I had a lot of fun with this chapter. Which means it was another chapter in which the plot didn't exactly advance much at all, and I just played about with the characters. But it was a lot more fun than just an elevator trip, so it stays in the story. Besides, I think I can turn it into future character development, or even an entire plot point. So that's okay. (Whoo! Justification!) Yes, if you didn't know, I'm pretty much making this up as I go along. There's only minor planning. Besides, the general storyline is given ;)

Oh, and I know I said Batman would be in this chapter. I lied. Heh. Honestly I did mean for him to be, but then it turned out to be easier to split the chapter in two, seeing as each half didn't really have all that much to do with the other. Which means you'll get two shorter chapters. But Batsie WILL be in the NEXT chapter, and I know this because I have already started writing it.

Standard Disclaimer still applies.

Harley opened one eye, and tried to work out why her neck hurt so much. She opened the other, and her office came into focus.

Had she really fallen asleep at her desk? Maybe she'd been more tired than she thought.

Two sets of paperwork sat on her desk: one covered in coffee stains, the other half-completed copies of the first.

She sighed. The rest would have to be done at home. With a deep breath, she rallied all the focus and drive that had pulled her through her childhood and med school. She was Dr. Harleen Quinzel and she would get these finished on time.

Sleep was for the weak.

Harley gathered her papers together, slipping them into manilla folders and jamming paperclips into place. She scooped the files into one arm and checked her watch.

10pm. Seriously? 10pm? The last time she remembered looking at her watch it had been only five in the afternoon. Had she really slept for five hours? No wonder her neck hurt.

She rubbed it absently as she walked down the dark hallways. Her footsteps echoed, and she marvelled at how empty the asylum seemed on this floor. Strange; the building had just as many people in it at night as during the day.

Harley wasn't a particularly superstitious person. The ominous building, she knew, was really no different at night than it was during the day. All the same, a part of her – the part that had read ghost stories with a flashlight under the covers at night – shivered slightly as she waited for the elevator to arrive. Did the spirits of dead madmen haunt the hallways of Arkham at night?

The silly idea made her grin. Of course they didn't.

Besides, there were enough restless spirits of the living in Arkham, let alone the dead.

She stepped into the elevator, humming a tune restlessly to herself. Was Fries still on the loose? Probably – she should ask one of the guards to walk her to her car. Better safe than sorry. 10pm! Five hours asleep! Her sleep patterns would be out of whack for days.

The elevator doors slid open. Why had she chosen this elevator? It didn't go through to the ground floor, but stopped on one of the prisoners' floors. Some sort of security thing. Elevators from office floors that went through to the ground floor did not have stops on those floors containing inmates. Harley would have to traverse the Rogue's Gallery in order to get to one of the elevators that would take her to the ground floor.

She frowned, annoyed at her slip-up. She must still be a little drowsy. Still, no excuses. She had to keep in mind exactly where she worked. Little slip-ups at Arkham could cost lives.

The guard at the station looked up as she neared the Rogue's Gallery.

"Dr. Quinzel, is it? What are you still doing here?"

"I fell asleep at my desk," she admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm just going home. Took the wrong elevator."

The guard frowned, concerned. "I wouldn't go this way if I was you, ma'am," he said. "You're better off going back up to one of the office floors and taking another elevator down."

Harley's forehead creased with annoyance. "Thanks all the same," she said, "but I'll just go through here. It's no trouble, is it?"

He shook his head. "Not for me, ma'am, but they're… some of the patients get a bit… strange at night."

"I am a criminal psychiatrist," she reminded the guard. "I am sure it will be fine."

He shrugged, clearly not bothered enough to waste any more of either of their time. Harley was grateful. Now that she was in a working frame of mind, she wanted to get home and get as much done as possible. Maybe she'd even manage to write up that other session for the Joker's file.

The guard unlocked the door – security was even tighter at night – and she stepped through into the Rogues Gallery.

She wasn't prepared for the sounds.

Some of the patients at Arkham Asylum were nearly nocturnal. During the day they could be almost catatonic, but at night they came alive, howling and moaning and banging at their cell doors. Harley had read as much in many files, but it was one thing to read it and another to hear it all around her.

She told herself to quicken pace, but instead seemed almost rooted to the spot, and she had to force herself to walk down the hall. It was like being in a horror movie, with the soulless undead moaning and gnashing their teeth, kept from devouring their prey by the heavy cell doors and strong windows.

One of the moaners watched her, his wails distressing her so much that she backed away to the other side of the hall. She kept her eyes on the man as she rounded the corner. When he was out of sight she leaned against a cell in relief, raising a hand to her forehead.

A patient leapt from the shadows and smashed against the glass, his fingers scrabbling at her as if he could dig his way through. She shrieked and jumped away, her files clutched to her chest like a security blanket.

"Harley!"

