[NOTE from the author] Well everyone I have two pieces of good news, and one piece of not to good news.

The "not-so-good" news is that I will be on hiatus between October 2nd and November 1st. I've been writing Tragedy Deferred for four months solid, and by the end of September, it will have been five full months. I had no idea how exhaustive a process writing was until I actually followed through with it. I've never been more proud of a personal achievement before and I have a lot of you to think for that. I might be making minor changes to chapters in that time... so if you receive any notifications for new chapters in that month, I apologize. That's just me tidying things up.

So! on to the good news. Part One of Tragedy Deferred is coming to a dramatic end in the last week of September. Between September 27th, and October 1st, I will be posting a chapter everyday. Blitz weeks are so much fun! I really can't wait.

The second part of the good news is that Tragedy Deferred hit a couple of milestones this week. For the first time since I started posting the story, I've received over 3000 hits to the story in the last month. Additionally you've probably noticed that the story has crested over 100,000 words. That puts it in a pretty elite club, and I'm more than thrilled. I've never written a story that I was actually envisioning the end to.

Thank you all so much for reading! I appreciate it more than I could ever tell you. So, as a small token of my appreciation, please expect an additional chapter to be posted this Thursday.

Enjoy Chapter 25!

"I'm going to assume that we have everything under control now?" Judge William Masters asked no one in particular as the entire court rose from their seats to await his arrival to the bench. But in Harley's mind there was a restlessness, like a bird feverishly flapping its wings against the bars of its cage, clamoring for escape. There was a hesitation in her, even as everyone settled back into their seats once the bailiff gave them the invitation to do so. The weight of her body dropped into the wooden bench in much the same way you'd collapse into bed after a particularly long day.

And though she sorely wished that was in bed, tightly tucked underneath the covers, Harley knew she was still a million miles away from sleep.

The Joker's defense attorney remained standing as everyone else took their seats. He was anxious to continue on with the testimony, hoping to wrap up proceedings as quickly as possible. She might have begged him to behave himself, but God knew how long the Joker would be able to maintain something resembling composure.

"Your Honor, the defense would like to continue by calling its next witness." He was a little too gung-ho for Harley's liking. She hadn't even been seated for twenty seconds. On her way back from the Joker's holding cell, his counselor had made it clear to her that her testimony would come next. She might have been prepared, but she wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

After the Judge had agreed to hear from the next witness, Harley's senses dulled, her eyes half-lidded, and she drew in a deliberate breath that made her lungs quiver as they stretched past their usual capacity. For the last six months she'd been dreading the words, and now they rang out clear as a bell throughout the entire courtroom.

"The defense would like to call Dr. Harleen Quinzel to the witness stand."

There was an unusual moment of hesitation, so much so that the judge looked up from his notes and over to her. His heavy brow was paired awkwardly with a soft gaze, one that appeared to offer her sympathy. The look was enough to rouse her from her half-conscious state. Slowly, she lifted herself to her feet and straightened her jacket, sliding past one of the board members and an armed guard. Harley had been in the row directly behind the Joker, and the entire time had lingered over his left shoulder. But now, she stepped past the attorney's tables and toward the witness stand, where a uniform-clad bailiff was waiting for her.

The bailiff held his hand out gingerly, helping her onto the podium. She mouthed a thank you to him before delicately sitting on the wooden chair provided for her. She huffed a large sigh and watched as the bailiff held out an exquisite leather-bound Bible. Though Harley never considered herself particularly religious, she placed her hand upon it and swore to tell the truth, although she would have done so whether or not God had been watching. When she'd finally collected her bearings, Harley's eyes turned up from the leather Bible and lifted to the faces that peered up at her. She'd expected to see a mixed bag of expressions, but didn't know exactly what to feel when every face she saw was arranged into a sympathetic expression not unlike that which the Judge had given her.

As the Joker's attorney cleared his throat, her attention snapped back to him, and she was surprised to see the same glance on his face as well. And then for a moment, Harley wondered... was this sympathy, or pity? Why should anyone have either?

"Good morning, Dr. Quinzel," he said simply, and then stepped out from behind his desk, craning his pudgy neck in a polite, slow nod.

