Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Welcome back to my world of Mr. J and Harley! I've decided these two needed another tale. For those of you who are new, please check out my other two stories "Repression" and "Corruption" to help you get in the relationship I've created. For those of you who have read my work previously, this prologue takes place during the final scene of "Repression" after Harley has been sent to Arkham. Feel free to go back to that story and read up on that last section to help you get back into things.

Prologue: All Good Things

The smirk crossed her face as Harley noticed the time ticking, so close to the appointed hour. Her skin was itching on the inside from the bundle of nervous hope that ran within her, anticipating what might come. In all honesty, she didn't truly believe he'd fulfill their previous arrangements. He wasn't a man to forgive so lightly after the huge disappointment her actions had no doubt caused. Even so, with disaster looming over her head, her emotions raced with the thrill of uncertainty. She knew him better than anyone else could, and yet, he was a stranger. Mr. J. Her chaos contained.

The camera watched her, continuing to film her reactions and her scattered moments. With the piercing sharpness of the red "on" light glaring in her eyes, she decided to play the moment. It didn't matter what occurred in actuality. If Mr. J taught her anything, it was to "always keep them guessing." Truly, if anything, that was the secret to understanding him. It was why she had never been able to figure him out as either his psychiatrist or as his lover. It was why he needed her in his life. Not as a stabilization factor but as proof that no matter how much the mundane world was trapped by its routine, someone could still surprise him. She kept him guessing.

It was strange to be on the other side of Arkham as a patient rather than a doctor. But Harley couldn't deny that it did feel like coming home to her. She missed the chipping paint of the walls, the screams, and the excited fervor that coursed through the air. Not much had changed since she left. It still smelled of the same cleaning agents, the same strange flower scent that she could never identify. In fact, the only real difference to her eyes was the heavier security. No doubt bumped up after the riots of last year, the ones that led to her fate.

The asylum was full of life and memory. The first meeting with Mr. J, those tense silent moments where they studied each other. Those hours in her office when she poured over her notes, trying to find a way to help him. She couldn't help but remember the conversations between them, so raw and detailed, getting to the heart of her. Finding her truest self. A shake of the hand, a touch down her spine, his needs and her needs, all wrapped up into one place like a cozy blanket. Arkham was the beginning.

Her eyes darted back up to the clock, ready to put on a show. As the second hand moved, she stared into the lens of the digital recorder, a smirk plastered on her face. "Boom," she said, calmly to the unseen crowd.

A second later, the wall exploded inward sending flying chunks of brick and cement into the room. Several pieces barreled past her head, missing her by inches. If the camera hadn't been smashed on the floor, Harley was certain it would have captured the surprised look in her eyes. She hadn't really expected anything to happen, not so soon. Too soon, in fact, which made her wonder what would be waiting for her on the other side of the smoking crater. A pat on the head or a noose? Either way, she could feel his presence nearby, waiting for her. Her heart fluttered madly, wanting nothing more than to be at his side again. Maybe he forgave her, maybe not. Either way, they would reunited.

Dr. Leland would have quite the surprise when she finally viewed the video. It would make Harley seem psychic, knowing exactly when the wall would explode. And the doctor would ponder the possibility that Harley sent her out of harm's way on purpose with cruel words, to prevent her death from the explosion. True, Harley was trying to save her life, but not from the wall exploding. If Mr. J walked in, Joan was a dead woman and the part of Harley that still cared about her former colleague didn't want that to happen.

The entire plan was quite simple. With Harley's history, it was likely Dr. Leland would assign the case to herself, showing compassion for the woman she once called a friend. Through various contacts, Joan's schedule had been procured. It hadn't changed much in the past year. Arkham patients were often lifers, people who didn't want or couldn't accept the help given to them. And with Harley's understanding of the doctor's mentality and how she arranged her daily therapy schedules, she knew that Joan would put her just before lunch, allowing her the time to refresh her mind from the darkness and viciousness that someone like Harley Quinn could spin. Harley found herself doing the same with Mr. J after his sessions, needing that hour to calm down and think about his words.

Standing, she twisted in the straitjacket until her arms were free, a trick she had observed Mr. J perform many times. It wasn't hard with her double jointed shoulders and in no time, the jacket was on the couch where she had been sitting. Glancing at the clock, she estimated about ten minutes before response time from the security staff. They had strict orders to secure the patients first, a repercussion of the Fear Night escape. Her own guards would be in another wing, sent away by Joan at the beginning of the session. An amusing attempt to make Harley feel safe. Whatever the hilarious reasoning, it would give her enough time to make her escape.

