Day 1 [Spring. Harley's P.O.V.]

The phone mocks me as it clicks back into place. A smile is on my face but the feeling of joy has fled me entirely as I realize what new world I'm stepping into. An asylum is the last place a girl like me would be placing foot in. But hey, it pays the bills I suppose. Come on, Quinn. Get it together. What's wrong with you? You wanted this for yourself. You love the crazies, after all. How intriguing it is to work with such personalities. Right? Right. I quickly dismiss the nip of anxiety and make a cup of coffee. Extra extra sugar. It's too sweet for most others, but I like it that way.

My heart jumps as I step into my office. The sanctuary that holds the foundation of my new title. This room keeps files of my own, containing as much information I could spill from the public. A giddy feeling fills into the walls of my stomach and tickles my nerves as I sweep through my cabinet one last time. My fingers brush through each file marked with a potential psycho I might soon be assigned. I hope. The Riddler, Two-Face, Mad Hatter, Freeze, Croc, Clayface. . . I stop when my pinky taps his smile. The Joker.

Is it a possibility they would allow me to take on such a threatening criminal? I'm sure he's had plenty of tries, no doubt. But would they sacrifice someone so new? I could only hope so. If not, it's no matter. I'm bound to get one of these fellows. Curing any crazy is a success in itself. And maybe then, it would be a go for the Joker.

I close up my cabinet and forbid myself from entering my office until tomorrow. Get your mind off of it, Harleen. Go for a drink or something. It's probably the last break you'll get for a while.

I peek through my cupboards for any alcohol and only find Crystal Lite mix. A puff of breath descends from my lips, not wanting to leave my home, it's almost 6PM. If I go to the bar now, I'm bound to be there for a while.

Oh well.

My keys jingle and clash together as I start up my car. It's waxy, purple exterior mirrors the orange skies as the sun fades with each mile.

A few young ladies in short shorts and low-cut tops are migrating near the very few men left in the bar. Trying as hard as they can, it isn't enough to maintain their attention when I walk in. I receive a few whistles and stares as I make my way to the booth and order a beer. "You got it, sugar." I ignore his comment, not shaken by it.

Instead, I turn my head to the TV and strain to hear its contents as the intelligent remarks keep coming.

". . . In other news, another mob broken up by none other than the Batman. The convicts are currently in custody. More information on this at 8-"

"I hate this channel," the man sitting a few stools away comments. The bartender takes note of this and flips between stations until a football game appears on the screen. Bored, I turn away and finish off my third bottle.

I wonder how many people working at Arkham have met Batman. . . Not even the cold reassurance of alcohol is enough to direct my attention towards other matters. My mind has been claimed by my new title as the new intern at the crazy castle. Might as well stop now before an OUI is in my future.

"Think this will cover it," I say, pinning the bills underneath the bottle, slipping off the stool and making my way to the doors. I hear a few "awwwww"s from behind me and see the ladies frowning in jealousy.

I am a bit undecided on the subject of Batman. He is just another vigilante, nothing more. I am pretty neutral towards him. I look up and see the bat-signal in the sky, leading my way home. I believe I catch a bit of cape in the darkest of shadows, but dismiss it. Even having these feelings towards the bat, it would still be interesting to meet such a character.

Coming home, I think to myself it will be nice to belong to something as bold as Arkham Asylum. Life at home was pretty dull. This was about as exciting as it got. Like a tumbleweed whisping by. Spending my days previewing the minds of the criminally insane would be much more fun than sitting at home watching reruns of Friends.

I slump onto my couch, scoops of ice cream slip down my throat as I stare blankly at my television. Documentary's of Superman are currently on TV and I wonder how much more bland it must be in Metropolis. The criminals in Gotham seem much more interesting to me. I can't imagine trying to work with Lex Luthor. Ask him why he insists on stocking up on a rock to kill a caped boyscout. Nah. Not my kind of case.

The rivalry between Lex and Superman reminds me of the never ending dance between the Joker and Batman. The ultimate loathing between the two of them fascinates me to no end. Joker and his dastardly gags constantly tormenting and forever taunting the man in the bat costume. Gotham wouldn't be Gotham without their cat-and-mouse game. The citizens must not be phased by it by now. I know I'm quite used to it.

