Story Notes:

This is my attempt at giving Nolan's Joker a backstory, and also to incorporate Harley Quinn into the universe.

I take liberties with Harley's character. She's not a carbon-copy of her portrayal in either the comics or the cartoon (though I've been an avid fan of the cartoon for years). In the way that Nolan and Ledger altered the Joker's character to make him more real and current, I tried to do the same with Harley. I tried to stick to the fundamentals of the character, however.

Pamela Isley (Poison Ivy) makes appearances in later parts. I enjoyed their interaction too much to wait until after Harley becomes a villain to bring in Miss Ivy.

This story also features various original character's of my own creation, and one character from an entirely different film. Captain Wilhelm Knauer, of The Longest Yard, who I decided to use as the Security Head of the hospital, since William Fichtner was such a badass during the bank heist at the beginning of TDK.

I'm not making money off of this, so I write solely for the comments. Please review, and I shall love you forever. :-D

Warnings: This story contains slash (male/male), het (female/male), graphic descriptions of torture, including physical, psychological, and sexual, general violence and sexual content. Also, there are character deaths in later chapters.

Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to a variety of people who aren't me, including DC Comics, Christopher Nolan, and Paul Dini. I'm making no profit off of this... I write for the comments.

OOO

"The session isn't going to be very productive if you're not going to give me anything to go on, Captain." The first session had not been productive either… then again, he hadn't even bothered to show up for that one.

He looks up to her without moving his head, eyes rolling up, and she shivers a little as he peers at her from beneath his eyelashes. She studies his eyes most of all, and has since the first second she saw him. It was very awkward at first, eyes flitting around wildly before chastising herself. She was to maintain eye contact with her patients, to build trust and intimacy between them, and so she struggled to do so, and not let her eyes wander. It had been very hard to get him to talk even a little, and she knew how quickly that little foothold would dissolve if he thought she were staring at his face. But his eyes… she cannot decide what to call them. They are brown certainly, but there's more to it than that. In some lights, they could look almost green, but today, he was caught in a column of light from the bay window behind her desk, and his eyes looked warmer, almost golden.

"Why would you want to know about little old me?"

"Well, it's my job. I'm here to listen, Captain, but I can't do my job if you won't talk, now can I? Are you trying to get me into trouble with the Lieutenant-Colonel?" Standen was an asshole, surely he knew it as well.

He smiles, and it's a very nice smile, she thinks, and what a pity he doesn't smile more often.

"Now that's what I'm talking about." She says, triumphantly, and he sighs, a long suffering sound. She can't help but think of all the things he truly has suffered.

"Alright, doc, you've got me. What do you want to know?"

He's cooperating, at least, and he'd been through five therapists before he ended up with her. They all had the same thing to say: he was the most infuriating man they'd ever had the misfortune to attempt to treat. He would refuse to speak, and sometimes ignore them completely. Those, of course, were his good sessions. The bad ones left his doctor's just a little more frazzled.

The other patients described him as reclusive, and he had not been seen talking to anyone, beyond two, PFC Smith and PV2 Nunez, who he at times could be found playing poker with. It provided some hope that he might be reaching out to someone, making some sort of connection.

Nunez had been caught under a transport truck that had rolled into a canal, shattering both his legs. By all rights, he should still have been in traction, but it was like talking to a child, trying to explain that to him, and so instead, he spent most of his time in a wheelchair, both legs thrust out in front of him like a pair of plaster sticks. He had a smart mouth and a Tex-Mex accent, and never failed to hit on her when she ate her lunch in the cafeteria. He was a bright spot in the hospital, one of the few who still retained a cheery outlook despite his experiences. She hoped he would have a positive effect on the Captain, for the latter man seemed broken somehow.

Even the gold of the sun in his eyes did not make them seem any less… empty. It was as though he had stepped away, inside somewhere, and left something else to deal with the world. It was her job to bring him back out.

"Well, most people find it easiest to begin at the beginning, sooo…what's your earliest memory?"

He takes in a breath, straightening some in the chair and her eyes drifted to his lips, unbidden. His tongue darts out, once, twice, wiping carefully at the corner's of his mouth, before it makes a slow, thoughtful swipe at his bottom lip. She brings her eyes back up to his, terrified for a moment that he will have noticed her staring. His eyes are not on her, in fact, they're not focused at all, staring into space as he thinks.

"Let's see… I'm three years old, and it's foggy, really foggy, and the fog smells like garlic and fish… the docks, that's what they used to smell like. It's early morning, and I'm on a boat, a ferry. We're going downtown..."

OOO

There's a chill in the air, and he feels it acutely because he hasn't gotten a jacket yet this year and all he has are short-sleeves, so he wraps against his mother's legs and huddles against the wind as it rushes past the ferry. He's still a little sleepy, because his mother woke him up early, and marched him down here with her switchblade in her hand, because it's still dark outside. The crackheads just scuttle around in the shadows, and the whores on the corners are as wary of his mother as she is of them, and they make it to the docks without any trouble.

