-Author Note- Thanks to overlordofnobodies, Goddess of Glomps, and Hellion kitty-kat for reviewing! I really appreciate you taking the time. This chapter is a short one, but its sole purpose is to shed more light on Harleen and how she thinks/acts. There is a tiny bit of the Joker at the end, just a tad. A friend of mine asked me why I didn't think the Nolanverse Joker would be attracted to the DC comicverse version of Harley. Simply put, Nolanverse Joker said it straight out in TDK to Rachel, 'You have some fight in you, I like that.' Just thought I'd shed some light on my previous vague author's notes. Still don't own the Joker! Please review, it really does brighten my day!

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"Mom?" There was no verbal answer to Harleen' s call; only a strange wet, smacking noise. The house was never this quiet and Harleen's stomach tightened in response. She set down her back pack on the bottom stair. "Mom, are you here?"

The interior of the house was cool compared to the searing heat of the Gotham summer just outside the door. A trickle of sweat beaded on Harleen's temple before slowly arching a trail down her cheek and dripping from her jaw onto her tee shirt. She itched away the tickling sensation absently as she left the hall for the kitchen.

Harleen's eyes widened as they took in the swatch of red gore painting the center island countertop.

The scarlet of the stain stood out against the pale cream of the ceramic tile.

Adrenaline pumped through Harleen's veins and her heart pounded in her chest. "Mom? Andy? Pat?" She fell silent for a moment and hugged herself against the sudden chill she felt. "Bree?"

No one answered and her words echoed above the strange wet squelching Harleen could still discern.

The sky was darkening outside and Harleen knew her father would be home soon. An inner voice she'd never heard before urged her to call him and wait outside, but a soft groan caught Harleen's attention.

It sounded like her mother.

"Mom?" Harleen called softly as she edged herself into the dining room.

Sprawled on the floor like an abandoned rag doll, every inch of Colleen Quinzel's skin was painted a vivid ruby that glistened, jewel-like, in the last dying embers of sunset. The once beautiful woman's features had been bashed into a pulp, teeth littered the floor around her head, and Harleen only recognized her mother by the woman's vibrant gray eyes.

Horror, raw and numbing, rushed through Harleen's body, freezing the blood in her veins. She dropped to her knees and grimaced at the soggy plop her legs made on the sopping carpet. "What happened, Momma?" Harleen could barely see her mother's chest rise and fall. "Mom, oh god, what should I do?"

Colleen's eyes went wide and her bleeding lips moved faintly, but coherent words never formed.

Harleen sobbed as she heard a sound too horrid to describe; a strange rattling formed in her mother's chest growing in intensity before slowly fading away. Colleen Quinzel's chest went still and her eyes drifted partially shut.

"MOM!"

Harleen's throaty scream died just as her mother had; she knelt in the blood of the woman who had birthed her, hugging herself and crying gently. Too numb to think or move, Harleen stayed put.

A low creak sounded from the kitchen.

Harleen's heart shuddered in her chest as she slowly turned…

Gasping for air, Harleen thrust herself into a sitting position.

Everything around her was a dingy white; the ceiling, the walls, the floor.

She took a deep, calming breath before rolling herself to the edge of her bunk. The fact she wasn't tied down gave her some hope so Harleen managed to stand. She had fully expected to find herself pumped full of whatever exotic psych drug Dr. Thurmond determined was necessary.

Instead, Harleen's mind was clear - far clearer than she expected.

She remembered the skinny, nerdy looking guy her Uncle Jim had introduced as her new lawyer had been visiting yesterday. He'd brought an attractive brunette with him; a woman with perfect teeth and long, manicured nails painted a dazzling shade of pink.

Sharon, Harleen recalled. Her name was Sharon.

Uncle Jim wanted to save her, but he didn't know what lurked out in the big, bad world of Gotham.

Harleen knew, oh how she knew! And as much as she loved Jim Gordon and all his many kindnesses; she wasn't ever going back out into Gotham with the crazies. At least in Arkham you understood the neighbors were all a bunch of loons!

Stumbling across the room, she finally found balance as she approached the door to her cell. Taking a quick peek out into the dim hall was Harleen's morning ritual before going to the window. The window allowed her access to the world - she could let her mind roam free as she watched the birds or even the sky over Gotham. She loved her little window and Harleen felt safe; no one could touch her in this little haven.

Harleen clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

No guards. Guess they must be off slacking.

She was well aware of the fact Arkham staff feared her and a tiny part of her relished their trepidation.

Fear was power at Arkham, Harleen had learned when she first arrived.

Unlike many of the other inmates, Harleen was largely left to her own devices and she liked being alone. The old janitor, Gabe, kept her pretty well informed about what went on around the asylum so there really wasn't any need for further human interaction.

She no longer desired the company of other human beings.

Harleen Quinzel valued her safety above everything else.

Although there were a few things from the outside world she missed...

Captain Crunch, Twinkies, Nirvana, flowers, swimming.

