"Baclofen?" Dr. Arkham asked Harleen as he looked at the prescription she had written for The Joker. "He hasn't been here a week, Dr. Quinzel, and you're already prescribing something used for cocaine addicts."

Harleen took a deep breath. "He admitted to me just yesterday that he's been using for three years. I believe that if he's getting therapy while he's detoxing, then he'll be able to open up more freely." She paused as she waited patiently for a response, but, more importantly, Dr. Arkham's signature approving the medication.

He sighed. "How do you even know that he was telling the truth?"

"Well, he has a continuous tick that's common in most users...uh...plus, it may help explain his behavior...only partly that is, Doctor. Believe me; I plan on digging deeper than just making him pop pills."

Dr. Arkham stared at the young doctor and then shook his head as he picked up his pen. "You're right, Doctor. At a very gentle dosage, the baclofen could help with his convulsions, but we'll need to monitor him." He signed the prescription as Harleen grinned to herself, but the grin fell away when he looked up at her, continuing, "Also, I need to talk to you about your impatience."

Harleen furrowed her brow. "I'm not impatient, Dr. Arkham. I found out that the only way The Joker will respond to anything you throw at him is if you do it his way."

"Really?" he grumbled. "Just be careful, Dr. Quinzel. You may find yourself picking up his habits. Don't let him get under your skin."

She swiped the prescription from his hand and nodded. "Thank you for your concern, Doctor, but I'll be fine." She stomped through his door and walked toward the elevator to go to the basement floor to the med room.

The Joker was brushing his teeth when he heard the familiar sound of high heels coming down the hallway. He kept his concentration on the mirror as his sleepy eyes were still trying to get accustomed to the fluorescent lights that beamed in from the hallway.

The waves started to happen again last night. It had been almost four days since his last fix. He knew they were beginning again when he awoke in the middle of the night and struggled to unzip his jumpsuit to escape the sudden heat that was attacking his body, and as soon as he had unzipped it to his hips, his right hand began to shake.

"It's always this fucking hand," he had cursed to himself as he had placed it under his pillow as he tried to go back to sleep.

His jumpsuit was still hanging off his waist as he stood in front of the sink. He could tell he was going to be uncomfortable today. His right hand was still trembling as he held his toothbrush and his back molar was burning in his gums. After he spit out the minty foam, he rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face and groaned loudly, lightly pounding the wall in front of him with his hand.

The Joker felt another wave of heat as he lifted his eyes to the mirror and his breath caught in his throat when he saw that Dr. Quinzel was looking at him from the other side of his cell. He didn't turn around but just stood still as he stared back at her.

Harleen could see the recent bruises on his sides as she tightly gripped the handle of her valise. She also noticed the lean build of his arms and shoulders as he had lifted his head to look in the mirror.

She could make out tiny scars crissed-crossed up and down his back, perhaps from past fights with the Mob even some of the new ones that were still healing from his run-ins with The Batman. Harleen had noticed that she was holding her breath as she stared at the muscles in his back. She was caught off guard when he started to turn around and face her.

She finally exhaled in surprise as he glared back at her with heavy eyes. Harleen couldn't quite figure out his expression; it seemed to hold no emotion yet it was a knowing look.

Like he knew she had been staring at him for a full two minutes...

She smirked and waved simply at him as a way to greet him a good morning. She had hoped that she hadn't done anything wrong from their first session, that she hadn't discouraged him from wanting to talk to her.

Her fears were put to rest when he suddenly showed her his toothbrush and then gave her the biggest, cheesiest smile he could muster.

Harleen's laugh couldn't be held back quick enough. Her high-pitched chortle echoed in the hall around her and an aide passing by shot her a confused look. She instantly covered her smile and held her breath again. She looked around and noticed that only a few other aides and one or two patients had witnessed this sudden burst of joy.

She turned back to The Joker's cell to see his reaction, but he had turned back to the mirror and was zipping up his orange jumpsuit. She quickly walked to the elevator, a soft pink in her cheeks.

The Joker smirked as he turned and saw that Dr. Quinzel had suddenly left. His smirk disappeared and he walked to the glass to gaze down the hallway and he could make out her lab coat behind the elevator doors as they closed.

