chapter 1

I'd always been interested in psychology. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with those silly little personality tests and was constantly checking lists of different symptoms of mental disorders – you know in case someone in my family was a psychopath. By the time I got into highschool, the passion had faded a bit, only because of, well, high school. Other more 'important' work took over and I had hardly any free time. Between trying to maintain a high GPA and spending the majority of my other time at the gym, swinging on bars and flipping on mats.

Gymnastics hadn't been my idea.

It was my mothers. She told me I'd appreciate it later in life, and sure, you could say I did. I was in shape, fit and it had given me a strong determination that I now put to everything I did. It did take up a lot of my time though. Anyway, even after much complaining on my part, but my mothers adoration of my ease, I decided to just roll with it. I was a people-pleaser. I didn't need another's approval to feel good about myself, but who doesn't appreciate someone's respect and pride in them?

After flying easily into college – help from my gymnastics scholarship – I started taking more classes at Gotham University. I didn't live in Gotham, or at least not for the vast majority of my life. I only moved here three years ago. I'd been in college five years and had raced my way up the ladder in my psychology course work. My passion had been renewed, and here I was, a resident doctor at Arkham Asylum.

It hadn't been my original goal to work in an asylum. Being a therapist, yes. The idea of working with your average joe with mild depression wasn't very appealing to me, though. Sure, I was empathetic, but it just didn't interest me. Honestly it bored me to tears. I've always loved extreme personalities, and that dragged me here. I'd gotten high recommendations from all of my teachers at GCU and all my previous jobs, and Arkham needed the help. I got hired immediately. What helped the most was that my psych teacher, Dr. Jonathan Crane had worked in the asylum for years. He taught on the side, and took it very seriously, but his first and foremost priority was psychopharmacology. Dr. Crane was a bit frightening, somewhat dramatic and everything he said made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. But damn was he a good teacher.

Eight months before I started my job here, the director (a Dr. Jeremiah Arkham) was attacked by a patient, ending in losing an eye and a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The care of the asylum was placed into the capable hands of Malachi Lawrence. I didn't particularly like Dr. Lawrence, but I also admired him. He was a good doctor, and had been working at the asylum for a good seven years. He'd successfully rehabilitated eleven high profile patients. His track record was impressive. This being my sixth month here, I was still working with my first patient. (Granted, I only started working with him three months ago.) Before then, I'd mainly been shadowing other doctors, occasionally sitting in on sessions with high-class psychotic killers. One of my favorites was a woman named Pamela Isley, or as she prefered to be called, Poison Ivy. She was in essence all things beautiful: Long, silky fire red hair that fell in lovely natural curls around her pale skin. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green and it was easy to get lost looking in them, and she knew it, too. Pamela Isley was a very confident girl and could manipulate a man like it was as simple as reading the morning paper. One of our younger, less experienced orderlies had been fooled into kissing her, only for a moment, and the toxins in her lips killed him in seconds. She'd laughed for half an hour straight. That was before I'd met her though, and in recent therapy and from what I've seen in the common room and in her cell, she'd been relatively tame. It was hard to imagine someone so flawless, so flawed.

Another of the more intense criminals here was a man named Jervis Tetch. His obsession with Lewis Carroll fed into his already sick mind, ending with countless murders, and admitted pedophilia with young girls he called "his Alices." Gotham's famous Batman had brought him in just two months ago. It seems like he's been here much, much longer. The dream speech starts to affect your mind after a while.

Now, my patient, was a man named Timothy Blank. He'd been diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was eleven and was prone to manic episodes. Timothy had shown a lot of progress lately and I'd been itching to get my claws into something a little meatier. I was sure Timothy would be out of here in the next few months. That being said, Dr. Lawrence still hadn't congratulated me on my progress, something with which greatly bothered me (more than he already did). And unfortunately, I was headed towards his office now.

He looked up when he heard my heels click into his office. I was immediately surprised and one of my eyebrows raised as my eyes widened some. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale, and it looked as though he hadn't slept in days. "Dr. Lawrence?"

"Quinzel, sit down," He said, moving papers aside. He went to take a drink from his coffee cup and finding it empty, tipped it completely back to get the last of the dregs. "I'm sorry, my office is a mess." So are you, buddy.

"It's fine, Doctor. What's wrong? You look a bit unkempt." His nose wrinkled and I rushed to apologize. He was still my boss, of course. Brown nosing once in a while was to be expected. "I didn't mean it like that, at all. Just worried a bit, sir. You look like you could use some rest..."