I lick up the last that my bowl has to offer me and dump it in the sink. Dish-washing was always a past time I suppose. Sleep was out of the question. I was too anxious. Even though sleep was the key to make the morning come faster. It was like Christmas Eve. Not many sleep soundly knowing what the morning will bring them.

I take a couple Benadryl, hoping it will force me into a drowsy state and I will have no choice but to give in to the slumber. In the meantime, I hesitate in front of my office door. It's not a big deal. It's not like the actual patients are in there. You're being ridiculous. Just let it go and finish watching the documentary on TV.

The documentary was beyond boring. There was no way I was going to finish that. My hand brushes the knob of the office tauntingly. It's not like I'm harming my well-being. I'm not obsessed, just excited. What's the big deal?

The door reveals the white walls and burghandy desk in the middle of the room. Shelves that border the walls, containing many books on psychiatry, although I never even thumbed through them. I just enjoyed buying them, in hopes that they would help me. Also part of the excitement I had, I suppose.

I creep over to the drawer in my desk holding my files, my heart beating wildly. Inside was each patient I would meet tomorrow behind glass. Ya know, the kind that doesn't break by human force. To be safe.

It feels like they are almost calling out to me from the small crack in the drawer's opening. Anxiously, I yank open the drawer and peer inside once again. I fumble through the files at least six times until I memorize where each patient is in my cabinet. The Benadryl has yet to take affect on me, I realize, might as well read a little. Although, knowing what to expect, I skim through the list once more before landing again on the Joker. I whisper his name to myself as I take his file out from the rest. I feel a tingle thrill from my toes to my fingertips as I open it up and see numerous pictures, articles, and small newspaper clippings on the clown. He was so interesting. He pulled off the purple suit better than I could imagine anyone else, that's for sure. He was so menacing and simply. . intimidating. When I gaze upon each picture I feel a shudder course through each section of my spine but can't help but smile out of excitement. Would he threaten me like he had the others? More than likely. Would I make progress? I have hope, but that isn't my main focus at the moment. I just want to see him. I want to see all of them. Crane, Nigma, Isely, all of them. Who says I'll even have the Joker as a patient?

After finishing his file, I stack it away in the cabinet and snake my fingers onto Mad Hatter's file to read until I catch the time on my clock. 1AM. Man, I need some rest. Not until just realizing the time do I feel the Benadryl take its toll, tugging at my eyelids. Was I subconsciously fighting the sleep to finish the Joker's file?

The sheets cloak around my body perfectly. I'm so tired that I can barely feel my body. It's fading as my sight is. Do they sleep well in Arkham? Do they try and make it comfortable as possible for the patients? Do they even think of it? . . .

Day 2 [Meet&Greet]

I'm up and at the asylum before my alarm clock would even be going off. Joan is surprised to see me here so early but quickly smiles and takes it as a compliment. "You sure seem to be jumping all over this, Harleen. You must be a hard worker."

In other circumstances I probably would have shrugged to this but I want to come across as professional as possible. So instead I give her a smile. "Of course." Joan smiles at me again at this statement.

"Good. Now, if you just come with me, you can tour the building. Since you're early and all. We can talk business later."

My face beams and I nod. "I would love that!"

Joan seems a bit confused at such enthusiasm, but nods and leads me down a hall. We take a right to the elevator and we begin our descend into the floor below. On the awkward ride she clears her throat and approaches the question with hesitation. "Harleen, what attracted you to this job?"

Without taking too much time, I try to think of an appropriate answer that would sound pleasing to her. "I would be lying if I said these patients didn't intrigue me. Nothing more than a fascinating topic really."

She nods once more. "I see. I hope you're not thinking of magically turning the lives of these patients around merely for the money, Ms. Quinzel."

"Of course not, Joan! I would never dream of it!" I am somewhat offended that she jumped so quickly to the conclusion that I'm some gold-digging bimbo. I can't deny the money didn't reel me in, but that wasn't my whole reason for applying myself to Arkham.

