The silence in the group therapy room on Level 2 was deafening. The blonde doctor recognised it as her cue to say something and stirred from her reverie with a very bad feeling that she'd just missed something very important.

She pushed up her glasses with a shaking finger, already feeling the ugly red spots spread all over her face and neck.

"Uhm, maybe-"

"Ya never listen these days, Doc, you kno' that?"

"Excuse me, I w-"

"Dr Quinzel was just telling me before our session that she wants me to try and lead the therapy today. It was very kind of her to give me this opportunity and I hope you can all take something away from our time together this morning. I have to say you are all making fantastic progress. Shall we call it day then? Mr Staffort, maybe you could come see Doctor Ruthland about that nightly sweating and breathing problems? Perhaps she needs to lower your dosage of Clozaril. I'll send a nurse for you after the cell check-up at 11."

Relief washed over the blonde in waves as she listened to the shuffling of half a dozen straight-jackets being escorted out of the stuffy room. It was one of the old, un-renovated offices where they used to hold seminars for Anonymous Alcoholics a couple years ago. The colourful, awkward drawings of the patients' children that still hung on the yellow walls gave the place an utterly grotesque feeling. The blonde felt embarrassed to the bone but was incredibly grateful to her colleague who was currently eyeing her with sympathy from her place by a particularly unappealing portrayal of a sunflower.

"Are you alright, Harleen?"

Her pink face stretched into a heartfelt smile: "Thanks a lot Lucille. That was an impressive save, I gotta tell you." The other woman chuckled. "Although it doesn't excuse my behaviour… I am very sorry," Harleen began tentatively. "It's just…I just have a lot of things on my mind right now…, I quite frankly zoned out."

That's a fat lie, thought the young doctor as she almost cringed in her seat. There had only been one thing on her mind for the past few weeks, but she could had never admitted it out loud.

"Oh I know," replied the brunette kindly, her eyes twinkling as she approached her fellow intern with a re-assuring smile on her berry-toned lips. "You have all the right to feel overwhelmed, Harls."

"Yeah?" she laughed nervously.

"Obviously! You must be so tired, I tell you it's a whole load you're carrying."

The blonde fidgeted slightly, sensing the conversation was about to turn to the one person she really didn't want to discuss in that moment. But the thinly veiled excitement in the brunette's hazel eyes already told her that an escape was impossible.

"I mean, he cannot be easy. I haven't been here for long but…. I've heard all the stories, you know? The ones about what happened to his previous therapists, what he did to them. It's rather fascinating, don't you think? For example that Swiss doctor who specialised in hydrotherapy. A nurse told me he drowned himself in one of the baths two days after resigning from the position. Or that other woman who ran off after a week and checked herself at the High Meadows clinic a couple miles outside the city. I think Dr Arkham once mentioned she hasn't practiced psychiatry ever since."

The blonde stared at the moving, rosebud mouth of her colleague but couldn't register any of her words. It all faded into a buzz, an indistinguishable rambling about "burn out", "exploitation of the mind", "dominance" and "disturbed psyche". What Harleen was acutely aware of though was her increasingly more rapid breathing and quickened pulse that drummed in her ears as she clutched at the flashcards in her lap until her knuckles turned white.

"…but you survived for this long!" the girl laugh, searching the blonde's reaction from the corner of her eye, "I mean, most of them quit after the first session. How many months has it been for you exactly?" Lucille beamed, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

Harleen's mouth felt like sandpaper as she forced a reply of 'I hardly know' before the brunette in front of her uttered something that made all colour drain from her face.

Maybe I could help you with him sometime.

No.

No, no, no, this was not happening, not happening…

"…could take some much needed rest. Psychopaths are poisonous after all. They suck the life right out of you, we all know that. And we all admire you for sticking with him for this long. Even Dr Leland, you know. Although I know you two don't like each other very much," the younger woman laughed carelessly again, unaware of the shaking shoulders of the blonde opposite her. "She was very kind to me though. I have to thankful for that. Showed me some of Joker's files in her office, the ones she got to keep after you replaced her. I-I think I would be able to handle a few sessions with him. If you allowed that, of course. It would really help me with doctorate res-"

Something of the blonde's inner turmoil must had showed on her face because the young brunette trailed off until she just stared at the other doctor with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Harleen, are y-"

"Don't. Don't ever suggest anything like that again."

Utterly shocked, the brunette watched in horror as the woman's stiff frame rose from the chair and crept towards her with a pair of blazing, unblinking eyes set in a face of stone.

"H-Harleen?"

