Here ya go, kiddos! A slightly fluff chappie for ya...before we get to the good stuff...hehehehe...*evil grin*

Another hour passed as The Joker and Croc continued their Black Jack game, talking quietly about what they did before they were caught and thrown into the asylum. The Joker learned that Croc was in a small freak show in a two-bit carnival and lived on scraps from the cook and whatever kids would want to throw at him. "Ah, the old tomato and cabbages gag," The Joker sighed as he listened.

Croc grinned. "Only if they were in season...I usually got half-eaten candy bars and popcorn. One guy threw a chicken at me one night. I kept it in my cage until the hunger really got to me." He stopped himself and leaned back in his chair. "Funny..."

"What's funny?" The Joker asked, moving his cards out of the way and leaning forward.

"I feel like I'm on Dr. Quinzel's couch again..." He looked over at his friend and put his large hand on the table. "I don't have to tell you that, though. You know what it's like."

The Joker sniffed and popped his neck. "Actually, Croc...I haven't been good enough to get that couch."

"You're still in the interview room, then?" Croc asked in a tone that was matter-of-factly. "Strange...I only had one session in there with Dr. Arkham...then I turned up in Dr. Quinzel's office." He thought for a moment. "I got a feeling that you're still in there because of who you are."

"And I'm supposed to be more dangerous than you...Killer Croc?" The Joker asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Croc chuckled and put their loose cards back in the deck. "I guess Dr. Arkham found me a bit more...docile...when I came in...then again, The Batman had been giving me too many blows to the head that it affected me for about a week. You, though...I don't know. Seems to me that Dr. Arkham doesn't trust you around his youngest employee..."

"Then why would she be my--?"

"He doesn't seem to trust you around the doctor...alone. There's a warder that stands outside the door, right?" The Joker nodded. "Well, there you go..."

"You think I could be a bad influence on such well-groomed girl like Dr...Harleen...Quinzel?"

The way the doctor's name rolled off his tongue gave Croc uneasy shivers down his neck, but he shrugged it off, saying, "I would bet on it...but it would be in my favor...seeing as how you been playing shitty hands since you sat down..."

There was a dull silence between them and then The Joker suddenly burst into a fit of laughter that echoed around the rec room. Croc was taken aback at first, but then suddenly followed suit. The Joker pounded the table with his fist as the other patients looked on, quite uncomfortably. The sudden eruption of joy made their skin crawl as the two new comrades guffawed in the middle of their quiet conversation.

Suddenly, The Joker's right hand slapped the table and he stopped laughing rather abruptly as he saw his fingers begin to twitch. He stood stock still as Croc's chuckling died down as well, and he looked at him, saying, "What'sa matter, Joker?" He noticed the trembling in his hand and looked at his friend's face and noticed that his heavy brow was beginning to sweat. "Hey, man? You okay?"

The Joker straightened in his chair as an unexpected surge rushed through his stomach and into his lungs, causing him to take a deep breath. He began to stand up, but his knees crumbled underneath him and he supported himself by leaning onto the table. The knot in his throat returned and a bead of sweat slowly ran down his temple.

"Maybe you should sit down," Croc's voice, suddenly thunderous in his ears, interrupted his deep breathing, but he obeyed the suggestion and gripped the table.

"I, uh..." The Joker began, clearing his throat. "I really don't...feel like card games anymore..."

Croc nodded. "Okay, man. It's cool." He glanced at the on-lookers, Crane edging closer to their table, a knowing yet curious expression on his face. Croc stood up and faced him. "You just gonna stare at him, Doc? Where's Maurice?" Crane looked at him, puzzled, but Croc rolled his eyes and walked past him. "Yo! Maurice!"

A young, bulky orderly came into the rec room and Crane watched as Croc pointed out the situation as he stepped closer to The Joker. He smirked as he watched him put his forehead to the cool wood of the table and take deeper breaths. He was now holding his stomach as Crane stood beside him.

"I knew it..." he whispered to The Joker as a guttural moan left his throat as he held his trembling hand. "You're nothing but a junkie..."

The Joker slowly lifted his tired eyes to Crane and sneered as he said softly, "I knew it, Crane..."

Crane cocked his head. "You knew...what?"

A fist suddenly landed into his stomach and he let out a surprised grunt and doubled over in pain, his knees landing hard onto the floor. The Joker placed his cheek on the table and grinned at Crane as he looked back up at him.

"You're nothing but a pussy..." The Joker snickered, but stopped as he felt Maurice's hands grab his shoulders and lift him to his feet, taking him out of the rec room as his new acquaintances looked on, inquisitively.

Croc stepped closer to Crane as he lifted himself to his feet and he shook his head. "You make fast friends, Doc..." he told him sarcastically, then sat down at the table again to continue shuffling his deck of cards as he waited out the last fifteen minutes of Recreation Time.

Maurice helped The Joker into his cell and, before he could even shut the door after him, he rushed to his toilet and knelt over it, the lump in his throat desperately trying to crawl its way out of his dry esophagus. He tried coughing it out, spitting into the toilet as he lingered on the very edge of vomiting, but no relief came. He felt that if he could just let out even the tiniest bit of sickness that was lurching in his stomach then he could sleep soundly for the rest of the day. However, the only relief he felt was the coolness of the dingy porcelain bowl as he placed his temple against it as well as the occasional belch that escaped his lips.