Her head whipped 'round, eyes searching frantically for –

"Joker!" she smiled in relief, running to his cell as fast as her high heels would let her. Her smile faded when she saw his face. He was furious.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, eyes flashing.

"I – I…" she took a step back, confused. "I took the wrong elevator. It seemed easier to come down through here rather than go back up and take another one." Her bottom lip threatened to tremble, and she clamped her teeth down on it to keep it still. "Don't be angry! I didn't even want to come through here! I just want to go home and get my paperwork done."

A moaner from across the hall cried out her name, a wailing sound that tore at her and made her wish, more than ever, that she had gone back up.

"Haaarleeeeey, Haaaarleeeeey, stay, stay!"

The Joker snarled something at the man that would have made a sailor blush. The patient retreated into the shadows of his cell, his utterances reduced to barely audible mutterings.

The Joker turned his attention back to the woman in front of her, his eyes hard. "You shouldn't have come."

"Yeah, well, I didn't come on purpose, did I?" she said, angry at herself. "I should be able to handle this! I'm a criminal psychiatrist, I deal with these people every day!" She squared her shoulders and pushed her glasses further up her nose. "They are the same people at night as they are during the day! They didn't scare me then and they shouldn't scare me now!"

The Joker did not seem impressed by this attempt at bravado.

Someone further down the hall started crying. Harley turned towards the noise instinctively, shocked by the primal humanity of the sound. Poor creature. Not so soulless after all. She found herself reaching out a hand as if to span the distance between them and comfort the soul.

"How do you stand it?" she asked sadly.

"Stand what?" The Joker's voice was impatient, but Harley barely noticed his tone.

"All that crying, every night. All those moans…" She turned to look back the way she had come, not nearly as afraid of the moaners now as she had been. "All that pain. How can you sleep?"

"Oh, the nurses come down through the halls and sedate them if they get too noisy," he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Harley shot him a look, tilting her head to one side as she watched him.

"That's not really what I meant…"

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice ran out down the hallway. "Are you alright? Do you need some help?"

"I'm fine!" she called back. "I'll be out in a moment. Don't worry."

The little blonde gave the Joker a fond smile. "Thanks," she said.

His face split into a wide, indulgent smile. "Not at all, Sweets."

"Sleep well, Joker."

As he watched her leave, his smile faded. 'Sleep well'? Was she serious? And what the hell had she been going on about? How could he stand what?

Someone in the distance called his Dr. Harlequin's name, and he barked out a threat. The voice subsided, and the Joker lay back on his cot with a hrumph.

She was a fucking fool. A brave little fool, maybe, but a fool nonetheless.

The moaner across from him started calling her name again, softly this time, like a lover. The Joker jumped to his feet and slammed his fist against the glass.

"I'llkill you, you fucker, and you'll be begging me to let you die!"

Images filled his head, ideas, things he could do to the man across the hall. He seized on one, an element of glee joining the rage in his voice as he screamed at the man who had dared speak about something that did not belong to him.

"I'll rip out your viscera, and I'll hang you up high! You'll swing from your entrails! And I promise, you'll die laughing!"

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The Joker's high-pitched laughter rang out down the hall as Harley reached the guard post. She shivered. For all he was friendly and urbane when he was with her, there were times when it seemed as though he really was mad.

Ofcourse he was mad. He was here, wasn't he? And all those horrible things he'd done…

The guard gave her a sympathetic smile as she stepped through the door.

"It takes everyone like that, first time," he said. "I don't mind tellin' ya, Dr. Quinzel, I had day-mares for a week after my first time on the night shift."

"Day-mares?" she smirked.

"Well, yeah, ya know, when you're on night shift you sleep during the day." The guard gave her a wink. "Take care, eh? Want me to radio down and have someone walk you to your car?"

"That would be wonderful. Thank you – what was your name?"

"I'm Robbie, Dr. Quinzel. I don't spose you'll be seein' much of me, but it's nice to make your acquaintance, all the same."

"You too, Robbie." She shook the man's hand, then headed downstairs.

In the small, silent space of the elevator, the ghosts of the cries she had heard bounced about. Harley almost felt as though they had followed her, chasing her. She shook her head to dislodge the voices. They were not there, they were only memories.

The elevator doors slid open, and it was with some relief that Harley stepped out onto the ground floor. She fussed in her bag with one hand, looking for her keys. She closed her hands around them just as the asylum doors swung open and an imposing figure in black stepped inside.

Unfortunately I think I channeled Silence of the Lambs a little too much in this chapter. That wasn't my intention at all, it just kinda turned out that way. Thought I'd point it out, anyway… the similarities jumped out at me while I was re-reading it and I didn't want anyone to think I was copying it or anything. Especially the people who made it (hint hint, don't sue me, hint hint). All art borrows from other art, and nothing is truly original, but all the same.

Still. Angry!Joker is all kinds of fun. It's a rush writing him in a bad mood.