Chapter Three, Early Morning Conversation

Hey guys, thanks for the positive words you had for me! They're a real encouragement, which leads to me giving you guys the thanks you definitely deserve! Hopefully my gratitude shows through this chapter :D


Somehow, when the news of Doug's little tantrum reached Harleen, she wasn't surprised. She'd always known he was a moron; it'd always intrigued her that the Asylum had even bothered hiring someone so obviously unstable. The only unexpected part to the whole affair was the news that Doug had three sexual assault and rape charges that he'd managed to keep a secret with some help from one of the many corrupt cops in GCPD.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, Harleen spun around idly in her desk chair, mentally going through her to-do lists. She'd filled out the report after Sanjay's assault on her; she'd attended to the two other patient interviews… Harleen realised after a few more minute's that she'd done all her work for today plus a little of tomorrow's. That meant she could attend to a little personal stuff.

Harleen turned to her desk, looking for the email she'd printed out that morning. It should have been next to the purple folder next to her keyboard, but it wasn't. Frowning, she wheeled over to her filing cabinet and quickly rifled through there. Still no email. There was nowhere else it could be. Harleen had been lucky to have a private office, considering she was only an intern. As a result, she kept it scrupulously clean and tidy.

"What the hell?" She muttered to herself, dragging her fingers through her blonde hair. She had been certain she'd placed the email, face-down (she didn't want anyone wondering into her office and being tempted to read it) next to the purple folder that contained this week's assignments and reports. The only time she'd moved anything in her office today had been to scrawl down some notes for Doug to take to…

"Oh." Harleen's eyes widened in horror. Of course! She'd been in the middle of something when Doug had come to be briefed, so she'd grabbed the first piece of paper available. Her email! Doug must still have it!

Harleen began to panic. She didn't think Doug was bright enough to figure out the meaning of the email on his own, but if someone such as Doctor Marvel or Vahns got their hands on it…

"Shit!" Harleen cursed before leaping to her feet and running out of her office. Doug had been taken to the infirmary, so that'd be where she'd go.

She came to a screeching halt (quite literally screeching too due to her work shoes not mixing well with the linoleum floors) when she saw the armed guard standing post outside the infirmary doors.

"Doctor Quinzel." The guard greeted her. Technically, she wasn't yet a doctor, but her experience and knowledge was enough that Harleen didn't feel that the title was completely undeserved. "What's happening?"

"Um, I need to see Doug." She replied tersely, trying not to twitch from foot to foot.

The guard gave her a wry look.

"You know I can't let you in there."

Harleen clenched her fists and bit back a snarl.

"Well, can you check something for me?"

The guard sighed but dipped his head in agreement.

"Alright, what is it?"

Harleen licked her lips, trying not to look too desperate, lest the guard's personal interest be aroused.

"Um, I accidentally gave Doug a piece of paper, a personal email he shouldn't have. It's still in his pocket or something I think."

The guard shook his head.

"Doug didn't have anything but his ID in his pocket Doctor Quinzel. I was there when they did a strip search."

Fresh horror flood Harleen. If Doug didn't have the email, who did?!

"Hey, you okay?" The guard frowned at the expression on her face. "You look kinda sick."

"I just…just need a moment." Harleen said faintly. "Been a long night."

The guard nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, I bet. I heard 'bout Sanjay and all that. Maybe you should go get a coffee or somethin'."

"Yes." Harleen said sadly, realising she was in for a nervous, restless few days until she found that email. "Maybe I should."


"Hey honey, it's your mother. Just calling to say you're invited to a little family dinner next week on Tuesday…You know, I never seem to hear from you anymore and-"

Harleen inwardly groaned and ignored the rest of the message, letting the machine continue to run as she dumped her coat and keys on the counter. It was cold in her small apartment, but Harleen didn't mind. She hated the heat anyway. It was near to four in the morning; there was no point in turning the heating on when the sun would be up in three or four hours anyway.

Yawning, Harleen took her hair out of its ponytail and strolled to her refrigerator. There was a half full bottle of white in there, but Harleen got the feeling she'd end up finishing it all in one go. So, she removed the orange juice instead and without hesitation, drank it straight out of the bottle.

It was pathetic as an alcohol substitute, but Harleen supposed it would have to do. Putting the empty bottle in the box under the sink for recycling, she decided a shower was in order.

