I'm sorry this is so short. Special shout out to HoistTheColors!

"Hey, I wanna know something."

I looked up at the Joker warily, putting my pen down. "Er…okay?" I said suspiciously. "Shoot."

The Joker seemed frustrated. "Why haven't you asked about my scars yet? We've been seeing each other for what, six days? And nadda. That's always been the first question every other psych I've had has asked." He wetted his lips, which were newly painted in red. Earlier that morning, while I had still been asleep, I was awoken by a phone call. Apparently the Joker had thrown a huge fit wanting new make-up, and they called me to ask if it was okay for his mental health to do so. I had given them permission. It probably wasn't the best thing to give him what he wanted, like rewarding a kid who throws tantrums with candy, but I really didn't care about helping his mental health. I was there to see whether he was sane or not and move on, not try and help the maniac.

I folded my arms behind my head, relieved it wasn't something I didn't want to answer, and shrugged. "I don't honestly care," I told him. It was a lie; I was very curious as to how he got them, but it was irrelevant to my case. "I'm here to evaluate you on your current mental status, not delve into your past. I don't really care why you do the things you do, just whether you are aware of them as you do them. Besides, if I asked you would bullshit me. And frankly, I don't have the patience for bullshit today."

Something, I couldn't figure out what though, flickered in his features. I didn't like that I didn't know what it was. I'm supposed to be able to read everything about a person. He chuckled and leaned towards me. "You know Sin, there are very few people like us out there. People that understand people. You and I know when we look at a person everything about them. We know what drives them, what gets to them, and what breaks them." He sat back in his chair again; looking relaxed, though his gaze was intent on my face. "It's too bad that you have misplaced your talents, letting them fester in this hellhole, when there is so much more that you could do. Why take on the minds that are already twisted, when you can twist them yourself?"

I wasn't sure what to make of this little speech. How do I reply to something like that? Was he trying to get into my mind and mould it to be that of a villain's? Should I leave? Crane had said that if I ever feel overwhelmed…No, I've dealt with worse than this? I'm one of the best for God's sake! Where did my spine go? "Because people are no fun when they're ordinary. What's so special about some accountant's mind or some schoolteacher's? Nothing. But a mind like yours, Joker…That's a different story." Hopefully he would think that the subject was nearing dangerous waters and change it.

I never got to find out, for the door opened and the guards came in to take to Joker back to his cell. Our session was over. I thanked the Heavens for the brilliant timing. But my stomach dropped again when while the Joker was being taken out, his eyes never left me, looking perplexed. I forced myself not to be reminded of Daniel. That was how it all began with him, with the fascination with my mind. And then once he couldn't figure it out he wanted to break it, so he could analyze the shattered remains. I hoped that this interest of the Joker's was just a phase. I don't think I could handle another obsessed madman.

"You knew Daniel Dew well, didn't you?" the Commissioner asked me wearily. The bags under his eyes told me that he had been working on this case for days and nights. And the fact that he was coming to me for answers was just proof that so far things were turning up fruitless. We were in the Commissioner's stuffy office, where he had asked me to meet him.

I folded my arms across my chest uneasily. "I was his primary psychiatrist for about four months. I probably knew him better than anyone." This subject made me want to storm out of the room and hide under my bed until it all went away. I had just spent the last four years trying to forget what had happened, and now he was going to rip into my old scars, forcing me to relive things I never wanted to think about again. Nevertheless, I understood the importance of giving him any information I had on the murderer. Gotham was all in danger with a man like that on the streets, and anything I knew that could help him find Daniel might be useful.

The Commissioner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking curious. "Primary? You mean he had more than one psychiatrist?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course he did. He was in several classes for anger management, abuse control, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and several others. It isn't uncommon for some patients to have more than one caregiver. Of course, he didn't need most of those classes, but through following Daniel's patterns in behavior, we were able to predict which mental and emotional problems he was likelier to develop. Putting him in those classes was a way to try to stop them from occurring ahead of time." My gut twisted. We had it all wrong, all wrong. If we hadn't experimented with this little theory, Daniel might be as 'normal' as the next crazy. Instead we put him around people to study, thus feeding that desire to get into peoples' heads.

The Commissioner's interest sparked. "And can we speak to any of those caregivers? Perhaps they might have an insight on how to control this man."

My expression darkened. "No, you cannot. They are all dead. He killed them when he escaped four years ago. And trust me, if they had any insight of how to control him, then they would still be with us today." I lowered my head; the grief I had swallowed so long ago was slowly flooding back into the false reality I had built up for myself. I had been close to many of them. As a professional observer of the mind, I knew that I had never really come to terms with all those deaths so long ago, one in particular…I struggled to remember the face…

The Commissioner had the decency to appear grim and allow a moment of respect before hammering me with the next question. "Then why is it that you are still alive?" he inquired.

I fixed my gaze on the Commissioner until I saw him squirm uncomfortably. I wanted his full attention for this next answer. "Because I know people, Commissioner. And because Daniel thought he knew people. When Daniel couldn't understand me, he became obsessed with trying to figure out my mind. And eventually this grew to become simply an obsession of me. When he escaped those many years ago, he made it his private dedication to understand me, and once he did, he would be able to do whatever he liked with me, make me to be any person he wanted. Because you see, Commissioner, once you understand how a person works, you can prod at them in just the right ways until they become someone totally different."

I felt my eyes glaze over as the memories flashed through my thoughts. That dark room…That bright light…That touch…That horrific song…I shuddered, suddenly feeling nauseous, but I forced myself to continue on. "But after…" I couldn't bring myself to describe the events that followed Daniel's escape and my capture. "…after certain incidents Daniel was still stumped. I still confused him, and he didn't like that, not at all. So he figured it would be best to end me."

The Commissioner was listening with rapt attention, but I had forgotten he was there, too absorbed in my own thoughts and reminiscing. "But that is where understanding him came in handy. Now, I'm not entirely sure if is possible to truly understand someone as twisted as he is, but I think I am the only one who has came close. After about two weeks since he had escaped, I had convinced him against killing me and managed to get word out to police. He was arrested and sent back to the Yorkshire Institute within twenty-four hours on life-sentence."

There was silence as the Commissioner allowed me time to regain control over myself. But even as he gave his next question, my hands were trembling. "Dr. Dawn, I recognize how incredibly painful it must be to talk about these sorts of things, but I have to ask. What should we be expecting from Daniel Dew?" Although the breath I drew in was shaky, my voice was firm as I answered his question:

"Hell, Commissioner. Expect hell."