I sat down at the canteen with a cup of coffee at hand. I rested my head on my hand and sighed. I should have expected how much work would have to go into more complex patients, especially such a case as the Joker; I wasn't treating basic eating disorders, or aggressive bipolars. He was a mass murdering sociopathic hustler, with no intention to change. Even just reading through his file and criminal record gave me a head ache.

Sipping at my coffee, I pushed the hair back that was falling over my face. The canteen was fairly dim, and it was coming up to 7 and I really should been getting home but I couldn't get the energy to do so.

A person sat next to me but I still didn't look up. All I could think about was work and the Joker. I sighed again.

The person drew nearer and I could feel their breath slightly on my cheek. They finally spoke up. "Hey have you been here often?" His voice croaked a little, most likely strained by the day.

I turned to face him. "Hmm, what?" I murmured.

He smiled. "Have you been working at Arkham long, I don't think I've seen you here before."

He was tan, with yellow-green eyes and a sweet smile. His light brown hair flopped down over his nose. The man's face was on the thin side, so his cheekbones kind of jolted out in an odd way.

"H-hi, erm yeah I've only been here a couple months, I got transferred from an internship at Gotham General." I said shyly.

He blushed. And held his hand out, then blushed and took it back. "You shouldn't hold your hand out to a lady," he whispered to himself, before I actually took his hand. I shook it lightly and laughed.

"It's fine, I'm too tired to care anyway." I giggled. "My name's Dr Quinzel."

He pushed back his messy hair. "Uh yeah, I'm Dr Crane. But my first name is Johnathan."

"Johnathan Crane, cooool. Harleen." I smiled softly.

"Harleen Quinzel. Wait aren't you the doctor working on the Joker?" He sat up straight.

I sighed and drank more coffee. "Yeah I am. I had my first session today and I already hate him."

He covered my mouth and his eyes darted around. "SHHH don't say that here, you don't know how many corrupt guards are here, catching the conversation ready to report back to the clown."

I was taken aback but I lowered his hand and nodded. "Sorry, yeah."

"So what's he like?" he murmured, taking his hand back and crossing one leg over the other. "Apologies for being nosy, just the extreme patients fascinate me."

I looked down at the floor. "Quiet, sarcastic, and a real pain in my ass so far," I tilted my head back up at him. "Who are you assigned to?"

"Nigma, the riddler guy. He may be smart but I swear I lose brain cells listening to him." He chuckled.

I laughed a little with him.

He smiled at my laugh. "Why'd you choose to work here? It's kinda a dump."

"I like working with people, and I really wanna cure patients."

He laughed for a short while before he looked at my face and saw I was serious. "Oh... you really want to cure people?"

"Why else would I be here?" I asked, my brow creasing in confusion. That was a half truth. The other reason was that I wanted answers.

He scratched his head. "Erm, I don't know honestly."

"Hey you ever been to that restaurant downtown, Iceberg Lounge? I heard they serve really good seafood." He tried to switch to a different subject.

"Johnathan, why are you working at Arkham then?" I said, quietly.

I heard his breath speed up a bit. "Yeah, its run by this ex-mobster Cobblepot and it's not too expensive."

"Johny."

He looked back at me and held his hands to stop them from fidgeting. "Good opportunity for my skills."

His point seemed vague but i didn't want to bother him by asking further.

The clock struck 7 and rain pelted down harder on the windows. It was so quiet that you could hear your own breath, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The room was freezing. Say what you might say about the good reputation of Arkham in the papers and the so called protection over it from Batman, it was exactly how you'd expect a mental hospital to be - cold, sad and dead.

Even more so at night. Like a horror movie.

When I started working at Arkham I wanted to bring a knife in my purse for protection, but of course you had to go through a full search by the door, and the guards would find it. Now I just had to hope that I didn't piss anyone off, and that I never got caught in the middle of an asylum riot.

I yawned wide, trying to hide it with my hand. "Sorry," I apologised, and I looked up at Johnathan again. "I'm really tired. It's been kind of a rough day for me."

"You don't have to apologise, Harleen, I understand. Sometimes we all have days when nothing goes right, especially when the patients don't cooperate." he murmured, giving me a small smile. "How exactly do you get home?"

I finished my coffee, and pushed my hair out of my face. There was something intriguing about watching him talk, he was interesting and friendly, and at least I didn't have to worry about him killing me. "I usually get a bus, which should be coming in fifteen minutes or so." I replied.

His smile grew slightly; he had a sort of boyish charm, innocent and harmless, and it made me blush. "I could walk you to the door if you'd like?" he inquired, scratching his neck, shyly.

I blushed. "I'd like that. Thank you, Johnathan."

We got up, and slowly made our way to the entrance of the asylum. It was dim, and most of the staff had gone home, apart from the guards doing night shifts, so it was quite quiet. The two of us didn't really talk as we came to a stop by the double doors of the building, but we didn't really need to, as it never seemed to get awkward or uncomfortable.

"Thank you," I giggled as we stopped, and he held the door for me. "It was nice to meet you, Johnathan Crane."

He smiled, a sincere, sweet smile, and waved me off. "Likewise, Harleen Quinzel."