I only own the story.

It wasn't any secret that Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzell went home alone. Or maybe it was. Sure, she knew how people talked about her. They called her stupid, slut, probably worse. Whatever.

She sat her purse and tote on a chair beside her front door. Shrugging out of her coat, Harley walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of red wine. She started to feel better at the first sip.

It's not like she wasn't used to being the joke, the dumb blonde, the little harlequin, and she could play the part well. She wasn't like that, though. She had graduated from medical school at the top of her class, and she did it without having sex with anyone. And this job at Arkham Asylum? Yeah, that was all skill. The medical director had tried to get up her skirt, but she let him know pretty quick that she would break whatever bone happened to rub up against her.

Harley walked through her apartment into her bathroom. The big tub had been a splurge. Hell, the apartment had been a splurge; her car had been a splurge, most of her wardrobe…. She was in debut up to her bottle blonde head. She had an image to promote. The tub though, that was the most important one. Turning on the tap (and turning it up as hot as it would go), she poured in some oil, stripped out of her constricting suite, and sank into the heated water. Wine glass still in hand, naturally.

And now, to top off everything, her most current client was none other than the Clown Prince of Crime himself. The Joker.

Watching the steam curl off the water, she thought about how she was going to structure her notes.

Client presents as a white (more like porcelain), unmarried (and uncommitted-relationship wise, anyway) male in his early forties (that was just a guess by the staff, she didn't think he looked a day over thirty). Client stated his distrust for the clinical staff (right off the bat, no holds barred) and his desire to be released (and for release if she was going to put everything he said into her report). Client stated he was not guilty of the crimes he was charged with; instead saying that he was purging the city. Client used the phrase "natural selection." Client stated that he loved to laugh, and preferred to be surrounded by humor at all times. Client stated he spends a great deal of time on his plans and does not act quickly. Client stated his intense dislike for the Batman, and grew agitated upon discussion of his most current capture and commitment to the asylum.

Client presented as very relaxed throughout the session as evidenced by client's constant use of jokes, sarcasm, and puns as well as his laughter at himself. Client smiled the whole time, even when retelling the more gruesome parts of the crimes against him.

Harley paused and took another sip of wine. Her co-workers described his laugh as maniacal. She would call it sad, though. He seemed lonely. Guess it took one to know one. And his smile, it wasn't evil. It was actually very handsome at times. He had moments where he would be serious, and she found it very attractive.

She was probably going crazy.

But in all earnestness, the Joker had a passion for what he did. It was completely demented, but it made sense in a way. He was probably acting out due to his lack of parental influence. She would work on boundaries with him. Maybe do a little trauma work. EMDR. CBT. Sedatives…

She sank lower in the tub.

Honestly, she was attracted to him. Turned on. Whatever you want to call it. She had always been attracted to the pretty boys- the Bruce Wayne types- but the Joker…there was just something about him. His smile maybe, or his eyes, his hands, the way he was surprisingly muscular…

Ignoring the tiny flicker of guilt in her stomach, she slid her hand under the water and let it rest on the top of her thigh. She liked his voice. It sounded like he had swallowed gravel and followed it with a spoonful of honey. She let her hand slid down the inside of her thigh.

She liked his hands, too. They were strong, lean, like the hands of a pianist. Harley imagined his touch would be gentle- at first. It was easy to imagine how his fingers would feel traveling down her thigh to her hip, feathering across her stomach…

But his hands weren't always so relaxed. During their session he was constantly flexing his fingers into fists like he wanted to hit her. She sank her nails into the flesh of her inner thigh. He would probably be incredibly ruthless. She grinned. Most boys were soft and sweet, kissing when she wanted to bite. But the Joker…he would know just what to do.

She quickly moved her fingers between her legs. He wouldn't take his time. He would just take her. Harley circled her clit with her fingers, slowly for just a second, and then increasing speed. She felt her body squirm under her hand and imagined him on top of her. Her hips lifted up, and she could feel his meet them. She imagined his lips on hers, and how he would move his mouth to her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth, between his teeth…

Harley set down her wine glass and let her other hand drop in the water. The Joker would be impatient. He had been very specific about how long it had been since he lost himself in a woman. Too long, if she was offering commentary, but that wasn't her job. With her fingers still moving in circles, she sank two fingers inside her, moving them in and out to match her other hand. She felt her heart beat race and her muscles tighten. She imagined his voice, urging her along, calling her his, telling her to let go.

With a low moan, Harley did just that. The orgasm hit her with a quiet intensity she wasn't used to. It had to be him. He was a quiet intensity she wasn't used to. Sighing, she leaned back against the edge of the tub. This wasn't going to be great for therapeutic alliance.

But what could she say? The guy just did it for her.