Alright, that's quite enough of that, she thought, and before she responded she lifted her chin, straightened her back, and crossed one leg gracefully over another. Despite the winter cold, Harley had paired a dark suit jacket with a matching skirt and shoes. A stark, cream-colored collar jutted out from the lapel of her jacket, and exposed a delicate collarbone that she brushed a few stray hair from. She'd taken on a decidedly approachable appearance, only half of her hair up in pins with the rest of it dancing around her shoulders, which she'd pulled back to strengthen her posture.

After she'd taken another breath, her eyes darted momentarily to the Joker. He'd corrected his own posture, and did not sit slumped at the desk when she stepped up to the stand. Since he'd entered the courtroom his posture had taken on quite an array of interesting positions; prior to the recess, he'd had his head placed lazily on the desk before his lawyer had cleared his throat to correct him. But now there was almost something proper about the way the Joker sat in his chair, as if he was ready to start listening for once, instead of doing all the talking. Her mouth split and spread into the smile she often gave him, and out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she could see his gaze go tranquil.

"Good morning, counselor," Harley said to the defense attorney in a cheerful tone, nodding her head once to greet him.

He gestured both hands toward her and smiled back, but in the kind of haphazard, sheepish way a shy man sitting at a bar smiles at a beautiful woman he doesn't have the nerve to approach. "I know this case is very important to you. Thank you for taking the time to give your testimony."

"Polite, but unnecessary. I would have been here regardless of the summons that arrived on my desk two weeks ago." Which was true. Even if the defense had no intention on summoning her as witness, why wouldn't she attend? Nobody else had the integrity to answer honestly on behalf of the Joker... she would have been worried had she not been called.

The attorney smiled again and nodded his understanding. "Of course, Dr. Quinzel." His sympathetic glance had suddenly turned into awkward schoolboy self-consciousness. Where he'd worked so hard getting over his nervousness around the Joker to erase his stutter, and although he'd been controlling it all along, it had managed to slip through momentarily. "If you p-p-please, could you reiterate your educational background for the court?"

The Joker rolled his eyes at the almost embellished-sounding speech impediment, which made her want to grin, but Harley only nodded politely and turned her attention to the rest of the court. "Well... I received a full scholarship from Gotham University due to my pursuit of gymnastics. I spent about seven years there, while working an additional year on my doctorate thesis. I graduated magna cum laude two years ago, and I've been at Arkham Asylum now for thirteen months."

"Six months of which you've spent treating the Joker, during his observation period. What were you doing at Arkham Asylum prior to that?" he asked calmly. Carleton Wright, by contrast, appeared stiff in his seat when she glanced over to him, his pen held at the ready to write down exactly what she was going to say.

She spoke quickly to spite him. "My role prior to treating the Joker was to conduct daily sessions with NVO patients and monitor their progress through various psychiatric channels."

"NVOs, Dr. Quinzel?" the Joker's lawyer asked for clarification.

"Non-violent offenders."

"And the Joker is classified as a non-violent offender?" he asked, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

Harley had to chuckle at that. To assume that the Joker was non-violent sounded like a shred of his own brand of dark humor. "No, quite the opposite in fact. The Joker is classified as a violent offender. Most patients who have been charged with murder or attempted murder are listed as violent, even if it's just a precaution."

There was a sense of curiosity that hung in the room, then, heavy as forgotten, rain-soaked laundry left on the line. "Well, if the Joker was technically out of your jurisdiction at Arkham, how did you come to treat him, Dr. Quinzel?" she was asked.

It was a completely legitimate question, and though it touched on her confidence for a moment, she shook her head, smiled, and invited something of a romantic spin into her argument. "Well, it would seem as though fate had intervened at that point. Dr. Arkham had made it a habit to keep in touch with me and my progress as his newest intern on the ward. As luck would have it, about a week before I met the Joker, Arkham and I had spoken about the importance of being able to read through a patient's lies."

This seemed to interest the stout man, whose ears perked up. "Lies, Dr. Quinzel?"