Flicking a few buttons aside, she shoved a hand down the front of her Arkham uniform, gripping the letter she had written in her cell. A pen and paper were easy to procure with the stupidity of the guards. Joan's questions were standard so the letter would be the perfect touch to her brief visit at Arkham. Smiling, she dropped the note on top of the jacket and strolled through the decimated wall into the cold daylight of autumn.

Blinded by the sunlight, she didn't anticipate the hand that violently yanked her off balance, jerking her towards the outer wall of Arkham. Harley fought not to trip at the assaulting motion but she found herself steadied by an arm snaking around her neck, holding her upright. Her body was facing the wall, a few feet away from the hole in Joan's office. As much as her rational mind believed it was a guard that was lingering outside to inspect the damage, her heart knew better.

"Gotta buy a girl dinner first if you want that kind of action," Harley snarled, her hands pushing at the wall, hoping to gain some leverage if there was going to be a real fight. She expected the next move would be him pressing her fully against the wall and restraining her further. Instead, the arm tightened around her neck, a low chuckle rumbling in her ear. The sound brought her to a limp standstill, like Pavlov's well-trained dog, and she leaned back automatically against the body that was pressed behind her.

"Mr. J." Her tone came out as a longing sigh, yet it couldn't mask her hesitation at his appearance.

"You wouldn't happen to be hoping for someone else, would you? A wilting flower? Maybe Claude Rains?" The raspy voice lingered against her ear, his breath as hot as ever. Mr. J was angry. She didn't need to see his face to know it. She could feel it in the way his arm jerked tighter against her throat, not in their usual playful manner, cutting off her air. "I gave you a choice and you chose wrong. Little, foolish Harley."

"You know exactly," she gasped for enough air to finish her sentence, "why I did it."

There was a pause in the air, a moment of silence as she wondered what he would do. Then, the arm released its hold, and as she sucked in a much needed breath, she was forcibly turned around by his strong hands, face to face with the man that everyone feared. The white greasepaint melting against the skin of his face, the red smeared over his Glasgow smile, and the black surrounding his cold eyes. She could get lost inside those depths, never knowing which turns he was taking inside his mind.

Mr. J's left hand wrapped around her shoulders, not as harshly as she would have liked, but enough to keep her in place as his right hand brought a blade up. His hands were bare, no gloves to show his constant detachment. He was in the moment as much as she. Harley nodded at him, slowly. Resignation filled her as she paid homage to the agreement that passed unspoken between them so long ago. She understood was what coming and while one part of her, a tiny part, screamed to fight it, the rest of her mind reminded her that this was the inevitable conclusion of their dance. To let them both enjoy those final moments.

She smiled at him, reaching up to touch his face and brush a stray strand of hair aside. "A personal touch."

His lips formed a smile as the bare hand on her shoulder squeezed. "You've earned it."

"Just promise me one thing," she said, looking him dead in his dark eyes.

"Hmm?" His own eyes flickered up to her before fixating on the knife's positioning at her neck.

"Make it hurt." Harley couldn't imagine a better fate than to have her lover's skilled blade carving into her like butter. No one else could bring her to true pain, like him. He was the only one who knew those secrets. Not the pain that twisted in her head, making her scream in pleasure. Mr. J knew the darkest parts, the places that caused her true agony that couldn't be concealed under lust and tortuous bliss. She wanted to feel. To know. Not to be deceived by her mind. It had to hurt.

The blade kissed the skin of her throat and she shuddered. Arkham was the beginning, yes. It would also be the end. Strangely fitting. Her fingers stroked his cheek as she leaned her head back to give him the proper canvas he deserved. Tears did not form in her eyes. Harley wasn't sad, angry, or any other emotion she could describe. She was calm, no longer troubled by the emotions that raged within her. For once in her fucked up existence, she felt true peace.

The smile on her lips faded as she closed her eyes. "I have never loved you more than I do right now, Mr. J."

"I know," he said.

Then she felt the blade pierce into her skin.

A/N: I will be updating this less frequently than I have with stories in the past. My job keeps me pretty busy. But I will finish this. And for those wondering about my Crane story, I am working on it, slowly. I just haven't had the motivation to really get into it.

Questions, comments, feedback, please review!