Author's Note: This story is an AU (Alternate Universe) - it didn't exactly go like it did in The Dark Knight. Although, this story takes place around the same time, making the year 2008. The Joker has been around longer than perceived in the film, and of course, Harley Quinn is involved.

So when I read Joker/Harley fanfiction I always imagine Brittany Murphy as Harley Quinn. She would've been badass just like Heath Ledger was as the Joker.

The Joker: Heath Ledger

Harley Quinn: Brittany Murphy

R.I.P To both of these amazing actors.

****Follow the soundtrack on Youtube!****

Type: youtube and then copy and paste the following...

/watch?v=omUnWmSrDJ8&list=PLl67S7XSG83GKCZutsvgqh5JnpgwMKqCx

I plan on giving this series an 80's soundtrack, because why not. It was a lively decade with a bunch of great music. I'm obssessed, what can I say. Plus, it might be a bit cheesy, which I find a bit fitting with the Joker when it comes to music. just giving my readers something to listen to as they read the chapters

Summary: There's something maddening about the unexpected, but drastic changes calls for drastic measures.

For Now

"I'm gonna be strong

And stand as tall as I can.

I'm gonna be strong

And let you go along

And take it like a man."

Blue Angel - "I'm Gonna Be Strong" (1980)

I first fell in love with his charming personality back in Arkham when I was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Then, I fell in love with how handsome he was after the facility forced him to wash his paint off. They way his dirty blonde locks framed his face was, oh, so cute. But, sometimes I wonder if he loves me at all.

"Of course he loves me."

It seems like I have been trying to believe he does these past couple of weeks, but failing to. It just hasn't been the same since I have find out about my condition, and since I realized of my uncertainty of what could happen. He can be a violent man, my puddin'.

"I wonder if he will love you too," I whisper.

I look down as my hands caress my slightly swollen stomach over my satin robe. My breath hitches as I feel slight movement under one of my palms. I move my hands to follow each tiny kick from the baby.

Sometimes I wonder how our lives would be like if we were not criminals. We'd live in an average suburban house with a white picket fence. In the morning time, I'd kiss my Mistah Jay goodbye as he drives to work; maybe he would be a lawyer, or a doctor. He is smart after all. And, I'd happily stay home and care for our little one. Would it be a boy or a girl? If it's a boy we'd call him Jack, if it's a girl we'd call her... Emily. At night, I'd give our baby a kiss goodnight as we tuck him in and head to sleep in our own clean bedroom, of course in each others' arms. Our small family would be the envy of the neighborhood. In this fantasy, we wouldn't have to worry about puddin not loving us, because he would say those three little words everyday. No more fighting, and no more tears.

Yeah, right. I'd be lucky if he didn't kill me if I told him, or even figured it out. Mistah Jay is not as perfect as I try to make him out to be. He usually seems to not care how much I beg him to stop during a fight, or how much I cry. He doesn't always take my opinion into consideration, even when he is wrong.

He is wonderful when he wants to be. Just yesterday, he was holding me after making love, and tickling me, and blowing raspberries all over on my stomach. Oh, he just loves to make me squirm under his touch. Of course I made sure we were in the dark and I refused to be fully in the nude, claiming that it was too cold, to which I received a hard glare. But, after a bit of... persuasion he gave in.

"You've gained some weight, Harls."

I quickly slide my hands to rest on my slim thighs to try to smooth out the sudden shakes as I look towards him from the reflection of my vanity, which he had one of the boys go buy, or steal, for my birthday two years ago. I try to mask the hurt from his comment by picking up my hairbrush and running it through my semi-wet golden locks.

"Oh, pud, you're so mean," I continued to brush my hair while blinking a couple times to soothe the stinging of tears to be. Even if having a baby is going to disrupt my lifestyle, I can never get rid of it... Even if he wants me to.

"Job's not keeping you busy enough?"

Smirking, he continued, "I can't have a whale hogging the bed."

Instinctively, my hand quickly rests on my belly, and I pretend I don't see him see it. Is he testing me? Sometimes, I wonder if he has it figured out. My puddin is an intelligent man after all. I see him lick at his scars, his beautiful scars, impatiently. And, it almost makes me burst out in tears and ask for his forgiveness, but I have to be strong.

He's standing behind me with no makeup; it's a sight that still takes my breath away. He looks human without the disturbing war paint. I'm the only one who knows his scars are ticklish. If society was to see him in this state he would be deemed as beautiful. Yet, even when he does he still says the most cruel things.

I look away from his reflection in the mirror and focus on brushing my hair.. How can I not? I cannot handle staring into those endless pools that can drown you, reach in, and uncover your darkest secrets.

Lately, I feel him not trusting me as much. I have seen him studying me, like he is right now, and it scares me. As I set my brush on the mannequin, I sigh. Bastard.

"I'm sorry, what was that, darling?"

His torso is slightly pushing against my back as he tightens his hold on my slender shoulder, challenging me. A steady shiver crawls up my spine causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Here we go again.

"Nothing," I whispered, too familiar with the situation to move.

His cold eyes ignore my distress. His tongue brushes the inside of his scarred cheeks. I close my eyes in fear of being struck. I feel his hand on my shoulder let go, probably disgusted at my fear.

And I still have minor bruises from the other day.

He forcefully shoves my head to side as if he is a child, and stalks out of our bedroom. After a good while of being rigid in hopes him not returning, I open my eyes to see that I am alone in our bedroom. He probably went to his studies to fume. I slowly lower the hairbrush that was held up against my chest in fright on to the vanity. Letting out a loud sigh, I silently thanked whoever was listening to me that he wasn't in the mood to deal with my behavior. Staring at my own reflection, I angrily warned myself, "Next time you won't be so lucky, Harls."

I feel my lips quivering as I try to hold back the tears that are threatening to escape from frustration. Frustrated, because of how I dealth with the situation just now, even though I was successful from keeping Mistah Jay from hurting me. Frustrated, because of the situation that I'm in. Frustrated, knowing I can't keep dealing with his questioning eyes. Frustrated, because I cannot keep hiding this from him. Frustrated, because It has come to the point to where I try to avoid contact with him when I have the strength to, especially with my stomach.

No matter how insulting he can be, I'm not stupid. I know time is running out. As much as it hurts me, I must do it for the sake of my growing child. My puddin' is never going to love me again after this.

I wipe the harsh tears away with the sleeves of my satin robe. I stand up and dress into my a ugly, oversized sweatshirt and sweat pants before climbing into the welcoming bed. I have a plan to work on to keep my baby, and possibly myself, alive.

Drastic changes calls for drastic measures.

Author's note: I plan on continuing this. Just recently I had a clearer vision of what direction this fic would go. Plus, the soundtrack will inspire me a lot. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please review! Give me ideas if you have any, or constructive criticism, or just love! Reviews keep me going; don't be shy!

Revised on 1/6/2017