Grateful to shed her work outfit (black scrubs with a white medical coat), Harleen stepped into her shower. She had the water lukewarm, the perfect temperature in her opinion. Not so cold you couldn't stand it, but not so warm it made you feel fevered.

Harleen had just started to relax, when she heard something. The sound of her front door being unlocked. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

Shaking from fear, Harleen stepped from the shower. She didn't turn the water off, in case the intruder heard it and realised she was coming. Wrapping herself up securely in a towel, Harleen rummaged in her bathroom cabinet as quietly as she could, searching for any kind of weapon. After a moment or two, or she could find was her hairdryer. That'd have to do.

Creeping out of the bathroom, Harleen headed towards the kitchen from the hallway. She thought she heard something briefly, but then everything fell silent. When she reached the entrance into the kitchen, she peered around the corner, trying to be quiet.

And then she saw it. A scream burst forth from Harleen's mouth.


"Ms. Quinzel." The guard at the front desk frowned at her. "You're back. I thought your next shift wasn't until-"

"Yeah." Harleen cut him off with a wan smile. "Something…something came to my attention however. I needed to come in early."

"Alright," The guard seemed uneasy, but then, it was seven thirty in the morning and he'd been awake since ten o'clock the previous evening. "I'll just buzz Doctor Vahns and let him know you're coming in."

"Thanks." Harleen barely gave the guard another look before hurrying down the corridor. Without even bothering to knock, she walked into Vahns' office. He had been on the phone, but when he saw Harleen, he muttered a quick 'I see her now', and hung up.

"What's going on?" He demanded, looking both worried and irritated, "You're not due back here until seven tonight."

"I…" Harleen had to swallow the fear that was rising once more inside her. "Have you gotten my authorization to work with the Joker yet?"

"Yes, I just finished it ten minutes ago, but you could've called to ask that. What's going on Harleen?"

"I want to talk to him." Harleen said bluntly, "The Joker I mean. He… Someone broke into my apartment, whilst I was there."

Doctor Vahns' eyes flashed in alarm.

"Are you alright?!" He demanded, "Did you call the police?"

"No, but I will when I get home." Harleen replied, "For now, I just want to talk with the Joker."

"Why?" Vahns was still having trouble connecting the dots. "You think he had something to do with this?"

"I'm almost certain of it." Harleen was growing impatient; she just wanted to get on with the daunting task at hand. "Maybe my questions annoyed him, or maybe they interested him. Either way, the Joker was involved in the break-in somehow. He left me a message."

Perhaps the grim determination in Harleen's voice finally registered with Doctor Vahns. He gave her one last lingering look before nodding slowly and passing her a new maximum security (max-sec) ID badge.

"I don't think you're doing the right thing Harleen," He told her wearily, "But I know that once you get an idea, there's no stopping you. You may speak to the Joker and God help you for it. My only wish is that you would tell me what message he left."

Harleen took her new ID wordlessly. She and Vahns both knew that she would never answer that question. Harleen was fiercely protective of her privacy and had an almost masochistic tendency to insist on handling her problems with as close to no interference or assistance as possible.

Then, just as Harleen prepared to walk out of the room, Vahns said something. It was the sudden fear in her mentor's voice that caught her attention.

"Harleen, if the Joker is in here, and not allowed to talk to anyone, how did he know where you live? How did he leave you that message?"

That thought send a horrified shudder through Harleen, but she managed to meet Doctor Vahns' gaze levelly regardless. It was difficult though, meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps I'll ask him." She answered flatly, "What room will I talk to him in?"

Doctor Vahns sighed and rubbed his face with the heel of his hand.

"I'll tell the orderlies to bring him into Room Six. It'll take about fifteen minutes, so you might want to take the time to prepare yourself. If it'll help."

Harleen nodded slightly and strode out of the room, the picture of calm determination. Inwardly however, she was a chaos of fear and panic. She knew what Vahns had meant by that last remark. No one could really ever expect preparation to be of any help, not when the Joker was involved.


Harleen caught sight of herself in a glass pane protecting an evacuation map. Startled, she stopped and moved closer to glass, staring at herself.

