It was going to be a long night. Harleen refilled her empty coffee cup and brought it to her lips. As of, she glanced at the clock; the red glow blinked 2am at her, this morning! She was going to be psychiatrist to the inmate known only as "joker." She wasn't told what happened to his last psychiatrist or what, if any, progress was made in his therapy only that as of this Monday, she was his. Harleen took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her eyes burned. She had taken a professional curiosity in the joker long before her placement at Arkham Asylum, as patients go, he was the Bermuda Triangle, the Sphinx and Area 51 all rolled into one. No one had cracked him. To her knowledge, no one had even had completed a session with him. She licked her lips. He was highly intelligent and dangerous, he thrived on fear. And that was where all who had come before her had failed. They showed weakness, they showed fear. Not her. Harleen closed her files and climbed into bed. Blue eyes haunted her dreams and her heart thudded with terror and excitement.
"He's waiting for you," the guard growled as Harleen walked down the corridor. The clicking of her heels echoed on the tiles as she walked. The closer she got to the interview room she couldn't shake the feeling that something very important was going to happen. Show no fear she thought to herself.
Harleen took a deep breath and opened the door to the door. Without looking at him she sat down and placed her heavy files in front of her. She looked him dead in the eyes, he stared back. Her heart jumped, he looked...striking. His hair was dyed an emerald green, his face and hands covered in tattoos. His ice blue eyes seemed to stare through her, a shiver went down her spine.
"Mr...Joker?" She said confidently, the name didn't seem to roll off the tongue so well, she adjusted her glasses.
"Mr J, my name is Dr Harleen Quinzel, I am your new psychiatrist." The joker's lips parted in a wide smile and he laughed. He leaned forward in his chair, his cold eyes never left hers,
"Oh I like you, we could play real nice together Harleen," he exaggerated her name, an obvious test of boundaries. She learned forward and held his glaze.
"I am here to treat you, not to play. And it's Dr Quinzel," he sat back in his seat.
"Not yet." He swept his hand over her files,
"Do continue, Doctor Quinzel." His smile beamed at her, she smiled back. This was it, she was in!
"Let's start at the beginning shall we, Mr J, tell me about your childhood,"
And he began talking. She knew every word from his mouth was a lie, but he was talking. It was a start. She held the keys to his mind in her hand. It was just the matter of finding the one that fit.