What a laugh, he thought to himself.

He winced as he gripped his right hand, a sudden stinging sensation moving from the middle of his palm to his elbow. "Fuck..." he muttered. He heard the sliding door suddenly opening and he lifted his head to find Sly, the orderly, standing in his cell.

"Come on, Joker," he ordered.

"Come on...where?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You have a dental appointment, clown," Sly said.

The Joker couldn't help but snicker. "I didn't make an appointment."

"You don't need to. Dr. Arkham did it."

The Joker sniffed and suddenly remembered that his second day in Arkham consisted of different physical examinations by the asylums doctor's. They drew blood to test for any type of deficiencies and diseases, and they took x-rays of his teeth. Dr. Arkham sat in during the physical to write more of his notes, but was surprised to find that The Joker was quite cooperative.

In his mind, The Joker just wanted to get it all over with and go back to his cell. He allowed the doctors to poke, prod, and stick needles into him, but this would be the only time he would let them. The next needle he saw coming to his arm would be redirected into its owner's eye.

"Fine," The Joker finally sighed as he allowed Sly to cuff him again and lead him upstairs to the asylum's dentist. They stopped at the elevator and Sly pressed the up button, and The Joker looked at his slippers and his shaking hand. When the doors opened, he heard Sly speak, "Good morning, Dr. Quinzel."

The Joker slowly lifted his eyes and came face to face with his doctor, her bright blue eyes shining. Little did he know that she was in the middle of riding the elevator back to his floor to go back to Dr. Arkham's office where she had left his file on his desk.

However, she decided to ride the elevator again. "Going up?" she asked softly.

Sly pushed The Joker past her and the elevator doors closed behind them. "Sixth floor, please, Doctor," Sly said.

Harleen pressed the button for their destination and bit her lip as she stared straight ahead.

The Joker took a deep breath and inhaled her scent. She didn't smell like vanilla today; he could have sworn that she was wearing some kind of flowery smell. Jasmine or something just as soothing.

The silence between them was thick until The Joker decided to break it. "I've got a very important appointment this morning, Doc."

Harleen couldn't help but grin. "I know. You're going to the dentist."

"How did you know that?"

"Well, I am your doctor."

He licked his bottom lip. "So you are..." He glanced at her and saw that she was wearing a green blouse underneath her white lab coat. "Not sure why I'm going..."

"Dr. Arkham didn't tell you?" Harleen looked back at him. "You have two broken teeth..."

"Just two?" he smirked.

"And you'll get a good cleaning. I'll bet you haven't been to the dentist in a while."

The Joker shook his head. "I always thought it was a waste of time. Having to lie in a chair while some guy pokes at your gums with some hook? And they say I'm sadistic."

Harleen giggled and covered her mouth as she did so. "I would think that...if The Joker seeks nothing more than to make people smile at his revealing messages about society...then maybe he should be the one with the most meaningful smile."

The Joker raised his eyebrows and smacked his lips as he tried to think of a retort to this sudden observation. He sighed and gently leaned in according to the distance that Sly allowed him, "At least I never try to hide when I find something funny...unlike you, Doc. You may think I don't notice, but...I see you hide your smile."

Harleen's lips parted as she stared back at him, her ears burning in slight embarrassment. The Joker noticed her reaction and, after looking back at Sly, gently whispered, "Your laugh was actually a relief this morning..."

She took what few seconds she had left before the elevator doors opened to stare into his dark eyes. The whites of them were still red from his waking up and she was about to speak when she suddenly noticed his hand shaking.

Before she could address it, the doors to the elevator opened and Sly led The Joker out and down the hallway. "I hope I get a sucker..." he called back as they walked away.

Harleen smiled and tried to shout back, "That's how dentists make --" The doors closed. "Their money..." she whispered to herself, slightly put off that the doors interrupted her parting joke.

That evening, at her apartment, Richard was flipping through channels on the television as Harleen sat at her small kitchen table and pored over her notes that she had taken on her usual patients. She was brought out of her writing by her boyfriend's voice, "So...how's that new patient been treating you?"

Harleen smiled. "He's...interesting."

