A/N: I was eager to write and explore a little more so I here I am! Chapters a little longer than last time, maybe a little sloppier too but I really wanna get my teeth into these therapy sessions so I wanna get this stuff out of the way. Those may take me a little more time because I wanna make sure they're right. But in the meantime, hope you all enjoy the story, and please review! Input from other people really helps.

Also I plan on a few chapters being some therapy session fluff before the eventual highway confrontation and chemical wedding so if any of you have any prompts or requests- things you've wanted to see Joker and Harley do or ways you wanted to see them interact- feel free to leave them in a review!

I mean it guys, don't be shy!

xoxo

Come and see me sometime- J

Those five simple, messily written words invaded every thought she had for the rest of the day, the small card weighing heavily in her pocket. Her whole body felt as though it was vibrating, she was suddenly alert-awake. It was as if someone had flipped a little light switch she hadn't been aware she had. Was she afraid? No, she analyzed. The sensation itself was not unpleasant, there was no pit in her stomach, no feeling of impending doom. She did not fear him, she realized. For some reason, despite all logic and knowing the things she knew about this strange clown man, Harleen Quinzel did not fear him. He had proved that he could escape his cell, wander about the halls and find her whenever he wanted and return back to his cell without so much as triggering the suspicions of any of the staff…but she did not fear him.

She had every reason to, that much was clear to her. And she supposed she still could be afraid, but of a different version of him. The Joker she and everyone in Gotham had grown too familiar with, the Joker who spent his nights terrorizing the city- she was still afraid of that Joker. But that was not the man she had seen in the cell earlier that day.

No, that man had been different. Downstairs he had seemed muted- a shadow of the man she had seen in the papers. She was sure it was his smile- his signature, his sign. It deeply troubled her, seeing him that way. He was a stranger but she felt as though he were the kind of person who should never be without a smile on his face. Sure, his smile was usually caused by something terrible but she overlooked that. As she left her office she found herself increasing troubled by the whole interaction. She felt quite bad for this poor man, she decided. She truly sympathized with him, with how he must have felt. Surely something horrible must have happened to him for that smile of his to be erased like that; and now she was curious. Curious, and also compelled in some strange way, to see the man again.

But that wasn't why she was heading down there to see him again, of course. That would be crazy.

No, she wasn't going down to see him again, to investigate the cause of his sudden mood shift. No, this was to be a strictly professional interaction. His card and gift had given her a reason to seek him out, she reasoned, an opportunity to play both the professional strict doctor warning a patient of his conduct and the kind trust worthy doctor who keep her mouth shut in order to spare him of any repercussions he may face. Yes, she thought as she swiped her card and opened the heavy metal door. She's doing her job, nothing more.

She walked down the hall, keeping her eyes on the cell of interest. The sound of her heels on the hard floor drew the attention of a few of the caged occupants but she paid them no mind. She stopped in front his cell, panicking for a second when she couldn't see him. His cell was still particularly dark, and it took a few moments to make out his figure, sitting with his back to the wall right up against the corner of the glass. By the she had found him, his eyes were already looking back up at her own with the same intensity which had drawn her so strongly just a few hours ago. Suddenly nervous, she adjusted her glasses, trying her best to unaffected and in control. Seeming to sense her discomfort her smirked, mouth closed, and turned his head away from her before breaking the silence.

"Do you like them?" he said referring to the vase of flowers he had left. Harleen gasped quietly to herself at the sound of his voice. It was- very pleasant sounding, she was surprised to realize. A little raspy maybe, but she supposed that was from his being tired. And he did look tired, she noted as he turned his head slightly to face her. A little happier, lighter than last time, but still tired. Exhausted actually, he looked like hell. It made her sad all over again, it almost broke her heart. He just looked like a man here, a sad man who had once been happy…

Shit. Professional. I am professional, she snapped herself back to reality.

"I think the guards would be interested to know that you've been out of your cell," I avoided his question, doing my best to sound neutral but assertive. Never mind the fact that inside she her heart was breaking at how pathetic he looked alone and pale and bruised and sleepy in his cell.

"If you were going to tell you have done it already," he countered, this time smiling but still with his mouth closed. What's in there, she thought as she shifted her glance to his smile again.

"What happened to ya mouth?" she blurted out accidentally, her accent slipping out again with the rude question. His head snapped to look directly at her this time and she blushed, embarrassed but more nervous of his reaction.

"What's your name?" he replied, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the question, like it never happened. But in his eyes should tell that the question had upset it- almost hurt him. She pressed her lips together quickly to keep from frowning but she wanted to frown badly, she was so inexplicably sad for him.

"Harleen Quinzel." She answered, feeling she owed him that at least after hurting his feeling with her rudeness.

"HA!" He threw his head back in the first fit of sincere laughter she had heard from him, accidentally giving her a flash of his metal mouth in the process. They hadn't always been like that, she was sure. No, he had had a brilliantly white smile of porcelain like teeth at one point she noticed. As she wondered what had happened to them, he hoisted himself to a standing position. As he did so the bottom of his uniform top rose up just a little, enough for her to a masculine v that made her blush all over again as well as a mess of bruises, particularly dark on his stark white body. Someone had hit him, and she was surprised at herself for both being surprised that someone would have hit him considering his relationship with the Batman and at how much it hurt her to think of someone hitting him. "Ya know if you rework your name a bit you get Harley Quinn-"

"Like the clown character, Harlequin." She finished for him with a nod. She had heard it before of course but the coincidence, almost irony of her name given the man she found herself speaking to now had almost been lost on her until this moment. It made her very uncomfortable suddenly, and the reality of what she was doing made her skin crawl. It wasn't so much the professional repercussions of her actions which suddenly made her uneasy as much as it was the emotions that had been stirred up inside her. "I get that a lot. I'm sorry I should…." She trailed off, backing up slowly from the cell before turning on her heels to leave. She even made it a few steps down without turning back to look at him and she felt quite proud of herself, feeling as though she was regaining both her control and composure. Until she heard his voice again.

