The problem with developing little eccentricities within a story is that you feel like you have to continue them. Take chapter titles. I was quite happy with the little pattern I had going there. "The noun." It was neat. It was fun. And then we came to this chapter. Chapters six and seven aren't much better, you know. But I really liked my little pattern, so I feel the need to continue it. (Oh god, I'm getting compulsive. This can't end well.)

I'm beginning to dislike the way I end my chapters. Maybe I'll start throwing in cliff-hangers or something, add in a little oomph. Or not. Meh.

And yes, the disclaimer still applies. And will continue to apply throughout the story. But I'm paranoid as well as compulsive so I keep sticking it up there.

Thank you everyone for the nice reviews It always makes me smile to know people are enjoying reading this even a fraction as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

"They don't make straight-jackets like they used to. I should know."

Dr. Harleen Quinzel tapped her pencil against her notepad and sighed quietly to herself. She had been working with this man for just over a month, and she was sure she was getting somewhere with him.

"An' then I cracked his head open, an' all his brains came out an' stuff, and Jerry said, hey, I wonder what it tastes like…"

She was trying to pay attention, she really was, but tomorrow she would set aside her current patients in favour of only one: the Joker. It would be her first session with the master criminal, and she couldn't remember when she'd last been so excited.

She had spent the last three months pouring over everything she could find on the Joker. Psychiatric files, newspaper clippings, criminal records. She had memorised every trick, every joke, every gimmick. She knew him as well as she possibly could without actually having talked with him, and she knew she was as prepared as she could possibly be.

"Hey lady, are you listening?"

Harley gave her patient a warm smile that touched her eyes. "Of course, Henry. Please, go ahead."

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Harley pushed the 'down' button on the elevator with a sense of nervous anticipation. Session rooms were on the same level of the hospital as the cells of the inmates they were used for, to save travelling time. The Rogues Gallery, as Harley had begun calling it, was two floors below that of her office.

She arrived in the session room early. It was different from the ones she was used to, and she wanted to become accustomed to the room before the session began.

The ceiling was high, with small windows high on the walls. They were barred. She could barely see the overcast sky through the tiny portals. The walls were the same uncovered stonework as much of the non-public areas of the asylum, and Harley reflected that the builders and renovators had probably left them as they were to enforce a dungeon atmosphere.

In reality, it probably made the psychiatrists feel more edgy and the inmates feel more at home. The irony had her shaking her head.

Despite the high ceilings, the room wasn't really very big, although it was certainly bigger than the other session rooms she had explored. A heavy wooden desk was bolted to the floor at the end nearer the door. A long psychiatrist's couch, complete with leather restraints, sat in the middle of the room. A desk chair sat nearby, the preferable alternative to sitting behind the desk during a session.

Harley set her files on the desk and flicked through them. The light seeping through the tiny windows wasn't enough, and she went to flick on the light switch beside the door. At the moment the fluorescent light flooded the room the heavy metal door creaked open, and a pair of guards entered with the Joker.

She was unprepared for the impact he would have on her. For all the studying she had done, and despite the small distance that had been between them the time that she had visited his cell, she had never been in the same room as him without a barrier between them. His sudden proximity was unexpected, and she realised for the first time how very real he was.

She stared at him. His green hair, thicker than she had imagined, shone in the harsh fluorescent light. His red lips were a sharp contrast to his stark white skin. She imagined she could smell his scent, and squashed the sensation immediately. His eyes were on her, dark and searching, and it sent a faint shiver running through her.

"You okay, Dr. Quinzel?" one of the guards asked her.

Harley smiled at him. "Just fine, Charlie. Is it really necessary to restrain him?"

Charlie gave her a Look. "The folks downstairs may be fine unrestrained like that, ma'am, but these ones are different."

She waved a hand. "Yes, yes, I know. You're right."

The Joker didn't resist as he was bound to the psychiatric couch with the heavy leather restraints. Harley leant back against her desk and watched his face carefully. His expression was one of boredom, but there was a quickness about his eyes that suggested that he was paying quite a bit of attention to the fastening of the restraints about his wrists and ankles.