This is going to be the first time he has stepped foot off of the Narrows, the first time he's ever been on a boat. He's very excited, but that doesn't stop him from falling asleep as they wait, the line getting longer behind them as time passes. He sleeps a little too hard, and loses his balance, but his mother smiles at him, hands steady and strong on his shoulders as she straightens him back onto his feet.

"It's coming," she says, and points out into the white space above the water. Slowly, like lines drawn on paper, the ferry appears, first vertical for the bow, two horizontal for the railings, melting out of the fog, and his breath rushes out in a 'Wow' that is tiny even in his own ears, and his Mother smiles and musses the mop of curls they call his hair, before patting it down again. They were the first in line, and the first to climb the gangplank after they pushed it into position. Up top now, they walk to the benches at the side of the boat, and take a seat, and he watches as they load one, two, forty-two cars onto the ferry, him counting aloud as they do.

"Very good, Jackie." His mother smiles again, and he loves her pretty face, with its pretty smile, blonde hair and laughing green eyes. "You didn't need my help at all."

He grins back at her, and laughs out loud, clapping his hands together delightedly when the ferry rumbles to life beneath him.

"It takes about thirty minutes to cross the river, and then we'll walk three blocks north."

"Where are we going, Mama?"

"It's a surprise." She brushes his hair back again, and frowns this time, and unconsciously, he frowns, too. "We need to get you a hair cut, funny face." He smiles broadly again at his favorite pet name, and shakes his head, so the curls fluff out around his ears.

"I like it. It tickles my neck." She laughs, and there's nothing he likes more than to hear her laugh, so he laughs back and leans on her again, watching the city melt away into open water.

"It's all foggy, Mama, we could get lost and never come out."

"We always find our way out, Jack."

The boat ride doesn't seem to last long, and soon he can see the skyline of downtown, and he's speechless, amazed at just how tall the buildings are.

"They're so big. Look at that one, Ma." He points to the largest, toward the middle of it all.

"That's Wayne Tower."

OOO

"Wayne Tower? In Gotham City?" She hates to interrupt him, but she jumps on the first recognizable detail of his recollection.

He blinks for a second, surprised, before forcing his way past it, out of the memory and back to the real world.

"Yes. Have I never said?"

"No." She wants to reply that no, he's certainly never said, he's barely said anything at all. "I was curious. It wasn't in your file."

"No, it wouldn't be, would it?"

"No, I don't suppose so."

"We're ghosts, you know. Erased." She freezes, amazed at the progress she's making. This is the first time he's mentioned his activities as an Elite.

"I imagine it must be hard, being forced to start all over again, like that."

"Not really. Not if you don't have anything to look back to."

"Nothing?"

He shakes his head.

"No family? Not even a girlfriend?"

He smirks at her, and she's staring at his mouth again, because the smirk takes up his whole face, following the incisions, even ending in a little curl on his right cheekbone. It must have been some sick fuck to put that little detail in, she thought, acidly.

"Are you flirting with me, Doctor?"

She's startled, and he caught her staring this time, she can tell. She shifts a little in the chair, and tries to play the whole thing cool.

"Why would you say that, Captain?"

"Just a feeling," he says in return, just as coolly, and she has the disconcerting feeling that inside, he's laughing at her. She clears her throat.

"Let's continue, shall we?"

"Alright, let's see… we were pulling up to the docks on the opposite side of the river. There are two ferries running across the Gotham at any one time, back and forth, starting at the mainland marina, pulling in at the Narrows, the island in the center of the river, then continuing across, intersecting briefly with the Sprang, and heading into final dock on Downtown Island." His hands made tiny, graceful little gestures in the air, sketching out a map that she could picture perfectly when she followed the lines of his hands. "The fog was so thick that morning, though; I never saw the other one pass us. Crazy place, Gotham, thick fog and thicker darkness. The buildings are so tall, they block out the sun, and down at street level, it's kind of this… perpetual twilight."

OOO

They still march down the sidewalk, but his Mother has tucked the switchblade away into her purse, and there are more streetlights. Here the fog smells different, like coffee and baked things, and he looks into shops as they walk by, bakers and florists and greengrocers, all getting ready for the busy day ahead. He's enjoying this little trip more and more, all these new sights to be seen, sounds to be heard. They make the three blocks in good time, and they reach their destination at 6:57, or so says the blinking clock on the First National Bank. It also says the temperature is 59 degrees, but, but he's not paying attention to any of that, because instead, he's staring in muted joy at the sight before him. Massive stone columns and a painted, roughly-hewn sign and….

"THE ZOO, THE ZOO, YOU TOOK ME TO THE ZOO!" He's a whirling dervish of delight, bouncing up and down, and cackling like a little demon, clapping his hands together.

"I thought you'd like that."