She looked like a ticking time bomb. After discovering the message in her apartment, Harleen had been unable to do anything but stand frozen in her kitchen for three hours, slowly winning the struggle against her terror to regain control of her mind. In that time, her hair had dried a little after her shower, but it looked messy and a little damp still. Her uniform was creased and her face was deathly-pale and looked wound tight as a spring. A spring that could undo at any moment, triggering some horrible, lethal reaction.

"I can't go in looking like this!" Harleen realised in a mixture of annoyance and fresh worry, "I'll look more psychotic then him!"

Quite obviously, that was saying something. Harleen had seen the Joker's Asylum file, complete with mug shot. Even without his paints and customary costume of purple, the man looked feral and dangerous.

The man. Not 'the Joker'. Harleen knew that she was trying to avoid her patient's self-given title as much as possible. She was scared as it was, and the title only worsened that emotion. If she was going to get answers from him, Harleen was going to need to be as self-confident as possible.

With that in mind, Harleen quickly dragged her fingers through her hair and smoothed it the best she could. When that didn't work, she just took an elastic band from her pocket and pulled her thick, blonde hair into a severe bun. Then she jogged on the spot a little, to bring some colour back to her face. After a couple of minutes of this, Harleen thought she looked mildly better. Not great, but as best as could be expected under the circumstances.

Taking in a bracing breath, Harleen continued towards Room Six.


When she reached the ante-room to her destination, Harleen refused to let herself look through the one-way mirror to the main room where the Joker sat patiently. Instead, she turned to the armed guard waiting by the door, a man by the name of Derrick. Harleen knew Derrick well, he was reliable and friendly. A rarity in this place.

"I'm okay to go in?" She asked, more to giver herself an extra second to settle her heart-rate rather then out of actual uncertainty. Derrick nodded wordlessly, knowing what she was doing. With a final terse smile, Harleen walked through the door.


Immediately, she felt dizzy. The room was a solid box, the very air felt heavy and thick. It seemed like miles from the door (which had swung shut automatically behind her) to the small table where the Joker waited, handcuffed and silent. Shaking her giddiness away, Harleen forced herself forward, one seemingly lethargic step after another.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, she reached her destination. Harleen sat in her chair, somewhat reassured by the solidity of it, proof this wasn't a hazy, horrible nightmare.

A brief moment of silence ensued. Then, Harleen realised with a spurt of anger that the Joker was going to make her speak first, that he'd refuse to do anything until she bent to his will. If she was going to prompt any answers from him, Harleen would first have to place herself as the weaker participant from the very onset of this…this meeting.

As quickly as the anger had arrived, it faded. Harleen resisted the temptation to sigh. Honestly, she'd always known it would be like this. How could it not be? The Joker was the one with the information and thus, the one with the power. Nothing Harleen possessed could trounce that fact.

"You left me a message." Harleen said quietly. It seemed as good an opening as any and besides, it didn't leave room for her personal fears and misgivings to intrude.

The Joker smirked, pleased by his small victory.

"Mhm, you're late though."

Harleen hesitated, brow furrowed. She knew to look caught off guard would to be show weakness, and such a thing was dangerous around the Joker, but she just couldn't help it.

"How…What?"

The Joker regarded her sardonically, a tiny grin hovering around his lips.

"You, uh, should've gotten the message at four. It's a quarter to eight now."

Harleen almost recoiled, shocked not by how the Joker uncaringly mocked her, but how aware he was of his surroundings. There was no clock in his cell; he should not have known the time.

"How-?"

"I can count." The Joker's smirk was more pronounced and Harleen almost hung her head, feeling like a child that had said something ridiculously dim-witted and unthinking. "And you waited close to four hours, or err, fourteen thousand, four hundred seconds if you preferrr, to talk. Not very, uh, polite, Miss Harrrleen Quinzel."

Harleen almost snarled, furious at the way the Joker regarded her name with such scorn and amusement.

"That's Doctor Quinzel!"

The Joker gave her a look of mock-hurt.

"I thought you were only an intern? I wouldn't want to…reward the undeserving with such a title."

Harleen took in a shuddering breath, reminding herself that he was playing games, trying to aggravate her. She couldn't let him succeed.

"You're prohibited contact with anyone other then your immediate caretakers," she said, refusing to acknowledge his insult, "So how did you get my address and send…send your m-message over?"

The Joker tilted his head to one side, green hair swaying like a curtain, and looked at her in confusion.

"What message?"