She smiled. "Well, of course! You can hardly count on general patients to tell the truth...let alone those with sadistic tendencies and an impressive rap sheet. As a therapist, you need to expect that your patient is going to lie to you. It's a classic defense mechanism." Harley paused to shrug her shoulders and arch her dark brows. "After all... why else do we lie? Some could argue that some people lie for the sheer thrill of it, or because they can't help themselves – a pathological liar, so to speak. But even then, one could argue that lying is an act of self-preservation or protection, even on a subconscious level."

Twisting his lips in to a contemplative frown, the defense attorney nodded his understanding. "Is the Joker a pathological liar?"

"Oh! Heavens no! In fact, most of the time, the Joker tells the truth where others in his situation would lie. I believe this might have something to do with the fact that the Joker enjoys watching other's reactions to his honesty. People will often head in the exact opposite direction of his instruction, as though he was lying... almost as a kind of..."

"Reverse psychology!" he proclaimed, almost triumphantly

Smiling and chuckling, Harley nodded. "Exactly right, counselor, reverse psychology."

He continued on with his original question, reiterating what she'd just said for the court's clearer understanding. "So, let me get this straight. Just days before you met the Joker, Dr. Arkham and yourself had a conversation about reading through a patient's lies."

"That's right. I believe that's why Dr. Arkham finally came to me. Though he'd gone through plenty of therapists first." Here Harley hung her head, trailing her finger over the banister in consideration of her next point. "I understand that I was a last resort...an underdog, so to speak." She retracted her hand from the banister and turned up to face the court again. "And I do have a career to establish, but I'm years and years away from receiving any kind of recognition for the work I'm doing today. I'm not going to lie, I was interested."

From where he sat and listened, the Joker perked up just a little more. It was a statement that struck his lawyer as well. "Interested?"

"He was a challenge, you know? Sure, the Joker seemed unbreakable... but to be the therapist to get him talking? That was something I had to pursue. Dr. Arkham said during his statement today that the Joker's mind is a rare one, and he's exactly right. However, I was concerned that my fascination far outweighed my talent. It's been made clear to me now that the board of directors for the facility was also concerned about my abilities." Harley's lack of expertise had been a considerable source of her feelings of inadequacy earlier on. Having accomplished so much with Joker for the last six months had done a lot to push that inadequacy aside.

"D-d-d-d-did you feel overwhelmed?"

The left corner of her mouth lifted gently, a small dimple carving itself into her cheek. "At first..." she whispered in a voice that was usually better reserved for a bedroom. Her eyes had half-lidded and dropped to the floor. When she lifted them again she took in the Joker's expression. He sat in his chair very squarely, both feet planted on the floor, knees bent at ninety degree angles, and although he wasn't slumped over, his elbows rested at the very top of his thighs, hands hanging limp in their cuffs. He watched her as intently as a wolf watches a sickly fawn.

"The Joker is after all, very intimidating..." She trailed off for a moment, her eyes still on him before she cracked a large smile, turning to gaze back to the defense. "But there's more to me than meets the eye, counselor... I can be fairly intimidating myself. After we had established a rhythm, the Joker came to notice very quickly that I couldn't be bullied. It opened us up to excellent conversation."

"And you're not overwhelmed anymore?" he asked, in something of a more personal tone.

She shook her head gently. "Not at all... managing one's patients thoroughly is much easier then managing ten or more patients on a temporary basis."

The attorney moved back behind the defense's desk. "Would you say this dedication of uninterrupted time has helped to harbor your success over that of the other forty-five doctors?"

"Among other things," Harley quipped, smiling.

"Such as?"

She chuckled, glancing off. "Well... such as..." She stifled a louder laugh by clearing her throat. "No offense to those other doctors, but... when you have a patient that exudes charm and charisma like the Joker does... having a personality certainly helps to loosen him up a bit."

When the Joker's lawyer blushed, a few of the reporters at the back of the courtroom chuckled, the sound echoing throughout the room. Though clearly amused by the doctor's choice comment, Judge Masters banged the gavel against its rest and peered down at Harleen with a lightly patronizing glance that she playfully cowered away from. "They'll be enough of that, Dr. Quinzel."

