I own nothing to do with Suicide Squad. I am just obsessed with Harley and the Joker, so much so that I'm inspired to write about them though English isn't my native language. Hope it isn't too bad.

When The Lines Blur

Arkham Asylum, the one of Gotham's main establishments that housed the mentally insane, which had been established in 1803, was in the upper part of Gotham, a twenty minute drive from Harleen Quinzel's apartment. Harleen reached it flushed and unprepared, having been called in during a heavy morning session at the gym. She felt uncomfortably sticky with sweat in the blue ruffled blouse and knee-length skirt she had thrown on in the last minute. She hadn't even had time to shower to rinse all the sweat off when she was called in.

Once she reached the doors, she took the moment to flatten down her hair and to adjust her glasses before pushing inside with a hand, slipping her handbag over her shoulder. Arkham Asylum always had a constant, eerie feel about it; a feeling that wouldn't seem to disappear even although Harleen had been inside it probably more than six times now. That was probably because the building hadn't been updated in a long time, aside from random maintenance of the plumbing and pipes. The building always had a chill to it, and the windows tended to whistle from the wind constantly.

"Morning," she greeted, nodding her head to a few of the male guards as she passed them in the hallway on her way to the office of the Head Chief of the Asylum.

Once she reached his office, she paused for a moment to straighten out the bottom of her blouse to rid it on wrinkles, noticing drips of water rolling down the wall. She glanced up, seeing the damp spot of green mold festering on the ceiling. The building was literally falling apart, and it disgraced Harleen that the government would allow patients to be housed in such insanitary conditions. Not that she had any choice but to grin and bear it. She didn't even know who to raise the subject to.

She knocked, then once he called for her to enter, Harleen stepped in, finding him seated behind his cluttered desk. Jack Killion was Head of Arkham Asylum, the man in charge. He looked roughly in his early fifties, his hair salt and pepper grey and greasy. He must have had a bad acne problem as a kid, Harleen believed, because his cheeks and skin bore pitted scars.

"Good morning," she said, politely but nervously. When he had called her, he had sounded urgent on the phone, though Harleen didn't have a clue what it was all about. He had told her to come to the Asylum immediately. The first call, she had missed, which had made him have to call her again. She had been too distracted with working out to notice her cell was ringing. "I apologize for taking so long to answer your call, so forgive my tardiness," she said, feeling the need to explain. "Today was meant to be my day off. I wasn't expecting it."

"Yes. Caught you at an inconvenient moment, did I, Dr. Quinzel?"

"Yeah, ya did." Harleen's cheeks reddened slightly. "I was... at the gym when ya called actually. Didn't even hear my phone go off the first time."

"Of course. Have to keep that body nice and tight somehow, don't you?" The remark was off-hand, but it made Harleen bristle. Sexism was rife in the Asylum. Apart from a woman who worked there doing clerical duties, Harleen was the only other woman. "Please, take a seat. A job came up that I thought you would be interested in."

Harleen slipped her bag off her shoulder, dumping it on the ground before sitting. She pulled down her skirt modestly over her kneecaps, then interlaced her fingers in her lap. It wasn't very often she had been assigned a job, if ever. When a job came up, Harleen was often overlooked by someone with more experience and qualifications.

"You studied and majored in psychology, didn't you?"

"Yes, that's right, sir. I studied for six years at Gotham State University."

"But you have no prior experience with an actual patient? You haven't had a case as yet?"

"That's right, but I'm very eager to," she assured him, her fingers twitching in her lap. "Itching to, in fact. I know I'm ready for this."

Killion smiled a little, rifling through a dossier on his desk. "Have you heard of The Joker? Our patient that was institutionalized here over three months ago?"

Harleen felt her heart race at the mention of The Joker, as well as some apprehension too. There was not many people in Gotham City that hadn't heard of The Joker. He was infamous. "'Course I've heard about him," she admitted with a short, uneasy laugh. "Hasn't everybody? Don't they call him the Clown Prince of Crime these days?"

"That's right. Well, things fell through with his previous psychiatrist, Dr. Scanlon. Dr. Scanlon, as you know, pulled out of offering The Joker treatment early."

Harleen had been introduced to Dr. Scalon and knew him vaguely. She had heard from another colleague at the Asylum that he had resigned barely two weeks after having been giving The Joker's case. Though nobody said what the true reason was for it, Harleen had suspected that The Joker must have been too much for the man. "I heard Dr. Scanlon retired after two weeks of being given The Joker as a patient, yes."