Richard waited for more of an explanation but turned to look at her when she continued with her notes. "That's it?"

"I've only had one session with him so far, baby," she yawned.

Richard took her yawn as his cue to come over to her and begin rubbing her shoulders. She moaned and leaned back in her chair. "You can't tell me anything else?" he asked.

Harleen sighed. She had decided to leave The Joker's files in her office because she knew that Richard would only get worried if he knew that he was her new patient. She held his hand and kissed it. "Not really. I have another session tomorrow."

Richard smirked. "Okay..." He leaned in and began to kiss her neck, making her giggle, but then she gently pushed him away.

"I'm tired, Richard," she said quietly.

He sighed and walked to the television where he turned it off. "You're always tired."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing..." He took his coat off the armchair and put it on as he walked over to her. "I have to go..."

"You don't have to leave."

"No...you have to work in the morning." He gently kissed her lips. "Night."

"Night..." she said as he walked out the door. Harleen bit her lip and felt a bit guilty for shoving him away, but she had told him that she wanted to go slow. They had only been dating for a couple of months and hadn't gotten really physical. She had actually shown more interest in her work recently.

She finally put away her files into her valise and went into her bathroom to wash her face. The warm water was soothing on her skin and she applied her face cleanser as she looked into the mirror. For the rest of the day she had been repeating what The Joker had told her in the elevator:

"Your laugh was actually a relief this morning..."

Harleen couldn't understand it. Relief from what? From the confines of his small cell? From the other sad faces around him? From all the stares in his direction?

She washed away her cleanser and patted her face dry. After applying her skin cream, she took off her pajama pants and crawled into bed, but before closing her eyes, she turned onto her side and stared out of her window, thinking about how Richard just left her.

She had a feeling sometimes that he was bored with her. They hadn't had sex yet, but he would sometimes stay the night with her. However, if she ever backed away from his advances he would either go to sleep or he would just leave.

Harleen shut her eyes and tried to go to sleep, thinking only of what she could ask her new patient tomorrow.

The next morning was an interesting one for The Joker. To his surprise, when Bobby opened his door, there was no tray for his breakfast. Instead he was told that he was going to be eating in the cafeteria with everyone else...with his cuffs on, of course.

"Let me guess," he told Bobby. "This is a test...to see if I'll be a good boy."

"You got it, Joker," Bobby replied as he snapped the cuffs on his wrists behind his back.

The Joker chuckled as he did this and quipped, "Am I supposed to carry my tray on my head or something?"

Bobby couldn't help but smirk. "Nah, I'll let you out of these just as soon as you get in there. I'll go get your tray."

"You get paid extra for being a personal waiter, too?"

Bobby chuckled. "I wish..." he muttered.

The cafeteria was abuzz with activity and Bobby escorted The Joker to a far table near the back of the room. He seated him on the corner of a single table and unhooked one of his hands from the cuffs, bringing his hands in front of him and cuffing them on a high bar underneath the table.

"Be right back," Bobby told him, walking away to the food line.

"Chocolate milk!" The Joker called after him.

He heard whispering at the table next to him and he looked forward, watching the two patients that were talking out of the corner of his eye. He could barely make out what they were saying, but he knew they were pointing at him and talking about the obvious marks on his face.

He didn't care; he was used to the talking, always had been since he first got his scars. The Joker suddenly had a thought that, no doubt, Dr. Quinzel would want to hear a story about the origin of his trademark wounds. He just couldn't decide which story would be appropriate for her.

The story about the wife was always a good one. Or even the one about the jealous husband. He never got to use the story about the Mob deal gone wrong or the tragic automobile accident that killed his girlfriend and the glass that had to be pulled from his face while his high school sweetheart burned alive in the twisted metal.

They're all just too good, he thought to himself. Maybe I should cook up a new one. The one about my shit-faced father is getting a tad old.

The Joker suddenly turned his head toward the still-murmuring patients and their talking ceased immediately. He smirked at them, one a young man with shaggy black hair and the other a woman with yellowish skin and a pockmarked face. The Joker sighed, "You two keep staring any longer, I'm gonna have to start charging."

