Admit it, I'm awesome for updating this often. This chapter is a bit half-and-half, POV-wise. It's also a little bit shorter, but I'll make it up to you in chapter 5, I promise.

Again, the first half of this chapter is modelled closely on the episode and comic "Mad Love", although I tried to make it my own. I admit to really liking this scene in the cartoon so I didn't change it too much.

Standard Disclaimer still applies.

He hadn't expected to see her, if he was honest with himself. A sensible person would have alerted her superiors at once. Of course, she wasn't nearly as sensible as she pretended to be.

The Joker was lying on his bed after lights out, thinking over The Plan and its inevitable conclusion.

She appeared in his line of sight, unexpected, holding his note in one hand. He frowned. She wasn't meant to turn up quite yet. She was meant to agonize over it for a day or two first. Hmm.

"How did this get into my office?" she asked mildly, the merest trace of a warning note in her voice.

The Joker smiled, turning on the charm. "I put it there," he said, his voice low. It was after hours, but her hair was still tied up in that damn bun.

"I'm sure the guards would be interested to know how you did that," she was saying, folding her arms.

It was perfect. If she hadn't told anyone, then she was already his. It was only a matter of time.

"If you were going to tell, you already would have," he teased. He giggled and jumped to his feet, pacing about his cell with an animated expression on his face. "It's always nice to have someone new about the place! You know, everyone gets so excited when an intern turns up. And you're special." He jumped onto the end of his bed and crouched there, so close to her that if the glass hadn't been between them, he could have reached out and touched her.

She took a step back, unnerved by his quick and unexpected movements.

"I like what I've heard about you, doll-face," he told her, his voice hushed. "Especially the name. Harleen Quinzel." He giggled.

The girl rolled her eyes, tucking the note he had given her into the inside pocket of her lab coat as she collected herself. "Oh yeah? I've never liked the name."

"Well I love it. Rework it a little, and you get Harley Quinn!"

She made a little "hrumph" noise at the back of her throat, her dark lips curving into a smile. She stepped closer to the glass. "Yeah, like the clown character harlequin. Believe me, I've heard it before."

Too many times, by the look of it. No matter, she'd think of it differently if the Joker had anything to say about it.

He put his palms up against the glass and leant closer to her. "It's a name that puts a smile on my face," he insisted, demonstrating with one of his best. "You really don't like it?"

Her smile widened a little, and she lowered her eyes. "I could get used to it," she admitted.

Of course you could, pumpkin pie, the Joker thought to himself.

Dr. Harlequin had apparently decided that she had stayed longer than she should have. The smile vanished from her face, and she gave the Joker a stern look.

"I don't want to see you out of your cell again. Next time, I will tell the guards." She turned and walked away, without so much as a goodbye.

"Harley Quinn!" he called after her.

She stopped and sighed, but didn't turn. "Yes?"

"C'mon, sweets! That name of yours makes me feel like there's someone in this hell-hole that I can talk to." His smile widened. Would she take the bait? "Someone who might understand me and my secrets…"

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "Goodnight, Mr. Joker," she said. Was that a smile on her lips?

The Joker lay back on his bed. Hmm. She hadn't even thanked him for the flower. Whatever happened to gratitude?

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The sound of laughter echoed down the hall after Harley. A shiver ran down her spine, and she found she was grinning despite herself.

Harley, stop it, she told herself. Don't let him get under your skin.

Still… if he really did open up to her, maybe she could actually help him. She may just be an untested intern, but that in itself could prove an advantage: where older, more experienced psychiatrists might be stuck in their ways, she was able to look upon cases with fresh eyes and new ideas.

Harley Quinn, huh? She smiled. Well. Maybe she could get used to it… especially if it bought her one-on-one interaction with such a high profile case.

This could make her career.

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Dr. Arkham took off his glasses and peered and the woman sitting across from him.

"When, exactly, did you get the chance to interact with the Joker?"

Harley cursed inwardly. She really didn't want to have to bring up the note, especially as that would raise questions of why she hadn't mentioned it earlier. "I… was exploring," she said sheepishly. "Joan – Dr. Leland – had given me a tour earlier, but I wanted a closer look. I assumed all the inmates would be asleep…"

Arkham shook his head solemnly. "Never assume anything with the criminals here. Assuming something can – and will – get you killed. You have to stay on your toes."

Harley nodded. "So I can see."

Arkham sighed and replaced his glasses on the bridge of is nose. "So, the Joker saw you?"

She nodded again. "Yes. He said he'd heard about me, and that he liked my name."

"Harleen Quinzel?"

Harley gave a self-deprecating smile. "Harley Quinn, he said. Harlequin."

Arkham smiled tightly. "Ah. Of course. Trust him to notice something like that." He opened the file before him – the Joker's – and started leafing through it. "And you think this may actually help you get through to him?"

"I've read his file," Harley said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. "I don't have any real experience with him, but from what I can tell he views all doctors here as the enemy. If he feels he can relate to me in any way, it may go some way to helping make some sort of breakthrough with him."

Dr. Arkham chuckled to himself. "You've set your sights high, Dr. Quinzel."

"They say, sir, that if you aim for the moon, even if you miss, you land among the stars."

"… or you plummet to your death." Arkham looked at her over the top of his glasses. "Are you sure you are prepared for this sort of thing, Dr. Quinzel?"

She shook her head. "Not yet, Dr. Arkham. I'd like to get into my stride with some of the less dangerous inmates first, and really study all I can of the Joker and his work."

Arkham relaxed considerably. He leant back in his chair, folding his hands and resting them on the curve of his belly. "Good," he said. "If you had said you were prepared, I would have forbidden you to go anywhere near him." He considered the matter for several minutes, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "This is it," he said eventually. "After any of our doctors have been working solo and doing well for a few months, we give them a few sessions with one of our more dangerous inmates." He paused. "I'll be honest with you: many of our doctors don't return after those sessions. But some excel. It is my hope that you will be one of those who excel."

"Dr. Arkham, I will do my very best not to disappoint you."

He gave her a tight smile. "Very good. When you are assigned one of our more extreme residents, I will highly recommend that you be assigned to the Joker."

Harley left Arkham's office trying to subdue a sense of elation. She assumed it was due to the faith the asylum's head had in her, but the image of the Joker's smile kept creeping into her mind. She shook her head, dislodging the thought. She had a hard road of research ahead of her before she would win her first session with the clown.

And, of course, she would do her very best to help the inmates she was assigned to in the meantime. That was what she was here to do.