"He's earned quite the reputation of being difficult; unlike any other previous patient we've had in here. Dr. Scanlon, a usually otherwise healthy man, has been treated for anxiety just recently. I'm certain The Joker had something to do with that."

Harleen wondered if this was his way of trying to throw her off the case. It only made her feel more determined. She'd sat in while watching a few of the Doctor's do their thing with the patient's, and knew this was where she wanted to be. She wanted to be the one that gets to crack them. Not just sit in and play a small part of observing them. This was her one chance to do what she wanted to do. She couldn't back out now, no matter how trying The Joker had seemed in reputation.

"So why me?" she asked Killion, steering the conversation onto other ground. "Why have I been chosen for this?"

"Mainly because you're the only person we have available with the credentials to do this," he admitted grimly. "And, not only that, but... we've decided to test the waters and see how he would respond to a different approach."

Harleen lifted her brows questioningly. "And what approach is that, sir?"

"We want to see how he would respond to a female's touch. He hasn't had a female psychiatrist trying to treat him before, you see. We wondered if... he would perhaps respond differently."

"Right. And so you want me to give him a psychiatric evaluation? The whole nine yards?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Killion nodded. "But more than anything, we want to see him open up a little. He's yet to get personal. Dr. Scanlon already established that the patient showed signs of narcissism, of being a sociopath."

"Ah, but don't they all in here?" Harleen remarked, unsurprised.

Killion leaned forward over the desk, focusing a stern, severe look on Harleen. Just the look alone made her feel slightly daunted about taking the case. The minimal lighting in his office did not do him any favors. It accentuated the bags under his eyes, the marks in his cheeks and chin. "You are aware of the program we offer here for all our employees, aren't you, Dr. Quinzel? Counselling lessons, free of charge, so that when you go home, you don't take your work home with you. I advise you to consider it while undergoing treatment with the patient."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because- and I don't say this lightly- this patient is unlike any other you will have ever met before. I know you've sat in with a few of the other patients while the Doctors did their treatment, but observing is far different from being the one sitting in the chair, treating the patient. The patient is highly unpredictable and unstable. After what happened with Dr. Scanlon and the severe declining of his mental health after attempting to treat The Joker for only a short period, I urge you to speak to a counselor after each session."

"I'll look into it," Harleen agreed to placate him.

"When you do go in to have a session with him, be mindful not to disclose any information with him."

Harleen tilted her head to the side, a loose tendril of her hair falling in front of her face. Hastily, she lifted a hand, tucking it back behind her ear neatly. "What sort of information in particular?"

"Personal information, mostly. Don't talk about yourself to him. It will only give him ammunition, and you don't want to let him get inside your head. I believe I've already said enough on what happened to Dr. Scanlon."

"What exactly happened with Dr. Scanlon?" Harleen couldn't help asking. She was curious. "You said he suffered severe mental decline? How did that happen?"

"Well, it appeared The Joker got Dr. Scanlon into speaking about his private life. About his wife, and two young daughters. He put their lives in jeopardy."

"Well, lucky for me then," Harleen said lightly. "I've got nothing he can hurt me with. I don't got children, I don't got much family left aside from my... my father which wouldn't even be worth talking about. He's got nothin' to work with from me."

"Still, I advise against telling him any specific details about yourself. After all, the patient doesn't have all the right screws in his head," Killion insisted, eyeing her seriously. "Another thing, he'll be properly restrained at all times, so you won't need to worry that he may cause any threat to your person-hood."

"Restrained, how?"

"The usual, foolproof and hardy method. Straight jacket." Killion sighed, straightening in his chair. "You'll also have a guard for your own personal safety observing you while you undergo your sessions with him in the treatment room. If anything happens, the guard will be straight in to sedate him."

Harleen pressed her lips together, uncertain on whether to speak. Then she bit it out, "And is that necessary? If he's already restrained in his straight jacket, then why the guard?"

"You need to start taking this seriously, Dr. Quinzel. Question him, try to get inside his head, make your evaluation. But do not, under any circumstances, forget what he is, who he is."

"And who is he?"

"He's The Joker. A sociopath, a monster."

"Right." Harleen uncrossed her leg over the other, leaning forward. "So when do ya want me to start?"

"Right now, in fact." Killion stood, walking over the desk, standing over her. "I think its best if you jump in immediately. That way, it will quell your second thoughts."

