"Are you big? Are you ugly?

Can you kill a man with your hands?

Are you hot? Do you want me?

Think I don't understand?"

- Grimes, Medieval Warfare

Pretty damn quick, Harleen knew she wasn't ready. She had stayed up late into the night going over his records, researching his name on the internet, watching clip after grainy clip of his rampages, but nothing compared to the living, breathing psychopathic clown being shoved into the seat in front of her.

Not every inmate at Arkham was a mob boss with blood lust. Why didn't she start off with a gentle schizophrenic?

Rain patted quietly against the glass.

Without all of the makeup and eccentric clothing, Joker was a walking nightmare. He looked physically ill, grey eyes sunken with dark circles, skin glistening with sweat. He had split lip and four stitches above his eyebrow, a yellowing bruise on the side of his jaw. By the way his head lolled, Harleen could tell he was sleep deprived. Or doped up on something.

Immediately, she pitied him. When had he last eaten? Did he have a fever? He must be sweltering in that straight jacket. A frown creased between her brows. His black Arkham pants were filthy, as was his messy green hair that was carelessly pushed back. The mugshot in his file was growing more attractive by the minute.

Joker let his gaze fall heavy upon her figure once situated, his jaw unhinged, and Harleen looked away. The crooked grills where his teeth used to be were hard to look at.

Lightning flashed in the window.

A sight for sore eyes. Did Joker recognize her? Was he already toying with her mind?

Trying to remain professional, Harleen dismissed her initial reaction and instead addressed the two security guards who had positioned themselves stiffly by the door.

She raised a manicured brow, clicked her pen, and decided to reinforce her position of authority straightaway.

"Your presence is unnecessary, gentleman," she told them coolly, swiping a lock of hair behind her ear. "Stand outside, if you must. But I can take it from here."

Joker grunted and cracked his neck, looking mildly impressed.

The guards exchanged an uncomfortable look before the shorter one spoke up, "Ma'am, this inmate took out two of our men last week. They're still in Medical. Piece of shit." He glared at the clown and spat at him. Gross.

Joker ran his tongue slowly along his upper row of metal teeth and chuckled weakly at the man's jab, giving his psychiatrist a smile. "Tough crowd."

Harleen replied back sharply, "Confidentiality is one of the core duties of medical practice. A patient's personal information is to be kept private," She squinted at the guard's name tag. "Chad. Unless, of course, consent to release the information is provided by said patient."

Harleen looked back to Joker, who seemed entranced by her presence, and asked him with raised brows, "Have you provided consent, sir?"

The clown shook his head and pursed his lips, looking terribly scandalized. "Not at all, Doc. Not at all. I feel so…vulnerable, with them here." With his back to the guards, he sniggered, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Satisfied with his answer, Harleen checked her watch before eying the guards impatiently. "You are wasting my limited time with my patient." They hesitated. "Leave."

Grumbling and cursing under their breath, the guards shuffled out of the room and left the two of them alone.

"Girls got spunk," Joker noted to himself, studying her closely with glassy eyes. There seemed to be a constant, primal rumbling in the back of his throat, like a panther.

Harleen jotted down his first notable trait. Predatory.

Another flash of lightning.

"I apologize for their behavior," she murmured, truly upset. She looked back up at his sickly face. "I can't imagine you would want to share anything with them breathing down your neck."

"Such a sweet voice," Joker's nostrils flared in interest and he licked his lips, shifting uncomfortably in his tight jacket. His eyes landed on the name tag clipped to her coat pocket. "Doctor Harleen Quinzel," he drawled, seeing how her name tasted in his mouth. He rolled his stiff neck, muttering to himself. "Harleen…Harleen…Harleen." It wasn't quite right.

Shivering, she pressed her pen to paper again. Observant.

Clearing her throat, Harleen implored gently, "I would prefer it if you called me Doctor, Mr. Joker, to maintain an appropriate atmosphere."

Joker tilted his head to the side and let his eyes roam over her, hungry and dark. "And I would prefer it if you called me Daddy, little girl."

Harleen blanched, startled by his suggestion. "Excuse me?"

An abrupt cackle ripped out of Joker's throat and it rattled her bones.

"Take it easy, Doc," Joker fought off a coughing fit brought on by his laughter. "Though, I really do fancy my own notebook. To write down your qualities."

Self-conscious, Harleen quickly slid her notes closer to herself, out of his view. He coughed out another laugh.

Uncrossing and crossing her legs, she tried again, "I really do insist that you —"

"Where would I even begin?" Joker interrupted dramatically, tapping his toes together in thought. His shackles clinked, his eyes roamed. "Harleeeen Quinzel. Excitable, distressed..." A pause. His eyes travelled over the angle of her jaw, the delicate slope of her nose. Her cupid's bow. His voice dropped. "Foxy."

