Author's Notes: Sorry about the hiatus. Unfortunately, we aren't paid to write. We haven't forgotten this story and are very committed to finishing it. Rest assured, it is completely outlined and we're still hammering away at it. Thank you all for the kind reviews. They haven't gone unnoticed and really encourage us to continue.


The weekend was full of rain. Harleen spent every second of it inside, alternating between sobbing over her own stupidity and cleaning up the mess that had been left behind. Nothing was broken, but things were thrown everywhere and it took hours to get everything looking semi-decent in the living room alone. Her eyes full of angry tears, she dug through the fridge and threw every bit of leftover junk food into a large trash bag.

Except the ice cream. She ate the shit out of the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough while curled up on the sofa Sunday night and there was not a fiber of her body that resisted that small comfort. She'd spend the next month straight on the exercise bike, if she had to. Now was a time for moping.

Walking into Arkham that Monday was agonizing. Harleen felt like every eye was on her, knowing what a pitiful excuse for a doctor she was. Knowing she had let her patient walk all over her. There was no way anyone could know, really, but she felt like it was dripping off of her in a similar manner to the droplets of rain that splattered as she shook her umbrella out in the small vestibule.

As she was placing one of the provided plastic bags over her umbrella, balancing awkwardly against said plastic bag dispenser to do so, someone else entered from the parking lot. It was Doctor Langley, who handled some of the lesser Rogue's Gallery members, like Maxie Zeus and Crazy-Quilt. He was a cheerful middle-aged fellow that, Harleen suspected, honestly just wanted to help people. She had no idea why he'd stayed in Arkham for over eight years.

"Good morning, Doctor Quinzel," he greeted, sounding far more awake and content than the time or place merited. Harleen, having finally wrestled her wet umbrella into the bag, returned his greeting with a weak smile and a mumbled "morning". Perhaps sensing her "I'm having a shitty day" vibes, he continued in a more somber tone, "I'm sorry for what you went through last week. It's surprising that you even decided to come back so soon."

"Thank you," Harleen responded, a twinge of guilt running through her. "Everyone else wanted me to take time off too, but...the job," she finished with a vague wave of her hand, hoping that would be a good enough answer.

Thankfully, Langley nodded in some sort of understanding and she was able to escape from the conversation.

In the break room, Harleen was huddled at the open doorway to the balcony with Jeremy Bryant and Sean Harmon, blowing cigarette smoke into the sheets of rain outside of the little overhang. They were two of the security guards that spent most of their time ferrying the rogues gallery patients to and fro. Both of them had arrived at nearly the same time, about five months previous; the positions tended to have a high turnover rate.

"God, I hate the fucking rain," Sean was griping through a cloudy exhale. "The bus is going to smell like shit later."

"You should get a car then," replied Jeremy, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

"There's nowhere to park a damn car in this city," said Sean, flicking his cigarette butt into the rain and moving towards the doughnut box. "Not unless you're gonna fight some old lady that's been parking her Buick outside a townhouse for thirty fucking years."

"There are other options, dude. Like, a parking garage." Jeremy turned to Harleen and asked, "How much do you think the average charge for that is?"

"Too damn expensive," Harleen replied honestly. "I pay out the nose for it, even though the garage is attached to my building."

"Oh hey, I heard there was a bomb in your car the other night-" Sean began, before being interrupted by a slight nudge to the arm from Jeremy.

"Don't be an ass. She probably doesn't wanna talk about it," he muttered, throwing an apologetic look to Harleen.

Gee, her cigarette sure was shaking a lot. Trying to keep her nerves under control, Harleen took another drag and nodded what she hoped Jeremy would take for a subtle thanks. The next few words tumbled out with her exhale.

"I told them there wouldn't be a bomb. If he wanted to kill me, he would have. There was ample opportunity." Oh boy, was there ever.

Jeremy looked concerned and Sean looked like he was about to open his mouth again, but stuffed the rest of his glazed doughnut in there instead of making the thought exit.

As if by some divine reprieve, Joan entered the break room and walked towards their little smokers gathering, a piece of paper in her hand."Delivery for Bryant and Harmon," she said, handing the paper to Jeremy since Sean's fingers were busy with a new doughnut. "Revised schedule for therapy tomorrow, since so many doctors will be out for Mike Kendall's funeral."

"Man, everything is going to be shuffled around something fierce," groused Sean, peering over Jeremy's shoulder at the schedule.

"Well, the service is at ten; then there's the graveside and reception, but everyone should be back by one," Joan explained, before asking, "Have either of you heard when the services for the two guards will be? I haven't seen anything about it."