XXXX

Harleen felt as if her heart was going to jump out of her chest as she met up with one the guards in the Asylum, as per Killion's instructions, to take her to meet her first patient. She flinched when the guard slammed shut the first set of heavy steel gates, the metal clanging brutally in her ears.

She had tucked between her arms the dossier of notes Dr. Scanlon had written and recorded down previously with the patient, as well as a clipboard and pencil to record some notes of her own. It had all happened so quickly that Harleen almost felt she was in a surreal, dream-like state. Finally, she had her first patient and it was none other than the high-profile, notorious Joker himself.

"I pity you," the guard said as she followed behind him briskly along the cracked stone walkway. He had gum in his mouth, irritating Harleen with each way he sloppily and noisily chewed. "I pity you for having your first patient being someone so nutso as The Joker. It's gonna be hard work for you."

Harleen set her jaw, shrugging the comment off bravely. Maybe more bravely than she truly felt inside. "I like hard work. Makes ya feel more determined to do the job right."

"Yeah, well." The man laughed, a grating sound. "Good luck with that!" Once the guard stopped laughing, he coughed several times. A smoker, Harleen observed. The man reeked of nicotine. There was no wondering where he went off to on his breaks. Then again, maybe a job like this would drive somebody to pick up the habit? "Can't say I'm surprised that they signed you on," the man went on muttering.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's never had a female psychiatrist before." He glanced at her, running his eyes down her blouse. "Bet you're here to turn him on, so to speak. Don't think he's even been in contact with a woman in all the times he's been here, if the freak even gets turned on by anyone, that is."

Harleen bit down on her tongue to stop herself from throwing a caustic remark back his way. Sexist pig, she thought. Why doesn't that surprise me? "Oh, no, I can assure you my gender played no role in why Killion hired me for this," Harleen said, though she was mindful to keep her voice professional. It didn't phase her all that much, the man coming to that conclusion; She'd had her fair deal of people assuming she was a ditsy blonde. "He's seen my credentials and how invested I am in getting a case. I majored in psychologyy, that's why. I daresay its for my smarts more so than anything else." She forced a smile on her lips. "Thanks for the compliment though."

They reached the end of the hallway to where a steel door was and a large window, covered in security glass. When Harleen glanced towards it, she felt winded by the sight. Her first patient, The Joker, was in the windowless room, seated at the only few pieces of furniture in the room, at a desk in a fold-out chair. Just as Killion had assured her, he was strapped in a straight jacket as a precaution. Harleen had read all about The Joker, though she hadn't seen the man in flesh before. Now she was getting her first view.

She wasn't sure what she had expected. From what little miniature light was thrown onto him, she could see he was pale, his hair slicked back and a vibrant green. She found him unusual, to say the least. His appearance. Still, it was so good to finally be able to put a face to the infamous name.

"Good luck with the clown," the guard said, though it sounded insincere.

Harleen went on as though she hadn't heard him, pressing the button that buzzed her in. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed her way inside, closing the door. The instance it closed, she heard the lock click into place.

Harleen became hyper-aware of herself breathing far too loudly and shallowly as she turned to face The Joker. She hadn't noticed it until then, but she saw that his ankles were shackled to the chair. Another precaution, no doubt. At the sound of her heels clicking slowly towards him, the man moved his head, looking at her. She stopped a distance away from him, meeting his stare, warning herself not to glance away.

She was fully determined to treat him like a normal human being, which he was in truth. He was human like the rest of them, no matter his diagnosis. He deserved to be treated as such, with respect and care.

Harleen went to speak, yet words wouldn't formulate. She had to clear her throat.

"Good morning," she said, pleased her voice sounded all right. "I'm Doctor Quinzel and I'll be your new therapist." She pretended to hesitate by the chair that was tucked into the steel table in front of her, throwing a glance at the man out of the corner of her eye. He was still watching her- devouring her, in fact, with his bright blue eyes, as if she was a piece of food. "Firstly, you mind if I sit?"

It was a trick Harleen had read about in one of her books, where you asked the patient for permission to do certain things. It made the patient feel they had a certain spectrum of control in the situation and tempted them to open up more. It was all part of gaining trust, and Harleen hadn't felt so thankful for doing her research into psychology as she did now.

The Joker's bright red lips parted, and Harleen thought she saw a flash of metal. He jerked his head towards the tucked-in chair, though his gaze never left hers. "By all means, Doctor. You go right ahead."

