Author's Note: Written for darkpathsbang over at LiveJournal. Now, I had this little crazy idea come to me in a dream. In fact, like the first two chapters entirely happened in this dream. I've had to mess with some timelines, like the ages of characters like the Bat Family for example. If you're wondering what model I'm using for the characters' visual looks, think Batman: the Animated Series—for those that appeared there. I've taken inspiration from The Animated Series, as well as some of my favorite Graphic novels—Devil's Advocate, Mad Love, The Killing Joke—plus bits and pieces of whenever and wherever I've seen the Joker. And this isn't a "Barbara becomes Harley" story. Harley is still Harley, wink. Also not a "Barbara goes Goth" story, I swear. Trust me for this ride, okay? Enjoy.

Chapter One

The trial of the Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, was more like a circus—no puns intended. The media coverage was almost obscene. If someone in the peanut gallery so much as picked their nose, odds were that the cameras caught it. It made a kind of sense, though, the coverage. After all, the criminal trial of the Joker was something that no citizen of Gotham City thought they would ever live to see. Usually, it was "apprehended by the Batman," "plea of insanity," and then "sent to Arkham for rehabilitation." Inevitably, of course, this was followed by headlines detailing his escape, and the cycle began anew.

So, when the city's new DA, Shelia Miles, decided that the city would not, under any circumstances, be accepting the insanity plea, it turned Gothamites on their heads. Add to that the fact that she was seeking capital punishment for his various crimes. The media went wild.

The trial, after a few months, was finally winding down. Joker had managed an amazing lawyer—and no one really asked how, since most could guess—and it was estimated that only a good three weeks were left in the Trial of the Century—as the media was billing it. At the end of Monday, at the beginning of the first of those three weeks, Joker's lawyer addressed not only the courtroom, but the citizens watching at home.

"I issue a challenge, to those here and at home. I argue that every one of us, every one, can, on some level, understand the Joker. We can empathize with him. What one of us hasn't experienced heartache? Personal tragedy? This man has lost everything, and despite the DA's lack of acceptance, still pleas insanity—albeit temporary. Who among us can honestly, upon hearing the man's own words, not understand where they come from? So, I say to you, citizens of this fine city… write my closing statements."

The lawyer, Mr. Murphy, paused here for the gasps that filled the courtroom. After a moment, he lifted his hands. The room fell quiet once more, and he continued.

"I know. It sounds… unorthodox. But that's the point. All of us… we all get a little crazy sometimes. And I want you, the citizens of Gotham, to prove me right. Tell Ms. Miles and the rest of the world why Joker should be a free man. Thank you."

At this, a reel of a previous session played, showing the Joker's own testimony. He was tearful, remorseful, and he was actually begging the forgiveness of the city and of his many victims' families. (His most recent crime had caused an explosion on a downtown block, killing several and injuring more.)

The recorded tape being played for the debate class of Gotham High School stopped there, and Barbara Gordon—three weeks out from being a high school graduate on her way to college in the Fall—marveled at the fact that Mrs. Walker even still had the ability to use VHS tapes. She wondered, as the graying, squat woman wheeled away the TV cart, if she knew that recordable DVDs did in fact exist.

"Now, that was yesterday's courtroom session, and wasn't that fascinating?" Walker asked.

An answering snore from somewhere around the back of the room set the students into giggles. Barbara rolled her eyes, but even she fought a grin. Mrs. Walker crossed her arms over her sagging chest, her eyes—sharp like a hawk's and a bright amber that belied her age—focused in on the offending student.

"That will be quite enough. And you'd do well to wake up, since Mr. Murphy just issued your final exam."

Now, the class was filled with murmurs. Barbara—dressed in a pair of black jeans and some band shirt (she didn't really know the band)—sat straighter in her chair. Walker smiled in satisfaction.

"That's right," the teacher nodded. "I want each one of you to write that closing statement. I could guess, honestly, your true opinion on the matter of Joker's guilt or innocence. We all live in the same city. But that's the challenge. Sometimes, in debate, you must argue someone else's point. So, argue his innocence. Argue why he should be free." She checked her watch. "You have about thirty-five minutes left. Start working on your draft. This is due Friday, folks."