"Yeah, I heard that Green's bein' cremated," Jeremy said, still looking over the schedule. "Family's gonna, like, throw his ashes off a cliff in Washington state or something."

"Morales is from Chile," added Sean, after swallowing a bite. "His parents are probably burying him there."

A burst of static followed by a beep from the two guards walkie talkies halted further conversation.

A man's voice, sounding hopelessly garbled to Harleen, rambled off a message. Setting his coffee mug on the counter, Jeremy grabbed the walkie from his belt and responded, "Ten four. Bryant and Harmon en route to escort inmate Crane. Over."

"Duty calls," remarked Sean, shoving the rest of the doughnut in his mouth and heading towards the door. Both men were on the tall side and had the muscles that being an Arkham guard called for, but Sean clearly had Jeremy beat on appetite.

"Thanks for the copy, ," Jeremy said, folding said paper and tucking it into his uniform pocket. "Gonna be a real zoo tomorrow." He gave them both a friendly nod and started after his partner.

For a small moment, there was silence between Joan and Harleen, the pouring rain serving as a wet background score. "Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?" Joan asked, breaking Harleen's quiet contemplation.

Nodding as she exhaled a wispy cloud of smoke, Harleen replied, "I can't not go. I mean...I was there."

"Nobody would say you were required," Joan responded gently. "Not after what happened."

"That's exactly why I have to go."

Rather than argue the point, Joan shook her head and sighed. "We go to too many funerals."


It was still rainy at the service the next day, which meant that the cemetery was hell on everyone's shoes. As the minister wrapped up the final prayer, Harleen gazed forlornly at her black heels with the pretty scallop edge, all caked in mud. Was it cool to rinse them off in the ladies room during the reception? Was that gauche?

She was dwelling on this as they all stood to leave the tented area that covered the gravesite, moving back into what the ridiculously old stone church called its "family life center" for lunch, when a shadow crept overhead as she sensed a sudden movement behind her.

With a gasp and a little jump, Harleen spun around anxiously, only to find a soft smile greeting her. It was one of the doctors from the Arkham hospital wing. She recognized the face, but couldn't recall his name. He was holding his umbrella over her head, forcing her into a social situation.

"Oh...hey. Thanks," she offered, politely.

"Not a problem at all," he replied with a smile. "We're both going the same way, I guess."

He was older than Harleen (though, everyone was), with glasses that slipped awkwardly and slightly greasy looking brown hair that he probably hadn't changed the look of since middle school. His suit looked completely untailored and that paisley tie...hideous. She recognized that he wouldn't necessarily be considered unattractive if he tried, but guessed he really didn't know where to begin.

Harleen couldn't help but feel awkward around him, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why, besides the fact that something about the way he looked at her felt unnerving. She was racking her brain for a way to avoid walking any further with him, but couldn't think of a plausible excuse to avoid it. Seeing no other option, she started down the path and felt quite anxious walking so close to someone whose name she couldn't recall. …It began with a 'K'. Keller? Kingston? Something with two syllables.

"I know you must be having a hard time," he began and Harleen inwardly rolled her eyes, knowing what this was about. "Straight out of school, given the most challenging patient...I'm sure it's overwhelming, even for such a skilled doctor as yourself."

Harley expertly hid her true feelings about wanting to break away from this social engagement as quickly as possible. Instead, she forced a smile and replied, "Well, I didn't take the job without knowing the risks."

"Oh absolutely," the man continued excitedly, as though he was glad to find some common ground to begin a conversation, just the thing Harley had hoped to avoid. "It's the same way in the hospital wing-"

"There you are, Quinzel," Joan's voice miraculously rang from behind them, saving her from this ordeal. "Kirkwood, if I could borrow Doctor Quinzel..."

Before Kirkwood could say anything, Harleen was stepping under Joan's umbrella. "No, it's fine. I know you needed to speak to me about those reports. Thank you for the help, Doctor Kirkwood!"

"Always glad to assist," he told Harleen, a bit too chipper. "Seriously, you need anything, I'm happy to help."

Once they were a couple feet away, Harleen breathed out a sigh of relief. "Joan, you have no idea how grateful I am."

Joan let out a small laugh. "I know! I saw your face and hurried over as soon as I could."

"I couldn't remember his name," Harleen told her through her own giggle. "And he's such a...God, I guess the only word is 'dork'."

"That's the perfect word," replied Joan. "How does anyone get into their thirties and not know how to buy a suit that fits?"

"Man, I have no clue," said Harleen, before asking, "Hey, are you gonna wash your shoes?"

Joan's quizzical look was the only answer she needed.