That bright smile of hers spread apologetically across her face. "My apologies, Your Honor..."

"Will that be all, counselor?" the Judge asked, the tiny grin on his face fading.

"Yes, Your Honor. No further questions."

"Wonderful. Prosecution, your witness."

Harley had not been looking forward to speaking with the abominable Carleton Wright. But where she'd been expecting him to leap from his seat and promptly down her throat, as he had with Arkham, he remained calm, seated at his desk, elbows rested upon the table, hands interlocked together, pressed up to his mouth. Finally he spoke, softly and calmly, his mouth hidden by his hands. His tone was shy, as if he was a young man admitting to some obvious school yard crush. "Good morning, Dr. Quinzel."

She merely blinked, nodded once to him politely, and smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Wright."

He moved back from the edge of the table, his spine pressing itself against its backrest. "How are you?"

Ah... she knew what he was doing. Classic egotistical behavior. His polite exterior, the gentle and almost delicate tone he used with her - he was softening the blow for what was sure to be a particularly hard line of questioning.

She maintained her smile. "Very well, Mr. Wright. Yourself?"

He furrowed his brows and stood up from his chair, making his way closer to the witness stand. He didn't answer her question, didn't make a sound. Although Harley was aware of his confidence as he strode toward her, she didn't know what kind of manipulating shrapnel would come flying from his mouth.

Once he was about ten feet away from the witness stand, he said to her, "You really seem to have won over the room, Dr. Quinzel." He sounded impressed, through from over his right shoulder, the Joker didn't really appear as impressed so much as shocked by the cajones on this guy. Wright stood almost directly in his line of sight, no more that six feet in front of the table the Joker was sitting behind.

"I thought I'd made that perfectly clear with my statement about personality," she quipped, and again a few chuckles from the back of the room, but Judge Masters let it slide.

Wright cracked a smile and stepped away from the defenses desk, and when he did, the Joker's stern face looked back at her. "Did ya use that charm of yours on the Joker as well?" he asked, and turned to glance over his shoulder at the collected young doctor. "Is that how you got him to... loosen up?"

"Well, not exactly." Harley liked to believe that having an actual personality wasn't as hard as it looked, but seeing as the prospect was apparently more rare than she had previously believed, it wasn't hard to see why the Joker responded so readily to her. "But then again, someone with the Joker's charisma reacts very well to casual banter, idle chit-chat, friendly meanderings... so to speak."

This must have interested Carleton Wright, because he spun around on his heels and placed a very thoughtful index finger on his chin. "Really... 'idle chit-chat.' Get any actual therapy done in the last six months? Because I notice that in your report, you listed thirteen different possible psychoses as potential ailments for the Joker... but no actual diagnoses. Why is that?"

Trying to discredit her this way was not going to work. "Have you ever been in therapy, Mr Wright?" she asked him casually.

A large, slippery smile spread across his face. "I'm not required to answer any questions you pose to me, Dr. Quinzel."

"Whether you have been or not is certainly a subject for debate, but anyone with the smallest amount of psychological education will tell you that therapy can be an exhaustive process... and in particularly complex cases, such as the Joker's, patients can be in therapy for years before they come close to having a breakthrough, or even being properly diagnosed."

This just seemed to push Wright even further into disbelief. "Years? I don't think that speaks well for the psychiatric art, now does it, Dr. Quinzel?"

"Objection!" the defense called out. "Your Honor, if Attorney Wright is here to hate on psychiatry, then I think he's at the wrong hearing." A quip that caused a few amused chuckles to escape those in attendance that day.

"Attorney Wright, this is not your first rodeo... quit treating it like it is. Keep your opinions to yourself and question your witness." Judge Masters pointed firmly in Harley's direction and she plastered on a rather large shit-eating grin.

Wright rotated his anxious shoulders and sauntered back over to his desk. "To appease the court, Doctor, would you please recite the observed potential psychoses you have discovered in the Joker over the past six months?"

Harley narrowed her bright blue eyes. "Are you testing me, Mr. Wright? Or perhaps you didn't read the report."