His voice stunned her. It was not at all what she had been expecting, for some reason. It was throaty and high-pitched. For some reason, Harleen had been expecting it to sound different.

He's a normal person, Harleen thought to herself reassuringly as she placed the dossier and her clipboard onto the cool metal table. There's no need to feel intimidated.

The chair legs gave off a horrible screech as she pulled it back, and she sat slowly, noticing how uncomfortable the chair and room was in general. The coldness of the metal chair seeped straight through her skirt, making her shiver. Harleen could feel little goosebumps rise along her arms and legs.

"Oooh," The Joker purred out, and when Harleen lifted her gaze to stare at him through the discs of her glasses, she saw he was still staring at her, evaluating her. "I caught that, Doctor."

"Pardon me?" A nervous laugh escaped her. Already, this was not going the way she had thought it would. The session. "Caught what?"

"That itty, bitty little shiver running through ya." He leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow, his eyes burning into Harleen's. "Ya scared already?" A laugh escaped his mouth and Harleen couldn't say she was expecting his laugh to sound like that, either. It was neither scary nor unnerving. If anything, it was rather... pleasant. Slow. Genuine.

Harleen straightened in the chair, trying to keep her expression neutral. "And what gave you the impression that I was shivering 'cause I was scared?"

Narcissistic, Harleen immediately recalled Killion telling her that The Joker had been diagnosed with narcissism. He expected her to be afraid of him- that she was shivering all because of him. Definitely signs of narcissism.

"What if my shivering has nothin' to do with you?" She pulled down the sleeves on her blouse, then rubbed her hands together over the top of the table, making sure he saw that very clearly. "What if I'm just cold, huh?" She bit her lip, running her eyes over his face. He definitely was peculiar, yet a part of Harleen found him immediately undeniably fascinating.

He had a tattoo on his forehead. Damaged, it said, in thin ink. He also had a J tattoo below his left eye, on his cheekbone. When his lips parted further and broke out into a grin, Harleen realized her first suspicions were correct. He had what looked like metal-capped teeth. A grill, like someone from a ghetto. A gangster rapper. Interesting. The private thought amused her.

Harleen cleared her throat again, her mouth feeling suddenly dry as she fumbled around, grabbing her pencil and sliding the papers in front of her. "You mind if I ask you a few questions just to get things started?"

"Oh, here we go," he grumbled in a sing-song voice gruffly. "That same old song and dance. Is that the way its gonna be, Doctor?" When Harleen turned up her gaze to peer up at him through her glasses, he rolled his eyes at her. "How do you feel? How do you truly, truly, deeply feel?" His voice was mocking, his lips parted in a small grin. He was restless; As restless as he could be, restrained. His shoulders moved in the heavily padded straight-jacket, his head twitching. A short laugh escaped him as he bent forward, his head inches from hers as he barked out, "Blah, blah, blah! Boring!"

Harleen tried to hold his gaze steadily as much as possible. "Actually, I was gonna ask ya what you would prefer to be called?" He leaned back in the seat and Harleen was privately proud that she had seemed to catch him off-guard. "Do you have any preference? Do you prefer to be called... The Joker or is there somethin' else?"

"What? Ya gonna make up a nickname for me?"

"How about... Mr. J?" she asked off the top of her head. Rapport. She was trying to establish rapport. "Does that sound good to you? Mr. J?"

"Well, well, well!" He laughed again, glancing around the room. "Gotta say I'm impressed, Doctor!" His eyes fell on the glass and Harleen looked herself. She could see the guard standing outside, looking in. Waiting for a sign that Harleen needed his assistance. Harleen wondered if he was eavesdropping, if he could hear what they were saying or whether the security glass was also soundproof. When The Joker's eyes landed on Harleen again, his eyes narrowed at her. "Who put you up to this, hmm? Did they, uh... put ya on the assignment? Them big bosses?"

"Put me on an assignment?" Harleen repeated, squinting at him in confusion as she tilted her head to the side. "What ya mean?"

"Ya not truly a real Doctor, are ya?" His voice went lower, the words being flung at her so rapidly that Harleen had to listen carefully to keep up. "Your one of those... uh, actresses, right? The good old boss put ya onto me, didn't he?" The Joker glanced towards the glass again, a full wide grin stretching his lips. "Ya almost got me!" Harleen wasn't sure whether he was talking to her or to the guard outside the glass, but she noticed he seemed suddenly agitated in disposition. "Well, at least your prettier than the other Doctor, but ya aren't a real Doctor, are ya?"

