I'm incredibly sorry for the extra long wait. I hope you're all still here with me. x

They think I'm insane.

They think my lover is strange.

But I don't have to fucking tell them anything.

- Halsey, Strange Love

Harleen woke the next morning like a dead hooker, curled up on an unfamiliar kitchen counter with vomit in her hair. She felt like somebody had beat the shit out of her, from the way her body ached. But the headache that she was rocking — oh, a headache was a gentle way of putting it — it told her that the only thing she was suffering from was a wicked hangover.

With blue eyes squinting, Harleen forced herself to lift up her head and nearly toppled to the ground from the wave of dizziness. The cold marble she had passed out on was smudged with lipstick and slick with her sweat. She ran her fingernails over whatever was itching at the back of her neck — was that dried-up blood?

"What the fuck are you doing up there?"

She didn't need to look up. By now, Joker's voice lived and thrived in the depths of her brain, poisonous and demented. So she groaned and set her head back down. Sure, the counter was majorly uncomfortable, but it was keeping her grounded.

"Ungh."

Unbeknownst to Harleen, Joker was sporting only a white towel around his hips as he approached her, his swagger lazy from the early hour. Peering down at her, he smirked.

With the way her golden dress had ridden up around her hips, he had a fantastic view of her panty-covered ass, and he could still see the small welts and fading bruises from when he had punished her.

Fucking delicious.

It made him lick his lips and roll back his shoulders, proud of himself. He gave her beaten ass a firm smack out of boredom and she yelped in pained surprise.

He snickered through capped teeth, "Get off of my counter, Harley-girl. You're disgusting."

"You're disgusting," Harleen shot back weakly, and she heard him laugh his Harleen-laugh. Light, genuine, low. She hated the way it made her smile. "What time is it?"

He opened the refrigerator and got himself a bottle of water. "Time for you to get a watch."

"Shit." Harleen's arms trembled as she pushed herself up. "I work today. Shit. Shit." The cool tile against her feet when she got down made her shiver. "I can't miss another session with Crane," she mumbled to herself, starting to look around for her shoes.

Joker choked on the water he was drinking. Tight panic lodged abruptly in his throat as he whipped around, dark circles under deep-set eyes. "Did you say Crane?"

Bang. Harleen managed to stub her pinky toe on the coffee table. Crying out, she fell back onto the couch and gripped at her foot, whimpering. "Ow!"

"Harley," Joker growled, rounding the corner with a purpose. "I asked you a question."

Blinking away tears, Harleen looked up at him and got an eye-full of his toned body. For a moment she thought he was naked. Her mouth went dry. "…Huh?"

His hand shot out and gripped at her chin, forcing Harleen to look up at him properly. Her lingering glance was flattering, but now was not the time. "Are you treating Jonathan Crane?"

Harleen winced, the sudden jerking motion amplifying her headache. "Yeah. He was given to me once you…" She gave him a vague hand motion. "Left."

Fury spread like wildfire through his veins. White-hot, making him lightheaded. He ripped away from her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harleen watched him pace, lipstick smeared over her cheek, neck covered in her own blood. She was starting to feel nauseous again. The motivation to go to Arkham was growing dim as she raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you care?"

How Jonathan Crane had gotten thrown into Arkham Asylum baffled Joker. He was a previous psychologist, not unlike Harleen, with a genius-level intellect and a handsome face. But despite his soft-spoken, gentlemanly demeanor, Crane was a master of psychological warfare. The shit the guy came up with was magnificent — hallucinogenics that made fear nearly tangible — but Joker didn't want it anywhere near his Harley.

Grey eyes flitted over Harleen's neck, over the initial he had drunkenly carved. There as no fucking way he would allow Crane to tamper with his property.

"I forbid it," Joker told her in a dangerous octave. He pointed at her angrily. "Tell Arkham to give him to somebody else."

He forbid it? Harleen couldn't help but scoff. "Look, Mistah J. Whatever we got goin' on here?" She motioned between the two of them. "It's after-hours. It doesn't include my job."

"This isn't up for negotiation, little girl," Joker snarled, plagued with deranged scenarios of Harleen wailing in fear, of Crane turning her into his lab rat. His pulse rushed. "He'll tear you apart."

"God forbid some other psycho gets in my brain, right?" Harleen sneered. She didn't want to be here anymore. It was too early. It was hard to think straight when her head throbbed every time she blinked. So she stood and picked up her heels.

