Disclaimer

I do not own the Joker, Harley Quinn, and other characters created by the wonderful minds at DC. I'm merely borrowing and playing with them. Ownership goes to wherever it's due.

Author's notes

This is my take on Harley Quinn's origin. Don't worry, this isn't another Mad Love story. Though, I cant say that it's completely unique either. This takes place in a universe of my own. The Joker here was inspired heavily by the Dark Knight film, and my version of Harley is what I think would fit in the nolanverse. Though, again, this is an alternate universe.

Now without further ado, here she is…

"Stupid girl" he said. "Idiot" he said. "Leave you to rot" he said!

Well, there I was, left to rot. I was like an animal in a cage. Worse, I was in someone else's cage, being examined like I was the one who had a problem. Well, maybe I was, but still, it was fucking ridiculous.

Whatever his name was, he was right there. He was right in front of me, just across the table. I must have looked like a six-year old who just had her lollipop taken away. I wanted to scream.

Now, this guy thought he could see right through me. Yeah, he thought he was so smart, sitting there, staring right in my eyes as if he knew the very things I was thinking. Well, you know what? He didn't. He didn't understand me, nobody did. Sad truth was, I didn't think I did either.

"Why?" He started. His airy voice made him sound a little disappointed rather than curious.

Why what, exactly? Why did I join him? Why did I help him? Why did I let him go away?

"Why'd you do it, Harley?"

Do what? I did a lot'a things. And he had the nerve to call me Harley? For his information, only my friends call me that. Not that I had any at the moment.

"Why'd you let him do this to you? Why'd you let yourself fall in love with him?"

Oh, God. That was exactly the kind of questions I wanted to avoid. God, it made me mad. I wanted to jump right outta that stupid chair an' put my hands around that thick neck of his. I wanted to feel his blood pump faster and faster through his veins as he watched me press through his throat with my thumbs. Damn these handcuffs.

"Harley, are you even listening?"

I continued to stare at him, breathing heavily, jaw clenched. Now I know why the patients hate their doctors: they were so fucking annoying

Funny, I always thought I'd be the one on the other side of the table, asking what I just realized were stupid questions.

Instead of answering his question, I simply turned my head away from him in defiance. My effort in trying to irritate him—right after he irritated me—worked. I heard a sigh escape his mouth, and his chair squeaked a little as he adjusted his seat. I looked back at him and, looking him in the eyes, I said, "He's not gonna like this, you know."

"Harley," he said. "He left you for the cops. Do you actually think he cares about you?"

Al-riiiight, crossing the line now, I thought.

"I…" I scrambled inside my head for an answer. I settled for one of the lies I had been trying to convince myself for the last few hours. "I was stupid. I wandered off. He lost track of me."

"You wandered off?" He said, as if he knew for a fact that I was lying.

"Yes."

"And, why did he not look for you?" He said.

"He did. I just…the cops were already there, so he just left."

"He left? If he cared about you, he'd have killed every last one of those cops to get you."

"How are you supposed to know how he cares!?" I shouted.

I sat back and, once again, looked away. There was a silence filling the room. For a moment there, I thought I actually had a few seconds to finally hear myself think.

Then he decided to butt in.

"Stop lying, Harley. I cant help you if you cant even be honest with yourself." He said.

I looked down at the floor. "Well, stop asking questions then." I adjusted my gaze back to his eyes. "I never asked for help. None of the people here did."

Just like that, he finally got the message. He left without another word. Maybe he said something like please reconsider, or something, but I wasn't really listening; I was too angry at the time.

After he'd exited the room, two orderlies went in to escort me back to my cell. One of them followed suit as the other grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me out of the room, rather gently by Arkham standards.

