"Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?

Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?"

- Halsey, Gasoline

"I've got a joke for you, Doc."

"Maybe later. There's a few things we still need to take care of." She bent over to open her briefcase. "Things we could've gotten out of the way, last we met," Harleen gave Joker a sharp glare, and he scowled.

What a buzzkill. It was a really good one, too.

Rather than being cooped up in Room 419B, they were cooped up in confinement. This time, however, they were separated by thick, bullet proof glass.

It was a win-win, in her mind. Joker would have the liberty to move around freely in his cell, jacketless, and Harleen wouldn't have to worry about being sent back to that wretched infirmary if he had an outburst.

This was for the best.

In a much more comfortable chair, Harleen seated herself a few feet away from his cell and used her lap as leverage to write. Having been denied a chair of his own, Joker sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. His arm was now in a cast and a sling held it in place.

Gaze lingering, Joker bent his knees and rolled his neck. She figured with such a crummy pillow, it must always be sore.

"Sure you don't want to come in here and sign my cast?" He teased.

Harleen gave him a look and shut her brief case. Hard. That was a no.

"Fine, go on. Ask whatever it is you need." He gestured toward her expectantly with a flourish of his hand, disappointed.

Joker didn't look dead anymore. He was wearing clean Arkham clothes and she could tell that he had been properly bathed and fed. It made her smile a little bit. They must have received her complaint.

Flipping open his file, Harleen scanned the top page, a standard patient information form that was virtually empty. Nothing was filled in, aside from his prison number, alias, and an estimated age of thirty-five.

Name, Date of Birth, Relationship Status. General Medical History. Insurance Provider.

All blank. The previous doctors didn't get very far.

Tapping her foot, she decided to start off with something harmless. "When was the last time you had your blood tested?"

Joker laughed to himself. "Weird pick-up line, toots. Though, I suppose it's better than 'what's your sign'."

Harleen blew a strand of hair from her face, annoyed. "Please answer the question, Mr. J."

"You first."

Fighting back a groan, Harleen scratched the side of her nose and shrugged impatiently. "I don't know, Virgo, I think. Now you."

"Sagittarius." He smirked and placed a hand behind his head. Ugh.

Obviously getting nowhere, Harleen tried a different approach. Gathering her things, she stood and sighed, dejected. "I knew this would be pointless. Nice knowing ya, J."

She started to walk away. Three, two, one…

"Wait, wait." Joker held a hand out as if to halt her and soon after grunted in pain, sinking back. It had been his bad arm.

Pleased with herself, Harleen looked over her shoulder and blinked, waiting.

The clown ran a hand through his hair, irritated, and mumbled, "Two weeks ago. Something like that."

Harleen knew she was pushing it, but she couldn't help herself. "Sorry, what was that? Speak up a little."

Joker flicked his gaze up to her sharply, his rage building. "Harleen."

She had given up on trying to keep her name out of his mouth. Besides, they were alone. She had to pick her battles.

Smiling now, Harleen plopped back down into her chair and clicked her pen, jotting down this new information. She moved onto the next question. "Are you on any medication?"

He snorted and worked his jaw. "Boy, am I. Want some?" He flashed his grill. "For you, free of charge."

Tucking some hair behind her ear, Harleen chuckled dryly and shook her head. "Not interested."

"What are you interested in?" Joker let his eyes roam over her with curiosity. "Do you like to dance? I know a great place."

Harleen checked some boxes, not looking at him. "We're not here to talk about me."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." He rolled up his sleeves. "There has to be something other than this nuthouse that makes you tick."

She played along for a moment and mulled it over, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Gymnastics, I guess. It's been a while, though." Harleen gave him a look. "And that's all that you're getting out of me."

Joker had leaned forward in rapt attention, but didn't say anything in return, his eyes glazed over in thought.

A little concerned, Harleen spoke up once the silence got eerie. "Mr. J?"

Snapping out of it, Joker relaxed back against the wall and gave her a boyish smile. "Sorry about that, Doc."

Harleen fiddled with her necklace. Maybe she was getting somewhere. "Was it something I said?"

"The mental image of you doing the splits," Joker tapped at his head with a sly grin. "Filing that one away for later."

A flush crawled up her neck at the comment and she was tempted to kick in the glass so she could smack him.

Sensing her discomfort, Joker sighed and lightly banged his head back against the wall. "Kidding, Doc. Kidding. Lighten up a little."

"Did you act this way with Doctor Grey?" Harleen blurted, startling herself with her curiosity.

Joker eyed her strangely. "In what way?" He paused. "I joke around, Doc. It's sort of my thing." Another grin.

"I meant the flirting," she corrected. "Your relentless innuendoes and sexual remarks. Did you do that with her?"

Intrigued, Joker titled his head and asked slowly, "Why do you care?"

Harleen was at a loss for words. She didn't know who to be frustrated with anymore.

Before she could come up with some kind of reasonable answer, her wristwatch beeped.

"We're almost out of time." She looked at him for a while, struggling. He waited. "I could have lost my job. I know this is all fun and games for you, but this is my career. I don't know anything else."

"If you're so concerned, get yourself a different patient, Harleen." Joker turned bitter. "You already have others. Cross me off your list." He waved her off. "Move along."