March faded into April, bringing warmth and welcome color to the city. The most exciting thing that happened to Harleen was busting out her spring wardrobe and scoring some divine Neiman Marcus peep-toe wedges on clearance. With her patient still at large, she kept herself busy by attending a slew of psychiatry seminars on Arkham's dime and making as many connections in the criminal rehabilitation society as she could. Schmoozing at events was a priority in order to move up in her career.

She had a tentative timeline developed: bow out of treating the Joker after maybe two years, take her (well-earned) credentials of treating a notorious patient to another facility with the criminally insane, work with some undoubtedly easier patients, publish a paper about the Joker's psyche with some sort of shocking theory that twenty-four hour news channels would adore (cater to the layman)...and cross-over into a "psychology expert" on TV. Maybe a recurring spot on a current events panel, then her own half-hour show, some self-help book deals.

So, like, five years. Tops.

April went by quicker than she would have liked. At least she was making enough money to afford a tax guy, rather than filing for herself. She had absolutely no business attempting that again. Besides, what good was a paycheck if she couldn't indulge once in awhile?

Overall, the last few weeks hadn't been terrible...Though Doctor Kirkwood had taken to dropping by her office for chit-chats and they were easily the worst parts of her day.

One afternoon in early May, he knocked on her door, which was open, and wandered in casually, sipping his coffee. Harleen held in a sigh and turned her chair around from her filing cabinet to greet him. "Hello, Doctor Kirkwood."

"I told you that you can call me Glenn," he chided good-naturedly, helping himself to a seat on her sofa. Oh Christ, he's sticking around. "So, how's your day, umbrella buddy?"

Gritting her teeth and turning back to her files, she replied, "It's been just peachy keen."

"Yeah. I bet you're excited to have your patient back, aren't you? No more hanging around- ...what?" Harleen was staring at him, unable to get words out. "Oh...oh, you didn't know yet?"

Attempting to compose herself, she turned back to her files, aimlessly shoving papers in random sections. "Nope. Nobody told me. When did he come in?"

"Sometime around two in the morning. He's in the hospital wing still, pretty torn up."

Remain calm, remain calm, remain calm. "Torn up?" she inquired, tone casually curious. "Anything serious?"

"Just the usual. You know, bruised ribs, smashed face, broken wrist. Some superficial glass wounds...You okay?"

Harley forced a smile his direction. "Sure, sure. Just a lot to take in. Well, you'll have to excuse me. Clearly, I've got a lot of work ahead of me. Have to get myself prepared."

"Of course," he agreed. "I completely understand. See you tomorrow, then."

Harleen let out a deep breath she'd been holding in ever since Kirkwood had entered her doorway. She took a seat and stoically considered the task now before her and how exactly to deal with the unfortunate events surrounding the last time she'd seen her patient.


Harleen had prepared herself mentally for this over the past week: her initial session with the Joker after his first escape under her care. There had been a few minor protocol infractions, she knew...Okay, so maybe minor was an understatement, but at the time she believed (and still did to a degree) that they were made in the benefit of her patient. A bond of any sort between doctor and patient was considered taboo, but Harleen could hardly see how you could accomplish anything without it. With a relationship came trust. With trust came sharing and healing. Still, the fact that he had entered her home uninvited clearly showed that she needed to regain control of the situation. She was determined to gain the high ground quickly.

"We've got him here for you, Dr. Quinzel, if you're ready," said Jeremy. He escorted the Joker through the door frame after she had given him a small nod of the head, indicating for him to be brought in. She cringed inwardly as she saw his wrapped wrist forcibly strapped down beneath his constraints, but made sure that she did nothing to display these thoughts. "Sorry your breather is over," he continued, while securing him to the couch bolted to the floor. "Hope you enjoyed it because he's in one of his fouler moods today."

"But that's all behind me," Joker assured him kind-heartedly. "Now that me and my doctor are ready to continue where we've left off," he added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Jeremy gave Harleen a knowing look and she matched it in both appearance and mindset. "Good luck," he finished, not envying her position. "I'll be right outside."

"Thought he'd never leave," Joker muttered as the door clicked behind the security guard. "It's nice to see a friendly face again," he stated, indicating his doctor could drop the act she put on for the guard.

She answered him with a cold look of indifference from above the rim of her glasses, before returning her gaze to her notebook.

"Oh, so not so friendly then," Joker confirmed. "I see how it is."

"When we last left off-," Harley began and was instantly cut off.

"When we last left off," Joker completed for her, "Your tongue was halfway down my throat…At least, that's what I recall."

She had prepared for this and didn't so much as pause in thought before returning emphatically, "I don't."