It was only my second time walking in those halls. I passed by the cells of a few familiar faces I've seen on TV or read about in the papers. I didn't like the look on their faces. We had to pass by the men's wing, and I concluded that not a lot of women got admitted here, since those perverts kept staring at me. Not that I wasn't used to it. I had a pretty curvy body. I had a nice pair of bosoms, and an ass that's decent enough that the shape was visible even through my baggy orange jumpsuit. I couldn't help but wonder how long these guys had to hold in their urges, or if the others still had any. Seeing a pretty, young face could turn them into animals. I could see in their eyes exactly what they thought of me: fresh meat.

I was bored as hell once I finally got to the women's wing, a fairly underpopulated area, and back to my cell. Even when night came I was still sitting in the same corner I was when I arrived after that session with Doctor whatsisname. My dinner was delivered via being slid through a small opening on the door, but I wasn't in the mood for what I suspected was bacon and eggs. Not that I wasn't hungry, but prison food—excuse me, hospital food—isn't nearly as appetizing as one might think.

Basically, I spent my whole night counting cobwebs on the ceiling, and repeatedly hitting the back of my head against the wall. And even though every cell in my body was telling me not to, I kept thinking of him. J. My J. Mister J. The thought hurt just as much as it made me happy. Even after everything that had happened, I couldn't stop myself from missing him. Maybe I was crazy after all.

He made me crazy. And thinking about him reminded me of what seemed to be a previous life.

I guess this is the part where I tell you my tragic backstory.

First, let me introduce myself—Harleen Quinzel. I'd say I was a doctor, but I never quite got to that. I was, at the time, a college girl at a small county just outside of Gotham. One day, a day that would change my life as a cliché would have it, I heard about a serial killer. My interest with the criminal mind was a bit…obsessive, I guess one might call it. But of course, I put my interest to good use and pursued psychology. Ironic given my current situation.

Anyway, this serial killer operated in Gotham. He had this really neat gimmick: he dressed like a clown. As inappropriate as it might sound, I found it amusing. He showed up on the news every week or so. There were amateur pictures of him popping out everywhere. The psychologist-to-be in me became my drive to go to the God-forsaken city. I was determined to find him. I was going to find the Joker.

I arrived at Gotham, and it was easy to understand that the Joker had left his mark. Everyone was scared. On my way there, I must have passed a dozen cars going the opposite direction. And they were wise to do so. It was simple really. The place was dangerous, so they took off. But I guess some people just love the place too much to leave. That, or just stubborn. Or plain stupid. It didn't matter which one it was, all I knew was the Joker wasn't joking around—which I later found out was wrong, he was joking around.

I knew it was suicide the minute the first guy that warned me came around, but I was determined. School wasn't all it was wrapped up to be. I didn't need some guy telling me how to handle patients. What I needed was first hand experience. I was going to find the Joker and figure out what drives him. Be it money, power, or fun, I was going to find out.

It was like euphoria every time I saw him on TV. One could even mistake my interest in him as being idolization, or even infatuation. But it seemed that the key to this whole thing was missing. I didn't have a plan. I just waltzed into Gotham with no plan nor leads on where to find him. He was an enigma. He basically had no pattern. He would attack someone rich and powerful, then the next day he'd kill a homeless guy. He was the definition of 'incomprehensible'. Of course, there was one thing I did know: he usually did his operations after dark. It wasn't much to go for, but it was all I had.

So, with the one piece of information I had, I hatched a plan. I took the skimpiest outfit I could find, and went on around the city, hoping to attract his attention. Apparently, sex didn't drive him either—quite a stupid idea on my part. There was no sign of him. I did, however, attract a few guys who let's just say weren't part of Gotham's good few. And, to make this part of the story short, it involved a lot of running—I thank my years of gymnastics workouts—and a can of pepper spray. Oh, and a baseball bat.

So, after plan A turned out to be a complete failure, I decided I needed more information about this guy. So I stayed a little while longer in Gotham.