He chuckled then, running his fingers through his dark hair. For a middle aged man, his hair was still thick and black and his goatee was much the same. "I've been here all night, working. Haven't slept. I'm running on caffeine and will power." I offered a small smile at that. After all, I could relate. I doubt I'd be able to function in human society without coffee. "We're bringing in a new patient soon. I'm notifying all the doctors personally before I tell the rest of the staff. You know how the nurses talk, and I don't want this getting twisted by gossip."

I took advantage of his pause and said curiously, "Who's the new patient?" I crossed my legs and laced my fingers together, leaning forward with just the right amount of interest. In reality, I was screaming inside. Who would it be? Maybe Victor Zsasz? I'd always wanted a chance to work with him, but after his last murder two months ago, he completely fell off the radar. I was praying for some excitement.

"The Joker." He watched me with hooded eyes, waiting for a reaction. My mouth popped open. The Joker? At Arkham? Multiple things sprung to mind in that moment. The first being that this was going to be huge for the asylum. Being in the Narrows and having such low funding, the establishment was a bit run down and little old fashioned. Second, was that this was going to suck for me. No new patient. As much as I'd die to work with an enigma like The Joker, I'd probably have to be here as long as Lawrence to even get close enough to hear that crazy laugh. I wondered idly what he was like in person, and not just on the news. I blinked and then realized Lawrence was waiting for a reply. "That's amazing! This is going to be so good for Arkham." I bit my tongue before asking hesitantly, "Who's going to be his primary doctor?"

"Well me, of course. At first. We don't know what kinds of tricks he has up his sleeve." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking at the wall above my head. "I'm nervous, Harleen." At first I was stunned he'd used my first name. It was informal and not professional and definitely unlike Lawrence, but what surprised me most was the first part of that sentence.

"You're the best doctor at Arkham, there's no need to be nervous. Besides, he'll be under lock and key constantly." I told him these words believing them, but the cold feeling in the bottom of my stomach was making me feel otherwise. I'd seen the man on my TV screen and yet I knew it was nothing compared to the real thing. Lawrence was in for a wake up call. I hated myself for feeling a bit nervous for him, myself. "When is he coming in?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'm going to tape the session, so the rest of the doctors can watch. I want as many people's different thoughts as I can get, without unnerving him with them all in the room."

"He seems like the kind of guy who likes attention," I mused halfheartedly. Then I cleared my throat. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. I wasn't scheduled to come in tomorrow, but am I included in that?"

He nodded. "It'll be recorded, if you want to watch it later. But you're more than welcome to come see it live. I'm meeting him at ten." He sighed then. "I have so much paper work to do. The court is arguing about whether or not he belongs in Blackgate or under psychiatric care. Tomorrow will be the personal assessment."

"I'll get you some coffee, Dr. Lawrence," I told him as I uncrossed my legs. As I went to stand, he held a hand up to halt me.

"Thank you, Quinzel. Afterwards, go on home. It's a big day for us all tomorrow." My nose twitched at the sudden courtesy. Sleep deprivation suited him. I could get used to this. Usually he's rude, commanding. I just gave him a smile and turned the other way, closing the office door behind me as I left.

The Joker. The face make-up and stained teeth haunted me now, now that I knew I was seeing him tomorrow. Still not in person, but close enough. Oh, what I would give to have the chance to meet him. It took me five minutes to get to the cafeteria, and another seven to make Lawrence's coffee and bring it back up to his office. I frowned as I opened the door. Lawrence's computer was off, his papers put away, and he was gone.

The last manic episode was three weeks ago. Blank has made an immense amount of progress and seems dedicated to getting out of Arkham soon. The Prolixin has steadily eased us into the maintenance phase of his schizophrenia. Since this almost consistently remains through the entire life, I'm recommending an outpatient program after he leaves the asylum as an inpatient, to keep involved in his progress. I'm reluctant to ease the dosage of his medication down this early, just for the sake of that he's been reacting so well to this, even more than the dosage we were on last month.