Students began to shuffle, flipping over notebooks, grabbing pens and pencils, scribbling or tapping the instrument against a blank page. Barbara, despite trying to appear like a rebel in her black clothes—and her hair dyed black with blood red highlights, rather than her natural ginger-red—was quite the student. Her notebook lay open, her pen laid across the lined paper. She picked it up, blinking at the page.

She was the daughter of the Gotham City Police's Commissioner. To even think of her writing in the Joker's defense was laughable. Really, though they denied it, they even had the damn Bat Signal on the roof of the department's main building—she'd seen it. She became one of the pen-rappers, tapping the end of it rhythmically on the notebook. Beside her, Mrs. Walker swept past. Barbara turned, just a tad, in her seat to look. Sure enough, she was heading toward the snoring student, one Jason Todd. Though her voice was quiet, Barbara could tell that the teacher was chastising him over his behavior—an event that occurred regularly in some classes for him.

Barbara bit her lip. Jason and she had shared classes for the last three years or so, since he had come to Gotham High as the new ward of Boy Billionaire, Bruce Wayne. He easily won people over, always laughing and joking. Even now, he flashed Mrs. Walker a winning smile and spoke softly to her, which seemed to placate her. Barbara averted her gaze when the teacher returned to the front—where Barbara sat—and sat down behind her desk, to pour over paperwork. Sure that Walker wasn't looking, Barbara chanced another glance back at Jason, who had thrown an arm around Karen Taylor—the head cheerleader, of course. It was almost clichéd.

In the three years that she had known Jason, he had talked with her just a handful of times. Mostly when he needed help with homework or something of the like. Barbara, meanwhile, thought he was the most gorgeous boy in school with his chocolate brown hair—cut short—and equally colored eyes. His face was square, already taking on the look of a sophisticated man instead of a high school adolescent. He was her crush, no matter how childish it made her feel to think of it that way… but he never gave her the time of day.

It didn't really set him apart from most of the people in her life. Her father was a bigshot police officer who had worked his way up to Commissioner, where the job was not easier. Her mother was dead—having passed four years ago due to a particularly aggressive cancer. Her father had not seemed too beat-up over it, though—in Barbara's opinion. After all, he stepped out on the then Mrs. Gordon several times after her diagnosis, and before her death. Now, his mistress was Barbara's stepmother, Sarah Essen.

Barbara turned back to her notebook, lifting the pen. A weird feeling overtook her then, following the thought, I had felt crazy. She realized that now, sitting on the cusp of one era of her life ending and another beginning, she still felt a little crazy with the stress of it all. If even one iota of what Joker had said was true in his testimony, where he had mentioned a dead wife and unborn child, then maybe, yes… Barbara could understand. She hunched over her page, placing the ballpoint to the page.

"Everyone has had at least one bad day. Just one bad day where the worst has happened…"

#

Graduation had been a fun affair, surprisingly. Barbara had attended no parties, had had scholarships lavished upon her, and had had her dad make his famous lasagna for dinner that night. Honestly, given everything that had happened the last few years of her life, it was the first truly peaceful night she had had in a while, with both Jim and Sarah telling her how proud they were of her. She tried not to sound resentful when she accepted the praise from Sarah.

Now, just days into being a high school grad, Barbara was antsy. Her dad had told her to waylay taking a summer job, instead wanting her to spend her last "free" summer with him. And, this particular afternoon, he wasn't even home. Instead, she was home alone with Sarah, who had the day off work from the station—where she was lieutenant—watching the last day of Joker's trial on television. Honestly, the fall couldn't come fast enough. Jim had decided to attend the trial that day, and his white hair was easily visible from shots of the back of the gallery on the television. Barbara sat on the opposite end of the couch from her stepmother, neither woman saying anything to the other, simply watching as the lawyers prepared their closing statement.

The DA's statement was one of cold, hard facts. It displayed the Joker as the criminal mastermind she believed he was and asked the jury to finally make Gotham safe again by delivering the verdict this city needed. Once she was seated, looking stony-faced for the camera, Mr. Murphy stood, a piece of folded paper in his hands. Barbara's brows rose. She had forgotten about this, in all the hustle and bustle of graduation. She had forgotten the lawyer's little contest of sorts. He cleared his throat, and Sarah shook her head.