"That isn't what I want."

Joker looked hungry again. Shit, no. Fix it quickly.

"I mean, that's not what I meant." That wasn't great either. Really smooth, Harleen.

Her watch beeped a second time. She frowned.

"Times up." Joker stood and stretched, his shirt riding up.

Harleen had forgotten how tall he was.

"The blue pills, I'm afraid, make me drowsy." He yawned and nodded towards her. "Also, your shoes are untied."

Gullible and distracted, Harleen looked down to her scuffed up heels and fumed. Joker cackled and made his way to his thin, shitty cot.

She rolled her eyes at his juvenile prank and shoved his file into her briefcase. Another wasted session. "Hilarious, really. A real knee-slapper, Mr. J."

Splayed out on the small mattress, Joker draped an arm over his eyes, exposing the inked depiction of a wide grin on his forearm. He let out a dramatic, raspy groan. "Can't you see I'm trying to sleep? Get lost, kid. You can let yourself out."

Harleen stomped off towards the elevator, but her shoulders relaxed when he heard his low, warm chuckling.

She needed a drink.

"See, this is why I didn't want to tell you. Cause I knew you'd flip out!" Rubbing at the back of her neck, Harleen rolled her eyes for the millionth time today. "Honestly, Mom. I'm fine."

"You're fine?" Her mother shrieked into the receiver and Harleen winced, pulling the phone away from her suffering eardrum. "Waddaya mean, you're fine? You got assaulted by a homicidal maniac, you ain't fine!"

Groaning, Harleen glanced up to the clock on the wall of her office. It was already 9:30. They had been at this for fifteen minutes.

"Mom, I've been here for twelve hours and I want to go home," she whined. She slipped off her shoes and stretched her toes. Her feet were killing her and a hot bath sounded great right about now.

"We ain't finished talkin' about this, young lady."

Harleen was about to snap. She was twenty-eight years old, for Christ sakes. "Mom—" A red light flashed twice on the phone dock. "Mom, I have to let you go. There's someone on the other line."

"Like hell there is!"

"Bye, Mom."

Desperate to escape, Harleen slammed her finger onto line two. "Quinzel."

"Um, hi." The man sounded stressed. "Steven again. Heh. From sixth floor, remember?"

Harleen could feel a migraine coming on.

Somewhere in the background, she heard a rough, "Be polite, damn it. No wonder you're single."

Steven jumped to it, in a much higher, nervous octave. "How are you today, ma'am?"

This was getting ridiculous. Harleen shook her head, fatigued. "Fine, Steven. But I'm about to leave."

"Um, she said she's leaving, sir." His voice was muffled and she figured his palm must be over the receiver. A pause, then, "Okay, okay! Here, take it!"

Unamused, Harleen hid a yawn behind her hand.

"Take some of my pills, Doc?" Some shuffling. "You can't take that in there, sir!" A door slam.

Harleen took off her earrings. "It's very late. Do I need to report you, Mr. J?" She probably should have hours ago.

"No need, no need. I'll keep it short."

Fiddling with a thread on her lab coat, she leaned back in her chair. She heard banging somewhere behind Joker. "Please stop messing with him. He's just a kid." She closed her eyes.

Joker gasped, affronted. "What, Stevie? He's no kid! He's a strapping young man, isn't that right?"

A beat. Then, timidly and far away, "Thank you, sir."

Harleen was certain that she could pass out any moment. She decided to be blunt. "J, I'm falling asleep in my chair. As charming as this is, can't it wait until Monday's session?"

Joker made a sound of protest, but he compromised. "Tell you what, Doc. I'll let you skedaddle if you tell me what you think of my joke."

Rubbing at her temple, Harleen sighed softly, and shrugged. "Fine. But it better be short."

Joker cleared his throat, and she could tell he was delighted.

"A man makes an appointment with a psychiatrist. He says, Doc, my wife thinks I'm crazy because I like sausages! The psychiatrist replies, Nonsense. I like sausages too."

Harleen raised a brow, and Joker continued.

"To which the patient says, Good, you should come and see my collection. I've got hundreds of them!"

Despite herself, Harleen snorted abruptly. Joker found this hilarious and broke into a peal of laughter. Embarrassed, she started to giggle, only furthering the clown's amusement.

A fellow coworker walking by gave her a funny stare and Harleen quickly swiveled around in her chair, facing away from him.

She grumbled into the phone. "Shut up."

"Did you like it?" His voice was low and pleased. Seductive. He already knew the answer.

Harleen slipped her shoes back on and turned off her lamp, her cheeks burning.

"Good night, Mr. J."

If this was going to be a regular thing, she would need to stock her desk with Tylenol.

Arkham's office was on the way out, and Harleen stopped short in front of it. Adjusting her purse over her shoulder nervously, she realized that he needed to know. About the calls, about Steven. It wasn't appropriate behavior. It was the right thing to do.

Harleen kept on walking.

God, guys. You're all fantastic. Thank you all so much for everything. Will update very soon. Also, I saw The Killing Joke yesterday and I highly recommend it. Hamill is a God.

Chapter dedicated to wraysfords. Get better soon!