The elevator's chime relieves me as we step onto the floor. For some reason it's more comfortable talking to Joan outside of an elevator than in one. I'm pretty sure I'm not claustrophobic. Just the awkward close distance I suppose.

I take a few steps down the hall and I'm instantly feeling as though I'm exploring my cabinet. But much more in depth. As if this whole hall was my cabinet. I receive a few gaping stares. Some blank and passive, some seductive and intimidating. I hear a flick of some sort and I smile, realizing that just a few cells away must be Two-Face. I slightly quicken my pace, but stay close to Joan. She doesn't seem to notice.

Sure enough, Two-Face comes into view on my right. I don't stop my walk, but I do acknowledge him. His face doesn't change, he just stares ahead of him with an angry glint in his left eye. I hear a few mutters float from his lips but they are so subtle, I can't understand him.

Each patient has their own way of welcoming me to the asylum. A stare, a wave, a threat, even a lick of the glass. Although each leaves a strange detail behind for me to pick up, it doesn't surprise me in the least. These are some of the most notorious of the criminally insane. The last quality to expect would be average.

I'm just about getting past some of the famous of them all when my heart kicks into overdrive. The very last is saved for the very best. I had yet to lay eyes on the Joker. Although they are more than likely feeding me some interesting gestures, I can't help but leave the rest of the patients unnoticed as I quicken my pace. It pays off, as I hear a familiar tune reach my ears. That tune, with the crisp whistle between the fire red lips that can only belong to none other than the Joker himself. I reach his cell and feel my body tense as it comes to a direct hault.

The Clown Prince of Crime, the Joker, lays on his cot, legs crossed, both arms propped behind his head for support. His eyes flash open and I feel a surge of excitement and a slight hesitation of danger as he abruptly ends his song. A smile cracks his face as he gazes at me through the glassy film between us. "Ahh, the new girl!" he exclaims. His arms swing from behind him and he sits up, resting his long chin on both supporting fists. "Harleen Quinzel, isn't it?"

I gasp at his recognition of my brand new presence and open my mouth to ask how he knows me- but suddenly I'm being escorted away by Joan. "The Joker is a big attraction here at Arkham for new interns, like yourself." Her hand tugs at my shoulder, guiding me forward. "But as I'm sure you know, he is highly dangerous and should be treated as such. Let us move on."

I glance back once more to catch him giggle, readjusting himself back onto his cot. Within a moment of reaching another elevator, I hear the Joker's whistling come swimming back into my ears.

I glance at my watch, it's not a big deal. I just want to get my mind set. Memorize all about him. To show them I know what he's capable of doing. Not that I'm a "Joker-pro". Just that I'm qualified for the job. No, maybe not soon, but soon enough. A few articles I don't even have to read. I quickly skim them and already know what each article reads word-for-word. I find myself staring upon his face curiously, as I remember his greeting and acknowledgement of my name. Surely, he must have heard Joan or the guards talking over my new position at Arkham. A man locked up in solitude with nothing to do but count charges wouldn't be able to get his hands on such information without the gift of gossip from the workers.

I raise a shot of the Joker and Batman in the middle of a quarrel up to my face. Batman looks as displeased as always. Joker, on the other hand, has a happy-go-lucky smile on his face, although Batman is swinging a right hook his way. Always trying to find the funny side. It is, in a way, slightly disturbing.

I set aside the folder and smile to myself, with each piece of information bubbling its way into my brain. I'm ready.

The wait sets an uncomfortable feeling of the unknown within the pits of my stomach. I only pleade with myself that I won't mess this up.

"Hello, Harleen? This is Ms. Quinzel, right?" Jeremiah Arkham answers. He is, as anyone may have guessed, the head of them all. The owner of this nut-case tower.

"Yes, may I speak with Joan Leland please?"

"Why of course, just a moment."

I tap my pen on the edge of my desk, impatiently. I hope she is still in. But. . . I couldn't resist. I need to ask. The pen is now nudging its way in between my teeth as I gnaw on the edges. I feel like a school girl again. The familiar plastic taste, leaving indentations in the material, almost like a calling card.

