Chapter 2- The Decision

A/N: Hey everyone! If you are checking out this chapter, thanks a lot! A little sad that I didn't get any reviews for my first chapter, but I guess I'll have to upload more until someone comments XD. Anyway, just a few points I want to go through before we begin. Firstly, the main character of this is ALLEN. Not the Joker, even though he is one of the main characters, as well as Batman. I really wanted to write this to explore the mind of several characters of Gotham City, as well as one of my own. So there won't be too many big, gut wrenching, action scenes (although with the Joker there's bound to be a few). I might write a couple of chapters from the Joker's perspective, but they will mostly be from Allen's, with some Batman chapters as well. This is how the JOKER changed ALLEN, not the other way around (despite what Allen WANTS :P). Also, no slash or romance (Joker sex= ewwey). Also, this is a psychological drama, and most of the story comes from CHARACTER, so expect to see a lot of diary entries, interview notes etc, to really explore the characters from MY perspective. With that said, ENJOY!

From the notes of Dr Allen Woodley- 9/3/09. Interview with Harleen Quinzel AKA Harley Quinn. Session 1:

"Hello Harleen. How are you today?" Allen started the interview politely. The young, blonde girl looked up and beamed.

"Call me Harley, everyone does!" she gushed. Allen coughed nervously before continuing.

"Okay then, Harley. Why do you think you are here?"

She laughed and said without skipping a beat, "Because none of these stupid people know how to take a joke!" The laugh was bright and bubbly, and reflected the personality of the girl handcuffed in front of him.

"So you think that assisting in the murders of over one hundred people, and the destruction of over fifty buildings is… just a joke?" Allen leaned forward as he asked. Harley's smile dropped a bit as she said, obviously annoyed, "Exactly, doctor. What you don't get is that me and my Puddin'," she gazed off lovingly into the distance, obviously fantasising about her "sweetheart". "What you don't get is that me and my Puddin' are just simply trying to bring a few smiles into the world. So what if a few people die? It's all just part of the joke!"

Allen found her high, nasally voice annoying. It was obvious that she was from Brooklyn and made no attempt to disguise it.

"So… what is this joke, Harley? You seem so eager to share it."

"Why life of course!" she said, exasperated, as if she was tired of giving the same speech over and over. "Everything anyone ever does is for nothing! Kaputz! Nudda! And yet we still go on living like it means something!"

This broad doesn't know anything she's talking about, thought Allen. "And you prove this by killing people?" he clarified. Harley seemed to struggle for an answer.

"Well… ask Mr J- they're HIS plans after all!" She crossed her arms and started to pout. She refused to say anything else for the rest of the session. Dr Woodley had definitely gotten to her.

When Allen was driving to meet his friends on Sunday, his cell phone rang. The Calller ID said it was from his mother. Allen groaned audibly. You always did have great timing, mother, he thought as he picked up the phone and hit the answer button. Before he had time to say hello, he was bombarded with questions on the other end of the line.

"Allen is that you?" A high, nasally voice screeched into Allen's ear. "Oh my goodness Allen what are you thinking? Is this some kind of joke? You can't treat the Joker, Allen! You're not good enough! You're too young!"

Allen froze. How did she know? He interrupted his mother before she said another word.

"Mother! How are you?"

"Don't change the subject, boy! What are you doing?" Allen rolled his eyes and replied as innocently as possible.

"Mother, a colleague of mine requested that I take the Joker as a patient and… I took him up on the offer. That's all!"

"That's all? That's all? You tell the doctors and the therapists that's all when he's through with you! Have you seen what he's done, Allen? To much stronger and braver men and women than you?"

"Mother! I can do this!"

"You CAN'T Allen! You can't! No-one else has so what makes you think you'll be able to?"

"Mother. Please stop." Allen could feel the anger rising in him. His voice was shaking.

"I don't want my only child to be killed like a lamb for slaughter! You tell your superiors to let you off the case right. Now. Do you hear me, Boy?"

"Mother!" Allen shouted into the phone, his anger bursting forth like a tiger. "I can do this! I'm not telling my superiors anything! No-one can stop me this time, least of all you!" With that, Allen slammed down the phone and continued to drive, panting heavily, his face red with both rage and embarrassment,

Allen hated pubs. They were noisy and reeked of alcohol. They were, however, his friend's favourite place to hang out, and Allen was reluctantly dragged down to the Old Bushey every Sunday. And he was always the designated driver. Always. Despite this, Allen liked the get togethers with his friends where they would all share interesting stories from their separate workplaces. If five psychologists sitting in a bar discussing work sounds boring, then they hadn't seen their small group. They all worked with manic depressives, schizophrenics and serial killers on a daily basis, and always had one or two fun stories to share about their patients and the 'mishaps' they had gotten themselves into.