First time on a boat, first time away from home, first time at the Zoo! Everything is new to him, not a single old dreary thing that he recognizes, and he squeals loudly and takes his mother by the hand to drag her inside. There are booths on either side of the gateway, with the word 'Tickets' painted on them, with little murals of lions, and tigers, and elephants and zebras, but they've got the little wooden doors behind the glass closed, but he doesn't slow, only notices it as he runs past.

It's still early, and there isn't anyone here but the animal trainers and the janitors and the landscapers. The sprinklers are still running, and there are a thousand little carts rushing here and there with slabs of meat, gobs of fish, vegetables, fruits, and bales of hay.

"This way, funny face." And now she's leading him, because she seems to know the way, and she pulls him past cages full of monkeys, aviaries full of birds, a pool full of hippos getting their teeth cleaned (he laughs to see how big the brushes are). They've caught up to the cart stacked with meat, and follow right behind it, down a little slope and around a curve, into an exhibit with high stone walls and a deep pit with trees and ropes, a huge ball, a pool, and a cave in the back wall. There was nothing in it right now, but soon he heard the creak of a gate, and the cart of meat came trundling in. As though summoned by the sound, the exhibit's inhabitants finally revealed themselves, first a female lion, sleek and dangerous, and he clung hard at the railing, leaning through the first and second bars, staring raptly. The female turned around, snuffling at the air, and let loose a tiny roar, that was echoed by a smaller one, a tinny version of its mothers as two cubs came tumbling out of the cave, all oversized paws and ears as they struggled and fought against each other.

He laughed out loud, turning his eyes upwards to see if his mother was enjoying the show, but he found her eyes on him, not the animals below.

"What is it, Ma?"

"Nothing, Jackie…" She squeezed his shoulders and pointed into the pit again. "Watch them play, Jack."

OOO

She scribbled down the last of her notes as he seemed to draw to a close. She glanced at the clock… five minutes left until her next session. The first thirty minutes had been spent in silence from the Captain, while she made feeble attempts at drawing him into conversation, but the last twenty-five minutes had revealed a wealth of information.

"You seemed to love your mother very much."

He smirked. "Concerned about the relationship I had with my mother, Doc? How very Freudian of you."

She laughed softly, and he nodded. "Yes, I loved her very much"

"Loved?"

"Yes. She passed away when I was seventeen."

"I'm sorry. If I may ask, what happened?"

"Breast cancer. From there it spread to her bones, and it was pretty much all-she-wrote after that."

"I am very sorry," she said again, but he just shrugged.

"It was eleven years ago, plenty of time to mourn."

She made a note of that, as well. The patient was 28 years old.

She had taken this case reluctantly. He had a track record for frustrating the hospital's best psychologists in their attempt to treat him. She was freshly out of college, and she wasn't certain she had the expertise necessary to deal with him, but they felt that perhaps a fresh eye might help on the case. Harley was certain it had more to do with the fact she had blonde hair, blue eyes, and measurements they quoted in rap songs. They were hoping to do with her what you did with a shark, hang some meat over the side of the boat and watch what you can chum up. Men were men, after all. She was having success with this case, but she was certain it was not because of why she had gotten it.

For whatever reason the Captain was opening up to her, it wasn't something so superficial as lust.

She had requested his file the moment she accepted his case, and the instant she did, they laughed at her. When she finally received the file, though, she understood why. Nothing, only his rank, number, and a vague history of his past ten years of military service. Well, the first two anyway. After that, there were plenty of pretty words that meant nothing at all, and had nothing to do with what his work as one of Van Patten's Elite actually involved. She had no name, no birth date, no birth certificate, no fingerprints, no social security number or driver's license, no blood type, and no family history. It was exactly as the Captain had said: they were ghosts, completely erased, existing only in the present moment and nowhere else.

"Well, Captain, our time is drawing to a close. We'll be seeing each other again in four days, on Friday, at this same time."

"Alright, Doc," he says, amiably.

She looks at him for a moment, peering over the top of her spectacles. She has only a slight astigmatism, but she likes wearing them anyway. She feels like people take her just a pinch more seriously when she has them on, and she learned very early in life that people never take a pretty girl seriously. She nods finally, as though having decided on something.

"I want to be your friend, Captain, and your confidante. I don't think we can be friends if you must call me by my title. I would like it if you would call me Harley."

"Harley?" He says, stretching the vowels out like he's feeling the whole word on his tongue, and she's a little disturbed by the shiver she can't repress at that sound.

"Yes," and she's relieved that her voice isn't as breathless as she thought it was going to be. Pull yourself together, you bimbo! "My name is Harleen Quinzel."

He nodded, and for a long moment she did not think she would get anything in return for her offer. Finally, as she began putting his file away, thinking it a bust, he spoke.

"My given name is James Napier…" He licked his lips and looked up to her, and she felt frozen at the intensity, the unknown, in those dark eyes. "You can call me J."