"Bruce Wayne. My first patient." Harley muttered to herself before sipping the piping hot coffee from the pathetic paper cup. She entered her office and perched on the chair, pushing her fringe from her face and removing her glasses as she turned her PC on. Why would Bruce Wayne need counselling? Better yet, why would Bruce Wayne need counselling at all? Tapping her fingers on her desk, she waited. And then she remembered. "Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, passed away last night..." The newscasters voice ran through her mind and she let out a sigh, hand running through her hair. The computer was now fully loaded, and she clicked on Bruce's file; Parents died when he was age eight, he was left alone with the entire Wayne Estate with one man who was his mother, father, butler, friend... This guy had been through a lot. There was a lot more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. And he sure was easy on the eye... Harley gasped at her thoughts and giggled uneasily to herself.

She looked up as she heard the familiar knock on the large security door which kept her office safe. With a deep breath and a few clicks of her mouse, she finally spoke. "Come in." The door opened for Harleen to be greeted by Doctor Jonathan Crane - the strange guy who worked in the chemicals side of things. All Harley knew about him was that he was into fears and the way they affected people. She greeted him with a warm smile, to which he returned it and added a nod of his head. He sat in the chair in front of her desk, holding a hand out for a shake.

"Jonathan Crane." He said simply, his manly but high voice accented strongly.

Harleen returned the shake firmly, smile still evident on her child-like features. "Harleen Quinzel. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Crane."

He nodded once again, perching on the chair and watching Harley's each move intently. Things were awkwardly silent for a few moments, Harley's eyebrow raising a little as she waited for the frail-looking male to speak.

"I came to have a word with you... about a new patient," He remarked, only to be interrupted by the blondes next statement.

"Bruce Wayne?"

"Uh, no. Unknown real name, alias is The Joker. Around six feet tall, green hair and eyes, sick grin constantly painted on his pallor face?"

Harleen shook her head. "Never heard of him."

Jonathan exhaled deeply though his nose, nostrils flared a little. He sat back in the uncomfortable chair, his blue hues practically staring into Harley's. There was no better way to describe his gaze than how much it burned. She furrowed her brow awkwardly, nuzzling her glasses up her button nose.

"He's the clown terrorist, he calls himself the new era of criminal. The Clown Prince of Crime. Nobody knows where he comes from, what made him this way... there's no records, no fingerprints. Nothing. He's being shipped in from Belle Reve, having been too chaotic. Originally he was thought of as a petty criminal, one who wasn't necessarily insane but certainly needed to be locked away, and in my opinion they should have thrown away the key," A growl escaped Jonathan's plump lips before he scooted his positioning, continuing with the information. "But, he's crazy, mental even. He isn't the type of person Belle Reve - and Waller - want the public to see. If they fail with him, then what will happen? Their 'perfect' little prisons reputation... well, it will be just as bad as ours. And that's where you step in, Miss Quinzel."

Behind Harley's thickly framed glasses, her eyes had a significant look of worry in them. They blinked back nervous tears - Harley had only just gotten this job and sure as hell wasn't ready for such responsibilities.

"Where, exactly?" She asked, picking at her fingernails nervously.

"We want you to take on the clown. From what little intel we have on him, he's closest to your age. And we don't want a more... well, an older doctor to take him on," He said, a somewhat mischievous smirk curving on his lips. "What I'm trying to say is, we don't want a practiced air about you. Strange and I - Strange, the psychologist from Belle Reve, feel as though this could kick-start a helluva career for you, Quinzel. He's dangerous, he's frowned upon by the whole city and maybe even the whole country. If you could fix him, or at least help him, which I believe you could, looking at the success rates of yours while you interned here," Jonathan's hands clapped together in an impressed manner, even though Harley hadn't even taken in his words just yet, let alone fixed this psychopathic clown. "Then you would be the nations sweetheart. You could bring the respect back to Arkham."

Harley gulped. That's about all she could do. Her legs crossed over each other, her arms resting on her desk. She used one hand to push the platinum blonde strand of her fringe from her face, her vocal chords still practically frozen. Glancing down at her feet, she grumbled a little, attempting to make some words come out of her mouth. Jonathan remained in his relaxed position, as seemingly calm as ever, watching her every movement.

His eery gaze was fixed on her hanging head for the three minutes of silence, before Harleen finally found it in herself to speak. She looked up confidently, head held high as she scooted the chair closer to the desk. Arms now folded, she took a more professional position and shook her head.

"I'm afraid I can't take you up on that offer." She remarked simply, much to Jonathan's anger and disgust which had practically appeared from nowhere. "I'm nowhere near experienced enough, not even close. I wouldn't want to mess this man up further; I mean, imagine what would happen if I drove him crazier, perhaps? He needs real help, not mine, not yours, not Strange's... real, strong, professional help. Ever been to Metropolis, Dr Crane?"

Jonathan growled deeply from his throat, shifting his position a little and moving his chair forward.

"No, I haven't."

"There's a wonderful man I trained at Metropolis U with. I was only there for a course back last year, but he takes high interest in extreme personalities, not that I don't, but..." She trailed off before gathering her thoughts again. She had a habit of getting lost in that mind of hers. "Very brave man, handsome too." With a shrug of her shoulders, she looked back to her computer screen; waiting for an outburst from the fellow doctor in her office. He growled once more, standing up and walking to the door, not looking back until his roughly skinned fingers grazed the door handle, eyes burning into Harley's once again. "I'm sure you'll regret that, Quinzel. I gave you a chance, remember that. Remember who's side you could really be working on."

And with that, he left, leaving Harley in a state of complete and utter confusion. Deep breaths were taken before she decided that this was none of her concern, however Dr Crane's sanity certainly was. As she picked up the office phone to call Quincy Sharp - Current Warden of Arkham Asylum - there was a quick few taps on the door.

Harley sighed, standing up and strolling towards it. As she made her way over, she glanced at the watch wrapped around her wrist. '17:45PM' it read. Had Jonathan really been in there that long? Harley panicked before pulling herself together, opening the door and meeting the glistening eyes she had only ever seen in the newspapers, which were considerably more breathtaking in real life. Her mouth fell agape as she realised who it was - Bruce Wayne, the real prince of Gotham.

"Doctor Quinzel." Bruce remarked, his deep and strong voice ringing throughout the room as he shut the door behind him. The trademark, charming smile which made Harleen and Pamela swoon each time they saw it was evident on his handsome and chiseled face, which was sporting a five o clock shadow which sent Harley in to a bit of an internal frenzy. Harley returned the smile almost timidly, taking his hand - which was considerably bigger than her own, baring in mind that Bruce was at least a foot taller than Harleen - and shaking it with firmness.

"Call me Harley, Mr Wayne. Everybody does."