Harleen stood in her bedroom and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, analyzing the outfit she had chosen earlier that day. The pencil skirt and blouse weren't exactly impressive, but she wasn't trying to impress anyone. She was a doctor, someone the inmates could feel comfortable talking to.

She let her blonde hair down and tousled her locks. It reached past her shoulders these days because she hadn't had the time to visit the salon. Harleen had even begun bleaching her roots on her own while she went over criminal records or listened to session recordings. Sometimes it seemed that she got lost in her work.

"Maybe he's right." Harleen removed her glasses and tossed them onto her nightstand. She was farsighted, after all. She really didn't need to wear them all the time. Her fingers began unbuttoning her blouse, and she peeled off the tan clothing to reveal the plain white bra she'd gotten at Target. She then unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground.

Matching cotton panties.

Harleen didn't have a bad figure. She was still a pretty good gymnast and tried to stay in shape, but she hid her body. She never had been one to flaunt, even when she wanted something.

One of her last professors knew that. He may not have minded the white underwear, but he did mind the blackmailing that came after.

"You know, you really should lock the door," Mark said as he entered her bedroom. "I mean, I could have been a rapist."

"I knew you were on your way," she replied.

"No need to ask for trouble though."

She ignored the comment. "Do you think I'm boring?"

"What?"

Mark Roberts was her boyfriend, a not particularly handsome guidance councilor at one of the local high schools. He passed a note to her in Psychology 201 her sophomore year at Gotham State University, and they'd been sleeping together ever since.

Of course, he didn't know much about the criminal psychology classes she'd taken or the professor she'd taken advantage of.

"Boring? No. I mean, we both work a lot, and we're tired by the end of the day."

"Don't you wish I dressed differently or something?"

He shook his head and dropped his briefcase besides the bed. "You dress fine."

"There must be something."

"I don't know. I guess I wish we had more sex, like we used to."

"Like we used to?" She narrowed her eyes. "Jeez, Mark. We were in college, drunk half the time. Lord knows how many times we screwed while your perverted roommate pretended to sleep and jerked –"

He laughed. "Okay, that's not what I meant." He kicked off his shoes. "It's just ever since you got this job at Arkham, you've been consumed by it." Mark sat down on the bed and loosened his brown tie. "You were never really one to pay much attention to me, but Harleen, it's Wednesday night. You usually have takeout ready. I only spend the night here once a week. Is it really that difficult? I mean, I have dinner on the table every Friday you visit."

She groaned. "I have a lot on my mind."

"Well, so do I."

"Mark, you're dealing with angsty teens occupied with erotic and druggy experimentations. I'm working with criminals." She joined him on the bed. "My first meeting with Jonathan Crane is tomorrow, and they brought the Joker in today." Harleen grinned. "I actually engaged in a brief conversation with him, and he's nothing like anyone I've ever studied before. If I get the clearance to begin sessions with him –"

"He's dangerous."

Harleen rolled her eyes. "Most of the inmates at Arkham are. They wouldn't be there if they weren't. But if my superiors like my work or if I make progress with a mind like Crane's or the Joker's, I could be a full-time staff member. I'd be paid more, and I'd be doing what I love." She frowned when he didn't smile. "Why aren't you happy for me?"

"I am," he muttered. "I'm just… I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm not thinking clearly."

She heated a pair of meat loaf TV dinners. Mark had a beer with his meal. After they watched the evening news, they had sex. It was quick, and Mark fell asleep right after. Harleen didn't. She drank a glass of chocolate milk and read through the Crane case file for what could have been the hundredth time.

) (J) (

"You're looking rather lovely today, Doctor Quinzel." Jonathan Crane said as he waited for the handcuffs to be removed. He rubbed his wrists and took a seat on the couch. The security guard waited for Harleen to nod before he left the room.

She sat in a chair, holding a pen and notepad. Today, she'd chosen gray slacks and a black turtleneck. Her legs were comfortably crossed, and she stared straight into his blue eyes.

"And you look tired, Doctor Crane."