Wright's eyes jumped up to Judge Masters, who was already leaning over on his bench toward Harley, and her eyes turned to look to his large, hovering, seemingly omnipotent figure. "I know that was hardly an outburst, Dr. Quinzel," he told her, "but do try to keep it to yourself and answer the prosecution's questions."

She nodded apologetically, then turned to Wright. "Categorically, or alphabetically?"

"Well... seeing as how I'm trying to test you, and additionally, that your report is written categorically, let's say we do alphabetically, hmm?" Wright crinkled his nose and grinned like a cat must grin after thinking he's finally caught the canary.

Harley took a deep breath. "Alphabetically?" she smiled devilishly at him, and Wright's expression dropped. "Well there's: borderline personality disorder, conduct disorder, histrionic personality disorder, insomnia, intermittent explosive disorder, manic episodes, narcissistic personality disorder, multiple symptoms of psychosis, pyromania, schizotypal personality disorder, selective mutism, and of course, tardive dyskenesia of the tongue."

The Joker started clapping as soon as Harley finished, and several members of the press exploded in laughter.

"Order!" Justice Masters called out. "Or you'll all find yourself in contempt of court!" Though that wasn't much of a threat to the Joker, the reporters immediately fell silent, and all eyes in the room turned back to Carleton Wright.

"Impressive, Dr. Quinzel..." he said, "but do me a favor. Treat me like I'm a two year old. Briefly explain histrionic personality disorder to me."

Raising her brows in response to these constant challenges, she nodded. "Commonly known as HPD... it's characterized by excessive attention seeking, flirtatious behavior. Usually exhibited by egocentric people."

"...And intermittent explosive disorder, what about that?" Wright asked.

Now Harley just rolled her eyes, wondering if he was biding his time to think up a better question. "IED is characterized by bouts of excessive anger, often to the point of uncontrollable rage... people with this disorder are very prone to violence, can easily kill."

Back at his desk, Wright slid a finger down the list she'd just recited to the court. "Narcissistic personality disorder, pyromania, borderline personalities... you know what I think, Dr. Quinzel? I think you used a lot of sexy words to further blind justice." Taking his hands off the page, Wright took a few steps back to her. "You're a smart girl... you know a jury would eat this up. Twelve of Gotham's finest citizens... they're not gonna know exactly how dangerous someone with contact disorder is, or what tardive dyskensia is. Which means you get to educate them and spin the truth whichever way you want. Doesn't it?"

There was a pause, and Harley's only reply to the question was a cold, piercing stare.

"Or maybe! Maybe you finally found your meal ticket, you know? Patting non-violent offenders on the head, not exactly gonna get you on the cover of an American psychology magazine." Wright sighed and shook his head at her, pacing around the room. "No... you know that keeping the Joker in Arkham is going to get you straight to the top of Gotham's psychiatric ladder. So why wouldn't you be here? Fighting to keep your dream alive - well, it's either that, or wait around for the next supervillain Batman manages to wrangle up for you."

"Enough!" she called out, firmly placing her hands on the banister of the witness stand. "Now, ask yourself a question, Mr. Wright. This is a man who covered his face in makeup, wore a purple and green suit, killed four of the five major mob bosses in Gotham, and is covered in scars... you think this man doesn't have emotional problems?" She waved over to the defense attorney, who handed a file to the bailiff, who in turn provided it to her. "I trust you've glanced over my patient's file, have you not?" she asked, and Wright responded by holding up his own copy of the Joker's. "Good! Then if you will please turn to page fourteen of the medical examiner's report."

A small, embarrassed groan escaped the Joker, and he sank in his seat while Harley removed her glasses from her inside jacket pocket and placed them over her ears, balancing them low on the bridge of her nose. The visage cast a patronizing and doctorly tone over her, giving her the distinct appearance of maturity over the frustrated Carleton Wright.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

She didn't even need to look over her notes to provide him with a general explanation, and so answered without taking her eyes from his disdainful glance. "These are photographs and reports from the medical examinations office at Arkham, and another outsourced from the city of Gotham." Pausing, she offered Judge Masters a moment to look over their copies of the file. After a few seconds she turned to glance up at him. In his face was couched a strange look, one that encompassed both disgust and pity at once. He looked from the file down to Harley, and nodded for her to continue on with her explanation.