The guards paused by the door.

"You want us to stick around, Dr. Quinzel?" asked Charlie's companion. "We usually stay at the guard station – you can call us by pushing this button here by the door – but we can stay just outside the door if you like."

Harley shook her head, favouring the guard with a warm smile. "No thank you, Denny. I'll be just fine."

She followed them to the door and closed it carefully behind them. She could feel the Joker's eyes boring into her and found herself savouring the sensation a moment before she turned and smiled at him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Joker."

The Joker gave her a wide, friendly smile. "Why hello, doc. It's so good to see you! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

His intern smiled back, picking a notepad off her desk and taking a seat in the office chair. "I don't think anybody could forget about you, Mr. Joker."

"However did you talk Arkham into letting us play?" His tone was light-hearted, but he paid careful attention to each move she made, each word she spoke.

"I mentioned to him that you rather liked my name," she admitted. "I almost got myself in trouble for talking to you when I shouldn't have been anywhere near you."

"But you got away with it, you clever little minx."

The compliment must have pleased her: she squirmed slightly as if a thrill had run through her. The Joker's smile widened.

Dr. Harlequin cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses. "Should we get started?" she asked mildly.

He shrugged as well as he could with his hands bound by his sides.

She crossed one of her legs over the other, and the Joker gave himself a moment to admire the curve of her calves before raising a green eyebrow.

"Anything in particular you'd like to talk about, Doc?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like to talk about your childhood…"

Oh dear. And she'd only just started.

He smirked. "Now now, Doc, we've only just met! Wouldn't you rather spend some time getting to know one another? Where'd you grow up?"

His Dr. Harlequin frowned at him, shaking her head slightly. "I'm not going to get into a "quid pro quo" thing with you, Mr. Joker," she said impassively.

"Awww." The Joker frowned. "And I was so looking forward to getting to know you, Dr. Harley Quinn. I thought we could rather get along."

She hesitated. The Joker watched in satisfaction as she wavered between common sense and her desire to get inside his head. Yeah, sure, good luck with that one, kid…

"Alright," she relented. "I suppose we can do that. I'd like you to be comfortable speaking to me."

"Oh, I'm sure I will, Doc." He gave her another wide smile, and was pleased to see her smile slightly in return. "So where'd you grow up?"

She dropped her eyes and tugged slightly at the hemline of her skirt. Apparently she wasn't too comfortable when the attention was focused on her. She was attractive, though: shouldn't she be used to that sort of thing?

"Here and there," she said hesitantly. "My father was in the army. I got moved around a lot."

"Oh?" He kept his features relaxed, but his intense eyes watched her carefully. "Must've been hard."

She shrugged. "It wasn't so bad. I learned a lot, travelling to so many places. When I started high school I went to live with my aunt in Metropolis." She smiled, but the expression wasn't genuine. "Where did you grow up, Mr. Joker?"

Oh no, this wouldn't do at all. The Joker kept smiling despite a sense of growing frustration. Apparently, his Dr. Harlequin wasn't all that good at taking a hint. How to proceed? Aggression was completely out of the question at this point. He elected to go with honesty.

"Nice try, sugar," he said with a vicious grin. "Thought you had me there, didn't you?"

She gave a throaty chuckle. "It was worth a try," she admitted. "Okay then, what will you tell me? If we're getting to know each other, this has to go both ways."

The informal situation was refreshing, and the Joker was pleased to see her relax slightly. He gestured as well as he could towards the desk.

"I suppose you've read my files."

"Of course."

"Well then, I think you already know me better than I know you."

She smirked, looking at him over the top of her glasses. "That only counts if what's written within those files is true."

The Joker was intrigued despite himself. "And what do you think?"

"If I thought they'd figured you out already, I wouldn't be here." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I suppose you'd like to know what's in there, huh?"

He grinned easily at her. "You can't blame me. Wouldn't you want to know, if it was you?"

She smirked mischievously. "Maybe next time you sneak into people's offices, you should spend your time reading files rather than leaving people roses." Her expression dropped suddenly, as if she realised that she'd just said something she really shouldn't have.