"Scarecrow."

"Right." Harleen flipped through her notepad. "Now, Commissioner Gordon stated that you had inhaled a large amount of your own fear toxin last year."

"The Batman thought it would do me some good. I must admit that I agree with him now. It released me of what little fears I did have." He smiled.

"You never received an injection of the antidote?"

"I had a concentrated dose, a special formula that I had used on Rachel Dawes earlier in the night. An antidote would have done nothing at that point in time. It had already taken a permanent affect on my psyche." Crane paused. "Shame what happened to her."

"I'm sure you're brokenhearted."

He shrugged. "She was a nosy little bitch."

Harleen made a note. "I had been affected by the toxin you released last year as well. I know what it does to people."

"Did you enjoy it?" Crane seemed pleased. "What did you fear most?"

She ignored his inquiries. "Do you see monsters walking around you regularly?"

"I've grown accustomed to what I see on a daily basis. They're no more monstrous than you are at this very moment."

"You see me as a monster?"

"Why are you here, Doctor? I mean, you don't really want to talk to me. Sure, an appointment with the Scarecrow sounded intriguing until they brought in the clown." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He's high profile, a level of terrorism that I didn't have the chance to reach."

"I want to help you, Doctor Crane."

"Please. To you, I'm just a drug dealer who wears a mask. I haven't had the chance to demonstrate my genius, and therefore, I'm old news." Crane crossed his legs. "The Joker, however, paints his face to draw attention to his disfigurement and to frighten his victims. He owns it."

"You're just as interested in his case as I am."

"Maybe. Maybe not." He laughed. "You know, I really do wonder what you're afraid of."

Harleen shook her head. "We're not here to talk about me."

"Of course not. That's why you took this job." He ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair and leaned back on the couch, extending his arms. "We study the lives of others so we don't have to pay attention to our own."

"Is that why you became a psychiatrist?"

"No. The mind impressed me. It concurrently enhances and limits us. Of course, I'm more interested in the limits it sets." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you're afraid they'll learn that you're a fraud."

"Really? A fraud?"

"Doctor Quinzel, the lab coat looks good on you, as do the thick-rimmed glasses, and you fit the profile."

"What profile?"

"Your family has a history of mental illness."

Harleen uncrossed her legs. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Please, don't be naive. You were an applicant when I still worked here. I read your essay." He leaned forward. "It's sad. Your mother never really was normal, was she? You've always felt that you had to be the adult."

"Again, Crane, we're not discussing my –"

He interrupted. "For a moment, you felt free when she slit her own throat."

She clutched her pen. "Stop it."

"After that moment, you realized she never even knew you were there."

"We are here to talk about your past, Crane, and you have no right –"

"You want everyone to accept you, by any means necessary… I'm surprised that the Joker's observation of your attire was dead on. If you blend in, there's no chance of forgetting someone who was never noticed…" He shook his head. "This way, no one will realize that you're a threat."

"Am I threatening to you?"

"I'm not the one who should be worried." He leaned in a little more. "You have this potential, Doctor, and he noticed it. And, damn. If he knew the feelings were mutual…"

"Mutual?"

"You know, I may have experimented on my patients, but I never wanted to fuck one."

"Bite your tongue, Crane."

"Oh, but Doctor Quinzel, I heard him last night, grunting in the dark as he pumped his fist." Crane suddenly stood and gripped the arms of her chair, leaning over her. His sour breath hit her face, and he pulled her chair closer to him.

"He used his little nickname for you, Harley Quinn. Yum… Harley Quinn… It feels good on the tongue." He laughed as the security guard ripped him away from her and handcuffed him.

Harleen immediately stood from the chair, knocking it to the ground. She dropped her notepad and left the room for her small office, slamming the door behind her. With her hand clutching the collar of her coat, she tried to slow her breathing.

Crane was not about to give her an anxiety attack.

A single red rose that sat atop her laptop distracted her from her panic. She opened the note attached to it and read out loud.

"Come and see me sometime. – J."