"What you're seeing is defensive scarring on his upper torso and arms, which we estimate to be at least twenty years old. Medical examiners have placed the Joker's estimated age being between thirty-five and forty...therefore it can be easily theorized that this man is a product of terrible beginnings. So many mental disorders settle in between the ages of fifteen to twenty: schizophrenia, depression disorder, borderline personality disorder, conduct disorder... and experiencing violence in the home during these times can cause severe psychotic breaks."

"And you think this is the case with the Joker," Wright stated, proving to the rest of the court that, despite his lack of enthusiasm, he was actively listening.

"Yes, Mr. Wright, I do. There are things that have happened to him that he's taken years to bury, and will take me years more to uncover. Will the Joker ever rejoin society? Probably not... but this is a man's life we're talking about here... a lack of morality might separate him from society, but it doesn't separate him from humanity. "

Wright looked up from the Joker's case file to where she sat on the stand, her tiny fists balled and resting gently on the banister as she leaned forward in full conviction. "Humanity is judged based on how we treat the weakest of us all. You cannot discard him so easily. Does past trauma excuse him? No... but without understanding him... then who knows how many young men out there will fall prey to their own mental illnesses, and in today's times end up far worse than the Joker?"

When the stern look on Wright's face dissipated, it was replaced by a smile. A villainous smile. A smile that struck fear into her far more than even the Joker's did. He was trying to win for the sake of winning... and would stop his little tricks, like the kid who always knows the best way to cheat at tic-tac-toe. "Very cute, Dr. Quinzel. Very heartwarming. The psychopath killer who just couldn't help himself because 'Daddy' used to beat him up, huh?"

Oh God... Harley thought to herself as Wright took a few cocky strides toward her. His assertive nature and sweeping assumptions were the only two things the Joker would need as an excuse to fly headlong across the courtroom to rip his jugular vein straight from his neck. From the corner of her eye she thought she saw him shift in his seat, but tried not to look directly. Harley tried cutting him off with an answer to bring his tirade to an end, but he bulled over her.

"Who's to say exactly how he got those scars, hmm? Why, he could have been in a bar fight, or better yet, running from the police...or maybe he got them from his past victims. Truth is - you don't know exactly how he got them, do you, Dr. Quinzel?"

Right now, Wright's jugular was starting to look good to Harley as well. "No! No, I don't, Mr. Wright, but neither do you... and I think that's why they call it 'reasonable doubt', isn't it?"

The words came out so quickly she hardly stopped to take a breath, and he was clearly taken aback by her hurried answer. The two of them stood, wide-eyed and staring at one another. She'd nailed him. There was no way his questioning could recover from that blow. Harley knew it, Wright know it.. and unfortunately for him, Judge Masters knew it. In fact, Harley couldn't resist peering up at the older gentleman from where he sat on his bench, and heard an amused snort escape his throat.

Closing the file and stepping back toward his desk, Wright dropped the file on the tabletop. With an exasperated sigh, he landed heavily in his chair. "No further questions, Your Honor..."

"Well alright them." Judge Masters motioned for Harley to step off the bench and back over to her seat. "After that... I don't think it's asking a lot for everyone in this room to consider the outcome of this very seriously. Myself most of all." He took a deep breath, let it out, and was thoughtfully silent for a few seconds. After tapping a couple fingers against his lips in contemplation, he finally nodded. "I'm going to give this three days of deliberation. Should justice have need to move to a criminal trial, the Joker would then be remanded to Blackgate Penitentiary to await his court date. However, should he return to the Arkham facility... I will have a personal conversation with the therapists on his case."

There was a sense of relief that filled Harley there, but also the regret of having to worry about his decision for the next three days. Now with millions more miles between her and sleep, she flinched upon hearing the banging of gavel... and where the instrument of justice had previously excited her, now she found it a great annoyance.

"Court is adjourned until March 1st, at eight o'clock."