The place felt too small and crammed. There were way too many people. Adults, kids, students, office workers. All of them stealing air and space that she desperately needed. The burgundy turtleneck she was wearing made her so sweaty and uncomfortable, she couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take it off without attracting concerned stares. It'd been a few days since the last time she saw Joker, a few horrible days.

It had been extremely difficult to keep her neck covered. At first she'd used her hair, but it wasn't efficient. Then she'd switched to a scarf. However, you can have a cold only for so long. Finally, she'd dug up some of her old sweaters from the closet and stretched the fabric over her throat. Of course, people noticed, they always do.

"Huh? What's that, doc? Lover's bite?" Walker mocked her.

Quinzel had had no intentions of telling anybody about the bruises. Firstly, because she had had no one to talk to. Secondly, if someone knew they'd react in the same, annoying way, by not listening to her.

And then she'd thought of doctor Leland. That woman had been nothing but understanding, she'd surely be a suitable person to give a piece of advice. So the young doctor had called Leland to arrange a meeting. She had picked a cafe, but as she was sitting in there, it seemed like a bad spot.

Leland arrived at five sharp. She looked perfect as always. Harleen wondered how long it had taken her to be so flawless. And the woman could sense something was wrong, but waited until the blonde was ready to speak.

"It's about the Joker," she eventually murmured.

"I've figured as much," Leland replied. "Look, whatever it is I'm sure we'll-" She didn't get to finish her thought because Harleen uncovered her purple neck. Her eyes widened as they took in what was in front of them. A short gasp escaped the dark skinned woman's parted lips. She looked terrified.

Quinzel hung her head low in shame as she hid the bruises. She'd expected that. Total shock, horror, disgust. She began to pick at her sweater nervously. Question was, what was she going to do next? Say 'told you so'? Yell? Call her stupid?

None of those things happened.

Joan covered her mouth with her palm, fear still present in the expression she'd made. That irritated Harleen. The older woman was not supposed to pity her. She could handle the scolding, but the worry? She'd rather be swallowed down by the ground.

"God, Harleen! What's happened?"

She had two options - tell the whole truth, get fired and sent to live with the crazies, or omit several details and stay safe to some extent. She opted for the latter, she was already deep in shit.

"I-I had a session with Joker on Monday," Harleen uttered. "I said something wrong, he got angry and then-" she pointed at her neck half-heartedly.

She described what'd happened in couple of sentences, but it was so much more. Not only because of the kiss. It was about what'd occured after it. He could've strangled and dumped her lifeless body in front of the guards, but no. That'd be too easy. Killing the young, beautiful, silly doctor right away? That's no fun at all! He had let her go and wasn't letting her slip away any time soon. The problem was, she had no idea what he was planning. Or how long he would want to have her as his toy.

"Wha- you said something wrong? What do you mean?"

"It's not important right now. I didn't call you to hear what an idiot I am," Quinzel said quietly. "I know I'm screwed. Just tell me what to do."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Well-I've thought of speaking with doctor Anath."

Joan shook her head and glared outside the big window they were sitting by. Her full lips turned into a thin line, her palms were clasped together tightly. When she looked at Quinzel, her expression softened a bit.

"You must tell Jeremiah."

The blonde hid her pained face in her hands. "If I tell him he'll-he'll make sure I never see J ever again," she groaned bitterly. "God knows what he'll do."

She wasn't exactly sure what had made Arkham be that way. When she first arrived at the Asylum a few months ago, he was very eloquent, never showed any signs of dislike towards her person. He started to behave intolerably when Quinzel had made some progress with the clown. Judging by his reactions during the tour with Wayne, he did not like being anywhere else than in the spotlight. She wasn't certain if the old man liked anything but himself.

"You asked me to tell you what to do, so I did," Joan opposed with a frown. "And with that look on your face, you'll not listen to a word I say."

"Probably not," she murmured back and sighed heavily. "But promise me-"

"No, Harleen."

"Promise you won't say anything until I figure this out."

"What's to figure out?"

"Please."

Harleen was walking down the stairs to the cell block, still wearing that damn turtleneck. Her high heels were making an annoying clicking sound, which echoed in her head. Was she scared? No. She wasn't scared of mister J, but rather what he'd say. She picked up the pace, unable to wait anymore. There was a guard with a scar on his jaw standing next to the gate. He let her through, but followed her. Just for security. You never know what those freaks could do.

Quinzel inhaled deeply when she finally saw him. She could hear blood flow through her veins, making her flush. She felt like laughing. He was on his feet and leaped towards her, but the glass wall kept him away from the blonde. The clown pressed himself against the glass, squishing his nose and cheeks on it. A grin never left his bright red lips.

"Good evening, doctor Quinzel," he growled. "How nice of you to stop by."

"Hello, mister J," she replied cheerfully.

"Come closer," he mumbled and a foggy spot appeared on the wall near his mouth. "Can't hear ya!"

