"Hello."

He looked so much better than on the photos. His vibrant green hair contrasted nicely with his alabaster skin. He had dark circles under his blue eys, lips painted red presumably with lipstick. He was wearing a standard straitjacket, but it did not make him look any less intimidating.

"I'm doctor Harleen Quinzel. From now on I'll be your psychiatrist. I'm honored to be here with you-" He suddenly started laughing. It was an unnatural sound. It felt fake and drawn out. He breathed in when he'd stopped.

"Are you flirting with me, doc?" he asked.

That's when Harleen noticed he had a metal grill. It shone in yellow light of the room. That's not what confused her. His voice also sounded strange, guttural, low. As if he was purring. When Harleen hadn't answered he laughed.

"Just kidding."

The blonde cleared her throat.

"I meant it."

"I have a fan? Yipee!"

"I don't support your actions. I'm simply interested in your psyche."

"Oh, so you don't have a death wish?"

"No, mister Joker," she repiled, nervously fixing her glasses. He giggled quietly.

"So formal!" he mocked. "Tell me, doctor, why do wear these glasses? You want everyone to treat you seriously? You want to be regarded as smart?"

Quinzel was ready for that, the name calling, mockery. Every previous psychiatrist of Joker went through it. Every word he'd say should not be taken to heart. Absolutely not. He'd get rid of all the danger this way. Insulting others gave him pleasure, so it seemed. It was a game where he'd hurt his victim in the worst way.

"No. These are prescribed," Quinzel opposed.

"Ooh. May I try them on?" he asked while crooking his head childishly.

Harleen hesitated. Despite him being in a straitjacket and chained up, she had to be cautious. He was still staring at her, so she sighed and took them off. She leaned in with Joker. She put the glasses on the clown and he purred. She felt creeps on her spine.

"How do I look?"

"Charming," she replied facetiously.

Joker smiled widely, showing his grill once again. Small wrinkles appeared around his eye corners. He looked quite ridiculous.

"This is fun," he stated, looking around.

"So it is our first meeting," she uttered. "I'd like it to go smoothly. During our second session we'll begin to work..." The clown was not listening to her at all, so she went quiet.

She could look at Joker closely. He seemed fragile. You could forget for a second that he was a dangerous criminal, that he'd snap Harleen's neck any second, if it wasn't for the straitjacket. The blonde grimaced without knowing it. She hadn't noticed when they started to stare at each other. Thick silence hung over them. Her chest squeezed under his intense look. They sat like this for minutes or hours, she had no idea. She felt good.

"You'd never lie to me, would you?" Joker murmured, leaning.

"No," she answered involuntarily.

"What's wrong, doctor Quinzel?" he used her title.

"You don't belong here." It's was true. The Clown-Prince of Crime in a hole like this? Impossible, right?

"You don't either." His eyes flashed. "Why'd you decide to treat freaks? Hm? Was it your lifelong wish, mommy's whim? Or a way to make yourself relevant?"

It was none of those things. She picked psychiatry because of her father. He was a criminal himself, a con man in New York City. As a child Harleen couldn't comprehend why he did what he did. Why he stole from innocent people before gaining their trust, why he was never there for her, or why he was a drunken bastard. She picked psychiatry to understand her father's actions.

"I'm here because of my dad."

"Hmm, your dad. Was he a piece of shit like mine, too? Would he beat your mom every Friday?" Joker drawled out, his eyes still on her. There was no mockery left in him.

Sound of opening doors had broken the spell and Harleen blinked, feeling her cheeks redden. She quickly reached for her glasses still sitting on Joker's nose and put them on. A guard came in and began removing the cuffs keeping the clown in place. Harleen recognized him. It was Stewarts.

"Come on," he growled and pulled Joker up.

Harleen left without looking back. She stopped when she was beyond block B. She was breathing quickly, resting against cold walls. She laughed quietly and wiped her wet hands.

A few hours later, when she was in her office, Leland stopped by. She asked about Joker.

"It went really good."

"Too good," Joan commented. "Don't celebrate yet. We don't know what that clown is up to."

Quinzel wasn't planning on celebrating. She had so much work ahead of her. Cracking Joker was awful for some in the past. She understood. They had taken a wrong approach. Classifed the Prince-Clown in the same category as the other patients. He is not like them. He's a genius manipulator with no need of showing any emotion. He's aware of that and it makes him even more dangerous.

Harleen has a nose for sensing hidden feelings. She's good at nitpicking things others want to put away. It makes her equally unpredictible.