His lips curled into a wicked smile as they suddenly picked up their trays and walked briskly away from their table. A tray filled with powdered eggs and dry bacon was instantly set in front of him when he turned his eyes forward again. He looked up at Bobby, who was setting down two small half-pints of chocolate milk onto the table.

Bobby bent down and unlocked his hands from the cuffs and The Joker sat up straight and stared at his tray. Then, picking up his plastic fork, he poked hesitantly at his eggs and decided to start with the milk. He took a huge gulp and set the carton down hard onto the table, making brown droplets splash onto the wood. "You gonna stand there the whole time?" The Joker asked his chaperone rather impatiently.

Bobby took the hint and walked a few feet away to talk to another orderly. The Joker finally gathered the courage to pop a forkful of eggs into his mouth and they felt just like he assumed: like wet toilet paper. However, he chewed as best as he could, not because of the abnormal taste, but also because his dental visit had cost him his two broken teeth. He had a large gap where they used to sit in his gums, and he had tongued at the gap for the entire night.

"Those guys can be pretty pesky, if you ask me," came a soft whisper that was taking a seat next to him. The Joker looked toward the source and met a man with sallow skin and deep set eyes. His crooked smile met The Joker's stern glare.

"The orderlies?" The Joker asked. "Or the guys who like to disturb people while they're eating?"

The man smirked. "I guess both. I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane."

The Joker leaned back with a mouthful of eggs and looked at the man's bright orange jumpsuit. "They change the dress code?" he asked as he leaned back into his tray to take another sip of milk.

Crane looked at the table and sighed. "Well, I was a doctor...practicing here...maybe you've heard of me from other --"

"No," The Joker interrupted, trying his best to crunch on his hard bacon.

"Well, then maybe you've of why I'm here? I've made a special toxin that, when sprayed at my victims, can make their worst fears seem very real and --"

"Uh uh..." He took another bite of eggs.

"I'm known as Scarecrow!" Crane said abruptly.

The Joker gulped down his first carton of milk and looked at his guest with wide eyes. He set his fork down and turned to him with a grin, making Crane reciprocate his expression.

"Oooh!" The Joker mused. Then he shook his head. "Nope."

Crane growled in frustration, but a cautious glare from The Joker caused him to delay any unnecessary behavior. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, "So...who is attending to you?"

"Why should I tell you that?"

"It's just a simple question," Crane replied, irritably. "It's a lot better than having myself be ripped apart with your snarky comments."

"You'd like it better if I actually ripped you apart?" The Joker asked in a deep voice. "Of course, I'm not sure how much damage a plastic fork could do, but...I'm willing to try it." He picked up a piece of petrified bacon. "Or maybe this would work better..."

"You're impossible..." Crane groaned.

"She'll find out soon enough..." The Joker muttered.

"She?" his guest asked, raising an intrigued eyebrow. "Ahh...Dr. Quinzel's new patient, I presume?"

The Joker shrugged. "If you must...yes."

"Interesting..."

"How so?" he growled.

Crane folded his hands on the table. "She's rather new; I'm surprised that Dr. Arkham would allow her to have such a...high-profile case...such as yours. I wouldn't be shocked if she practically begged him to give her your files. They do have a certain...celebrity quality about them."

He paused to see if The Joker would retort, but when he got nothing, he continued, "After all, if she had the ability to make her professors give her passing grades, then it wouldn't be really big news if Dr. Harleen Quinzel was doing a few...'favors'...to the good doctor in order to get patients."

The Joker tried his best to ignore him until Crane leaned in closer and whispered, "She is a lovely girl, though. If I ever get my license reinstated...I wouldn't mind putting her on my couch...and examining her myself."

The Joker suddenly slammed his second empty milk carton onto the table so hard that it flattened under his palm. Crane jumped in his seat slightly and stared at the poor carton as it seeped out leftover chocolate milk.

He was brought out of his shock when The Joker turned to him and glared into his wide eyes. "I think it would be good for you, Crane," he snarled. "If you stayed as far away from me as possible...and from my doctor." He looked over at Bobby and the orderly came over to him as he presented his wrists for the cuffs. "Have a pleasant day...'Doctor,'" he said with an eerily cheerful tone as he walked away with his escort.