Okay, that was enough.

"I would like to start now, Mr. Joker," she peered at him knowingly, silently congratulating herself for sounding so collected.

He pouted. It was almost cute. If a nutcase could be endearing.

"My goal here at Arkham is to fully understand my patients," she began, "And with some time and cooperation, help them recover."

Joker rolled his jaw, not particularly dazzled by her opening line. "And how do you expect me to cooperate when you're already lying to me?"

Puzzled, Harleen placed an elbow on the table and absently ran her thumb over the top of her pen. Could he smell her fear? "What do you mean?"

"Take off the glasses, Doc," Joker shook his head, frowning. She felt chastised. "You and I both know you don't need them."

Her cheeks and neck flushed pink, because he was right. Of course he was right. They were a last minute drug store purchase. Low-prescription reading glasses to help her look the part.

She really didn't want to comply and give him the satisfaction, but Harleen reminded herself that trust was a two-way street. Take a little, give a little. And try to keep the upper hand.

Hating herself a bit, she set down her pen and moved to take off her glasses.

"That's right," Joker coaxed, muttering to himself. Oddly, she felt her body hum in response. "Let me see those eyes."

Slipping her glasses into her pocket, Harleen fidgeted before looking at him warily from beneath long, blonde lashes.

"Good girl." Joker leaned back in his chair, trying to relax. With legs spread wide, his head drooped again.

Poor, poor man. She glanced at his forehead. Damaged. Of course he was.

It was pouring now.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Joker?" she asked cautiously. Soft.

Joker rolled his eyes. "Hell is empty and all the devils are here," he snarled at her, a sudden change of mood. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

Her fingertips itched to grab her pen, to document his response, but she held back.

She made a mental note to report the staff to Arkham. So many blatant signs of neglect. She frowned.

"I apologize for your discomfort. Is there anything I can do for you, during our sessions? I want this to be your safe space."

Joker snorted, shifting again in his jacket. Thunder rumbled through the clouds.

After a moment, he addressed her quietly. A change of heart? "There is one thing you can do for me."

Blinking rapidly, Harleen straightened in her chair and nodded, eager to help, "What is it?"

Arms still bound, Joker scooted forward, the rain beating against the glass from the harsh winds. A long pause, then, "Can I have a hug?"

Deflating a little, Harleen gave him a sad smile. "Prolonged physical contact is prohibited between doctor and patient, Mr. Joker."

Joker dipped his chin and searched her face. Her heart went out to him. He looked so fragile. "Please, Doc? You must understand how hard it is for me." He frowned. "They beat me, you know. The staff." His arms pulled against his restraints, trying to gesture. "I haven't eaten a decent meal in days."

Harleen felt her eyes burn, tears fast approaching. She sniffled and uncrossed her legs, reconsidering. "I suppose..." A little sigh. "I suppose I could. But only for a moment."

Watching her stand, Joker felt his body come alive. He shifted again. "Doc, you have no idea how much this means to me..."

It was just one hug. Past all of the tattoos and silver teeth, he was just a man in need of affection. Troubled and alone.

Biting her lip, Harleen moved around the table. It took barely three steps to reach him, but she wasn't even given the chance to open her arms.

His onslaught happened rough and fast. A loud rip, a snarl, and Harleen was slammed up against the wall. Her head bounced hard off of the jagged brick. She saw stars as she bled, wincing.

He had managed to unbuckle his jacket. All of that squirming... why didn't she see it coming?

Tossing the restraints to the floor, Joker lunged at her, pinning her to the wall with one arm. His opposite hand yanked her head back by her bun, exposing her neck.

Through her dizziness and pain, Harleen wanted to vomit as she felt a hot tongue lick a long, broad stripe from the base of her throat all the way up to her chin. Wrapping his fist around her neck, Joker pressed his mouth against her ear.

"So fucking good," he growled, laughing low and throaty. He slammed her head against the wall again. More stars.

Gasping for breath, Harleen grappled desperately for the panic button in her coat pocket, her other hand clawing at Joker's wrist.

"Harleen Quinzel..." He brushed his nose against hers as she wheezed. It still tasted so bitter on his tongue. He added his other hand to press against her throat.

Harleen scratched at his wrists, blue eyes wet and terrified as she choked on a scream, "Please...please...!"

"Please? Pretty please?" Joker mocked, mimicking her high-pitched voice. He giggled and tightened his grip considerably.

"Tick, tock, goes the clock, he cradled her and rocked her," Joker sang to her sweetly, and Harleen felt her grip slackening, eyes growing heavy. "Tick, tock, goes the clock, even for the doctor…"

Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites. Will update soon.