On this particular Sunday, they were all uncharacteristically sober and they managed to talk without slurring for the entire night. It was 10pm and they were still discussing their patients. They had talked about other things throughout the night but eventually rounded back to this topic again. Mark Reeves, a bespectacled man in his thirties was talking about a particularly unique man who was convinced he was the master of iron.

"...Grabbed a spoon and started waving it around shouting "ALL SHALT BOW BEFORE ME"! It was hilarious!" The rest of the table was laughing uncontrollably, and the bartender shot them exasperated looks before returning to his work.

"Yeah, well I had lunchroom duty yesterday," started Linda Ross, the only girl in the group. "And this guy was running around screaming. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that the dish and the spoon, you know from that old nursery rhyme, were chasing him with flamethrowers!"

The table dissolved into laughter again. To an outsider, it may have seemed rude and disrespectful to the patients, but to them it was their way of getting through the week without snapping. They had all gone to college together; Linda, Mark, Fred, Caleb and Allen. They had all gone on to different clinics and to different asylums but they had kept in touch.

"Your turn Allen!" cried Fred, thumping him on the back.

"Yeah, man!" Mark practically yelled. "You haven't told us anything all evening! You've just been listening to us yabber on!"

"Yeah well, neither has Caleb!" Allen complained pointing at the short, round man at the end of the table. He shrugged in a what-are-you-going-to-do? kind of way.

"Yeah but Caleb never says anything!" Mark replied. "You're always the one who boasts about your latest breakthroughs and shit!"

It was true. Allen was always the one to proudly declare his new patients and "breakthroughs" regarding them. He always wanted to show that he was special, and capable of doing anything. And he believed that he could. Allen beamed to the group as they looked at him expectantly. Maybe I should just leave them hanging, he thought, but he didn't think he could hold onto his secret any longer.

"Okay," he said, leaning forward dramatically, a smile playing on his lips. He tried not to burst out laughing as the others leaned in with him. He even thought the bartender was listening. They were the only ones left in the bar at this point, and they pine floors and walls brought a certain atmosphere to the place. It was completely silent in the bar before Allen started to talk.

"You know how I told you about the Joker's arrival in Arkham a few months ago?"

"Oh God; don't remind me!" Linda cried. "We all saw what he did to that man Brian Douglas, and to those poor people on the ferries!"

"Yeah, man. You don't want to mess around with him too much." Mark continued. "When he was at Langton Asylum a year ago, he got into everyone's heads. You should steer clear."

Mark had worked at Langton Asylum for a few years. It was a huge, high security facility in the next town over from Gotham. When the Joker escaped from it two years ago, he had killed over ten guards and doctors, and left a young nurse permanently blind. "No-one to this day knows how he got a hold of that pencil," Mark liked to tell people. Everywhere he had been sent to, the Joker was followed with stories like that. Most came from Arkham, but once or twice from other facilities. Other poor souls who hoped to contain him and failed. Allen hesitated.

Should he tell them? I probably won't even be successful… He thought. And then he'll just start all of this again. And what will they think of me. The cause. The tipping point. The failure. They will all look at me and say "You tried your best" and "Good job, mate," but inside will judge you and wonder why, oh why you had even THOUGHT about attempting this. All the pity, the ridicule and disbelief that everyone in your life had regarded you with will come rushing back like an unstoppable force. And all because I took a chance.

How long will it be this time? How many days, weeks, or months will it take before he escapes? And how many will be dragged down with him? Allen look at his friend's faces, waiting, wanting him to answer. No. I will not fail. If it is the last thing I do, I will NOT be considered a failure ever. Again. I am going to get this son-of-a-bitch and show him just what I can do.

He smirked at the faces staring at him around the table, still waiting patiently. What has felt like hours searching through his mind had only been a few seconds. He looked at his friends and smiled wider.

"I'm treating the Joker."