Harleen took two steps forward. Her face turned even more pink under his lingering gaze. He shifted his eyes to her slim neck for a second and moaned loudly.

"Pretty sweater you got here."

Quinzel shivered.

"Mister J, I'm here because we won't be seeing each other for a few days."

His face fell. He wasn't smiling anymore and it looked quite comical. He was like a pouting child who didn't get to eat his favourite candy.

"Oh, yeah?"

"But I'll be back on Tuesday."

Joker was staring at her neck again. His jaw went slack and he began to breath heavily. Harleen had wet patches under her armpits at that point. She pondered how long she could stand it before she eventually fell apart into million tiny pieces. Not very long presumably.

"Show me," Joker whispered. "Come on, baby."

Her heart skipped a bit and her palms twitched. Somehow it felt very intimate. She was a canvas, he was a painter. Her delicate skin changed colours as he wished. Brush strokes equaled the pressure of his long fingers, which had created a masterpiece illustrating his beautiful, chaotic mind. Harleen raised her right palm and grabbed collar of the turtleneck on her. She yanked down the fabric, baring her throat to his hungry eyes. The skin was stained with thin, purple bruises that started to fade. They contrasted greatly against the alabaster background.

"Beautiful... Purple suits you, my harlequin," the clown purred. He smiled the Smile that terrified her so much. The doctor shuddered as her chest was going up and down rapidly.

The guard cleared his throat. "Miss?"

Quinzel jumped up and quickly covered her neck, woken up from an amazing dream. If someone told her a few months earlier that she'd be aroused by bruises... She almost chuckled at that thought.

"Shut up, Jerry!" Joker barked. The man pressed his back on the concrete wall behind him with a stumble and shaky hands. The clown turned to Quinzel with a smirk. He made a kissy face.

Harleen drove to her apartment slowly, she wasn't in a rush. She glanced curiously at the Christmas decorations, which had been hung up the night before. Snowflakes, snowmen, blinking lights, you name it. It wasn't even December yet... The streets of Gotham were busy, full of people shopping in the last minute, trying to make Thanksgiving better than last year. With the harvest holiday came a long weekend. That meant Harleen would be stuck in her flat for four days.

She stopped by a liquor store to buy two bottles of red wine and then she bought some groceries, her fridge was looking pretty sad and empty. Once she was home, she dumped everything in the kitchen. With a deep sigh of happiness the doctor took off her clothes and jumped into a shower. Hot water burned her skin, creating a delicious sensation. Soon after all of the tension was gone and she left the room full of steam.

On the Thanksgiving day Harleen prepared a small dinner, out of tradition. She thought what she was grateful for as she sat down. At first nothing could come to her mind, but after a moment the blonde saw Joker's white face. If Nick Quinzel hadn't neglected his family and become a con man, she'd never pick psychiatry as her major. That'd ultimately lead to her never meeting the Clown-Prince of Crime. She would not realize how many mistakes she'd been making for years. Falling in love with the Joker was the best thing that happened to her. So she was grateful for that, at least.

Harleen spent the rest of the holidays in her apartment, reading and drinking wine. On Tuesday she was more than happy to be back in work. She'd worn a pink silk scarf and white shirt instead of a sweater. The bruises on her throat had turned into a lighter shade of a plum colour. As she headed for a session with Joker, one of the nurses came up to her. Arkham wanted to see the young doctor. Harleen made a displeased face, but turned back and went to director's office. She knocked on the door and went inside. Arkham was shuffling through some files.

"Sir, you wanted to see me."

"Your meetings with the clown are to be canceled for this week," he didn't bother with any greetings or being polite.

She didn't know what to say or how to react. Had that old man gone completely crazy? That situation was so absurd, she'd had enough.

"Why is that?" she drawled, desperately trying to keep calm.

"I've prescribed him ECT."

Quinzel gasped in shock. She couldn't believe what she just heard. Surely she misunderstood him, she had to. It was impossible to be true. "What?" she whispered.

Jeremiah huffed impatiently and shoved the papers into a cupboard. His hair was messy again.

"He's being transported for ECT," he repeated like she was stupid. "It's final."

After the first shock passed, Quinzel grew angrier and angrier. How dare he treat her that way? Like an idiotic, blonde bimbo, not an educated woman with a Ph.D. Did Leland talk to him after all? She clenched her fists. "Why haven't I been informed about that? I'm his psychiatrist."

"It's not up to you."

This had to be a dream. "What do you mean it's not up to me?!" her voice raised a little.

Arkham picked a sheet of paper and a pen to pass it to her.

"It's all set up. Sign this."

Quinzel looked at the document with horror. She had to sign it, right? Oh, how was she supposed to behave? There was no way of doing the right thing. If she didn't sign it she'd lose mister J, if she did sign it she'd hurt him. She needed to choose and she did. Harleen signed the paper as her heart and soul wept pitifully.