"This ought to be good," Essen muttered.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as you remember, I reached out, three weeks previous, to the citizens of Gotham and asked them to write this statement for me. I've heard some of the thoughts of those here, rest assured. I heard the doubt. But I did receive several such statements… one, however, did catch my eye. Within it, I found the words that have eluded me. That perfectly conveyed why we should have a verdict of not guilty. Now, the true author shall remain anonymous, for reasons I should hope are obvious. But, I submit for the jury, my closing statement, written by one of the city's own."

He cleared his throat again, and then began.

"Everyone has had at least one bad day. Just one bad day where the worst has happened…"

Barbara felt the air being knocked from her lungs. The speech continued on, and it seemed to fully encapsulate her very thoughts. It was hers. He had chosen her speech. Had Mrs. Walker sent it in? Whatever for? The damned teacher had said it herself, she knew people's real feelings behind the Joker. Just because Barbara could understand, just for a minute, didn't make him any less guilty of murder… did it? She dared a glance over at her stepmother, who stared, her lips slightly parted, at the screen. She was clearly fighting a dropped jaw look—shocked that anyone could argue in favor of the Clown Prince of Crime. Barbara felt like an idiot. Murphy came to the close of her paper, after what seemed like an eternity.

"So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, before you make your final decision, ask yourselves these questions: haven't you ever had a very bad day, and if you had had the power to do something about it, wouldn't you have? Thank you."

When Murphy retook his seat, the usually composed Ms. Miles was staring gaped-mouthed at him. The judge banged his gavel, calling for the Jury to now adjourn to deliberate the evidence seen over the trial and the closing arguments to make their decisions. As soon as the jurors began to file out, the media went crazy, snapping pictures and shouting questions in Mr. Murphy's and Ms. Miles's direction. Joker, for his part, sat with his frozen smile, the picture of innocence, beside his lawyer. Sarah shook her head.

"Absolute insanity," she muttered.

Barbara let out a breath she had been holding, feeling dizzy, and hastily excused herself from the room. She didn't stop until she was in her own bedroom with the door shut. She sat down on the edge of her bed and pressed a hand to her heart. The same words played over and over in her mind: her speech, her speech, her speech. What if her father ever found out? She knew, in her logical mind, that this was crazy. They hadn't given her name and said it would remain anonymous for "obvious reasons." Yes, since most of Gotham would want her dead or worse if they ever knew. Not to mention the media frenzy that would follow finding out that the commissioner's own daughter had written in favor of the freaking Joker.

She crawled into her bed, laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She focused on her breathing and nothing else, working it back into a steady rhythm. There was nothing to worry about, she began to tell herself. Nothing at all. She worked these words over in her mind over and over until a pleasant numbness fell over her.

She had no idea how long she was in her room. It didn't seem like long enough when Sarah gently knocked on the door.

"Barbara?"

Barbara sat bolt upright, wondering briefly if she had fallen asleep. "Yeah?"

"Jury's back. They're about to give the verdict. I thought… you might wanna see?"

Barbara glanced over at her alarm clock. It had only been three hours, maybe. A quick verdict. She had no idea what that meant, but she suddenly felt like she had a rock in her gut.

"Yeah," she said, opening the room's door. "Yeah, I wanna see."

She and her stepmother moved up the hall and back into the living room, finding that the jury was already settling back into their seats. Neither Essen nor Barbara sat, instead standing against the back of the couch. Barbara gripped the cushion in her hands as the Foreman stood, a slip of white paper in her hand.

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asked.

"We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant, the Joker… Not guilty, with the stipulation of court mandated therapy."

A roar filled the room, and the judge immediately started banging his gavel, trying to regain order. Barbara swayed on her feet, thankful for her grip on the couch. She glanced over at Sarah, who was now slack jawed. The commotion on the television died down, and the judge cleared his throat.

"Very well. This court is adjourned."

The roar started again, and Barbara's heart hammered against her chest. The Joker was a free man.

Because of her.