Dr. Harleen Quinzell lounged languidly at the pool's edge, the sun dancing across her face, hi-lighting her brilliant features. She smiled, relishing in the chance to finally be alone. It had been a long day already, even at lunchtime. The only people that didn't sleep in Gotham were its psychopaths, and unfortunately, those were the people she dealt with. Every. Single. Day.

She glanced down at her watch - over an hour left for catching these well deserved rays. She untied her bikini top and let it fall down slightly over her shoulders. This was not the season for tan lines. But then again, is there ever a season for tan lines?

Her bliss was interrupted by the sound of well polished loafers tapping across the asphalt deck of the pool. She opened one eye to take a look, then quickly shut it again. It was Dr. Arkham, accompanied by that idiot Jim Gordon and some other asshole she didn't know. She tried her very best to look asleep. This was her lunch break, goddammit, and so help her they wouldn't be ruining it.

The sound of the loafers stopped next to her lounge chair, and a dark shape blocked her sun. She sighed exasperatedly, realizing her plot of slumber hadn't worked, and opened her eyes, draping an arm over them to get a better view.

"Dr. Arkham," she said with a forced smile, "my break isn't over for another hour, you know."

He curled his lips into a thin smile, one of low tolerance for a woman who liked to break the rules. "I'm sorry to interrupt your sun bathing, but I've got some visitors here that would like to speak to you."

She looked at the two men that had weaseled their way into her time off only briefly, then back at Arkham. "What about?"

He gestured to the man she didn't know, a well-groomed and handsome man of about 35 or so. His black hair was slicked back, and he smiled at her pleasantly, giving her the seductive up down look in her tiny swimsuit. "This is Bruce Wayne. As you know, he's been a big contributer in the funding of Arkham," she smiled back slyly. Perhaps this wouldn't be a half-bad lunch break after all, she thought.

Arkham gestured at Gordon, who smiled flatly. "And you know Commissioner Gordon."

Harleen waved slightly, and Gordon said condescendingly, "Isn't it a little cold to be lounging in your bikini, Dr. Quinzell? It's November, or have you been too wrapped up in your patients to notice?"

Her blue eyes stared holes in him, and she coolly ran a hand through her blonde hair. "Cold is in the body temperature of the beholder. Besides, I don't like being bothered by all the homicidal maniacs Gotham City has to offer, and even they don't come out here in November."

If Wayne was here to make her lunch break sexier, Gordon was here to ruin it. She looked back to Arkham, putting on her best confident 'I-could-care-less-what-any-of-you-think' air. As usual, she was doing quite well. "I'm sorry," she said to him, "but you failed to mention what all of this is about."

His eyes narrowed. "Like I said, Mr. Wayne is funding the asylum, and as you know, costs have recently increased."

She closed her eyes and set her head back down, nodding, an action which pissed Arkham off beyond all reasonable speech, and didn't she know it. She smiled to herself as he stopped speaking, then said, "Please continue, I assure you I'm listening."

Wayne cut in before Arkham could strangle her. "I just want to make sure that I'm funding something I can trust." She turned her head, genuinely interested in his speech. "That is to say, I'm funding something that is actually reforming criminal minds, not just placing them in straight jackets and sedating them."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Well, Mr. Wayne, I can assure you you've made a smart investment," he smiled back. She looked over at Gordon apathetically. "And you're here for what?"

He took a step closer to her, trying perhaps to threaten her, but he failed. "I'm the bodyguard. I want to make sure that no bullshit goes on here that could harm Mr. Wayne."

She sat up in her chair and grabbed her clothes and lab coat that were laying piled on the ground. "Mmmhmm, no bullshit indeed. What exactly are we looking at today? I expect if you wanted specifically to see me, you must have wanted specifically to see one of my patients." She threw her red shirt on and buttoned it up, an act that seemed to slightly upset Wayne.

"You got it," said Gordon, no less condescending than before.

She slid on her black pencil skirt over the button up. "I always do," she said, now throwing on the lab coat. "As you know, Arkham is home to some of the most insane criminals in the world," she was mainly speaking to Wayne now. "And I've worked with some of the most insane Arkham has to offer. The question now is, which nut case would you like to see?" She slipped on her red stilettos and smoothed back the wispy hairs into the tight bun at the back of her neck. "There's Edward Nigma, obsessed with numbers; uh..Victor Fries - actually a very charming man; Selina Kyle, always a favorite with the men - "

"We're not interested in any of them. We want to see the Joker."

