Chapter 1 – Little Princess

Harleen looked over the letter one last time. She could still hardly believe it. Interning as a psychiatric evaluator at Blackgate Prison had not seemed the most promising of ventures; it had almost felt like her years of university funded by a fortunate scholarship had turned out to be a waste. She'd been kept from the most interesting cases and had been threatened to reconsider her diagnosis for more than one patient to ensure they were faced with the death penalty. Honestly, the corruption in the system felt worse than the people she was trying to help; and they'd done some pretty bad things.

She'd expected to get some two-bit part in a prison somewhere else at the end of her residency but this letter had been the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. A job offer at the newly established Arkham Asylum. Well, re-established since it had been shutdown but now reopened by Jeremiah Arkham, the nephew of the deceased founder.

If she played her cards right, and she was going to make sure she did, she'd be able to treat the most infamous criminal minds Gotham City had to offer. This was her ticket to her big break; psychology students the world over would be reading her book in their classes.

Harleen grinned excitedly to herself at the thought, giggling in the privacy of her apartment. This was what she had wanted since she was a little girl sitting in the other chair. It wasn't just a dream of fame and putting her name in the history books; she also empathised with the criminally insane. Reflecting on her past her eyes wandered to the photo that sat neatly on the bookshelf near the front door. A tiny Harleen Quinzel wrapped her arms around the big neck of her father. Images flashed before her eyes, memories of before she had been treated.

Harleen believed wholeheartedly that her father had been a good man once. He still had the potential to be good. He didn't mean to hit her mother, just sometimes he lost his temper and she'd learnt in her sessions that that was an after affect of his childhood, his past. But he'd never hit her. She was his little princess. He didn't mean to kill mummy. He didn't mean it. She told the police officers as such when they came to collect him.

She'd gone to stay with her aunt and then Harleen started seeing a psychiatrist. She visited her father in prison against her family's wishes but encouraged by her doctor. It was part of the healing process. There'd been a prison riot. One of the men had gone to hit her, probably do worse. She was daddy's little princess. The red had been so vivid, like roses blooming.

Harleen shook her head. She still found she got lost in memories occasionally with a sense of disassociation. It always reminded her to take her medication. When she'd popped her pills she moved on to her appearance. She had to look perfect for her first day. Professional with just that hint of allure that helped her coerce men, as they were always her superiors, to let her get away with things. She knew a lot of men thought her ditzy; but she had enough awareness to use what she had and she used it.

Today she wore a crimson dress shirt, buttoned low enough to show some cleavage when she wore a push up bra, a modest pencil skirt and matching red heels. Her ensemble would be finished off with her medical coat when she got in. Though it was ill advised when dealing with criminals, especially the criminally insane, she still wore jewellery. She wanted to show her true personality in some fashion so she usually chose something childlike and playful. Today little ice creams hung from her ears, her necklace a dangling mixture of sweets.

Throwing on her glasses almost as an afterthought, they were a lower prescription for reading that she didn't entirely need but she felt gave a more intellectual air, she strutted out her door ready to make an impression. The drive to Arkham Asylum highlighted the corruption of the city. Grungy streets where pedestrians ignored the police officers in the middle of a shakedown because they didn't want to be caught up in it, gangsters almost openly robbing places. The city was cancerous and needed a cure. She liked to believe the Asylum was it. All these broken people growing up in a broken place; there was no room for healing. She would change that.

With a confident pace to her walk when she arrived, Harleen acted like she already worked here every day. One of the things she remembered about her mother was her saying that if you showed enough authority people would think you were meant to be there, would accept it. Her mother had used it to get them into a lot of free events.

"Ah! Doctor Quinzel! I am glad you accepted my offer." Jeremiah greeted looking up from some paperwork that was held out to him by the construction company's bookkeeper.

"Thank you Doctor Arkham. I'm not gonna lie, I was excited to receive your invitation. The work you intend to do, to continue in legacy is very important work." Harleen replied, taking his hand, letting her fingers rest just far enough to gently touch his wrist in the handshake. It was a simple gesture that always managed to endear her to the other party with the suggestion of intimacy.

"I'm glad you agree. Good doctors like you are who I need to prove to this city that we can make a difference." Arkham conceded with a broad, friendly smile. He finished signing his papers before leading Harleen to an office that was clearly intended to be a staff meeting room. Comfortable lounges sat in one corner while the majority was taken up with whiteboards, bookshelves littered with professional reference books and a large table flanked by many chairs. It seemed Arkham had strong ambitions to hire many practitioners to help treat their patients.

