AN: so I created this during my math class….i absolutely love the pairing joker harley, and I promise to get back to the other story on here, either tonight or tomorrow!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the silly plotline.

This was his city, his mafia, and inadvertently Maroni's night club was his. And as such it disturbed him greatly to see her there, dancing with such intoxicating behaviors. She was his doctor. He was her only patient and he made sure of that. So it made the smile disappear from his face to see Crane with her. Although she didn't know it was secretly a man who waited for just the right song and moment to whisper a something into her ear and take her outside. From there he would inject her with some of his fear toxin and get off not on her appearance but her frantic movements. Jack sauntered off through the sea of gropes and heavy panting. Stalking, stealthy, and ready to reclaim what was his.

There was a change in music. He was gone to get here a Rum and Coke. She carried on her own beat and sang to herself. "Gettin' low low low low…" And then there were hands. They weren't Jonathans. They were cold. Were they those hands? The hands that had closed on her throat only days ago in their first session? His hands were cold then too. Damn, she mentally cursed for the lights were too dark to see, but they would soon change. Yes! And then she could see, she could turn around and know. But his arms held her- unable but unwilling to leave. Really she was permitted only to move with him, not against him.

He snarled to himself. A rum and coke? Cheap drink. He'd have to fix that, but right now he could not let her go. Not because she was exhilarating him, but because Crane would get back to her- and the whole idea of secrecy and laying low was not to make a scene…wasn't it? He had to giggle at the whole situation, The Joker dancing here with a 'white lady' of Gotham. One of the white coats, Harleen Quinzel, dancing with a 'dark man' of Gotham. He toyed with the idea of being a self-proclaimed as a dark knight, but that led him to the Batsy and took away from his moments with her. Did she not realize who frequented this place? Dancing with the scarecrow and earlier when Crane had just left she had been on the verge of grinding with Ra's Al Ghul. But she was his doctor and he was going to make sure she was not going to be so stupid again.

She was resolved. It was those hands. Even if in reality it wasn't she imagined they were. To everyone else in the world they were the hands of a mass murderer and they could cause only destruction and chaos. 'But chaos could be a good thing...right?" Because these were the hands that haunted her dreams every night. Her body was Gotham city and she dreamed it such that the joker would do what he did best; havoc and chaos. And then she mentally sighed; 'no it could never happen. Your miles away from Arkham, Harleen.' She told herself, just as the light dimmed lower than ever before and switched to a slow paced song in which she was released...spun back into the arms of Jonathan.

They were dancing slowly. He watched on making mental notes of how that imbecile. Crane, worthless excuse for a doctor touched his belongings. Nothing to obscene. "Good...let's keep it that way....." And then there was Maroni's eldest son beckoning him to have a chit chat. He looked at his watched and exited into the back room with the young man. Ten minutes went by with Cory Maroni talking the jokers head off about god knows what. He didn't really pay attention; instead he favored his makeup less appearance in the mirror. And then a few words caught his attention. "That Quinzel dame...she's kind of pretty." And as the former Jack Napier whipped around he made what Cory would've called a 'nice save' but shaking his head and saying "never paid much attention to women. She's only a nice piece of ass. Don't throw yourself away on that know-it-all." And with a well placed excuse and giggle the joker sauntered off to the bar leaving the young Maroni boy in the room. Back out into the mayhem he eyed the room carefully and found that they had not left yet. Yes, Jonathan knew what he was doing. He was suave and as Crane and Harleen drew to the edge of the dance floor he surveyed the rest of the room. 'So this is what the elite of Gotham does on their time off...that or weasel their way into Bruce Wayne's bed. Wayne.' He scoffed into his whiskey. 'I'm making more money than he is...using the crime families.....family crime cramily crimely lovely crime family ...crime"

Harleen found that Jonathan was quite the gentleman. How was it possible that she hadn't met him before? In fact there meeting was a fluke. He had been in her path when she was carrying boxes into her office. And he had refused to move until she accepted his offer of dinner. The dinner was great, an upscale restaurant where only the elite dined, and now here they were, sweating it away on the dance floor and Harleen waited for that point where she could take it no longer and he would offer her a night at his place. That moment was coming, she knew for they were dancing primitively and breathing heavily, and then from out of the corner of her eye a flash of green and distortion caught her eye.

Without his paint, under her gaze, he felt off...color. Her gaze was only a quick sweep of the room, no longer than a few seconds but he still felt wounded from the intensity. But the whiskey helped. Its taste flowed down his throat in languid mellow movements, but it also tugged at the corners of his mouth where the scars were. It caused him to lick his lips in search of hidden flavor. And then her movement caught his eye.

She walked past the bar area and down the hall to where the restrooms were. "All right, Harl…you've studied this subject, just a little discomfort, that's all…" She stared at herself in the mirror and felt a little bout of nausea rise up from her stomach into her throat. She fought the nausea off and sighed. Opening her compact, she began to reapply her makeup, having sweated most of it off, and then exited the restroom. But when she went back into the main room, Jonathan was missing, and so the only logical excuse was to exit the club. Outside Jonathan's car was parked at the curb, the door open. She took a deep breath, ready for anything and got in.

MINUTES EARLIER

The Joker walked over to Jonathan and beckoned to have a little chat outside. Once outside he waited for Crane to speak first. "What do you want Jack?" He said slightly displeased, "I have a time issue, experiment you know." And as soon as he finished his sentenced he turned to see the smirk and hear the rising giggle. "What the hell-" And then there were no more words, only the guttural sound of a blade slicing into someone's speech.

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PRESENT TIME
She closed the door, and looked into the front, to the man driving. She couldn't understand where Jonathan was, and she was sitting the back seat, alone staring at Mickey, Jonathan's driver. And then she was alerted to another presence, and then that voice that sent shivers tingling in her body, causing minor tremors between her thighs.

"Hello Harley…" It came from the area around her, but from where she could not fathom. And then she realized it wasn't Mickey. Her eyes widened, she tried to open the car, but her fumbling with the handle caused her dearly for her conscience was ripped from her.

He was an honorable man and he liked to see his victims reactions to any thing he did, so rape was not an action seeing as how she was unconscious. And so on the way back he mentally smiled to himself, and giggled occasionally, and although he would never admit it in the years to come, he worried over her current disposition. In the moments before she had entered the car he had taken a small dose of Crane's fear toxin and using some of his own chemicals turned it into a minor anesthetic. He had an hour, enough time to drop her body outside Arkham. And that's exactly what he did.