Joker worked his jaw in frustration, wishing he could cut himself open to rid himself of the squeezing in his chest. "Harley…"

"You think I can't handle it, or somethin'?" Harleen frowned, body-language tight with hurt. When he didn't reply, she turned to leave. "Well, screw you. That's real shitty."

All of this unfamiliar emotion was starting to make him sweat. He let out a roar of exasperation and slammed his fist against the wall, his voice strangled, "Don't you see I'm trying to protect you?"

Harleen halted at his words. Protect. The word made her feel warm all over. She looked over her shoulder, expression softening. "You mean that?"

With his teeth bared, Joker rolled his neck and looked up at the ceiling. Maybe he should just shoot the bitch himself. Surely that would rid him of whatever the hell was tormenting him. She was making him weak.

Jonny Frost bounded up the stairs, gun in hand. The loud bang Joker had created when he punched the wall had alarmed him. His dark eyes moved between the two. The blonde his boss demanded on spending time with really did look like a clown, with her smudged mascara and smeared lipstick.

"Boss?"

Disgusted with himself, Joker cracked his knuckles, lip curling. He needed to kill something. Blow something up. Make something bleed. "Take her home."

And with that, he stomped away into his office and slammed the door behind him.

Harleen ducked her head and bit her lip, color in her cheeks, and kept a stupid little smile on her face all the way home.

Even after showering away the blood and grime and puke and swallowing three Advil, Harleen was nowhere near able to return to work. She was getting abs from all of the dry-heaving. So Harleen put on her best scratchy throat and called Arkham's personal cell, effectively convincing him that she had a cold. Which earned her a lecture on responsibility, but Harleen endured it. At least she could spend the rest of the day in bed.

The next day, Harleen drove through the rickety gates of Arkham bright and early, wanting to get a head-start on the work she had left behind. Surely Joan Leland had gloated in her absence. She had tended to play up any sign of Harleen's vulnerability.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Joan wanted her fired.

Like hell was Harleen going to let that happen. She didn't go to college for six years to have her ass handed to her by some stuck-up bitch in an expensive pants suit.

Needless to say, Harleen was glowing with pride when she had completed what she had missed before the clock struck twelve. And she would have finished even sooner, if Joker's words hadn't been ringing in her ears.

Don't you see that I'm trying to protect you?

Nibbling on the top of her pen, she allowed herself to zone out. Harleen couldn't decide what to daydream about more: the possessive look in Joker's eyes last they spoke, or his V-shaped hips peeking out from under that little towel.

She melted in her seat. Fuck. She was so, so screwed.

"I don't see how Arkham keeps you here when all you do is slack off."

Joan's voice was sharp and unpleasant from the door of her office. It made Harleen's shoulders jump and she glowered, straightening. "Can I help you?"

She shrugged. "Probably not."

Harleen bit the inside of her cheek and rolled her shoulders back, gritting, "Then why are you here?"

"Came to collect your files on The Joker. You won't be needing them anymore." Joan's perfect red lips curled up into a smirk. "Since you failed."

"What?" Harleen bristled angrily in her seat. "No. They're mine. I need them for reference."

Joan threw her head back and cackled at her. "Reference for what? On how to appropriately work your cleavage in order to get a patient to respond?" She glanced back down. "Spare me."

"Oh-ho-ho, Harleen may be blonde, but she's brainy, too."

Harleen's heart stopped. No. Fucking. Way. She was hallucinating. An auditory hallucination brought on from — from stress, from anxiety! From previous events of trauma! Where was her Vicodin? But there was no mistaking the lean silhouette towering over Joan's shoulder.

Except, well — Joker's outward appearance was something to be marveled over. Harleen couldn't wipe the shock off of her face.

Tattoos and dark circles were covered up with makeup, green hair hidden beneath a brown wig. Capped teeth were even covered with false whites. And his outfit was so ordinary, a white dress shirt tucked into boring brown slacks.

"Who… Who…?" Joan stammered before clearing her throat and taking a step back. Her eyes narrowed. "Do I know you?"

Harleen exhaled shakily through her nose, relieved. Stupid bitch.

"I'm afraid not." Joker flashed his fake pearly whites and extended his normal-looking, not at all tattooed hand. "Name's Jerome. Pleased to meet you."

What a smile. Harleen could tell that Joker was having the time of his life.