The Joker tried to curse, but he could barely let out a whisper as he continued to breathe deeper. He thought about what Dr. Quinzel had said about his withdrawals, how he was supposed to sweat it out of him. It had only been about a week without a fix and he already felt like he was dying. He felt something rush up his throat and, though the burning of the sickness wasn't pleasant, he was more than grateful to stick his face into the bowl as the crest of the feverish wave crashed down upon him.

After a few more waves of sickness, he spit off the taste from his lips and crashed onto his back on the hard floor of his cell. He lazily looked up at the grey ceiling and could have sworn that the cracks in it were swimming towards him, but his eyes fluttered shut and he rested for a moment.

The moment turned into hours and when he awoke he was on his cot, a cold rag on his forehead that was turning warm from the fever in his skin. He moaned as he opened his eyes and the dim light from the hallway past his glass partition hurt his head as he took off the compress. He held the cold cloth in his hands and gazed at it, then, sighing, he placed it on his chest and licked his lips.

He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten sick like that, and though it was a relief to vomit like he did, he didn't want to do it again for a while. However, he had a feeling that the withdrawals were only going to get worse, and if they were then he really didn't know how he was going to handle it. The Joker was pretty easy when it came to handling difficult situations, but when he realized that he would have to handle this sickness while surrounded by shatter-proof glass and doctors watching his every move, the very idea of being in Arkham at that moment made him want to smash in his own head...or anyone else's, for that matter.

The Joker growled deeper as he sneered to himself, but was brought out of his grudge by soft tapping that came from the glass behind him. He slowly turned onto his side and looked through heavy eyelids at Dr. Quinzel, her valise at her side and her black raincoat over her shoulders. He looked past her to the window across the hall and saw the storm outside as the rain poured heavily in the night sky.

Had he really slept for that long?

Harleen peered in at her patient and they gazed at each other for a moment, and then The Joker plopped his head down onto his pillow again. She went to his door and opened the tiny slat that would allow them to talk. "How do you feel, Mr. Joker?"

Her sweet voice was usually welcome in his ears, but at that moment he wanted to block out any and all noises that echoed near him. The Joker sniffed, however, and replied, "Like I've been hit by a train..."

Her soft giggling made him roll his eyes in his painful situation. She sure did do that a lot. On the other hand, it was quite lyrical.

"What are you...still doing here?" he asked in a weary voice.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Just catching up on some filing," she replied, trying to keep her voice as soft as possible as she knew that his head was pounding. She looked down either side of the hallway and didn't see anyone passing through, but she took a deep breath and asked, "Do you need another compress for your head?"

The Joker shook his head. "No...but it could use a refill..."

Harleen knew she that should have had an orderly present, but seeing as how there were none in sight and her patient needed assistance, she bravely opened his cell door and stepped cautiously inside, placing her valise at the door.

He turned his head and saw that she had come in alone and he smirked, "Look at you..."

She stopped and kept her back close to the wall. "What?"

He didn't want to point out just how brave, yet stupid she was being at that moment. It sort of amazed him that she would even venture into his cage without a properly trained handler to keep him at bay, but he looked away from her as he held out his hand that was gripping the now luke-warm rag. "Your coat..." he lied. "Nice..." His eyes felt droopy, but he kept his hand out for her to take his compress.

Harleen carefully walked closer to him and grabbed the cloth with the tips of her fingers, being careful to not stand directly next to his cot. She kept her eyes on him as she walked to his sink and turned on the cold tap. She soaked the rag until it was heavy again with water and wringed out the excess gently, leaving just a bit of water so it could soak up the rest of The Joker's fever.

She stepped toward him and reached out her arm to offer the compress back to him, but noticed that he drifted into another light slumber and his arm was now dangling from the side of the cot. She felt a nervous lump in her throat. She couldn't just leave him without the relief of the cool water on his skin. She had promised to help him, but she also didn't want to get too close for fear of startling him awake and the danger of him grabbing her arm like he did when the wave of side effects had hit him earlier that day.

Knowing that she was risking her neck, Harleen quietly approached him and, just as she was about to place the rag on his forehead, she noticed something about him that she hadn't before...

...despite the jagged scars on his cheeks, his skin was quite flawless. His hair was steadily losing the green dye and she could see his natural, dark curly locks begin to appear, and his bottom lip was full as it was slightly parted from its upper partner as he softly snored.

Harleen suddenly realized that she was staring at him and shook herself out of her reverie. She gently placed the cold rag on his forehead, biting her lip as she readied herself to jump back if he had the urge to grab her. However, he kept his position on his back and only grunted when he felt the icy sting of the rag on his skin, but he did not wake up.

Harleen quickly, but quietly, walked to the cell door, grabbed her valise, and gently shut it, locking it as she glimpsed at him one last time before she turned away. She buttoned her raincoat as she made her way to the entrance that would lead into the parking lot.

It would be from there that she would drive to the front gate where Richard would be waiting in the booth to kiss her good night before she drove back to her apartment.

Back in his cell, The Joker slumbered softly, waking up only momentarily to wonder where the soothing aroma of flowers had gone.