Harleen resisted the urge to shriek from frustration. The only good part of the Joker being so singularly irritating was that at least it was helping her ignore her fear.

"You know perfectly damn well what-"

"I wouldn't assume that just because I'm the one, uh, imprisoned here, it's safe to be rude to me," The Joker hissed, cutting her words off, "Just think, if I can escape the all too eager GCPD, I can escape here. You wouldn't want to, uh, be on my mind if I do escape Arkham, would you?"

Harleen's anger shrivelled instantaneously and her fear flooded back in a torrent. Her mouth stayed open for a second, lips quivering. Then, she shut it and simply stared at the Joker with wide, blue eyes. He smiled at her pleasantly.

"I like you better already." He said cheerfully, "Now, what message were you, uh, referring to?"

Harleen bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop herself from whimpering. She didn't want to think about what she'd seen in her apartment, what was still waiting for her…

The Joker gave a tiny giggle. Harleen wanted badly to hit him, to let all the terror, anger and frustration bubbling away in her out in one single, vicious physical act. She couldn't though. She was frozen, unable to run, to look away or even to block her ears.

Abruptly, the Joker stopped laughing and gave her a cool, calculating look.

"Say it." He hissed, leaning forward and straining against his handcuffs.

Unashamedly shaking from fear, Harleen nodded quickly, eager to make the pure malevolence stop.


Creeping out of the bathroom, Harleen headed towards the kitchen from the hallway. She thought she heard something briefly, but then everything fell silent. When she reached the entrance into the kitchen, she peered around the corner, trying to be quiet.

And then she saw it. A scream burst forth from Harleen's mouth.

There, sitting propped up against her kitchen, was a man. Not just any man either. Harleen recognised him as Doctor Stevens. He had been given the task of overseeing the Joker's 'treatment'. What a misnomer that was; the Joker was incurable, everyone knew that.

Doctor Stevens' sat against Harleen's wall, coated in blood. His own blood. It pooled around him in a metallic smelling puddle, giving off the impression of being the only source of colour in the apartment. It was obvious where the blood was coming from; Stevens' throat was split and his mouth was carved up in the calling card that denominated him as one of the Joker's victims.

So horrified was Harleen that it took her a further thirty seconds to see the words written in blood above Doctor Stevens' head, on the wall.

fEeL LiKe A cHat??

Those words were the final straw for Harleen. Her hands flying to her mouth, Harleen fell to her knees. Blood had spread far enough for it splash beneath her. Ignoring it however, Harleen just clapped her hands to her mouth and curled up like a child in the corner. She stayed there for three hours, rocking back and forth, crying and whimpering.


"See, that wasn't so, uh, hard, was it?" The Joker was leaning back in his chair, obviously confident he was very much in control of the situation now. Harleen knew he was right in that respect, but she just didn't have it in her to fight it.

"What do you want from me?" She demanded, perilously close to tears. She fought the urge to fall into histrionics though and the Joker had to grudgingly admit he admired her for it.

He may have had that tiny bit of admiration, but that didn't mean he was above continuing his torment though. The Joker had a purpose to this entire session; he wasn't going to let that go to waste.

"I, uh, actually have a few questions for you." He nodded seriously. Harleen regarded him in weary, miserable disbelief. She was the psychoanalyst here, and yet he was the one asking the questions! "Are you gonna answer them for me?"

Feeling spent by the last few minutes, Harleen nodded. She knew what she was doing was totally wrong, but she couldn't help it. She could feel her mind teetering on the thin edge that divided sanity from its counterpart, the effort of preventing herself from crossing that line left nothing for a pointless struggle against this man.

"What's Vern Maroni doing, talking to you?"

Harleen looked up sharply, shock erasing her fatigue.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

The Joker howled with laughter and for the first time since entering the room, Harleen worriedly wondered if Derrick was watching through the one-way mirror. She cast a quick glance at the pane of tinted glass. The Joker noticed her unease and grinned.

"Do you have a flashlight?" He asked, raking his eyes over her, trying to get an answer for himself. The man's scrutiny made Harleen shiver, a mix of fear and adrenalin gripping her. She nodded.

"Shine it on the mirror." The Joker sounded bored suddenly. Slowly, Harleen pulled the tiny flashlight from her pocket and did so. To her surprise, the glass was suddenly transparent beneath the flashlight's beam. She saw Derrick was still by the door, paying her no attention. Relieved, she switched the beam off.

