A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for sticking with me if you're reading this! I pushed out a couple of chapters and I'm in process of re-reading and fixing them right now. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1

Harley's head buzzed with white noise as her eyes fluttered open and the room around her came into focus – particularly the green haired, pale faced clown laying by her side as he had so many mornings before There he was, scrolling through his phone and checking e-mails for the day's shipments and adding meetings to his calendar. As chaotic as life with The Joker may be, he still needed some sense of organization to run his businesses. "Otherwise they wouldn't call it 'organized crime,' she thought to herself with a sleepy smile. He paused and looked her when he realized he was being watched.

"How did you sleep, pooh?" he asked her in a gravely, groggy voice as he set his phone face down on the nightstand and rolled onto his side to face his queen. She still wasn't privy to many aspects of his life and business, but it had never bothered her. So why did she feel this empty hole in her gut?

She stretched and scooted closer to him and his arms wrapped around her, trapping her within the warm embrace of himself and the blankets. She breathed in deeply and the hole grew deeper as it occurred to her that she couldn't remember his scent. "I always sleep great with you beside me, puddin," she replied as she closed her eyes, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as she could.

"I'll always be with you…"

Harley's eyes shot open at the sound of the buzzer which told her and the other inmates of Arkham Asylum that is was time to start the day. Her heart quickly sank as she realized she'd been dreaming again; the blank grey walls of her Arkham cell were the only things that greeted her this morning. She sat up slowly and pushed her long bleached hair from her face; its length now reached her waist, the blue and pink tips still present, but only just. A heavy sigh escaped her pale, chapped lips as she realized today would be like any other: breakfast, therapy, lunch, recess, group, dinner, bed. Rinse and repeat. Day in and day out. And still no Joker.

A second alarm sounded and her barred door slid open; she'd been moved to the general population for good behavior and faking her way through therapy. The longer she let Harleen out to play, the more the therapists and staff believed she was truly recovering this time, and the closer she came to freedom. She pretended to take all of her medications, and eloquently spoke her way through session after session of her therapy. Letting Harleen take the reins but still keeping a mental awareness to her own persona was exhausting, but necessary.

And still, no Joker. How long had it been since she'd lost her angel? It didn't matter, she'd decided. Every day without him was like a new tear in her heart.

She slipped her Arkham issued orange jumpsuit on with her grey loafers and shuffled out in an orderly fashion down to the mess hall, resisting the urge to moo as they were herded like cattle into the cafeteria and through the breakfast line. Tray, coffee, muffin, fruit; she was going crazier in here than she ever did with her puddin' with all this routine and repetition. She sat next to Ivy at their usual table by the door and slowly sipped her black coffee, resisting the urge to retch at the bitter flavor. Sugar and creamer were considered "luxuries" and were frowned upon by the state, so it was black or nothing.

"Another long night, Harls?" Ivy asked her.

"Yeah Red…I keep expecting to wake up next to him…I still can't believe he's gone."

Ivy released an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. "When will you get over that clown?" she scoffed. "He was nothing but awful to you anyway! You're better off that he's dead! Get. Over. IT."

Harley picked at her muffin and said nothing, letting only a sad sigh escape her lips; as much as she wanted to defend him, she also didn't want to lose the only friend she had in this place.

"Sorry Red. You're the only one I can really talk to in this place though!"

"Aren't you in grief therapy?"

"Yeah yeah, but it's a frikkin joke! And not in the way I would normally appreciate. All I do is talk about the fact that 'I understand that way of life is incorrect and behind me. It's okay for me to love The Joker but with the understanding that I need to start over now,' Blah blah blah. I just want to scream!"

Ivy huffed and angrily stabbed a grape in her fruit salad with a plastic fork. It was then that one of the wardens wandered up to them.

"Good morning, ladies!" he chimed in a falsely cheery tone.

"Someone's chipper," Ivy grumbled under her breath. Harley had to take a bite of her muffin quickly to stop herself from laughing.

"Good morning, Warden!" she responded, muffled by her pastry.

"Harleen, I was asked to inform you that your therapy session will be held in meeting room B today. I'm sure you remember where that is…since you were once employed here." His tone was condescending; Harley imagined leaping over the table and tackling him to the floor. Her fingers flexed under the table as if they were around his neck.

"Yes, sir," she responded, giving him a fake smile and batting her eyelashes innocently. Once he was gone, Ivy gently nudged her and grinning.

"The meeting hall? Does that mean your case is being heard by the state today?"

"It better! I've worked my ass off to look sane for these idiots. Another week of this and I'll land myself into solitary just for a change in scenery!"

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen. We are here today to discuss Case File #8181, Former Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Miss Quinzel has been arrested for kidnapping, arson, accomplice to murder, battery, assult, and a slew of other charges. She was found clinically insane and is being treated for…" Harley didn't recognize the man who spoke, but his cold grey eyes shifted away from her to flip through her chart, "Stockholm Syndrome, schizophrenia, multiple personality disorder, and PTSD following the death of her boyfriend – The Joker."

"Husband," she muttered to herself through gritted teeth.

"Are you aware of your wrong doings, Miss Quinn?" Dr. Arkham dryly asked her from behind his desk; he sounded as though if her were any more bored of this, he would fall asleep in his seat. Six sets of eyes were on her as she shuffled uncomfortably in the shackles which held her to her cold wooden seat: Mayor Quincy, Commissioner Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Dr. Arkham, Harley's therapist Dr. Martin, and the last set whom Harley did not recognized. She mentally scolded him for his rudeness; not introducing himself before judging her fate? For shame!

"Yes sir. My actions were influenced by the love I believed I had for The Joker. I would have done anything for him. But that personality, that "Harley Quinn" character he'd made me, she's gone now. I feel I have been successfully integrated and can function in society. It'll be a rocky start, but I feel up to the challenge with the tools for coping and success Dr. Martin has given me." Her own words made her sick to her stomach, but she smiled softly through it, trying to look composed but remorseful.

She noticed Bruce Wayne shift in his seat as he cleared his throat. All eyes went to the millionaire and biggest donor of the asylum.

"What do you plan to do, given that you are granted freedom today, Miss Quinzel?" She wished they would stop calling her that. She swallowed her pride down again and let Harleen spew off the "game plan" they'd come up with.

"Well, I know I would never be allowed to practice medicine again. But I'd like to become a group therapist for a battered women's shelter. I don't need my license for that, but I feel like I could do this city a lot of good, and I still have the expertise to coucil. Who better to understand those women than someone who's frankly, slept with the devil himself?" She tried to ignore the taste those words left in her mouth; calling her angel a devil seemed like soiling his memory, but she needed to roll with the act.

Wayne smiled and she vaguely wondered what his interest in her case could be. Did he do this with all the inmates? Didn't he have better things to do? Maybe this was for publicity.

The head chairmen looked to the others. "Well gentlemen?" Doctor Martin cleared her throat, "And lady… What's your verdict? Is Miss Quinzel truly rehabilitated?"

"I'm in favor," Bruce said raising his hand.

'Jackpot,' Harley thought herself, biting her lip to contain herself. They would naturally follow the person holding the purse strings.

"I second that," Commissioner Gordon replied. "Harleen, if you can put that much effort into running amok in our city, I can only imagine what good you can do with that sort of drive."

"Then it's decided. Harleen Quinzel, I hereby grant you the honor of being pronounced legally sane. Please proceed to reception to collect your belongings and your certificate."

Harley shook with excitement as the security officer at the door moved to unlock her chains. Once freed, she skipped forward and shook hands with each person sitting before her.

"You won't be disappointed! I promise!"

Now that was the truth.