After a few months, Gotham became my home. It was really interesting once you get past the constant threats to your life. Of course, the way I was living, it became more interesting, and more threatening. Then, I heard about this place, "Wiggles N Giggles", a strip club apparently owned by the Joker—which was a bit odd, I never quite thought of him as the business type. So, as any other girl in my situation would do, I applied for a job. Before you question my dignity, I was strictly a waitress. Sure, I got a few nasty looks from the customers—I mean, I was sticking to the employee "dress code"—but the bouncers got them of my back. They were actually pretty nice—The bouncers, I mean.

And when I began working at the club, things got a little more interesting.

I had been working at the "Wiggles N Giggles", or "Wiggies", as the regulars call it, for a month now. And though I have to admit, it's a pretty interesting place, there was a lacking supply of homicidal clowns around. The homicidal clown. I actually half expected it to happen. I bet most of the people there didn't even know who was running the place. Of course, I did. I've asked the other employees whether or not the rumors of the Joker owning the club were true, and thus far, no one had debunked it. Then again, no one had seen him here either. Just imagine how the customers would react when they see the Joker step out of the manager's office. Of course, he wasn't there, but it sure as hell would be funny if he was.

Or would it?

It was an ordinary day: waiting tables, getting tips, repeatedly telling these assholes that I'm just a waitress. A couple of guys even tried to put their hands inside my shorts. Could you believe that? The nerve of some people!

At around midnight, which was rush hour, my boss, Mr. Joe Tancredi, was having an argument with the assistant manager, Mr. Max Velastro. It was fairly common over the last few weeks. The music overpowered their voices, but their silhouettes were still visible through Mr. Tancredi's office window, raising there arms up and shoving each other.

Then, at around one o'clock, the power went out. And as we were waiting for Bob to turn the generators in the basement on, I passed by my boss's office. Since there was no music, I, for once, could finally make out what they were saying. They were talking about "the money", something about "him catching on", whatever that meant.

"I tell ya', Joe, he's gonna find out sooner or later! Look, let's just stop it for a while. Lower suspicions." A voice, which a figured was Mr. Velastro's, said.

"Oh, come on! He ain't catching on to us. He ain't as bright as he claims. Don't be a coward. We're in this together, yeah? I cant have weak men in my business." Mr. Tancredi said.

"Your business? It's his business, Joe. Come on, open your eyes. He's gonna notice his cut's getting lighter. He'll know what's going on. He's going to kill us! Both of us! Look, I cant have that. I have a wife… Kids."

"Hey, you're breaking my heart here, but I'm just doing what's better for us. He's too busy having fun killing God-knows-who God-knows-where to be counting his bucks. He ain't gonna know."

Then, there was a loud Bang.

I immediately thought it came from my fighting superiors, but it seemed that they were just as baffled as I was. One hurried pass another as they slammed the door open to see where the shot had come from. Of course, being new to Gotham's underworld—I heard a lot of customers talk about heists and shootouts in the club—I was paralyzed with fear. I stood just outside Mr. Tancredi's office, and in front of me they stood, eyes fixed on something that was behind me.

My hands were shaking. I didn't know what was happening. My spine was ice-cold as I turned around slowly to see what all the commotion was all about. Then I saw him.

There, he stood.

I was starting to lose hope, but then the day came. I met the Joker.

Just as I was starting to fall asleep, I heard howling. Not animal howling, human howling. I was unconscious the night I was brought here, so this was the first time I was actually kept up. There was yelling, lots of it. Some were singing, some protesting, some declaring, some just shouting.

Heh. It reminded me of something that happened what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

Right in front of the door, the Joker stood, back hunched, left hand wide open, right hand in the air, and holding a gun that was still emitting a small amount of smoke from his warning shot.

I blinked my eyes, expecting him to disappear once I opened them. But he was still there. His purple overcoat was thick and heavy, and matched his purple, striped pants and purple hat. He wore a green low-cut vest beneath his coat, and a yellow, checkered dress shirt underneath. And his blue bow tie was like a cherry on top of his outfit. It was a sight I could never forget.