It was true, it really was a silly thing to say. Telling an inmate to read his own file wasn't exactly something they taught you at Shrink School.

The Joker pouted slightly, electing to ignore her slip-up. "Awww. And here was me hoping you'd like the flower. Don't you like roses? Should I have given you something else?"

She coloured slightly. "The rose was beautiful. I don't think I ever thanked you for it… Uh, thank you, Mr. Joker."

"Please, just call me Joker." He fluttered his eyelashes at her. Won't you let me call you Harley?

She didn't take the hint. "Okay, Joker." She smiled briefly. "Where'd you get the flower?"

He laughed. "I stole it from Poison Ivy!"

She giggled, and a strange warmth stirred in him at the sound.

"You didn't! Did you? What did she say?"

The Joker was almost bouncing in his seat, instantly energized by her sudden enthusiasm. How long had it been since someone hung on his words quite like this?

"Oh, she was furious!" he laughed. "You should have heard her! She screamed so loud they could hear her in Metropolis!"

"Ohhh, that's what that was!"

The Joker was surprised at how much he enjoyed the session, once Dr. Harlequin had relaxed and started smiling in earnest. He'd told her that he felt they could get along rather well, but he hadn't actually expected that to be the case. As their hour progressed, he found he had to fake his responses less and less often. The only issue was occasionally keeping his temper in check; it was an exercise he rarely had the need to employ, and it wasn't all that easy remembering to keep the mood light.

He was startled to hear a knock on the heavy steel door.

"Dr. Quinzel?" One of the guards poked his head through the door. "Your hour was up ten minutes ago."

She gasped and looked at her watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, Charlie! I'm afraid I lost track of time. Have you been out there all this time?"

"It's no trouble, ma'am," the one she'd called Charlie replied.

The Joker made one of his best pouts and looked up at his psychiatrist as she stood. "Our time's up already? Say it ain't so, Doc!"

She gave him a real, genuine smile. "I'll see if I can schedule another session for later this week. Have a good day, Joker."

The Joker let the guards man-handle him down the hallway towards his cell. He considered the past hour, and the development of The Plan.

It was going well. Astonishingly well. The restrained Dr. Quinzel, initially suspicious of his intentions, had relaxed considerably over the course of the hour, and now seemed rather comfortable around him. Another session, perhaps, and then he would start "opening up" to the girl. It was only a matter of time now before she was his.

He briefly considered sending her another rose, but dismissed the idea. All the same, a small gesture at this point…

"Say, Charlie boy," said the Joker as the other guard opened the door to his cell, "how'd you like to do a little favour for me?"

The guards exchanged glances. Charlie gave the other man a nod, and Denny made his way back to the guard station.

"What do you want, clown?" Charlie asked warily.

"Oh, nothing much, Charlie, ol' chum. I'd just like you to make a little delivery for me."

Each of the prisoners was allowed some paper and charcoal, in case they felt like some mild artistic expression. Pencils, pens and other writing materials were right out of the question, but they made do with charcoal.

The Joker took a small piece of paper and scratched a quick note. He folded it twice, and handed it to Charlie with a cheerful smile.

"Who's this for?" Charlie asked, taking the note with some trepidation.

"Why, for our pretty new doctor, of course!" he said with a flourish. "Just congratulating her on a job well done." His smile changed to a hard, warning expression. "And don't you go reading other people's mail, Charlie. It's not polite."

Charlie locked the clown away and slipped upstairs towards Dr. Quinzel's office. He did consider reading the note, but he didn't quite trust the clown not to find out. Better safe than sorry.

The young psychiatrist hadn't returned to her office. Charlie shrugged and slipped it under the door. It wasn't like he was paid to be a delivery boy. Besides, he was due for a coffee break.

As you may (or may not) have noticed, about halfway through the session I switched POVs. I'm not exactly sure how well that worked. I'm rather fond of the third-person POV rather than a sort of eye-of-god narrative. It's entertaining to explore the reactions of characters through the eyes of another character, and with a fixed third person narrative there's a little bit less mess.

Any feedback on the POV-switch would be appreciated, even if it's just a few words like "it worked" or "you failed".