, and it probably doesn't help that I know, that I figured HIM out. It doesn't help that I had his respect. It certainly does not help that I may still have that respect.

But this isn't like that.
I am not Harleen Quinzel.
I will never be a Harley Quinn.

I'm curing him—doesn't that matter?
So what if I fell in love.
Maybe that's what it took.

The phone-
Arkham-

god help him-----no, that isn't right.
gotham—save him.