Preface

Attractive, focused and curious: That was how normal people would describe her. Pliant, breakable, but possibly useful, was how The Joker viewed her.

It was the useful part that drew him in, she was not the typical quack they usually sent him, he thought as he eyed up his new psychiatrist. She was intelligent, and knew how to dig around inside a person's head, and after years of work with wack jobs, it was a safe bet that she knew how to play dirty.

A few months of sob stories and sweet-talking later, he would have her strings wrapped around his finger, ready to dance for him like a puppet.
It would not take much to push the small blonde over the edge. Timeless darkness surrounded that woman, and one day, she would fall right into it. Infact, one crime, it turned out, was all it took before she decided to bust him out of Arkham Asylum.

Her baby had been brought back bruised, battered, and bleeding from the mouth. How dare anyone hurt Mister J? She would have to make an example of them.

Doctor Harleen Quinzel strolled down one of Arkham's many corridors, rolling her sleeves up and whistling to herself. Turning a sharp corner, she slit the throat of a security guard, and gingerly flexed up her arm to stab through the security camera above her. With a smile, she removed a gun from the dead man's pocket, and began flipping it over and over in her hand. She used her own key card to get through all the doors, shooting anyone who tried to stop her.

The Joker had been staring up at the ceiling, staring at the tiny patterns in the concrete, and imagining them as contorted faces, all smiling down at him: They would not laugh though, so when that woman appeared, he sat up, ready to leave. He needed a real audience. The ceiling was no fun: it reacted to none of his jokes. Batman, oh Batman always gave the most entertaining reception. He looked at his puppet, wondering whether to be amused or impressed that she had met his expectations: She even had a smile on her face.

The pair were still laughing as they jumped into Harley's car. She handed him the gun, and started the engine, before speeding away down the road. The moonlight flooded the tarmac, guiding their lunacy until they arrived at their destination. Harley had sold her apartment, and most of her possessions, in order to buy the hide-out. It was temporary of course, but for now it was perfect. The joker smiled, and ambled over to the building, taking in the scent of madness encompassing the walls.

He licked his hand, and slicked back his hair, smacking his lips as Harley walked over. She handed him the key, inviting him in with her gaze. He smiled politely, bowing slightly as a mockery of a gentleman, and unlocked the door. The dimly lit room was cast with white wash walls and an open plan floor. There was no furniture save a large metal table in one corner. A metal staircase rose up against the far wall, leading to a more private set of smaller rooms on the second floor. The Joker found himself nodding. It was functional, and Harley hadn't tampered with it. She had left it alone for him to customize, should he want to. He gave her a slow, sensual stare, rewarding her with his eyes, before looking back to the room at large.

Harley was trying to maintain her composure, realizing suddenly that she could never appear weak in the presence of her Mister J. She could be herself with him; smile, laugh and cry, but never could she let herself slip. If he ever saw how capable he was of bring her to her knees, he would discard her. She had seen that in the way he had looked at her. His gaze had been full of lust, and a dark warning. How she behaved from now on; her actions, she would always have to think about how they would affect him. If she was going to get what she wanted, she would have to put him above everything else. Nothing could weigh her down. She giggled.