"Harley? What on earth are you doing calling this late? Shouldn't you be getting rest for tomorrow? We're setting you up with your first patient!"

Cluelessly, I acknowledge the time. "Oh, gosh! I sincerely apologize, Joan. I had no idea. I tend to stay up late." No, I really didn't. Just these past few days. But it wasn't important enough to include. "I was actually calling about a certain patient."

There was a slight pause on the other end. "You aren't calling to tell me you don't want the job, I hope?"

"No, no! Nothing like that-"

"Were you threatened?" She sounds genuinely concerned. Of course I was, I'm sure that's a fairly frequent occurrence at Arkham, but I refused to reveal that to her.

"No, I'm calling to make a request."

Another pause filters through. "Go ahead."

I begin to press forward, but my words get caught in my throat. This was ridiculous. There was no way I would be taken seriously! Especially communicating through the phone. Joan awkwardly clears her throat impatiently. Oh yeah, it's late, I remember. Better hurry, Harl. Just spit it out. "-I . . Would like to take on the Joker-"

"Absolutely not."

I'm astonished by her quick objection. "I understand I'm new, Ms. Leland, but if you could only see my potential-"

"I will not allow it."

I'm a little frustrated by her harsh refusal. "How exactly do you determine the rank of psychosis? They're all crazy and capable of harming me in any way they please! Whether it's Joker, Jervis, or heck, even the unknowns. Please, Joan."

Joan takes a moment to soak this in. It was clearly unexpected, and not something she was ready to respond to. ". . . I'll see what you have to say about this tomorrow. We'll talk then. Goodnight, Ms. Quinzel."

Although her voice had a flush of hostility in it, I couldn't help but show off my Crest white smile. I had a chance.

Day 3 [Convince the Doc, Doc]

So, I had to admit, I was at a slight disadvantage, considering Joan was a woman. I've never had a problem convincing the males. But a pout and big eyes wouldn't sell it this time.

"Good afternoon, Joan," I greet her with my best smile.

"Well, hello to you too, Ms. Quinzel." I can sense her remembrance of our previous conversation. She almost winces.

"So," I begin. I try to swallow my slight fear of rejection, but try my best to mask it's proof of ever being there. "The Joker."

Joan nearly immediately drops the fake smile and stares ahead of her, barely acknowledging my presence. It takes her a moment to find the words she was looking for. ". . . Why the Joker? Yes, I know he's the most notorious of them all. But why him? Why not start off slowly?"

"I don't procrastinate, Joan." She actually allows a slight chuckle slip out and a faint smile appears on her lips.

"I see." She is now looking at me once again. "What on earth makes you think you're ready for a case like his? In every professional way-he is simply helpless. He is just. . . messed up."

I frown. What negativity. "I don't believe anyone is helpless. Why would you waste space holding him up in here if you aren't going to try to cure him?"

Joan clears her throat, agitated. "The answer is no, Harley."

"Did you not see my work with my patient from earlier?"

A patient who was claimed "mute" and utterly unresponsive to any treatment had opened up slightly and even smiled at me today. If that isn't impressive progress, considering he's my first Arkham patient, I don't know what is. "Yes, but in defense, he had an attraction to you, Quinn. We all saw it. He's not used to having such young and beautiful women visit him."

I raise an eyebrow and smile. "What makes you think the Joker wouldn't have the same reaction?"

Joan sighed. "It's not impossible, but I don't believe he would react in such a positive way, if that be the case." Her glance swayed past mine for just a split second before dropping her tone. ". . I'll run it by Dr. Arkham."

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Joan! I definitely won't let you down. I just want one session. Just one at least."

"I didn't say you were working with the Joker anytime soon, if at all, I'm just running it by him. For future reference." I nodded and masked my disappointment with a slight smile. With a dismiss from her hand, she walked down the hall to report my success with my first patient and chat with Dr. Arkham.

Please, Dr. Arkham. . . You're my only hope.