"Dr Quinzel, I'd like you to meet two of your colleagues, Professor Strange and Doctor Sinner." Jeremiah introduced the two people already seated in the room; an older balding gentleman and another young woman with her hair wrapped in ribbons. Harleen greeted them with an open smile before glancing back as a fifth member arrived to join them.

"Ah! And this is Doctor Crane! With that we have our first experts gathered to begin this asylum anew." Arkham offered, waving the young man over to join them.

Introductions over with, their meeting commenced. It was a long superfluous speech of the ideals and dreams of Doctor Arkham and what he wanted to achieve at the asylum. He confirmed that he too would be treating patients while doing his best to recruit more psychologists and psychiatrists to help them show Gotham that the criminally insane deserved a second chance at life and sanity.

He then went on to establish that he was still getting the approval to take on some of the more famous inmates of Blackgate so for now they would be treating the 'traditional' forms of insanity. In the meantime the facilities would finish up construction in preparation for these 'characters'. Harleen labelled them this herself; Gotham seemed to have given rise to a particular breed of insanity that had people creating entire identities for their criminal activities and if the rumours were true, even their vigilantes went so far as to fashion themselves artistically after something as unusual as bats. It was these types of people that Harleen wanted to pry open and unravel. In the days to come she would prove to be efficient at it.

"Harleen, have you seen the news?" Leslie asked ducking her head into her colleague's office. She was finishing off her latest report on Alyssa 'The Witch' Wade. She was making great progress with a criminal who had been considered mute when she first arrived. But it still wasn't enough; she wasn't the one who would get Harleen her big break.

"Huh?" She responded absently making it clear she hadn't heard a word.

"Come on Quins. Pay attention." Leslie huffed pulling out her phone to quickly show the blonde a news article. "You know all those massive explosions on Christmas Eve?"

"The ones they thought were caused by The Penguin?" Harleen asked but she was soon distracted by the pictures in the news article.

"It's now confirmed they were caused by that new player. The one calling himself the Joker. He rigged up a nightmare amusement park last night. Lots of people are dead. He's making a claim on territories in the city and none of the other gangs seem to be able to stop him." Leslie explained while Harleen looked at the blurry photo taken from a helicopter. The man's skin could really use some sunshine and his hair was a vibrant green. It was so unusual and a mark that he would most likely turn out to be another psychotic cog in the broken wheel of Gotham.

Harleen wasn't entirely wrong about that assessment. But he had a far greater part than just being a cog in the machine. He wanted to be the hand that tipped it over and smashed it to pieces. In the next three months he practically succeeded. Chaos reigned supreme, his name was seen on the front of every paper, and the kill count grew. The Batman apprehended him five times but each time he was out of Blackgate before the sun had risen.

He was known as the Clown Prince of Crime; at times he had the calculative leadership of someone who could take over a city but at other times his attacks were wanton massacres and they were almost always some form of performance. If anyone survived they spoke about his laugh; that haunting sound of a deranged man with no fear. He'd shoot his best friend if it made a good punchline. Batman became his favourite joke of all. The view of the public; he was crazy and Harleen watched that with great interest like the rest of her colleagues.

Then one day he didn't escape Blackgate. Batman had made sure of that. So now gathered in the staff room which was filled with a squadron of psychiatrists and psychologists after all of Jeremiah's hard work, they watched the news reports of Joker's hearing with keen interest. Harleen held her breath; a man like that, a broken mind like that. She needed to be the one treating him. There would be no greater mind to pry open and fix.

"It has been confirmed that the Joker has been tried as insane." Vicki Vale began, the rest of her spiel lost on Doctor Quinzel as excitement flooded her chest. Doctor Arkham was already out the door, no doubt heading to his office to file a request that this psychopath be transferred to his institution.

Harleen gave it just enough time to seem respectable and professional. Others had beaten her to it but appearing too keen was a bad move.

"Doctor Arkham." She greeted politely as she entered his office at the end of the day.

"And what honeyed words are you going to offer me for a chance at that mind?" Jeremiah asked without pretence. He was well aware that every one of his employees was fighting for a chance at the Clown Prince. Well, except maybe those on security, they were probably anxious out of their minds.

"I think my work speaks for itself." The blonde woman decided she'd play at his pace. There was no sweet talking a man of his level, he'd be too aware of it. It might even risk her job. He seemed amused by some of her subtle attempts at endearing herself earlier on but this would be pushing her luck.

