Walking back to her office, Harley felt proud of herself. She had made the Joker talk to her. He hadn't once tried to be violent. It was a successful first session. Joan was waiting in her office.
"So…how'd it go honey?" she asked, sounding vaguely condescending, but Harley could get past that. Anyway, she'd certainly had a good day.
"Fine," Harley answered, trying to control the corners of her mouth that kept turning up to smile.
"Did he talk to you?" Joan asked, pulling a cigarette from behind her ear and flicking out a lighter.
"Yes," Harley said, wrinkling her nose at Joan. Surely there were rules about that?
"You want one?" Joan asked, mistaking Harley's distaste for jealousy.
"Um...no thank you," she answered truthfully. She'd have to air out her office after Joan left.
"So uh, what'd he say?"
"Well, a lot and then not much at all," Harley said, replaying the conversation in her mind.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"He didn't want to talk about himself. Except for the…um, the scars." Harley made unnecessary hand gestures to her face. Joan raised an eyebrow.
"What?" Harley asked, crossing her arms across her chest. Joan just smiled and avoided her eye.
"Well it's better than what anyone else got out of him right?" Harley pressed, uncrossing her arms and leaning back on her desk.
"I suppose," Joan said, "But how do you know he was telling the truth?"
That stopped Harley in her tracks.
"Why say it if it wasn't?"
"I think he finds it funny," Joan said, biting down on her cigarette so she could pick up his file. She leafed through it before setting it down.
"I already checked," Harley said, "That file is pretty full, but there isn't anything particularly important. Real name even."
"How do you know it isn't Joker?"
"What kind of mother gives birth to a baby and names it Joker?"
"Well…not yours or mine. But I mean really, he's pretty messed up isn't he? Maybe that's why."
"I doubt it," Harley frowned. And that was true; she did doubt that any mother would name their child that.
"And how do you know-"
"Enough with the how do you know questions," Harley cried, exasperated. Joan raised her hands.
"Sorry. You said he talked to you."
"And he did. He just didn't tell me much."
Or anything at all, it occurred to her. Joan snorted and pulled her cigarette from her mouth, extinguishing it on a metal file in the corner of the room.
"Thanks for that," Harley sighed. Joan laughed.
"Lighten up Harleen," she said, almost kindly.
"It's Harley," Harley told her without thinking. Joan nodded.
"Harley then," she said, before picking up her cigarette and leaving the room.

As soon as she was gone, Harley turned on the little fan she had in her office. She then sat down at her desk and opened the Joker's file again. It was becoming an addiction. The pages covered boring, uninteresting details about him. The crimes he'd committed, notable people he'd killed. But there was nothing about him.
"Maybe that's the problem," she said out loud. And maybe it was. No one knew anything about the way he'd grown up. They hadn't even bothered to remove the paint on his face. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk. He had made it obvious he wasn't interested in discussing himself. But maybe all he needed was someone he trusted. That was, if he actually had the ability to trust anyone. She certainly wouldn't have in his position. She shut his file and placed it in one of her drawers. Harley wasn't sure she was quite cut out for the job. At twenty three, she'd only gained a small degree in university and had nabbed the job because one of her teachers had recommended her. Giving the Joker to someone so inexperienced was an odd call on the asylums' part; but then again, she'd gotten something out of him hadn't she? Harley turned off her fan; convinced that the smell of cigarettes was gone. She checked her watch. Therapists only dealt with one patient at a time, meaning that Harley was free to go home. She left her office, locked the door and went into the elevator. As she left the asylum, she looked back; eyes scanning for her office window. She thought she could see it. Then Harley turned away and pulled her bag further up her shoulder. She was most certainly done for that day.