I slid my card to leave and headed to the elevator. . . . . Would it be too risky to just visit the patients one last time? It's not like I'll be down here much for a while. Unless a miracle happens and Arkham pulls through for me. A mischievous grin cracked my face and I couldn't help the giddy feeling that sprung inside me like a ten-year-old at Disney Land.

The chimes were hard to hear over my loud, rhythmic pulse, as the doors let go of each other.

I receive a few howls as I took my first few steps into the hallway. The faint glow of light that is strung down the center of the hall is all the illumination I have to point out faces. Much more eerie than the day, as expected. But maybe Joan was right. . . I wasn't ready for this. I needed to start off slowly. I needed to head back. Now. I shouldn't be here without being accompanied by Joan, or at least a guard. But some childish, unprofessional, curiosity was egging me on, robotically controlling every step until I came closer to the end of the hall. It didn't stop.

And neither did the grunts. I received a few shrieks, which nearly jumped me out of my very skin. A few were asleep, which surprised me. I could never sleep in such conditions. One patient remained in the very corner singing softly to himself, as if the low reassurance of his own voice would block out the rest.

I was losing light, I needed to turn back. The dim illumination left me just enough to reach the end of the hall. Okay, Harleen, you seriously have to turn back now. You're only disrupting them and causing a scene. You're not allowed to be here. If they found out you were here, absolutely no Joker.

I slid on my heel, not paying attention to where I was and began walking back-

"-Need directions back, toots? Seems we have a lost one here."

"Joker!" I peep, turning around. My voice having a little more pep than I had planned.

Apparently our first encounter I was rushing to quickly to take the time to really sponge up his details. Because my god, my cabinet doesn't do a justice. The newspapers, printed pictures, descriptions, etc. had not captured enough of his every detail, his character was undeniably unique. His trademark smile that seemed to be stuck in the back of everyone's brain. Everyone had to memorize this threat. Because its the biggest one Gotham has to offer.

His lips spread in an almost childish grin. "My, my, doctor. Wandering about after hours? Don't you follow the rules?" A chuckle escapes his mouth and I smile.

"Just checking up on you."

"Why- little 'ol me? I'm flattered!" His voice has raised an octave and he is now standing dangerously close, keeping in mind the glass in between us. His nose is just about touching the surface.

"I wanted to chat with you about our last encounter, if you don't mind?"

"Do I mind? Do you think I have better luxuries, Doc?" His eyes sweep the interior of his cell. "I'm all yours."

His comfortability around me slips a smile across my cheeks, without thinking. His head tilts to the side curiously, a smile spreading on his own. "How did you already know my name?"

He cackles. "Oh please, Doc! A fresh new number such as yourself? Word spreads fast!" I blush a little at his compliment and immediately think back to my conversation with Joan Leland. Who says the Joker can't have the same attraction? Ha. The Joker smiles at my obvious new pigment.

"Well, it was definitely a surprise to me."

"Ya know, clown myself, I have a slight attatchement to that name, there." I point to myself, with surprise on my face. Which must look quite idiotic considering I know what he's talking about. But still, I can't help but revert back to middle-school responses. He nods. His red-lipped smile widens. "Harleen Quinzel. . . . How about- Harley Quinn! It only suits you better, don't you think? Now there's a little Joker in you too." He winks. "That is, if you don't mind," he adds, tilting his head once more, awaiting my response.

"Of course I don't mind," I say. "But when would you get the chance to ever address me again?"

"I knew you'd stop by eventually, cupcake," he said as if it were obvious. He slipped a flower in between his fingers just then, holding it out towards the glass. "That's why I swiped this."

I raised a hand to my mouth in astonishment at his gesture and the beauty of the rose. "H-How did you get ahold of that?"

"Not important, sweets. But. ." He tossed the flower behind him tiredly. "I suppose you aren't going to get it. That is, unless you come see me again. But I know how busy you must be, Doc. With this new job and all-"

"I have time!" I sputtered, again without thinking. He smiled wickedly. I noticed a few patients around me, muttering things my way. I almost forgot where I was. He nodded, as if he knew I had to leave.

"See you soon, sweets." He settled backwards onto his cot and waggled a few fingers my way as a goodbye.