"Yes, you have been doing fantastic haven't you? The Witch. Firefly. Mad Hatter. You show excellent promise." Arkham observed glancing to his in tray filled with reports from multiple doctors, some of which were hers. Harleen's poker face faltered. Promise was potential. Potential meant she wasn't trusted with something that big. It took her a second to compose her anger which stirred memories of her father's meaty hands and the wet sound of the impacts.

"Can I ask why you don't think I'm up for it?" She finally persisted. If it was something the young woman could prove to him that she could change or overcome then she might still have a chance.

"Harleen. You are a young, beautiful doctor. A man like Joker. It'd be too dangerous." Jeremiah said the seemingly affectionate words but to Quinzel they were like a death sentence. The sounds of her dreams shattering on the floor.

She didn't remember what happened the night she was denied. She recalled going out drinking after her shift was over and drinking a lot. Her knuckles were bruised when she woke up. She self-prescribed an extra dose of her medications and spent the next few days in a numb haze. That is until the fateful day the Joker arrived at Arkham Asylum.

Everyone was warned to be professional; business as usual. But all the staff seemingly had an excuse to be near the hallways to watch his arrival. Harleen was standing in her office doorway with Leslie pretending they were on their way out.

Even without his vibrant appearance it was hard to miss the arrival of a single man flanked by eight guards. His wrist and ankles had been chained close together giving him very limited movement. He had already exchanged his orange jumpsuit for the drab grey-navy of the inmates. A great big grin split his face almost unnaturally, framed by red lips that contrasted with his pale skin. His hair was still green. Why had they been letting him dye his hair? Gotham police, especially those at Blackgate, weren't exactly known for their leniency. Harleen itched to get into his file and read all there was about him.

His muscles flexed as he tried to gesture like his entrance was some grand performance with a killer joke to come. His amusement was split in irritation for the briefest of seconds because of his restraints ruining the theatrics.

"I'm here all week ladies and gentlemen! Though my act may not commence at an exact time so I can't give you the schedule." He boasted again like this was all part of some plan. He continued to rant and rave, gracing them with entire soliloquies of inconsequential information. He laughed at his own incarceration.

"I wonder how Lyle is going to do…" Leslie questioned as they watched the infamous madman disappear around a corner on the way to the maximum security facilities. Harleen shrugged; still bitter that someone else had been assigned the Clown Prince. Secretly she hoped he'd fail and she'd get another shot.

She got another three. They were all declined and she finally resigned herself that she would be rejected on inexperience alone no matter how she proved herself. She traded her colourful accessories for something boring and plain as an outward display of her poor mood. Arkham wasn't having any luck with any of the doctors he'd assigned; why was he still denying her? Clearly no one else was up for it.

Lyle had become a sobbing mess in the first week, his confused babbling shortly allocating him as one of Leslie's new patients when he shot a store clerk after work. Pierce lost an eye three weeks into his treatment of their clown when the Joker had gotten a hold of his pen, and Raj resigned in his second month. No one knew where he went after.

Each handover Doctor Arkham himself took charge of their patient. He'd leave their sessions with a look that seemed a mixture of profound knowledge and sheer terror. Not so many people were attempting to be assigned the madman anymore.

"Harleen, can I see you in my office for a second?" Jeremiah called out one day while she was taking her lunch with Leslie. They exchanged a cautious glance before Quinzel abandoned her workplace friend and followed her boss through the halls. Anxiety and excitement mixed inside of her in some toxic concoction that her rational mind tried to quell. He'd rejected her enough times; she had to accept that the Joker was not hers to cure.

"I've heard Alyssa's release has gone smoothly these past three months. Alberto's too. I'm glad Strange requested you take his case. They're still visiting for follow up sessions?" Jeremiah began. It was polite pretence and Harleen did her best to be patient through it.

"Yes. I make sure to keep close contact with them to ensure that should they relapse we are well aware before it happens. But I'm confident they will be good members of society. Alberto's father has shown encouraging support to help us with his rehabilitation." Harleen explained even though she knew he would have seen it all in her reports. Her eyes wandered to a manila folder on his desk. It looked rather small making her heart sink. The Joker's would surely be a massive bundle. She was being assigned a new patient. She tried to hide her disappointment but it showed in her blue eyes.

"Yes, very good, very good." Arkham complimented not even noticing her change in demeanour as he moved behind his desk.