"Quite right, quite right," Joker agreed hastily. "How silly of me. When we last left off, I had just killed…was it four people? The number hardly matters, now does it? And you were absolutely covered in red," he added seductively. "Have I mentioned that's a good look for you?"

"Yes," Harleen returned, evenly. "You have. Now, if we can return to where we last left off here," she replied curtly, indicating her notebook.

"OH! Oh yes! Now I remember! When we last left off, we were having a sleepover," Joker finished triumphantly. "That was fun."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Harley contradicted. "But if you aren't in the mood to be constructive, I know the guards won't mind escorting you back to your cell early."

"Well," Joker added, with a touch of sadness. "I missed you, even if you didn't miss me."

Harleen sighed at his forlorn expression. "I never said that, Mr. Joker."

"Then you did miss me!" he concluded happily.

She sighed again, deeper this time, rolling back her head. "I didn't say that either."

"I have been in a rather foul mood," he changed the subject, returning to the guard's earlier comment. "I was beginning to feel better though, knowing I'd be seeing you today. Thought it would cheer me up."

"Why have you been in such bad spirits?" Harley asked, deciding to take the opening diverting from their…whatever it was they had, rather than taking the bait.

"Well, I typically am initially after being brought in, freedom being stripped away. Who wouldn't be? And I was working on something big," he admitted. "It would have driven Bats crazy! Now, a few dozen happy pills out of this place, and the idea has just…flown away." He added to himself thoughtfully, "It was good. I know it was good."

"That must be very frustrating," Harley sympathized, while scribbling in her notebook.

"It'll come back to me. It usually does." He shrugged as best he could from beneath his restraints, reminding Harleen of his wrist once again. "Right now I'm dealing with something far more disturbing."

"What's that?" Harley asked with some concern, wondering if he was going to admit to some discomfort. The way they had his broken wrist constrained had to be extremely painful.

"Apparently, I'm recalling things that just aren't so," Joker explained. "I hadn't realized it until talking with you. I know I have issues, but hallucinations aren't normally one of them. Have they changed my medication doctor? Should I be worried?"

Harleen glared back at him, sternly thinning her lips. "I'll make a note of it. I'm sure you're fine," she replied evenly.

"If you say so," he conceded, gesturing with a slight shrug again. "You're the expert after all."

"I'd like to begin a few exercises now," she continued, trying to return to a familiar routine. "Today I'd like to try-"

"Are you angry with me?" Joker interrupted.

"No, of course not," she assured him. "Why would you think that?"

"You just seem…different," Joker answered. "It's hard to describe…You used to seem like you enjoyed your work. Right now it's like you're having to do it. I'd hate to think that I've become an irritant."

"I do enjoy my work! And you are not an irritant!" Harleen reassured him, wondering if she pushed things too far. "Perhaps, like you, it's hard for me to get back into the swing of things. You said that being brought back here always puts you in a negative frame of mind. Remember, for as long as you've been gone from here, you've been gone from me. I'm having to readjust back into our routine, just like you."

Joker nodded, but still wore a wary face.

Harley put on the familiar soft smile he was more accustomed to, to put him at ease, and he did seem to respond to the gesture positively, relaxing his posture. "Can I be frank with you?"

"Of course," he smiled back, their interaction returning to something he was more familiar with.

"I don't suppose most doctors around here actively discuss their patients' specific issues with the patient themselves. And, for some of them, that may be for the best. It might result in a violent outburst or having the patient withdraw. Many people have a hard time facing who they really are," she expounded.

"Not me, Doc," Joker unwaveringly stated.

"Not you," Harleen agreed. "I think we can both admit that you are a tad egocentric."

"Come now, doctor, it's more than a tad," Joker teased. "But who could blame me?"

"My point is, I think you tend not to realize that people's lives go on, with or without your presence," she explained.

"In my presence…I think they tend not to," he commented darkly and she gave him an annoyed look in response. "C'mon! You walked right into that one!"

She cleared her throat, drowning out the laugh that was threatening to rise up. "What I'm saying is that it's not something you think about."

"Other people's lives? I don't," Joker agreed. "Why should I?"

"Well, for situations like the one we're in now," she pointed out, logically. "I don't think you realize that, while you were gone, my life continued to move forward. You don't know what has happened to me within that time or what my mindset might be now and are instead immediately attributing my mood to you, when it could be…anything."

"I see," Joker considered. "So what were you up to while I was away? Anything interesting?"

"I'd much rather talk about what you were up to," she redirected him.

"See, now I'm wondering if it's true or not," he said jokingly. "What if you just pop in and out of existence when I show up. I rather like that idea. And I have no reason to think otherwise. You can't even describe our time apart."