"So?" The Joker narrowed his eyes, "What's Vern Maroni, uh, talking to you for?"

"I told you," Harleen snapped, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

For a long moment, the Joker looked thoughtful, albeit in a cruel, calculating manner. Then, he suddenly gave her a smile.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He asked, using his right hand to gesture to his face. Harleen shook her head quickly. The Joker rolled his eyes.

"It's a good story, don't…don't be a spoilsport," he told her, "Now, I was what the shrinks nowadays like to call 'a troubled teen', way back. Chronically depressed and all that. I used to try all, uh, all sorts of things to cheer myself up. Even tried cocaine actually, but I had to steal all my best friend Rick's money to do that. He used to ask me, 'did you take my money?'"

There was a moment of silence. Harleen wanted to run from the room, to escape the horror that was to come, but it was too late. She'd known somehow it'd be too late the instant she spoke with the Joker. Maybe it'd been too late from day one, when she'd chosen to do her application for current position on the Joker.

Sensing his victim's rapt condition, the Joker gave a laugh and continued with his story.

"It got to be like that every…every day. 'Did you take my money?' And I'd, uh, I'd smile and laugh and shake my head. But you see, I wasn't much of a smiler normally, so Rick, bright kid he was, caught on that me smiling was a sign I was lying. Sooo, Rick asked me again one day, and when I began to smile and deny it all, he got his older brother to hold me down and he, uh, he did all this. He said that since I lied all the time, I should smile all the time."

The Joker's voice trailed off and he sat watching Harleen intently, waiting for her reaction. Harleen was shaking, absolutely horrified. And yet, intrigued by it at the same time. It was almost physically painful, being repulsed by the prospect of senseless violence and sadism, and yet being so tempted by it at the same time. She danced the line between sanity and chaos.

"I told you it was a good story," The Joker said amiably, "Don't you think?"

Harleen didn't say anything, past fear. She just sat, staring at the Joker. He smiled again.

"So, maybe you'd like to, uh, answer me this time. I know you got an email from Vern Maroni."

"Oh," Harleen gaped, realisation dawning on her, "The email! I gave it to Doug and he must have dropped it…"

"Yup." The Joker smacked his lips and leant forward. "Besides, Vern's pseudonym is terrible. 'Vern Roamin'. Please, 'Roamin' is an anagram for 'Maroni'. I just wanna know how you guys are on speaking terms."

"W-we're not." Harleen shook her head frantically, panicking at all her deep buried secrets being revealed, but helpless to stop it. "I just knew him form when I was a kid. I knew a couple of the Maroni kids. I haven't spoken to any of them since then though!"

"Uh-huh," The Joker absorbed Harleen's panic and shame in interest, "So you had, uh, problems as a kid. And what about Lucy?"

Harleen felt defeat and shame set in, making her bow her head.

"I had a nervous breakdown a couple years back and didn't recover very well. I was seeing Lucy, a psychologist, for it until I found out she was connected with the mob. I stopped going to therapy. That was three months ago."

The Joker began to chuckle, a high-pitched vicious noise, more like the laugh of a hyena then a real expression of human amusement.

"Oh I like you," He told Harleen, once he'd regained control of himself, "I thought you were going to be another boring therapist! But you…you're just the opposite!"

"W-what?" Harleen suddenly got the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

"Weell," The Joker spoke as if to an idiot, "You pretend to be little Miss Ambition, boring therapist extraordinaire… And then, I see the real Harleen Quinzel. Juvenile delinquent, all grown up and missing her, uh, crime days so much she's living vicariously through all the rapists and killer and-"

"No!" Harleen gasped, horrified by what was coming from the terrible, scarred mouth of the Joker, "That's not…That isn't how it is!"

The Joker laughed at her misery, mocking her hurt and embarrassment with an inhumane accuracy and viciousness.

"Harleen," He said, still chuckling, "I've got a knack for spotting liars, and, uh, you may as well be carrying a neon sign or something. Just admit it, even just to yourself, you don't want to help the… freaks and weirdos in here, you just want to suck up every little story, every little word they give and pretend like you're that tough little gang girl from all those years back."