Harleen raised her eyebrows at Gordon and smiled a crooked grin. "I thought you'd say that. Right this way."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

The group made their way down the dank and dark halls of Arkham, past the cells of freaks and murderers galore. There were screams as they walked past, yelling out various names and aliases, and whistles at the voluptuous Dr. Quinzell. She was unperturbed by all of it, taking out an ID Badge from her lab coat pocket.

In a hushed voice, she heard Gordon say to Arkham, "Why exactly do you put up with her shit again?"

She smiled to herself. She loved it when cops came in here, especially macho men cops like Gordon, cops who were threatened by the presence of a strong woman like her. She heard him alright, but she didn't want to glorify his stupid question with an answer.

They reached a steel door at the end of the hallway, guarded by two giant men with semi-automatic weapons.

"Daniel, Thomas," she said, giving them both a nod. "Is my treat on the table?"

The one called Daniel nodded. "It's under control Dr. Quinzell."

"Good," she said. She scanned her ID on a machine resembling a credit card swiper on the door frame, then pushed the door open and motioned for the men to come inside.

When the door opened, a blank room similar to what you might see in a horror film was revealed. There was nothing there but a large metal table and a few chairs. The real wonder was the room inside of the room - what seemed to be a plexiglass viewing chamber was pushed to the side. Inside that room was a mattress with no sheets, and a metal table and two chairs, all bolted down to the floor.

And in that room, he sat.

The Joker.

He had been stripped of his precious purple suit and had had it exchanged for a misshapen tan jumpsuit. His hair was no longer green, but a dirty brown color, and his face was no longer painted.

But he was there alright, and so were his scars, etched permanently into his cheeks in an ugly perma-smile.

He sat on the table, staring menacingly at the glass.

Wayne looked a tad unnerved as he asked, "Can he see us?"

Harleen, who was untying a plastic bag on the metal table, shook her head. "No, no he can't. That glass is bulletproof, soundproof, and two-way. He's just trying to scare you." She took two white cartons from the plastic bag, the unmistakable white cartons of Chinese food. "OH!" She said suddenly, turning around with the cartons in her hands. "Either of you have a gun on you? Or a knife?"

The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. "My weapon was confiscated at the gate," said Gordon.

Harleen nodded. "Pens, glass objects, paper clips? Anything like that?"

"Why do you need to know?" Asked Gordon.

Harleen sighed. What an idiotic question. "I want to know if you have anything that can be turned against you."

"I thought you said the glass was bulletproof," said Gordon.

"It is," she said, and for the first time, a shadow of doubt crossed her pretty, confident face. "But you just never know with him." She shook her head, then produced a martini glass with an olive in it from the plastic bag, and a travel size bottle of Vodka from her lab coat. She poured a good portion of the vodka inside, then downed the martini in one swig.

Gordon rolled his eyes, making no attempt to hide it. "Should you really be drinking before you deal with a man of his caliber?"

She looked at him and laughed, an almost manic laugh, for an astonishingly long amount of time. "Don't fuck with me," she said, then opened the giant steel door to the Joker's cell.

When she was out of ear shot, Bruce asked Arkham, "Is she qualified to handle him? I mean, she can't weigh more than 130 pounds."

Arkham laughed. "Those 130 pounds pack quite a punch though, am I right? In more ways than one." He jabbed Wayne in the arm, but it was clear he didn't understand. Arkham looked at Gordon. "I'm sorry...did he not...?"

Gordon shrugged. "If I don't have to talk about Harleen, I don't."

Arkham looked back to Wayne. "Dr. Quinzell has been trained in every martial art known to mankind, and I'm sure several known only to simiens. She's an expert in deadly force and edge weapons, and God only knows what else. Supposedly she was a member of Black Ops during Desert Storm, but that's simply speculation." He gave Wayne a look that suggested that she was, in fact, a member of Black Ops. "THAT is why, Mr. Wayne, I put up with Harleen Quinzell's shit. THAT is why she is the highest paid doctor at Arkham." He stepped closer to the plexiglass. "And that is why she is in there right now, with a homicidal maniac without so much as a pair of handcuffs on."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

When Harleen entered the cell, she locked the door behind her, the Chinese food cartons still in her hands. "Good afternoon, Mr. J," she said with a slight smile.