She quickly jotted down some notes before responding. "If it makes you feel any better, I attended some seminars and had several patients assigned to me while you were away."

"Who?! I do love gossip," Joker pleaded excitedly.

"No one you would know. They were all from the lower security end of the building," she said in a chiding tone.

"Oh," he sighed in disappointment.

"And I helped evaluate the progress of some patients under the care of other doctors. Nothing too exciting," she admitted.

"Yes, but that's all work related. Surely you had more going on than that," Joker prodded.

Harleen shrugged. "Nothing interesting enough to talk about. Besides, we're supposed to be talking about you," she reminded him.

"I picture you meditating after a long day's work with that fountain trickling in the background. You know, the one in the corner." Joker closed his eyes as though he were visualizing it. "Did you do any of that while I was running amok?"

"I'm not really one for mediation," Harley refuted. "But I do find the fountain soothing."

Joker opened one eye at her, a broad smile slowly spreading across his face.

"…What?" she asked warily.

"Oh, nothing." He seemed about to disregard the question as inconsequential. "It's just that my hallucinations seem to be extraordinarily accurate to be able to describe your decor."

The features on Harley's face immediately screwed themselves into something between anger and self-condemnation.

"I'm fairly certain that it's against your job description to make the patient feel as though they are going crazier. Why would you do that?" he tsked.

"Because," Harley seethed inwardly. "Because it was in our…your best interest."

"You're going to have to explain that one," Joker insisted.

"You broke out of here!" Harley exclaimed.

"Of course I did. Being forced to do anything against your will isn't fun. Try it for yourself. Besides," he continued, "It's far from the first time."

She gave him a stern look, eyes narrowed.

"...I do suppose it was the first time it's happened since you've started here though," Joker admitted. "I hadn't considered that."

"I thought we were making progress," Harley stated bluntly.

"We were! We are!" Joker emphasized. "Can't you see that? I did it to come see you."

"I know! I was there!" Harley was beginning to look frazzled, the conversation taking more out of her than she thought. "That wasn't okay! That's why I…misdirected you. You can't think that's okay to do again."

"But I told you why I did it. You indicated that it made sense," he pleaded.

"It did. It did," she agreed. "Or I thought it did. But then you left and you…I'd hear on the news what you were doing. I haven't made any difference at all." She couldn't look at him anymore, for fear that he'd see the water swelling up in her eyes.

He leaned forward as much as he could, imploringly. "But you have," he said softly, but sincerely. "I've opened up to you, haven't I? And remember how I made the compromise with the gun? Remember that? Me. The Joker. Compromising. I don't do that. That was all you, Doc. Baby steps, like you said."

Harleen wiped her eyes quickly before looking up again. "But you left. If you had stayed, we could have-"

"Is that what's upsetting you?" he asked.

"We could have continued progressing, like you wanted, if you had only-"

"I wanted to. I really did," he assured her. "But I just couldn't. I tried, but my mind… I was already going crazy with boredom not two hours after you walked out the door. I was even thinking about hurting one of your neighbors just for something to do."

Harleen clasped a hand to her mouth in shock.

"Yeah, I knew that's how you'd feel about it," Joker explained. "So...so I did what I had to do and left. I didn't mean for it to upset you." He put on a more jovial tone. "If I may venture a suggestion, I think maybe you and I had better start working on my attention span to help issues like this in the future because it is practically nonexistent."

She snickered a little at that, despite herself, before returning to her previous stern look. "You went through my diary!"

He grimaced a little at that. "I told you; I was bored!" he whined. "Besides, none of my thoughts are supposed to be private from you. How is that fair?"

Harleen exhaled loudly and slumped in her chair out of exasperation. "You are absolutely impossible."

"I know. I know," he admitted. "But I like to think it's all part of my charm."

She offered him a look of concern before pointing at his wrist. "Does it hurt?"

"Only when I laugh," he answered with a broad smile. "So, quite a bit actually."

A sudden knock diverted their attention to the door with a muffled voice accompanying it. "Doctor Quinzel? Doctor Quinzel, it's like ten minutes past time. Is everything alright?"

Harleen hastily composed herself and answered the door. "Yes, yes, fine. Just lost track of time is all. We have a lot of catch up work to do."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that Doctor," Jeremy said, entering the room. "It won't be long before we're in this exact same situation again. It's a total cycle with these guys."

Harleen hid the look of displeasure she wanted to give the comment, but fortunately her patient vocalized precisely what she was thinking.

"See how little faith they have in me?" Joker sighed, as they unhooked him from the couch. "What's the point in trying when everyone has already decided I'm going to fail?"

"Well, you'll just have to prove them wrong then, Mr. Joker," she encouraged.