Author's Note: Finally, I've been wanting to tackle the Joker/Harley story for a very long time and now I'm nutting down and doing it. I've got fairly extensive RPG history, but this is my first Fanfic, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

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'In conclusion the Joker has no agenda other then to break the 'rules' of society because he feels he is disillusioned to humanity's true nature. He believes that deep in their hearts, everyone is able to be turned villainous with the correct incentive, as perhaps he considers he was. Because society changes and grows, so the Joker's personality changes and adapts along with it. It's doubtful he identifies himself now with the person he was before his transformation. He is a new breed of criminal with no interest in material goods. He is motivated not by his own needs, but considers himself a mentor to a childish society that he plans to awaken to the true mentality of the human condition. His major concern is, therefore, our well being – whatever he considers that to be. He is consumed with the need to cause endless destruction because in his disordered mind, order is an illusion and ultimately unnatural. Our knowledge of the Joker is extremely limited because of his enigma, but one thing is certain: the Joker marks a new age of crime and he will never stop, he is incapable on any level of his consciousness.'

The theory Harleen Quinzel presented in the final exam paper of her 5 year psychology course was revolutionary for criminal psychologists trying to scramble together some kind of disjointed profile for the Gotham City police. She was the first to argue that the Joker was not a sociopath, but that the extent of his psychosis had deepened beyond any usual textbook definition. He was one of a kind, appearing out of the settling euphoric glow of Harvey Dent's mob arrest fully mentally evolved. There was no slow decent into psychosis. She doubted he even remembered much of his former existence (if there had ever been one) Sometimes things don't evolve. Sometimes they just cease to be one thing and become… another. His fixation on Gotham City was already a vice. Even Harley, who tried to detach from the hum-drum of city-goings on, felt the unsettle. It was tainted with a threat all the more terrible because it was incomprehensible: there was no reference point for a mind like the Joker's. It was therefore predicable that the Joker was also a topic of great interest… among people who were brave enough to care to think about that sort of thing. He was also a popular topic for final exam paper.

Harley was, however, the only student to obtain full marks.

"It says here you've applied for an internship at the Arkham Asylum. May I ask why?"

Harley was sitting in her Professor's office, conducting their final formal discussion over her future career plans. The answer to his question was obvious. Arkham had been the clear choice. It was at the top of every list, required an impossible enter score and beyond excellent recommendations. It was an achievement to even be in a position to apply straight out of school. That had been part of the attraction… It was the biggest challenge, but also it was the leading drive of inmate rehabilitation in the state. The doctors and nurses there were the best and they only took on an intern in exceptional circumstances. Well… Harley did strive to be exceptional, and had no patience to start her career in little white clinics and fight her way up ladders for 30 years. She was ambitious enough to set her goals higher then that. Much higher. But perhaps this was not something to admit to publicly. All doctors seemed to prize modesty…

"Developing my theories on the Joker for my final paper led me to become explicitly interested in criminal psychology. The vigilante Batman seems to have inspired a whole new kind of criminal, and the motives and origins of these super villains is a field we've not even begun to explore. I want to conduct more extensive research and I feel I can do this at Arkham."

She feels she belongs with the elite.

"Harleen, I would normally advice not to apply for Arkham. It's extensively difficult to obtain a placement there to begin with and it's not a place for novices. The inmates there are no small game… however you're an impressively dedicated student. You do have impressive results and recommendations. Also entering the facility for research grounds first is a clever way to introduce yourself into the workplace environment up there."

Harley's expression didn't alter. Her reasons for applying to enter the internship on a research basis was not because she was nervous, or because she had to feel her way tentatively. The fact that it could double as a transitional period was merely a bonus next to her true reasoning. Research students had access to higher level patients then career interns. Much higher and her plans required her to have that access as soon as possible. Access to one, Jonathan Crane.

"I thought so Sir. I'm hoping to spend the first two years conducting extensive research in order to write a book about this new emerging psychological persona."

Her Professor's ancient face crinkled about the eyes as his bushy white eyebrows rose.

"Very ambitious. And a very interesting topic to the psychology world at the moment. If you do well with this book Harleen, it could open a lot of doors for you."

Harley smiled, trying not to think that that should have been obvious.

"I hope so."

The elderly man considered his top student. Confident, controlled. No one had doubted her potential, not her teachers for certain. After a pause, he seemed to resign himself and rested his thin, pale hands down on his desk. His expression however, was affectionate.

"Harleen. You're good at research, you're even better at writing analytical studies. You pull this off, and you'll set yourself up for a good career but… now I understand why you're hesitant to involve yourself in the field of social experimentation again-"

the perfectly polite smile falters at the corners of her mouth and something unreadable instantly appears in her eyes.

"- which is a shame because it's always been where you're true talent lies. Even in the research you're planning to do for this book, if the opportunity arises for you to conduct some fieldwork of that kind … I'd advise doing it. No matter how difficult it may be. Avoiding it will only hold you back."

She is instantly repulsed at the idea of an obstacle to her goal, and becomes aware of her own thought processes, feeling for any internal barriers that may potentially have her holding herself back. The fault of the plan is more often the creator then not. She can't afford to have her sensitivities prevent her from moving forward, nor can she afford to hesitate and miss an opportunity in the future.

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When Harley left her college building, the heavy clouds that hung over Gotham City had finally given way to a downpour of hot, humid rain. The air smelt like overripe fruit and warm milk, and was heavy in the lungs. She pulled the collar of her yellow rain jacket up about her neck, and lifted up an umbrella over her head before stepping out into the weather. There was unease in the air, the kind you can sense like pressure on your spine rather than see or hear. Like religion, it made itself known enigmatically. Outwardly, the only thing she could hear was the quite whoosh of the rain hitting the dull metal frames of parked cars and asphalt, and the sound of her heels on water and cement.

Suddenly a distant boom vibrated through the rain, snapping her head around and stopping her walking. In the distance, over the black of silhouetted skeleton buildings, something was lighting up the stormy skies in plumes of golden light. They swelled up from between buildings up towards the sky: directionally, an impossible task for lightning. It was far away, but clearly visible as the huge bubbles of light and detail plumed to their peak of brilliance… then faded, to be taken over by the hush of rain once again.

For a few more moments Harley stared, captivated, then snapped out of whatever trace the distant bombs had put her in. She fished her car keys out of her purse and they jingled as she slid them into the lock of her car and heard the click of the locking system disable. She'd just opened the door to slip inside when the sirens started to echo pass her, hidden in neighboring streets. Harley paused for a moment, scanning the foggy landscape for the red and blue sources of the tortured wailing, but there was nothing material in the fog. She strained her ears before realizing there was another underlying sound. It took half a second to recognize it for what it was. The distant sound of loud, glorifying, thrilled… laughter. The echo encompassed her and vibrated through her like the string of a violin before panic sparked up her spine and she hurriedly slipped into her car, throwing her umbrella in the back seat, slamming the door closed and slapping down the lock. On the street, alone in her car she suddenly felt very vulnerable. Gotham did that to you these days. It had been along time since Gotham had been secure, longer since anyone had felt confident in their supposed guarantied safety.

Harley sat, unnerved, looking around her through rain-distorted windows as she turned the key in the ignition, letting the roar of an engine restore her calm as she turned on the wipers and pulled out of the kerb. She'd heard the laughter before. On the videos the media released. It was the sound of fear and fire, and ironically her success.

Somewhere, the clown just had given a performance. And the audience was grim.

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