I rubbed my forehead. The light from my laptop was giving me an intense headache, which was not something I needed the night before our "big day." There had been enough news about the Joker's arrest, complete with his manic laugh in the background as a steady beat to the reports. It gave me goosebumps even now. With an audible hmph I stood up from the couch and closed my laptop. I stretched my arms above my head and felt the joints in my shoulders pop and sighed. I could feel my muscles tensing up and knew I needed to get back into doing my nightly routines. Not tonight though. I turned everything off in the living room and went into the bathroom, popping a few ibuprofen into my hand and chucking them back with water. I brushed my teeth as quickly as I could muster and then spit dramatically into the basin before looking up into the mirror. I sighed.

With my blonde hair up in a pathetic ponytail and lack of makeup, the strain of my new job and the city had taken on me was obvious. I loved Gotham, I really did. My apartment was nice enough, on the verge of the Narrows, yes, but definitely nice for the rent I paid. My job paid well enough, and I had a measure of respect I'd never had before. I was happy. My lips turned down into a frown. Well, I was at least content. With that somewhat sobering thought in my head, I cracked my neck and headed into the bedroom. I threw the blankets over my head and said aloud, "Let the games begin." I groaned.

"Good, you made it," Dr. Sean Warren said, without looking up from the television screen. It was bright blue right now, waiting for the video to begin, but he was watching it as if his favorite movie was playing. I pursed my lips but went ahead and took the seat next to him, crossing one leg over the other.

"What'd I miss? I can tell it's been exhilarating so far," I replied with an edge in my voice. The two other head doctors in the asylum were speaking in the corner, nursing cups of coffee. I licked my lips. I'd woken up late this morning and hadn't had my coffee and the lack of caffeine was definitely getting to me. I usually really liked Sean, and this morning I was being sarcastic with him. He noticed too and raised an eyebrow at me. I winced. "Haven't had my coffee yet." His lips twitched into a grin. Yeah, I liked Sean. He was attractive, and older, which had always been my kind of man. He was in his early thirties and it appealed to me. The golden hair and light gray eyes and full lips were hard not to notice and the fact that he knew the definition to the word alphamegamia just topped it off.

Of course I wasn't looking for a relationship and my interest in him was purely platonic and/or business-related, and his feelings toward me were mutual. Didn't mean I couldn't look at him. Suddenly the flick of the screen caught my eye and the two doctors behind us quieted down and took their seats. There was automatically an electric tension in the air that you could practically taste. I couldn't exactly place it - excitement, or fear? Something different? I knew I was feeling both.

The camera was angled at a wall. Suddenly there was a crackle and the video camera shifted to the left. My eyes widened. The man on the screen was clad in the original gray Arkham jumpsuit, which didn't do much for the aura around us. It looked clinical, cold and scary. His hair was dirty brown and fell in greasy, unwashed curls and you could see the faint remains of his green hair. He was slouching against the couch, his hands placed in between his legs, the cuffs awkwardly bending his wrists towards the floor where they attached to his ankles. Faint streaks and smudges of color were on his face, but the majority of his skin was bare, making him look much more human. My head cocked to the side slowly. It was strange seeing him that way. His puffy scars were still stained red, just like the way lipstick stains your lips. His eyes looked like eyeliner after a shower. Amidst it all, it was obvious he was much younger than we'd originally thought - maybe early thirties, and he wasn't ugly. He was probably very attractive once upon a time, if he'd had a shower and a little less psycho. My head cocked even more. I was very curious about this man.

"Dr. Lawrence interviewing patient 309, November 18th, 2014." He cleared his throat and there was the sound of shuffling papers. "How are you feeling today?" He asked the Joker, and sat patiently as he awaited a response. The man didn't reply at all, just continued to sit, his head lolled back, watching the ceiling. "Alright. Let's start off with some basic questions then." Lawrence didn't seem particularly thrown by his silence, but I could tell he was unnerved already. Being in the presence of this man couldn't be anything less than terrifying. "How old are you?"

The Joker suddenly giggled a little and his feet tapped merrily against the floor, a jolly little tune I couldn't place, but didn't seem made up. "Doctor Lawrence..." He murmured, testing the name on his lips. His tongue slid across his bottom lip and onto his scars before he smacked his lips. His head fell forward and he stared forward, towards the doctor. My heart raced. It seemed as though he was looking straight into the camera, though I knew he wasn't, and that voice. You could hear the power, the authority he had, just through those two little words. It was easy to see how he could manipulate and control people so easily. I leaned forward ever so slightly, drawn in.

"Yes?" Lawrence asked.