He took of his hat with his free hand, keeping an unreadable face. He walked forward, his brown leather shoes making a sound that seemed unfamiliar to my ears. He looked around. Everyone was frozen in place. He placed his hat on top of the head of someone I recognized to be one of our regulars. He kept his stride, slowly approaching… Me.

I thought he was approaching me, but he was walking towards my two well dressed superiors behind me. But nonetheless, he was walking towards me.

The distance between us lessened, every step he made. I couldn't help but stare at him, examine him. He was white as… Well, a ghost. Like bone. Like he had been bleached. And his grassy, brownish green hair curled about. His eyes were dark; a deep blackhole that was near impossible not to get your eyes sucked in.

I was so focused on his eyes that I didn't notice he was only a few feet away, and getting closer. Suddenly, his eyes darted towards me. I swear, the moment he looked into my eyes, he was smiling. It was a small one, but I could see it clearly. The corners of his lips were pointing up. As he neared me, I felt like my heart was going to fly out of my chest. I've been waiting for this day the past few months, but I didn't expect him to be holding a gun when we finally did meet. I really hadn't thought this through.

He got closer and closer, and I could feel my whole body shaking. He was staring at me, straight into my eyes. I didn't know what he was thinking, what he was planning, but I had his attention. He stopped in front of me, way to close than was comfortable. He was a giant compared to me. I was five-three, and he seemed to be six-five. The look he gave me made me even more nervous than I already was. All I could think of was what if he attacked me. He could easily overpower me. I was weak. He was ruthless.

He put my hand on my chin, and I had goose bumps as his gloved hand touched my skin. He lifted my chin up, leaning forward to look me in the eye. We stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Then, he simply smirked, darted his eyes back at two men behind me, and walked away.

Those few seconds that he was focused on me were the best in my life. I could never forget it.

Then, I heard him speak. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but the moment I heard his voice, it seemed like the whole world stopped. I turned around to see what was happening, and found him with his head tilted to the side as he fished an envelope from under his coat. He waved it in front of Mr. Tankcredi's face.

"So, Joe…what do you think this is?" He said.

"Uh…th-that's your cut, boss." Mr. Tancredi said, stammering.

"Yeah. My cut. Now, I haven't open it, but it feels a bit…thin"

"Thin?"

"Yeah. I used to get twice as much as this."

"Well, business is kinda slow, boss. I-I'll… Uh, I'll try to do better."

"Slow, eh?" He said. He looked around him, taking in all the customers. "Now, Joe…you've been holding out."

"Boss, I—"

"Did I say you can interrupt!?" He shouted.

There was a silence. His voice echoed all around.

"Shhshhshh. Oh, come on, don't be scared. Look," he dropped his gun and held the sides of Mr. Tancredi's head, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. "Do I look like someone you should be afraid off? Hmm? Now, I trusted you. I trusted you to keep my place running. I thought I could rely on you. Well… Apparently I shouldn't have."

"I-I'm…I, uh—ack!"

I don't think anybody noticed it. Somehow, the Joker had produced a knife, and had stabbed my boss in the stomach. Mr. Tancredi fell forward, and the Joker caught him. He whispered in his ear, but I was near enough to hear it. "I hope you understand. Nobody messes with my business. So believe me when I say… It's nothing personal."

The Joker stabbed him again. This time, in the heart. I was gaping. I felt my stomach sinking. I felt sick.

After a good few seconds, he turned around. He cleared his throat, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen," He walked around, this time, ignoring me as he passed by. "I think you all know who I am." He extended his arms, as if basking in his own self-imposed glory. "Now…tonight, you will be taking part in a… social activity. You see, I own this club. Hence, the name. And Joe here," he pointed at the dead body behind him. "Was being greedy. He was lowballing me. And now, I just want to know how far human greed and selfishness can go." He waved his knife in front of his audience, letting the blood spill on the floor. "Because of him, I am now… A little short on resources. This are how things are gonna go down: I need men, so…" He threw the knife on the ground. "Only one of you comes out alive. But don't limit yourself to that," he gestured to the glasses and bottles all around the room. "There are toys everywhere." He picked his gun up from the floor. "But of course, if you don't like it, I could always make it so I'm the only one who walks out of here."