"You know nothing."

By the time the girl's white lips formed into a soundless 'O', the young blonde was already half across the room, yanking the metal door open to a pitiful screeching of old hinges.

She left without another word.


Heavy footsteps reverberated from cold, damp walls before their sound was drowned by two voices fighting for dominance.

"This cannot go on like this."

"Mr Wayne, I-"

"Don't Mr Wayne me, Arkham! This is absolutely ridiculous. It's been 2603 dollars for this month only!" thundered the deep, rumbling voice of a tall, well-built stranger in a dark suit.

"But he was adamant that he would have-"

"I don't care about what that freak wants or asks for! Do you even understand who you have under locks here? This is a maximum security prison facility, Doctor! I repeat, prison facility!"

"With all due respect, Mr Wayne, I don't need you telling me what this asylum stands for! This institution is my family heritage as you well know, and from this reason-"

"And from that reason it's you who should be adamant about keeping up the standards here! I don't think your great grand-father would have been too pleased to know you're running errands for a madman in your care."

"I do not!" spurted the sweating doctor with hurt pride, "I don't do anything beyond what is necessary to keep him as pliant as possible! It's a matter of security, I told you that."

"With a generous selection of six Dutch pastriesand an Oreo McFlurry forbreakfast? A 280 dollar kobe steak with truffle sauce, oysters from that ridiculously over-priced place in the Old Marina, vanilla milkshakes, salmon sashimi, Thai food take-outs, and M-…Macallan Select Reserve with every dinner!?"

"Ok, that one came from his own house! Same as those silk pyjama bottoms, I would have never wasted the asylum funds on that!"

"Oh so now he even gave you his keys so you can get him all the comforts of home he could possibly ask for, didn't he? Have you lost your mind, Arkham? This man is toying with you!"

"Enough! Enough," cried the willowy doctor in desperation, chest heaving. "It's hopeless. Hopeless to fight with him! You have no idea what he does….the things he says, it's just, jus-… un-bearable!Everyone is on edge, I only have a handful of guards actually willing to patrol the ground level. And I have to pay them double! They can't stand him. No one can. I lost half of my medical staff ever since he started frequenting this place. Can you imagine what that feels like? He tears this institution, my institution, down piece by piece every time he lands here, and I'll be damned if I just watch that happen! If a glass of whiskey and some BigMacs silence the dirt that pours out of his mouth even just for a moment, let him have them! Who knows, maybe one day the booze just won't mix well with his meds and he'll do everyone a favour and just drop dead!"

Dark brown eyes flashed at the statement. With face upturned to observe the mildew forming in the corner of the damp ceiling, the tanned man growled: "Careful, Arkham. Murder is murder. Ends don't justify the means. They never do."

The doctor scoffed, wiping away the sweat that formed on his forehead. "I'm not sure anymore. Not after him."

The two men stood in silence for a while, each contemplating the other's words.

A troubled sigh was heard before the deep voice of Bruce Wayne echoed in the corridor once more. "Is he then on his own now?"

"No. Joan was on him for a while, she is very stubborn. Fearless woman but she didn't make a dent. It was a complete waste of time and resources."

"So he is alone?" pressed the billionaire.

After what felt like ages, the doctor hesitantly wetted his thin lips, weighting each word in his mouth as if afraid he'd send the man opposite him into blind rage once more: "N-no, not exactly. We-…I put someone new on him, perhaps you've caught it in the media a while back? A girl...she's our intern. Harleen. Her name's Harleen Quinzel. Top grades and letters of recommendation from her university, she even did her thesis on-"

"What do you mean Arkham? An intern? She's not even fully qualified and you let her handle him?"

"She's been cleared, alright? Besides, he seems to respond to her. I don't know what she does with him but it works. He is like…I've never seen him like this before. I swear to you, Mr Wayne: apart from his usual….extravagancies, a few fights and those high bills, he's actually in the most pleasant mood I've seen him in! They must have clicked somehow… I mean, he even asked for her to be his therapist at the beginning. He had never requested doctors before."

"And that doesn't sound suspicious to you at all?"

"What?"

"I want to see her."

"I-... that won't be possible. She's not here today, I'm afraid."

"Well, I am perfectly happy to return any other day to talk to this woman."

Heavy silence spread across the empty corridor.

"I-I don't know if that's such a good idea, Mr Wayne. I don't want to scare her, she has never met anyone from the asylum board. She might freak out she's doing something wrong, that we're breathing on her neck-"

"Are you saying I can't have a word with a person I basically pay the checks for?"