"Doctor Lawrence." He was still trying it out. "I know you, ya know." He said and raised an eyebrow like they were conspiring together, his head dipping forward simultaneously.

"Is that so?" Lawrence asked, voice a bit tighter.

The Joker giggled. "Of course I do. I know people and because I know people I know individuals." He licked his lips. He must have some sort of oral fixation, a compulsion. Or maybe he just liked to feel his scars, to make sure they were still there or to remind him... Of something.

"How do you suppose?" Keep asking questions, Lawrence, stay in control. Don't let him scare you. God, I was yearning to be closer, but at the same time wanting to run away and never think of him again.

"We all aren't very different. I mean, ah, your lot is constantly trying to find what's different and wrong in other people's brains... To fix 'em. But it's those people, the different people... We know things. Like you... Doc." He smacked his lips and gave him another curious look, daring him to feed onto his preaching. Apparently Dr. Lawrence made some sort of gesture and so the Joker continued. He relaxed, shrugging back into his seat. "I know you like control. I know you aren't afraid to step on people to get what you want. I know you're scared of anyone who could undermine you... You live alone... No animals. None of that, that isn't you." He paused, and looked up at him with an arched brow. "Divorced." The tension in the room spiked and I sat up straight. No, no, no, Lawrence, get control…

"Mr. Joker, this session isn't about me. I have a lot of questions though, for you..." That was definitely the wrong move. The Joker latched onto his evasion and used it to his advantage. I gasped and a hand latched to my mouth as suddenly on screen, the Joker stood, back hunched to keep his hands from halting him and hurled over the desk. His head slammed into Lawrence's with a noise that made my head hurt. Sean cursed and stood and there was a flash of white as he disappeared to go help. I sat, shocked, unsure of whether to follow or see what happened next. A harsh laughter rang out in my ears as Lawrence groaned and the camera dropped to the ground, pointing at the couch. I couldn't see a thing. It took me all but two seconds to jump from my seat and run as quickly as possible (not very fast, thanks to my heels) to the elevator. My thumb jabbed into the button multiple times, as if it would speed up the process. Anxiously I tapped my foot as it came to a halt on my floor. Now inside, I abused the button that said 3 until the elevator began to rise. I slumped against the wall. What was happening? Was Lawrence dead? Was the Joker sedated? How much damage had he caused?

I could hear the shouting before the elevator had even stopped.

Sean was the first face I recognized, followed by Aaron Cash, one of our top security guards. I anxiously maneuvered the small crowd of orderlies and doctors until I got to Sean, standing next to his elbow and trying to crane my neck to see in the small doorway of the interviewing room. There was a wall of blue where the guards were but I couldn't see more than that. My nose wrinkled as I thought about Lawrence. I hoped he wasn't dead, but I wasn't too bothered by him getting bashed in the head. The self-righteous bastard could use a beating once in a while. Realizing what I was thinking, I shook myself out of it and turned to Sean. He was at least three inches taller than me, even with the heels and I had to look slightly up to see him. "What's going on?"

As he opened his mouth to speak, a loud, crazed laugh broke out from amidst the chaos in the room. We both froze and I could see the fear in his eyes. "There's your answer." I gritted my teeth and stepped back, leaning against the wall. There's your answer. Maybe the Joker didn't belong in Arkham. He sure as hell didn't belong in an ordinary prison, but this place was too dead, too small and tame for a guy like him. His personality was just too large to fit in here without making room - by taking others out. My temple throbbed, my headache from the night before returning. It was only a few moments, I'm sure, though it seemed like an eternity later that three struggling orderlies were pulling a relaxed Joker out of the room. He was giggling wildly, his cheeks flushed, and eyes closed. His body was limp and I didn't know if it was because he was sedated or just didn't care.

He laughed again wildly, and goosebumps raised on my skin. I finally saw his face. His eyes opened and swirled around the hall, watching us as he was dragged away. "But I don't know you, blondie." He sang. I couldn't move my gaze from his. He was looking straight into my eyes, his black irises staring straight through me. My stomach dropped. His stare froze me and I couldn't do anything, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't look away. "Come see me, sometime, toots!" He laughed again. As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight, I felt his gripping stare release me and I exhaled shakily.

Please review guys. I've been working on this story for a while and... Can't decide if I like it. But I decided to post it and see what you other Joker-lovers think! Harley and Joker are honestly the two biggest things on my mind 24/7. Anywho, thank you for reading. Reviews are wonderful.