Smacking her lips, Harleen realized she would cheerfully kill for a bowl of Captain Crunch cereal. She'd eaten oatmeal, toast, and an apple every morning for the past eleven years. Food was food, eat to live and not live to eat, but really, Arkham should have a more diverse menu.

Scratching at her neck absently, Harleen decided it was time for the window. As she turned, movement caught her eye in the holding cell across from her.

She had the last cell before the elevators and all the patient cells on the fifth floor ran along the wall facing the exercise yard and the high rise district of Gotham. The opposite side of the floor had a view of the shipyards and docks; the seedy, industrial side of the city. It housed a solarium, shower room, guard station, and the large, open holding cell across from her own little home.

Harleen had seen all the other patients on her floor at one time or other in the holding cell while Gabe cleaned their room; sometimes they waited for the guards to bring them downstairs to meet with a lawyer or a psychiatrist. Patients from the fifth floor were not allowed access to the exercise yard due to their collective status as high security risks.

She almost laughed at the thought of mingling with the nutcases she'd seen stab each other when the guards weren't looking. Harleen figured she's witnessed at least half a dozen murders from her little perch on high over the years.

Pity they never ask what I've seen. Harleen thought with a slight grin.

Although, it wasn't like she'd ever tell anyway.

Another flash of movement in the holding cell caught her eye and pulled Harleen out of her reverie.

It was HIM.

Harleen had heard all about him from Gabe; she had no access to television, newspapers, or even the radio, but Gabe had bitched to her all summer long about how he had half destroyed Gotham. Not only was the man across from her a mass murderer, but he was a thief and a total whack job as well.

According to Gabe, anyway, and she trusted the old man's opinion.

The thick, knotted scars on his cheeks gave him a leering, static grin not unlike the Cheshire Cat. He could hardly hide those hideous, healed slash marks in a crowd - Harleen could almost understand why he'd turned out the way he had. His hair brushed his shoulders in greasy lime-colored waves and she wanted to laugh. What kind of master criminal dyed his hair green? His eyes were a different matter entirely; dark brown pools stared out at her with such intensity she took a step back.

She swore he was peering clear into her skull from the way he tilted his head as his scarred lips twisted just a little.

Feeling ridiculous, Harleen stepped back in front of the window.

You can't get me in here anyway. Ha-Ha! Mr. Joker, what a stupid name! Who wants a moniker associated with a playing card? Harleen's mind crowed as she smiled beneath her mask.

His dark eyes flickered to the mouth hole of her mask and his absurd grin seemed to stretch upward a little.

Moving casually, he leaned against the floor to ceiling safety glass wall of the holding cell. He was dressed in gray scrubs and white booties just as Harleen, but he wore the drab garb like he had a set of princely raiment's adorning his body. Something about the confidence he exuded made Harleen want to watch him.

He didn't seem to mind her looking either.

Harleen watched as he smacked his lips together and eyeballed his cell a moment before returning his eyes to her. The Joker crooked his finger at her comically and mouthed, 'Come closer'. This alone almost made Harleen laugh, but she pressed herself against her cell window. Unlike him, she was only visible from the shoulders up.

Part of her wished she could hear him.

'What's with the mask?' He mouthed as he swept his hand across his face dramatically.

Harleen noticed he was taking great care to make himself understandable. She shrugged and threw her hands up in the air. I'm not telling you, Mr. Joker, Harleen thought with an internal sigh.

She knew better than to involve herself with anyone, but he was slightly amusing.

The Joker's eyes grew wide. 'Don't be boring!' He commanded, mouthing the words angrily.

Harleen decided to give her new friend the international sign of annoyance since the mask she wore prevented her from mouthing anything to him in return. She pressed her fist, middle finger proudly extended, to the glass.

He blinked as though stunned before laughing. The Joker laughed and laughed, bent over and clutching his sides, before slowly regaining control over himself. Harleen was suddenly glad she couldn't hear him because she suspected his laughter was chilling.

Appearing to smack his lips, his eyes shifted right and left before focusing on her again. 'You've got a little fight in you! I like that.'

The mouthed words pleased her and she inclined her head in thanks.

Before she could get herself in any deeper, the guards arrived.

Peterman and Sanchez were boobs, but at least they were efficient in their dealings with her and somewhat polite. To her surprise, they loomed in front of her cell instead of leading the Joker away as she'd thought.

The static buzz of the intercom tore into her ears; she was so used to the silence of her cell her ears ached when she was exposed to noise. "73321, we need to restrain you. The nurses are coming to bathe you."

Surprise rippled through Harleen. The nurses had just bathed and changed her clothing yesterday and she wasn't normally accorded such privileges but once a month. Despising human contact was one thing, but Harleen adored being clean and she always had.

She backed into the center of the room and extended her arms limply as a gesture of cooperation.

The morning had proved to be interesting, Harleen wondered how the rest of the day would go.

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