"It's a name that makes me smile." She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at his words. Against her better judgement she allowed herself to look back at him. He had pressed his body into the corner of the cell closest to her, hands pressing themselves on the glass as he tried to get a better look at her while she walked away. His face had broken out into that oh so famous Joker grin she had expected to see- that she had been waiting to see the whole day- and she tried not to stare at the metal teeth she was beginning to wonder if he was sensitive about. Slowly she allowed her eyes to meet his again. "It makes me feel like there's someone here who gets me…" he continued, once he had seen that he had gotten her attention. "Someone I can really talk to…tell my secrets to."

Their eyes met, just for an instant before Harleen managed to force herself back down the hallway. But in that moment she felt a surge of energy pass through her body, that abrupt awareness that she had felt before returning. Crazy as it sounded, she rather enjoyed the sensation the more she thought about it. It felt right, normal- like that was the way she was always meant to feel. The connection she felt was strong, so strong in fact she was sure he must have felt it to, but she broke the gaze and hurried out of the hallway before her suspicions could be confirmed, afraid of what implications such a connection may have.

She left the asylum quickly, getting into her car as fast as she could without risking a slip of her heels and drove herself home. Collapsing on her bed, suddenly exhausted from her unexpectedly eventful work day, she began sorting through her thoughts and emotions, paying particular attention to the last hour or so. Was she scared? Still no. Unnerved? Yes. What was unnerving her, she wondered silently. Was it the fact that she had shared an arguably intimate moment with a psychotic homicidal clown who was more than capable of leaving his current cage and finding her anytime he wanted? No, though for any reasonable person it would be. Then what was it? She wasn't afraid of him, how could she be, seeing him there with his teeth all gone, bruised and weak in a cold dark cell all by himself? No she wasn't afraid of him. And she felt bad for him still, in fact her heart grew another crack each time she pictured him there, but that wasn't the cause of the tingling sensation she had felt in her stomach, making her uneasy.

No, realized. It wasn't the clown being able to escape or the intense moment they had shared now twice in one day. It wasn't the man, she admitted. No, he wasn't the problem at all.

What unnerved her so, made her uneasy, was her own reaction to it all. Dr. Harleen Quinzel despite all her intelligence and logic, all her book sense and street smarts- despite being a perfectly reasonable human being- felt no fear, no worry in regards to Arkham Asylum's arguably most infamous patient. And she felt wrong about it- guilty about the rush she felt, how excited and almost happy she felt in his presence, even though she knew exactly who and what he was. She liked him, she allowed herself to accept. She liked the Joker and she shouldn't and it made her feel sick deep down. Surely something must be wrong with her, she thought, surely she's as sick as he is- probably more so! That she can look at a man who has murdered and tortured and terrorized every inch of the city she called home and feel sympathy and warmth for him.

Perhaps Joan had been right, she should be careful. He was dangerous- he was the most dangerous and she knew that and yet she had tried to smile at him, let her curiosity gotten the better of her and gone down to him a second time even after he proved how dangerous he could be. No, she wasn't ready and she may never be ready, not to deal with people like him. Tell-all book be damned; it wouldn't be worth it. No, she decided that night. She would stay away from the Joker, from all of the extreme personality types he called neighbors, and be normal. She would be a normal psychiatrist with normal patients and live a normal life and she would be satisfied with that. She would have to be.

She slid herself into some sweatpants, poured herself a glass of wine and drank it quickly, thankful she only worked every other day. A day off would help her clear her head, she told herself adjust herself to her new life. But the truth was she didn't trust herself yet to go back there and not see him.

Harleen had allowed herself the rare luxury of sleeping in. She deserved it, she decided, after years of hard work and the…let's say strange…day she had previously. And it was rather nice not having anything to do- no patients had been assigned to her yet so she had no notes to go through, no treatments to write. This was bound to be her first truly free day for a while, and she was determined to enjoy it.

So relaxed was she as lazed around in bed she almost didn't hear her cell phone ring. The sound startled her; she didn't have any friends, she didn't have a family (at least any she cared to talk to or about). She glanced at the screen nervously, wondering who on earth would be calling her. She half expected it be- well, no never mind, she thought to herself, quickly pushing the thought out of her mind. She wasn't going to think about him, not for the whole day at least; it would be best for her in the long run.

"Shit," she muttered to herself in a panic when she finally realized who it was. It was Arkham, she recognized the number- but not the extension. She hoped it was just Joan calling to check in on her or ask her a question about the forms she had filled out but she had saved Joan's number and she knew it would have just said her name had it been her office. Perhaps she's in someone else's office, she hoped. Because if it wasn't Joan it was one of her higher ups, and she knew that if it was once of her higher ups there was a good chance it was about that person who she wouldn't let herself think of just yet. "Hello, Dr. Quinzel speaking?" she said more confidently than she felt.

"Hello Dr. Quinzel," a man's voice answered. Harleen's stomach dropped even lower as she realized who it must be. She'd never met him, but she knew him by reputation and something deep inside told her that he rarely called with good news. "This is Jeremiah Arkham, I'm calling in regards to the Joker."

A/N: I don't wanna stop here, I hate teasing like this! But I'm already starting the next chapter and therapy will hopefully begin then. Again, leave a review and some fluff request if you would like!