Harley-girl.

The Joker's voice ricocheted around Harleen's mind like a bullet fired in a metal room.

Oh Harley-girrrrl.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound crashed through her mind every time he spoke, his yellowed teeth crashing against each other with every word. Chains rustled, and metal groaned. His lips cracked.

Harleen woke from her fitful sleep breathlessly. Wanting him as her patient had been a mistake. Her realisation was resolute and with a clarity that didn't often register so soon after waking. He was under her skin and she'd let him get there after one session. One.

He was good. She'd give him that.

Arkham was a challenging place to work. She always knew it would be and she knew every psychiatrist had their Achilles' tendon of a patient. Perhaps the clown was hers. There were worse people to be affected by. Arkham housed a lot of D-list super villain patients. Or at least that's what Vikki Vale and Jack Ryder claimed. So at least her distress was at the hands of the Joker and not someone like Firefly or Killer Moth. That would just. be embrassing.

Nevertheless, she had to get out.

Harleen had given up in her life before and the memory still lived within her like a black stain. Regret and resentment tangible entities that had consumed her at one time in her life. The thought of losing the clown prince of crime triggered that familiar caustic taste in her mouth. Could she really endure reliving that?

Could she miss the opportunity to not hear his secrets? The Jokers voice resounded in her mind once more, promising her conversation and secrets, luring her back into the interview room with him for another session. If she cracked the Joker, even if she just got him to open up a little, she would be made for life. Could Harleen really just let that opportunity slip her by? Fat. Chance.

No.

Her pale hands reached out clumsily for the mobile phone on her bedside table. She had to tell Joan about the rose now. Before she argued herself into keeping him.

Harleen knocked over the glass of water she'd placed there, "shit." She hissed, lunging for the cup in a futile attempt to catch it. Instead she knocked her head on the sharp corner of the table. A shooting pain burst across her forehead. Cursing again she rolled back over into bed. "God dammit Harl." She groaned through gritted teeth.

Ignoring the spilled water, she clicked her phone on. The screen blared to life, the bright light blinding her for a moment. Squinting she made out the time.

03:09am.

Ok maybe she couldn't text Joan right now. That conversation would have to wait until morning. Grumbling she dumped the phone back on the table, wondering if there was much point in trying to fall back asleep. Her heart was still pounding and her breath ragged. She felt more awake now than she had after her coffee the morning before.

The young doctor headed into her bathroom, took a couple of sleeping pills and set another alarm for herself in the morning. If she couldn't sleep naturally she'd force it. This was something Harleen could control this.

Harleen didn't wake up for her alarm. Nor did she wake up for the second. In fact, she snoozed through irritating siren a whole four times before she leapt out of bed in a panic and threw on her clothes. She'd never make it through Gotham rush hour to Arkham on time.

At times like this she hated how far the institution was from the city. For the most part, like every other Gothamite, she appreciated the distance because of the meagre protection it offered them. At least when there was a riot or breakout at Arkham the remoteness provided a buffer zone before it spilt into the city. That and it was a manageable area for the bat to patrol with his black cowl and iron fist.

Dr. Quinzel stepped on the gas, willing the traffic lights in her path to turn green. Though she wasn't usually an aggressive or pushy driver, she couldn't stand being late.

Harleen was not usually one for road rage. She just didn't see the point in steaming within her car, stuck in a line of traffic spewing vitriol at other drivers that were nothing but a passing interaction in her life. But, when a car cut her up at the roundabout to Westward Bridge causing her to smear her lipstick across her cheek she forgot that entirely.

Harleen wrenched her steering wheel to the left and slammed on her breaks. "Fuck!" She screeched, slamming the wheel. She hit the wheel with her palms again before revving up aggressively and chasing the offending car down. She blared her horn at them a little too long before continuing her journey as though nothing had happened. Her erratic behaviour had surprised her. She decided to ignore it and concentrate on cleaning her face and getting to work as soon as possible. Everyone had their moments, right?

Running late, Harleen burst through the front door of Arkham. Her necktie was askew, and her white shirt rumpled and unironed. The blonde over-achiever didn't quite look like the put together professional young woman she had carefully sculpted over the past few years of her career. At least the lipstick was gone.

She just hoped she wouldn't be late for her first appointment as she signed in at the reception desk. Her signature more of a scrawl, as opposed to the perfected autograph that she'd perfected in secondary school, as she rushed.

"Do you know where Dr. Leland is?" Harleen asked the receptionist urgently. She did not have much time to get her appointment switched and she wanted to sort it immediately. The receptionist looked at her blankly. "Joan Leland?" Harleen affirmed.

The receptionist rolled her seat back slightly, chewing her gum a little too loudly. "Joan was put on leave yesterday. I thought you'd know."

The colour drained from Harleen's face. How could she have forgotten? She had been there the moment Jeremiah Arkham had told Joan to take some time off. It was all because of Dr. Wilson. Was that who she was going to be next? Another Dr. Wilson.

Harleen didn't feel like she could take this to Dr. Arkham and all she knew of her new mentor, Dr. Penelope Young, was that she was arrogant and dismissive. It looked like she might have to go through with the sessions after all. At least until Joan was back.