Harleen could feel hot, angry tears stinging in her eyes, as of yet unfallen. Her entire body quivered with the effort of holding herself in her seat. The Joker licked his lips thoughtfully, head tilted to one side and dark brown eyes watching her closely. Harleen knew he was waiting for her to lie again, but she couldn't help herself.

"You're a liar!" She snarled, all too aware how very close she was to losing it all together, "You have no…no fucking clue what you're talking about! You don't know anything about me!"

Pretending to be hurt, the Joker put his handcuffed hands up defensively.

"Geez, bite my head off." He said, barely hiding his grin, "Maybe you're right though. I mean, it's probably just my imagination that you, uh, that you have a drinking problem and that you're hiding it from-"

That one did it. Before she totally knew quite what she was doing, Harleen was out her seat. She lunged at the Joker, intending to hit him, to do everything within her power to just make that horrible, smiling face lose its mirth and feel some of her pain and suffering.

She never had that opportunity however. Before Harleen could lay so much as a single hand on the Joker, he somehow pulled one of his hands out of his handcuffs and hit Harleen so hard in the face, she went flying back, almost breaking her right wrist when she put her hand out as she hit the ground.

Quick as a flash, the Joker was crouching by her, one hand tangling in her hair and pulling her head up to his. Harleen tried to pull away, but only succeeded in hurting herself. The Joker's eyes, filled with malevolent glee, were fixed on hers.

"You're almost more fun then old Batsy, Harleen," He told her, almost gently, "I think you and I are going to have to spend some time together…Quality time."

Harleen said nothing, frozen by a terrible, inexplicable fascination in the man before her. She knew she should be terrified, but she couldn't work the fear up. She couldn't manage any emotions beyond the entrancement and beguilement that gripped her.

"How do you propose that?" She asked, quietly, challengingly. There was no need to raise her voice when his face was mere inches away. "You are a prisoner in this place; I come and go as I please."

The Joker's eyes narrowed and he smirked.

"You won't be able to stand it." He said. "You, uh, you'll feel like you're losing your mind. You'll let the clown out of the box eventually."

Harleen glared at her tormentor, ready to spit defiance and anger. Before she had done anything more then open her mouth however, there was a shout.

"Let her go Joker!" Derrick had entered the room. He looked furious and was pointing his gun at the Joker. "Five seconds to let Quinzel go and take three steps back."

Chuckling darkly under his breath, the Joker didn't even bother to wait for Derrick to start counting. He let go of Harleen without any hesitation before walking all the way to the opposite side of the room. He sat down, back against the wall and eyes fixed on Harleen. She ignored him, letting Derrick help her to her feet.

"Harleen, did he hurt you?" Derrick's dark grey eyes glared angrily over her shoulder at the Joker. Harleen shook her head and wondered why it felt like she was lying.

"N-no." She replied, "I think I'm done though. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow."

Derrick pursed his lips and looked upset, but nodded any way. He opened the door and held it for Harleen. Smiling gratefully at Derrick, she was just about to walk through when the Joker spoke again.

"Harleen!" He called her name. Slowly, unwillingly, she stopped and looked back at him. His smile was all too bright and sunny.

"I just thought of a joke!" He told her. Harleen's heart caught in her throat and despite her instincts screaming at her to get the hell out of there, and despite Derrick's tugging hand on her wrist, she stayed. The Joker nodded happily and giggled.

"It's a very, uh, good joke." He began. "It's like… Well, you know your name, Harleen Quinzel? Well, if you change it a bit-"

'-Oh god no!' Harleen though, inwardly panicking, knowing where this was going and knowing this would truly be the end of her. She couldn't stand it, she had never been able to…Not from him, not from the kids at school…

"-You could become Harley Quinn!" The Joker said delightedly, eyes boring into Harleen's. She felt tears begin to flood down her face and she almost passed out.

"No!" She howled at him, held back only by Derrick's strong arms around her waist, "No! You sick asshole! Why?! Why'd you have to…?"

The Joker's laughter burst into life, filling the room and sending Harleen even further into her insane, twisted abyss. Sobbing and shaking, she turned away and ran from the room. However, just before the door swung shut behind her, she heard his parting shot.

"Keep on smilin' Harley!"


I really do love the Joker, even if he is a sadistic son of a bitch :P

Anyway, I love you all and hope to update again soon.

TTFN from vampassassin