There was a few seconds of silence. And just like that, they all became animals. Some fought each other for the knife. Some reached of the glasses and bottles. And some just beat each other senselessly.

It was all horrifying. It was chaos.

I was paralyzed. I stood there, just watching.

I felt a tug. My first impulse was to scream, but the guy covered my mouth. I was pulled into my ex-boss's office, and all I could focus on was the Joker, who stood there, watching all go to hell. And he was laughing.

The man removed his grip on me, and he closed the door. It was Max. "There's a backdoor here." He said. He pushed a file cabinet out of the way, and revealed the door behind it. "Come on, Harley."

I stood up. I looked behind me and checked the window, making sure the Joker was still distracted. He was right there. I was so close.

Max opened a drawer, and took out a key and a gun. He unlocked the door, and I followed as he led the way. We exited into an alley behind the building. "Get in." He said, pointing at a black car that covered the entire width of the alley. I didn't even see it until he pointed at it because it blended so well with the dark.

He fumbled for the car keys, and went to open the door on the driver's side. After he opened it, he froze. I couldn't see what he was seeing, but I knew it wasn't good.

I heard another gunshot.

Bang

I saw it, right before my eyes, a bullet went through Max's head. He fell backwards, making a loud thud that could have been enough to crush his skull. I felt sick. Once again, one of my superiors were killed right in front of me. The day wasn't turning out to be as good as I had hoped.

A man emerged from inside. There was nothing extraordinary about him, besides the clown mask he wore that told me he was one of the Joker's henchmen. He turned towards me and pointed the gun. He tilted his head. "Sorry, missy… The boss doesn't take kindly to runaways."

I wanted to run away, except, I knew he would shoot me the first chance he got. So I raised my hands in submission. "Hey, we don't have to go there. I'll be happy to go back inside."

"Yeah?" He said. "Nah. Sorry,sweetheart. No exceptions." He walked towards me. Through the eye slits on his mask, I could see him examining me, staring a little while longer on a few of my 'features'. "Well, maybe one."

Oh God.

I didn't like the look he had as he got closer. I waited until he got close enough, then I kicked him hard in the groin. He moaned, and dropped his gun. I picked it up and, staring him in the eyes, I pointed it at him. "Heh, wha-what did you say?" I said, acting confident. "Th-the way I see it, it's either you let me go, or…you know, bang bang."

He chuckled, nervously by the way I heard it. "Come on, girly, no playing around. Give me back my gun."

"And let you have it your way? No, thanks." I was still covering myself with a wall of false confidence—which wasn't exactly working out as good as I had hoped. I was shaking and sweating. My palms were so wet that I wouldn't be surprised if the gun slipped out of my hands. But still, I just kept pointing it at his face—mask—preparing myself to pull the trigger if needed be.

"Hand it o—AHH!"

There it was, I pulled the trigger. I gathered all the courage I could conjure up, and shot him right in the leg. He dropped to the ground, and I lost grip of the gun. My eyes widened at what was becoming a bloody mess right in front of me.

"Little bitch!" He cursed, catching his breath.

Immediately, I pulled myself together and crouched down to grab the gun. I was going to leave. I've already made a point: I was no push over.

I backed away slowly, keeping him in my sights and keeping the gun pointed. I tried to control my breaths, but the more I thought of it, the more it made me nervous. I just hoped that nobody else knew that I was trying to escape. Though I highly doubt that the biggest, baddest maniac this side of the sun would even remotely notice a missing waitress.

I bumped into something—no, someone—as I was backing away. I turned around, breathing heavily and nervously. I lifted my face up and met his gaze. My eyes immediately locked on the bloody grin building up on his white canvass of a face.

"Where you goin'…Pumpkin?"

Author's notes

That was it. Hope you liked it. Reviews are well appreciated.