Harleen made a mental note to text Joan and ask her how she was. Maybe they could meet for a drink during her time off. Perhaps the older woman could still help keep her grounded. Keep her sane.

"Ah, of course. I'm such a ditz sometimes." She chirped, laughter colouring her tone. The receptionist stared at her blankly again. It was then that Harleen noticed the magazine the woman had attempted to conceal beneath Arkham paperwork. The blonde sighed before turning on her heel and marching to her office. She had to collect her files before meeting her first patient in session. At least it might keep her distracted until she saw the Joker that afternoon.

Dr. Crane had been waiting in the room for ten minutes before she arrived. It wasn't usual for the Arkham staff to keep their patients waiting. It often happened the other way around, but this was a rarity. Harleen apologised as she entered the room. The apology was genuine. She liked Crane; despite his actions.

He nodded in response, waiting for her to sit down and gather herself before he spoke. His eyes flicked up to her forehead which sported a purple bruise and a right-angle puncture. Had someone lay hands on his student-doctor?

Harleen noticed his gaze land on her forehead. Her hand absently reached for the spot and she winced once she found it. "Ow." She murmured. She'd forgotten completely about banging her head in the night. She'd have to cover it once this session finished.

Crane didn't ask about the wound. Instead he leaned across the table. His restraints kept him firmly held in place. Harleen knew she was safe and was undaunted by his advance.

"You ever been in a building you know is empty? I mean really, empty. Things creak, and the darkness moves." Dr. Crane licked his chapped lips, his blue eyes wild. "You know you're imagining it all, but your heart still skips a beat as your primeval survival instinct kicks in." Harleen had felt it last night. She knew exactly what he was talking about. The question was, did he recognise that in her?

Harleen peered over her thick black glasses at the gaunt man she used to admire. It was a shame he'd ended up here. His descent into madness never had sat quite right with her. She was just lucky she had never been one of his direct students. They were the first people that he'd tested his fear gas on. Some of them had been friends of hers.

"Why is this important to you Dr. Crane?" She asked in an even tone. Drawing her pen across her notepad.

Where was he going with this? She wondered. What exactly did he think he knew about her? Or was she just being incredibly paranoid? "What do you mean by that?"

"People mistakenly think we are special because we're human. They're wrong." He emphasised his point by slamming the desk. Crane's eyes flicked up to the camera monitoring them apologetically. He stilled in his seat, not wanting to end the session prematurely. "We're no better than animals you see." He bared his teeth. "We areanimals. Don't forget that Dr. Quinzel."

Harleen watched him closely, "do you think I forget that?"

Something in Crane's eyes changed. "No. I think you know you're an animal like the rest of us." The shamed psychiatrist stretched his arms out as wide as his chains allowed him to, gesturing to Arkham itself. "Welcome to the mad house doctor, do try not to make yourself too at home."

Harleen bristled. She had been Dr. Crane's psychiatrist for one special session every month. She was not his permanent doctor, but she was a part of his programmed therapy. Dr. Leland had hoped she might remind him of everything he used to have, of everything he used to fight for. Harleen had managed to make some progress with him and so their sessions had continued. This was their 8th session to date.

"I know we met a few times when I was a student, but I think you presume to know more about me than you do." Harleen's tone was strict. She'd already made mistakes with the Joker. She didn't intend to lose her professional quality with another patient.

"I think you presume to know more about me than you do if you still think I'm the same man I was then." He retorted, lips pursing as though he was disappointed with her.

Touché.

The question escaped her painted lips before she had the chance to consider her words. "Why do you think I'd make myself at home here?"

Crane smirked. "Is it not obvious?"

Harleen folded her arms, "no." She stated defensively.

Jonathan tutted. She felt like she was in his guest lecture again. Her notepad wasn't a record of their session, but the notebook she kept in her student days. He had made so many valid points back then. Now he was just confusing her, and she didn't know what to write.

He relaxed into his chair, his gaze lazily finding her. "You belong here."

Harleen scoffed, "if you're trying to identify my darkest fear here Jonathan, you've failed." She threw his modus operandi on the table. Hoping that was what he was reaching for. Jonathan had a nasty talent for identifying a person's weakness and exploiting it. And that was without his fear gas.

His smirk widened, "oh I have? Are you certain about that Harley?"

Harleen stood up, eyes darkening. "That concludes our session Johnathan. Sargent Cash!" She called. The officer stormed in, hand on his holster. His eyes locked on Crane but flashed over to the doctor once he realised he was calm.

"He needs a time out." She said coolly, gathering her things before she stood up. "Put him in segregation."

"Doctor," Crane pleaded, appealing to her sensibilities. Harleen just gave him a hard stare.

Aaron Cash nodded, if she said he did he must. He was just here to follow orders and the doctors knew best. Yet he saw something in Quinzel's eyes he hadn't seen before that made him question it. It must have been nothing. She was sweet and kind. Hell, she'd had lunch with him at least once every week during her residency. She was one of the good ones. Yeah. She was.

"Crane you're with me." Aaron commanded, heading over to him.

She said nothing, just watched Crane stand. His blue eyes pierced her own and she felt a second of guilt. It didn't matter. She had bigger fish to fry.