"I'm saying all you might want to know about Dr Quinzel is in her staff files and I'm sure Janet will be happy to show you around our HR department," quipped Arkham whilst squaring his shoulders, as if awaiting a blow for his unexpectedly brave response. When the brooding man didn't show any signs of reproach, the doctor visibly relaxed, regaining some of that authoritative tone he'd lost the moment the wealthiest man in Gotham came barging through his office door some 40 minutes ago.

"She's doing her job well, Mr Wayne. I don't want to jeopardize that. Neither do you, I'm sure."

A short pause followed before something shifted in the air once more.

"No," the deep voice answered quizzically, "no, I suppose I don't."

Silence.

"How many times did he escape exactly?"

"What do you-?"

"I said how many times did Joker escape this facility. Three? Four times?"

Doctor Arkham stared at the dark man with pure confusion etched on his aging face. Bruce Wayne was not deterred.

"I want you to think hard about what I'm about to tell you right now: if that homicidal freak gets out of here one more time, you will find it very difficult to finish your modernisation plans once the Wayne Corp. Medical Funding runs dry. Because a fifth breakout would sound very disgraceful, Jeremiah. Five times may happen in regular prisons, but here, at Arkham Asylum? That would stink like an inside job, don't you think? And I know just the man who'd fit the description of Joker's potential accomplice once the government comes knocking."

The man paled to the point he almost matched his lab coat.

"Or… you could start keeping an eye on that girl. I don't like her."


What the hell was wrong with her?

Harleen stood in the dimly lit staff bathroom on shaky legs, desperately trying to get that morning conversation out of her head. The cold water didn't help, nor did the 3 hours spent in her office where she forced herself to review and sign all her patient reports from Section A as a form of punishment. She only had to come across some of Joker's old medical reports in the asylum archives and she lost it again.

Why did she react like that? What was going through her mind?

She chewed on her thumbnail, desperately trying to avoid looking at the flushed blonde in the dirty mirror.

The fact was that Lucille didn't deserve such a biting retort.

How could she blame her for wanting to have a minute with Gotham's most wanted criminal? Psychopathy was fascinating to many psychiatric minds, especially when coupled with his level of self-adoration and genius intelligence. Despite what Lucille said, Harleen knew they still were many doctors willing to take the risk and try to treat Arkham's most lethal patient. She herself was shook to her core that she got to be his therapist even after all those months!

How could she forget her own feelings of excitement when it came to Mister J and what he represented?

Or maybe she didn't forget about her feelings at all…

Harleen sighed, cautiously looking up to meet her ashamed reflection in the eye.

She was furious in that room. She didn't want to admit it, but she was. The thought of anyone else around Mister J made her blood boil even now.

Even the idea of him sitting there with another doctor was... Harleen gulped.

Would he laugh with them the way he did with her too?

Would he tell them his stories, ask about their day?

Would he glance at them in that way, give them his low smiles and make them feel so lost and powerless in his presence like he made her?

And what about Lucille? Would she blush and feel her stomach tighten whenever he'd purr her name? Would Mister J like her to feel that way?

The blonde doctor squeezed her eyes shut.

It was foolish and unprofessional but the fact remained and it pained her to no end. She couldn't contain him.

Not even if she tried.

He simply didn't belong to her.

Not even after all those long hours, the brief moments they shared when she felt like she'd entered another dimension, a place where nothing else mattered but that they were there together...

No. Not even after that had she have any claim on her smirking patient. Joker didn't belong to anybody, maybe not even to himself. Harleen wondered if that's what made him so free, so bold in life. Perhaps he just didn't have a self to lose anymore...

Harleen exhaled sharply, her breathing the only sound apart from the slow dripping of tab water. No, she never had a right to him. He had never given her one in the first place and the realisation stung like hot iron in her quivering chest.

She pressed her stinging eyes closed, feeling for her office keys alongside the sink. The steel felt ice cold against her burning hands but she paid it no heed. As much as the very thought of it felt unbearable, as much as it went against every fibre of her being, she knew what she had to do.

The blonde doctor pushed herself off the little basin, her lips pressed into one, shaking line.

She needed to find Dr Carroway and apologize. And if her voice and her heart didn't betray her, she would offer her a few minutes with the man whose slow, silver smiles were her favourite thing in the world.


Another chapter's up! Once again, thank you so much for the 10 new follows and 5 favourites and your reviews. Your support of this fic means a lot to me!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I also have good news: I've almost finished the next one, so expect an earlier update.

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ZeldaK