Joan hesitantly shook his hand and searched his face. "Doctor Leland. Do you have permission to —"

"Boy, do I," Joker grinned, tapping on the visitor's lanyard hanging around his neck. "Am I interrupting? I come bearing gifts." He brought a bouquet of pink tulips out from behind his back and made eye contact with Harleen for the first time.

Harleen swooned and he winked. What kind of pipe-dream was she living in?

"No, not at all," Harleen piped up, taking great pleasure in the constipated look of jealousy on Joan's face. She grinned and crossed her legs. "Those for me?"

Jerome — Joker, strolled inside to hand them to her, really hamming up his performance. "Sure are. Wanted to see if my girl had recovered from yesterday."

My girl. Harleen blushed and graciously took the flowers. There was still blood under her own fingernails and the back of her neck was bandaged. This was so fucked up.

Joan smoothed out her lab coat, fidgeting and unsettled. "Friend of yours?"

Joker beat her to the punch, wanting to remain in control of the situation. He had, after all, put a lot of thought into this. "Boyfriend, actually. And a lucky one at that. Met at a support group for the grieving." He reached out and gently stroked one of Harleen's flushed cheeks with the back of his hand. "Our shared experience made us… stronger." Joker tucked away some of her hair, momentarily peeking at the gauze on her neck. "Isn't that right, peanut?"

Harleen was going to pass out. Trying her best to adjust to the role, she affectionately placed her arm around his waist and gave him a shaky smile. "That's right…" She grappled for a pet-name. "…Puddin'."

Joker laughed. Being slathered in foundation felt disgusting, not to mention the tightness of the wig cap, but the frazzled look on Harleen's face was worth all the trouble.

Besides. He hadn't performed in a while, due to his impromptu vacation. He didn't want to get rusty.

Uncomfortable with their exchange, Joan mumbled that she had to go back to work and excused herself, conveniently closing the door behind her.

Once the clicking of Joan's heels faded away, Harleen addressed Joker with big eyes and stood. "What are you doing here? Are you crazy?" Her gaze flitted over his body with less reservation now that they were alone.

"I prefer the term mad, but crazy will do," Joker's voice lost the fake warmth it had held moments before and it comforted her. He smirked at her staring. "I know, I know. Dashing even in street clothes, what can I say?" He wiggled his pencilled-in eyebrows.

Face pink, Harleen moved quickly to the door to lock it and panted, panic swelling in her belly. "What if she… Aren't you afraid that…?"

"Relax, Harley." Joker purred, plopping down in her office chair. His grin was just as menacing without the grills. "Daddy's got it all under control."

Harleen ran a hand through her hair and shifted on her feet, murmuring, "I thought that—I thought we agreed that I was Harleen, here." She bit her lip and looked up sternly. "Not Harley."

Joker rolled his eyes. How annoying. "Fine, whatever. Harleen." He motioned casually towards the long couch against the wall. "Take a seat."

She huffed but found herself complying, grumbling under her breath. "This is my office."

Grey eyes moved to the thick-rimmed glasses on Harleen's desk. Snorting, he put them on. Still the same, prescription-less lenses from when they had first met. "Gotta say, Doc. This is disappointing."

"You're going to get me fired, Mistah J," Harleen hissed, looking over to the locked door in paranoia.

With a fake frown, Joker leaned back in her chair. "Oh, what a Greek tragedy that would be. You know —" The phone rang, cutting him off. Before Harleen could react, preferably by drop-kicking the phone out of the window, he answered it, voice deep with mirth. "Arkham Asylum."

Harleen leapt forward and tried to pry the phone out of his hands. He swatted her away and she climbed over the table to reach for the plug, knocking both her files and her lamp onto the floor.

"Ah, I'm afraid she's out for lunch," Joker wrapped his free arm around her torso, pinning her in place before she could disconnect the call. She struggled in his grip like a squirming child. "May I take a message?" A long pause. His voice dropped all humor. "No, she won't be, actually."

Oh, shit. Harleen panicked and bit down on Joker's forearm as hard as she could.

Joker let out a muted grunt of pain and pushed her off the table, letting her fall to the carpet with a thud. He looked over the edge at her with a dark glare. "I'm afraid Crane is no longer her patient."

They locked eyes. "In fact, she'll be leaving extra early today."

Thank you for reading. I promise I am not abandoning this. Life just got a little crazy. :') I'm back. x