He turned his head very slowly, and his lips curled up in a toothy grin. "Dr. Quinzell! How nice to see you. Can I make an assumption and say one of those cartons is for me?" He spoke calmly and slowly, as if his life depended on his calculated answers.

She nodded. "Chicken Chow Mein, your favorite. Why don't you have a seat and we can break these open?"

He complied, and she walked over and set the cartons on the table. He looked up at her with his creepy smile, licking his lips slowly. "If I remember correctly, this is your lunch hour. So why are you here? Did you miss me?"

She sat down. "As much as I enjoy our sessions, I'm afraid this is rather impromptu. You see, I was very rudely interrupted by a cop and a billionaire in the middle of my tanning session."

"A cop and a billionaire? If I had a nickel for every time that happened to me, I'd be one rich clown." He laughed wildly, a signature that didn't unnerve Harleen - it practically turned her on. She joined him in his laughter, holding back a bit.

When he settled down, he said, "So what are we doing today, Harley? Don't say inkblots. You know I'll only see the severed heads of children anyway."

She shook her head and shoveled in a bite of fried rice, not reacting to his obscene statement. "No, we're not doing Rorschach today. We're just having lunch."

He smiled again. "So it's a date. I always did tend to attract the hardbodied blondes. It's the scars, they drive the women nuts." He paused and thought for a moment. "Speaking of which, did I ever tell you how I got these scars?"

"I believe you mentioned it once or twice, but the explanation escapes me."

"When I was a kid, I had this friend. Absolute little bastard. Rich, good looking, everything I wanted to be, and I would have done anything this kid told me to do. One day, he brought me his father's knife, and dared me to cut my face," he turned his head and showed her the scars, "just like this. So I did, and what do you know, the kid runs off crying like a girl, calling me a freak and insane. Says I did it on my own." He started laughing his manic laugh again, causing Harleen's heart to pound. "Now here's the good part, the real punchline," he almost couldn't finish, he was laughing so hard, and Harleen felt the pounding in her lower gut, "I took that little bastard and I cut his face up, just like mine. Now, he's always smiling. Just like me!" His laugh was uncontrollable now, and Harleen almost felt in need of sexual release - it was a good thing she had such a good poker face.

Ha, poker face, she thought, The Joker. That's funny. She smiled a bit despite herself.

He stopped and examined her smile, taken aback at the thought that she would laugh at his sickening story. "Harley, are you laughing?"

She jerked back a bit, her eyes narrowed. "No, I wasn't.." his faced dropped a little, and she shook her head. "No, it was funny, really it was," she said before she could stop herself.

His lips curled into that creepy Chesire Cat smile. "You are one twisted babe, I gotta hand it to you!"

There was a buzz from above, and Arkham's voice filled the room. "That's enough, Harleen. You can come back in now."

She sat for a moment, then stood up slowly, confused by the moment that had just ensued, by the feelings she had felt. She took the cartons and backed out of the room, keeping her eyes on him at all times. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

He nodded, an eyebrow raised. "Can't wait," he said, almost seductively.

She opened the great steel door and left the cell.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"So he didn't kill you, who gives a shit?" Gordon said the moment she came out of the cell. "I see hardly any progress. The clown's been here for six months."

She shot him a hard glance. "I'm sorry, if you can do better, why don't you demonstrate?" She threw the cartons in a metal trash can in a huff. "Mr. J is the most complicated patient I've ever come across in all my time as a mental health professional, and quite honestly, I think I've done a fantastic job with what I've been given."

"Mr. J?" Yelled Gordon with disbelief. "You call that psycho Mr. J?"

"What am I supposed to call him, Jim? I'm trying to give him a sense of normalcy, but it's hard to do that when I don't know his real name. And until the idiots at your department ID him, Mr. J is the best I can do!"

There was a pause as they stared each other down.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I respect your work, Dr. Quinzell, really I do, but I'm afraid Commissioner Gordon is right," she looked at his dashing smile and melted a bit. "I haven't really seen much of an improvement."

She sighed and searched the floor for answers. "Alright, alright, let's show him the tape."

"Tape?" Asked Bruce.

Harleen nodded. "The tape of Joker's first session with me."