"Doctor Quinzel…I want to assign a particularly special case to you. At the cost of eating my own words; I think you might be the one with the different approach to suit him." He began, fingering the folder in front of him cautiously. Harleen tried to smile encouragingly but it was half hearted in her bitterness.

"What I'm trying to say is…" He took a deep breath to soothe his pride. "So far the Joker has proved…unaffable to our attempts to get to know anything about him. It has stalled his treatment. I think it's time to try a different approach; one I feel you are all too familiar with." Arkham explained with the flustered mannerisms of a man who had been proven wrong. Harleen stared back at him wide eyed too stunned to comprehend what she was being told.

"Pardon?" She said though she had heard every word. Arkham nodded his head seeming to understand why she would be so shocked. It was a fair reaction considering his months of stubborn refusal.

"Harleen, this folder here is all we have on him. This is it. I need to make some sort of progress and so far nothing has worked. I want to try something different." He continued waving the folder out to her like a fishhook. She resisted the urge to snatch it from his hands. "I understand if you don't want to do this anymore after what happened to the others but you'd have armed guards during your sessions and-"

"That would hardly inspire trust." Harleen interrupted finally giving in to her urges and wrenching the folder from his grip. A look of concern crossed Jeremiah's face but it was followed by a sort of resigned air that hinted he was out of options.

"Harleen, we do want to work to cure him but he is dangerous. At least for the first session to see how we go." He commented despite his better judgement warning him that her reaction was a red flag.

"This is really it?" She brushed the sentiment aside once she had opened her treasure box. A photo of the mass murderer, a big grin plastered across his face. He still had blood on his cheek. He had less tattoos when it was taken. The only name they had for him was Joker; they hadn't even gotten his actual name out of him.

There was a brief description of his appearance and Harleen learnt that the pale skin, red lips, and emerald hair weren't make-up or dye. His hair really grew out green. Every attempt to find out why he had these bizarre traits had been met with tall tales from the notes of her predecessors. Most times he said he was born this way; sometimes he said a god of chaos had cursed him, other times he worked in a chemical lab that exploded. The general consensus was that they were all lies.

His history was as blank as his name. No idea who he was before he appeared in the streets blowing up buildings, taking over gangs and their territory. Just character traits listed in four different sets of handwriting and a base diagnosis that usually came down to a mixture of sociopath symptoms and bipolar disorder. He had too many conflicting traits for an official diagnosis so far. Harleen drew a breath when she came to one of Pierce's pages which detailed Joker's general resistance to every attempt to discuss himself, always veering the topic back to his doctor; the page had been splashed in blood.

"I should really write that one up to replace the original. Don't let him near your pen." Arkham warned staring at the splotch. "That is if you still want to accept?" He asked deciding he should not presume. Harleen looked up through her glasses with deadpan eyes as if enquiring if he had to bother to ask.

"Of course I will. As I told you. We do important work. Fixing someone like this is what I signed up for." Quinzel declared silently adding in her head that she'd show Arkham how much a fool he was for denying her. She'd have the Joker confessing his life story to her in the first month.

"Well…good." Jeremiah stated in numb shock with a hint of relief in his voice. "I look forward to seeing how your sessions pan out with him." It was a dismissal. Understanding that, she clutched her trophy to her chest and prepared to leave. "And Quinzel…really do be careful with him. I don't want to lose anymore staff."

Harleen smiled back at him pleasantly with the slight tilt of her head that could be construed as flirty; endearing herself again to try and make sure she never lost her newest patient. She would fix him and become famous for it.

((A/N: Another 'I wanted to work on other stuff but inspiration hit me with a bat and I couldn't leave well enough alone'. All started because I stumbled across Angela Zhang's version of I Started a Joke then listened to the Suicide Squad soundtrack, then had to watch it again. Now here we are with my mess of a take on Harleen's downfall. I wanted to get a look into her head as well as the Joker's and work out how Harleen became Harley. I just love the extended flashback scenes and had to dissect them in my own way. Don't know if I'm doing this crazy pair justice but practice is practice, right?

For the most part I've tried to draw from the movie while grabbing things from the comics and the Arkham games. Joker and Harley I've tried to take some influence from their Arkham iterations as well just because I love them so much (really fun games, highly recommend at least Origins if you've never checked them out). I also really wanted to build a foundation for why Harley is so susceptible to Mr J and tolerant of his abuse by crafting a messy childhood.

Updates might be less frequent than my usual pace when submitting stories but we'll see. Like always, constructive criticism is cherished. I feel like I should say it's good to be back again but I guess long breaks only to return with new fandoms is my trend.))