Paranoid. Harleen mentally added another symptom to his diagnosis. He didn't seem to have complete grasp on reality.

"Actually, I am a real Doctor. Like I told ya when I first came in here, I'm Doctor Quinzel and I've been assigned your new therapist."

"No, no, no, no, no," he muttered under his breath. "Ya can't be a Doctor! Your an actress. A pretty, little actress that the big boss set onto me!" He sounded so convinced.

Forgetting herself, Harleen reached down, grabbing her badge with her credentials to show him. Killion's words of warning seemed to fly completely past her head as she showed The Joker her badge as proof. Her badge just had her credentials, her full name, and her date of birth. Nothing that she felt was too personal or risky for him to know about her. He leaned forward in the chair again as she held the badge up to him, his nose inches away from the laminated card.

"See? Ya happy now?" She watched his face as The Joker's eyes scanned her badge, his tongue swooping out to moisten his lips absently while he did it. "I'm not actress, I can assure you. I'm the real deal." Seeing that he had finished reading it, she put the badge away, relieved that The Joker fell immediately quiet, put in his place by the evidence.

"Well, aren't I lucky then?" The Joker seemed to look at her in a brand new light, his eyes inspecting her face intensely. "Isn't today my lucky day, Harleen Quinzel?"

The way her full name fell from his lips, from his voice, it made her blood run cold. For a moment there, Harleen was frantic, wondering how he knew her real name. Then she remembered it was on her name badge.

"Harleen Quinzel," he repeated again, and again, as if testing the name out on his tongue. "What a pretty name you have there, Harleen Quinzel. Do ya friends call you Harley?"

"Oh, I... I don't have a lot of friends." Harleen felt a light blush creep onto her face at the words, mostly due to both shame and embarrassment more than anything else.

She despised how quick she had been to answer him, but it was a pitiful truth. She really didn't have any friends. Her days consisted of work, going to gym, then coming home, watching real-life documentaries on murder cases or reading theory. Most women viewed her as competition and most men, they saw her as a pretty face- someone they would have preferred to sleep with rather than keep as a friend.

"Well, Harley, ya got one now. Ya got a friend in me."

Harleen pushed up her glasses, a light, happy feeling developing in her chest.

She was flattered by the offer, regardless of the man being known as a sociopath. After all, friends were hard to come by. And if The Joker regarded her as a friend, what if that was all that was needed for her to have a significant breakthrough with his case?

"So why does a thing like you not have a lot of friends?" He was trying to understand, Harleen realized, and it was so nice that someone was trying to for once.

"Well, you got more than just a thirty minute session for me to answer that in full depth?" She retorted under her breath, with a forced laugh. He didn't laugh along with her this time. No, Harleen noticed he was watching her with nothing but eagerness, as if she was only one in the room. Which she was, but still. It was flattering, how captivated he seemed to be by her. "Well, I suppose you could say that a lot of women are intimidated by me," she admitted, blowing out a gush of air through her lips. "And men, they don't wanna be friends. I've been..." She hesitated, wondering if it was right to say. "I've been told by quite a few boy's that I'm not the sort of woman you wanna make friends with."

She wasn't supposed to be doing this. She was supposed to be the one asking him the questions, but it felt so good, having someone there, actually listening to her.

"I remember, in high school actually, there was this one boy that I was interested in being friends with," she continued, getting lost in the memory. Even still to this day, it stung. "I thought we were cool, but then he out of the blue upright told me he didn't wanna be friends with me anymore, that I'm just the air-headed hot girl, not the girl you wanna be friends with but the one you wanna sleep with." She barely remembered just who she was talking to when she felt her eyes glaze over with tears. "So yeah, that's why a woman like me doesn't have many friends. I'm just... not a person ya wanna be friends with apparently."

"Hmm, sounds very... lonely?" The Joker said.

"Yeah. Yeah, you have...no idea how lonely it is, believe me."

When Harleen fell silent, suddenly self-conscious, she inhaled in deeply, trying to get her head straight. Killion would be so mad if he found out what she was doing, divulging in details of life with her patient. But it helped. It was like an invisible weight was being flung right off her back.

Sorry I've started writing another story. There are probably a lot of stories like this, where its set around Harley and Joker in the Asylum as psychiatrist and patient, but I couldn't help writing one of my own. Would love to know what you think. I hope its true to character to some extent, and also, apologies again if my English isn't all that great. Merci!