Author's Note: I just thought I'd thank you all for your encouraging reviews--I certainly appreciate them!

Disclaimer: "No Sugar Tonight," The Guess Who.

Fever.

Jocko says yes and I believe him
When we talk about the things I say
She hasn't got the faith or the guts to leave him
When they're standing in each other's way

Kidding

She slammed the door open and stormed right up to his desk, her burning blue gaze demanding that he hang up the phone now. He wasn't the kind of man that let other people intimidate him--especially a cute little blonde with no visible sign of intelligence beyond her Doctorate. But he also wasn't about to continue a conversation with the underboss offering to buy a crate of Valium in her presence. He calmly, politely, told the man on the other line that he would have to call him back--he had an emergency on his hands--and placed the reciever gently on the cradle. Folding his hands neatly on the desk, he looked up at his visitor and sighed lazily.

"What can I do for you today, Dr. Quinzel?"

She unclenched her jaw, straining for her last scraps of patience. "You've recently assigned an intern to my patient in my place."

His brow furrowed deeply, and he leafed through some files on his desk. "Your patient...?"

Her hands curled into fists at her side. "Ward 0651--the Joker."

His face brightened as if realization was just now hitting him--as if he hadn't been dreading her explosion since 8:30 that morning. He frowned thoughtfully, looking up at her with his most earnest eyes.

"He was yours? Really...?"

Her fists slammed on his desk, rustling a few papers. She leaned over his desk, glaring sharply into his eyes. He snorted, folding his arms over his chest arrogantly. His gaze took an obvious dive down her blouse before giving her an approving smirk. She didn't move an inch.

"Don't act so fucking coy, Crane," she hissed under her breath, still very aware of a sense of professional dignity and the door she had left wide open. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! An intern on a guy like that? You've got to be kidding me!"

His eyebrows rose, and he leaned back nonchalantly in his chair. "I don't kid, Harleen."

"He'll chew her up and spit her out in a week! She's in over her head--"

His eyelids lowered superiorly. "I felt that Ms. Monaghan displayed a sense maturity and resourcefulness that exceeded her lack of experience in the field."

"And how many hours does a girl have to spend on her knees to get that kind of review from you?" she bit loudly. His eyes narrowed, but he tilted his head to the side and fired back with all the deadliness of an even disposition and an unbatted eye:

"Are you making me an offer, Dr. Quinzel?"

Her entire body tensed. He could tell she wanted to hit him--but he glanced at the open door out of the corner of his eyes, and her jaw clenched. He couldn't help his satisfied smirk as she attempted to leer over him.

"Here's an offer, Jonathan," she whispered darkly, "Twenty-five to life, no bail, no parole for the first ten years. Remember that?"

His face remained arrogantly expressionless, but his Adam's apple twitched. "Remember the headline that said, 'Harvey Dent Killed'?" She glanced down, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Those days are over, Harleen. Nobody's putting me behind bars. I'm more popular in this city than ever."

She shook her head, glaring at him fiercely. "If the Board wasn't made up of your mobster buddies and drunk colleagues, you'd be lucky to be cleaning toilets in this hospital."

He sighed loudly, looking her over with bored eyes. "If you didn't have a nice rack, you never would've passed your first psychology class." Her face twisted with malice, but he only mocked her with a shrug. "You get your jobs your way, and I'll get mine my way."

"Get off it, Crane." She was fed-up and looked it; her frayed nerves looked like fun to him. "That girl is not qualified to treat a man as sick as the Joker and you know it. Now you either give me my assignment back or you'll have a lawsuit on your hands."

He clicked his tongue, glancing down at his desk. He took a breath and jumped to his feet. In a few, swift moves, he was on the other side of the desk. She whirled around to face him in surprise, and he grabbed her by the wrists and and shoved her down onto the desk, sending files flying across the floor. A particularly sharp paperweight was digging into her shoulderblade when he shoved his body between her legs, disarming her easy shot at his groin before the thought of kneeing him could even enter her mind. His face was mere inches from hers; the cocky glow in his cold, pale eyes made her stomach drop.

"If I fucked you right now on this desk, with that door open, in plain sight of six witnesses--I still wouldn't see the inside of a jail cell," he glowered. "Don't presume to threaten me."

She pressed her lips together and stared back at him defiantly. He smiled, but his teeth were clenched and his grip on her wrists was too painful and desperate to belong to a fearless man. But he liked the feeling of her body beneath his--enjoyed the thrill of power he experienced from her malicious and impotent glare. She was a beautiful woman--too beautiful to be smart or creative or funny--but certainly an enjoyable enough venture in bed. Her eyes narrowed, as if she could read his thoughts.

"I just want my patient," she whispered carefully. He rose an eyebrow.

"Alright. I just want to hear you scream."

She didn't even blink, his crude request making her seethe inside. Taking a breath, she looked up at the ceiling and swallowed her pride. "Get off of me, Crane."

He wasn't ready just yet. "Giving up so soon, Quinzel?"

Her face was blank. "I guess so."

With a disappointed sigh, he released her. She didn't look at him as she left the room.