Allen stumbled through the door of his house, completely drunk. After telling them his 'big news', his friends, after exchanging looks of shock and mumbled concerns for him, had left shortly after, presumably to take in the news and to let it sink in that their friend was treating Gotham's most wanted. Before leaving, Caleb had left Allen with one of his rare words, saying "Don't listen to them, Allen. You'll do great," leaving Allen to ponder his own thoughts in silence.

He ended up drinking his way through the night, downing beer after beer in the empty bar until midnight, when the bartender offered him a ride home. The bartender, whose name was Jonny, told Allen about his customers, and showed him pictures of his kids. Allen was either too deep in thought, or too drunk to take much notice. And it came as no surprise that when his wife Tabitha heard her husband crashing through the door completely sloshed, she was more than annoyed.

"Where were you?!" she shouted, stomping down the stairs in her bra and pajama pants. Her long brown hair was messy, and it was obvious that Allen had just woken her up. Allen collapsed through the doorframe and stumbled into a comfy armchair a few metres away.

"Honey," Allen slurred, slowly turning his head towards Tabitha. "You k-know that I-I go to the baarr on Sun-days," He yawned loudly before turning back to the wall that the armchair was facing.

"I know that," she replied, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "But you never come home this late! And certainly not drunk! What's gotten into you!" Her arms were flailing wildly, and she was screaming, but Allen didn't care. He'd heard this same rap too many times for it to make an impact on him. Think about your trains, he thought to himself as he tried to block out the screaming of his wife.

Allen had always liked trains, and kept a model railroad in the basement, where he would construct and paint model trains, stations, scenery and even people. He had worked on it for over a decade and was his pride and joy, apart from psychology. His wife said it was a waste of time and money, but Allen loved nothing more than going to the arts and crafts store every Friday to check out the latest models.

"…and I don't care if the Joker is your patient! That DOES NOT give you the right to wake me up in the middle of the night, your wife, with your noises! You do not get special treatment Allen! If anything, you should be asleep RIGHT NOW! Your first session is with him TOMORROW, for God's sake, and you are going to get. Eaten. Alive."

God, is she still going on? Allen thought to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to, once again, drown out the sounds. But at the back of his head, through the stupor he was in, a thought nagged at his brain. His first session was with the Joker tomorrow, and even though he had prepared all week, he would feel like absolute shit the next day. The least she could do is shut up and let me sleep. The thought made him chuckle.

"What are you laughing at, mister? Are you even listening to me? Well it's too late anyway, Allen. You are sleeping on that couch tonight and don't you dare try to make me change my mind," she finished, and stormed back upstairs.

Why would I want to do that? Allen wondered to himself, and chuckled as he fell asleep.

From the memoirs of Allen Woodley-

I grew up in Gotham City. I lived in a big, 2-storey redbrick house near the Palisades. Fortunately I was in the 'safe' bit of town, although you can never really call anywhere in Gotham safe. My father was a bigshot lawyer, my mother was a banker. I grew up surrounded by pencil skirts, suits and briefcases. So did my brother. He was only two years older than me, and he understood me better than my parents ever did. While they were in business meetings, Liam was always there, supporting me through every decision I made. Although I wish now that I had taken better care of him. He took his own life at 15, no doubt tired of the endless onslaught of 'love' and 'encouragement' from my parents.

He was their favourite. I always knew that. My father always had everything planned out for Liam. He would go to medical school and become a doctor. That much was always certain for him. Although I knew that Liam never wanted that. He wanted to be an actor. Oh, he loved it. He once played Puck from a Midsummer's Night's Dream in a community play when he was 14. And he loved it. It was one of the few times that my father actually let him do what he wanted.

Of course, when Liam died, mother and father never blamed themselves. No. It was the school system. It was his friends. It was television. They never thought for a minute about what they might have done to cause it.

My parents didn't give me as much direction as Liam. Even though I always got top marks, and excelled at every subject, I was always going to be the one that never amounted to anything. So when I received a scholarship to Gotham University, you could imagine my parents surprise. My father even called the school to make sure that they hadn't made a mistake. But it was real. And they didn't even congratulate me.

A/M: Hey guys (again)! Thanks for reading! I hope that this gave you more insight into Allen's mind and life before he meets our favourite clown! Don't worry, the Joker will be in the next chapter, I swear! So just wait a bit and you'll see! I won't be able to update for a bit because of exams, but I swear I'll have the next chapter up as soon as possible. PLEEEAASSSEEE leave a review! It helps A LOT! Sooo yeah! Thanks sooo much, guys, and I'll see you soon!

Lucy.