"I can smell your fear.

The only reason that I'm here is to wreak havoc.

Everybody praying that I'll change. Yeah, maybe one day.

But tomorrow I'll be back at it."

- Skylar Grey, Wreak Havoc

"Damn. Another one bites the dust."

"Tch. I don't feel bad for her. She asked for it when she told security to leave."

"Dude, take a look at her neck! She's still breathing, right?"

A pause. Pressure was applied to the inside of her wrist.

"Yeah, she's alive. Uppity bitch. I bet Arkham will fire her on the spot when he finds out."

"Where's Joker now?"

"Solitary, I think." A low chuckle. "They broke his arm."

Engulfed by darkness, Harleen gathered whatever fight she had left and opened her eyes, but the therapy room spun wickedly in response. She groaned quietly and immediately closed them, trying to rid herself of the vertigo.

"Shit, she's waking up. Call Medical." She felt a hand cup the back of her neck and light smacking against her cheek. "Wakey-wakey, hotness."

His fingers were digging into her skull. She let out a weak cry of pain.

"Oh, God, she's bleeding everywhere! Fuck!" The faceless man dropped her head to the floor in disgust and it knocked her right out. "Whoops."

"Harleeeen. Wake up, Harleen. Come to Daddy."

Hysterical laughter seeped in through her follicles to rattle her brain. He was relentless.

She began to see things, images flashing white-hot and high speed behind her eyes:

Blue veins beneath transparent skin. Crimson lips. Short green hair. Bloody teeth.

More sadistic, twisted laughter tore through her like knives.

"You want this… You know you want this…"

Tormented and twitching in terror, Harleen whimpered and tried to pry non-existent hands from her neck.

The voice in her head crescendoed, a violent, furious roar:

"Come on, Harleen! Let me see those EYES!"

Drenched in sweat, Harleen gasped and shot up with wide, bloodshot eyes. There was a thin oxygen tube positioned in her nose that kept her from falling forward completely.

God, she felt positively punch-drunk.

Inhaling slowly, Harleen lifted trembling, feminine fingers to her neck. The flesh there was tender and she hissed before looking around in alarm.

Plastic privacy curtains. A sterile counter with an open drawer exposing medical tools. Beside it, a metal stool and a monitor that beeped faintly. Her lab coat on a hook behind her, the collar stained with blood. She looked down and saw that she laying in a hospital cot.

The Asylum Infirmary. She was still inside Arkham.

With that thought in mind, Harleen turned, snatched the waste basket from the floor, and promptly vomited into it.

It didn't take long for one of the nurses, an older woman in blue scrubs, to pull back the curtain at the sound of her retching. Her face was twisted with pity.

"Ah, dear. I recommend you lay back down when you're finished. You may have dodged a concussion, but you still need to rest."

Tears had collected in Harleen's eyes from the forced of her dry-heaving and she looked up. Linda, her name tag read.

"How long have I been here?" Harleen's voice was scratchy, like she had bronchitis. Ouch. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Forty minutes at the most, Doctor." Linda looked up from her digital wristwatch and gave her a sad smile. "Took quite a spill, didn't you?"

Still shaken up from her night terror, Harleen couldn't find it in her to laugh. Instead, she set down the basket and winced when felt a sharp pull at her skin.

Blue eyes drifted over to the IV in her arm, then back up to the nurse. "What's this?"

"A morphine drip. It was what Arkham suggested."

Her heart sank. Shit.

Pinching the bridge of her nose in deep apprehension, Harleen shook her head and groaned, "No, no, no…"

Arkham must be livid. Strangled by her very first patient? She was so screwed.

Linda stepped forward and patted her gently on the shoulder. "Please lay back, ma'am. Doctor Arkham will be back to check on you shortly." Wait, what?

Before Harleen could protest, the nurse disappeared behind the curtain, taking the waste basket with her.

A sudden clap of thunder made her flinch. Would it ever stop raining? Typical Gotham.

Leaning back carefully, Harleen looked up to the ceiling and sighed. At least the morphine was starting to kick in. The excruciating pain from before was now a dull, muted headache, and when she shifted against the pillow, Harleen felt stitches snag at the fabric.

Sheesh. What a day.

Arkham appeared ten minutes later and from his disturbed expression, Harleen figured that she must look like death. Neck littered with bruises, blonde hair matted with blood. Tear stained cheeks.

She offered him a tight, stupid smile.

There was no greeting. No inquiry about how she was feeling, no murmured apology about her situation. He just stared at her for a long, dreadful moment before taking off his glasses and rubbing a hand over his face.

"I don't even know where to begin with you. Within a span of twenty minutes you completely disregarded ward security, wrote down virtually nothing, and almost got yourself killed."

Harleen parted her lips to defend herself but the look in Arkham's eyes was enough to shut her up. Ashamed, she looked down at her hands.

"Your lack of responsibility and disrespect for my institution makes me sick." He paused, then snapped, "Quinzel, look at me."

She looked up, exasperated. "Sir, everything was fine until I approached him, I just thought —"

"You thought wrong. Your behavior is unacceptable and you're lucky that I'm still keeping you on the payroll." He ran a hand through his red hair before pointing at her angrily. "Get your shit together. I have another applicant to handle 0801. Once you've recovered, you'll work the reception desk on the main floor."

Arkham turned to leave and Harleen paled. Eight grueling years of schooling, just to end up answering phones and filing paperwork?

Without thinking, she ripped the IV from her arm, pulled the breathing tube off of her face and stumbled out of bed.

Yanking back the curtain, Harleen called out to her departing boss.

"No!" She took a couple of steps forward, feeling like Bambi on ice, and leaned against an empty stretcher. "No. I won't allow it."

Arkham turned around and raised his eyebrows, blown away by her attitude. "What did you just say to me?"

"He's my patient," Harleen replied fiercely, pointing to her chest and pushing her impending fear of the clown as far away as possible. "I get it, I messed up. But I endured the consequences." Arkham looked at her like she had three heads. "That should be punishment enough, Doctor."

Arkham adjusted his glasses and scoffed, shaking his head. "Quinzel —"

"Joker is mine!" Harleen shouted, her throat on fire, and she took another step forward. "I'm the one who signed up for his crazy, and I will be the one to take it away from him. Nobody else."

She seethed and fought off another dizzy spell. Her body screamed for morphine. "Ya understand me?"

It was hard not go Brooklynn when she was so mad.

There was a stretch of silence where Arkham clenched and unclenched his fists, looking exhausted with her general existence. Then, he grumbled, "You have one more chance, Quinzel. One. Fail me again?" He jabbed a finger in her direction. "You're axed."

Harleen almost fell over. She didn't know whether to be elated or petrified.

"This conversation is over. Lay the hell back down before you break your neck." He whipped around. "Linda!"

The wide-eyed nurse who had witnessed their exchange, wrung her hands together. "Sir?"

"Don't just stand there! Do your damn job and tend to Dr. Quinzel!" Again, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Harleen rushed after him, stumbling like an idiot.

Linda sprang forward and grabbed a hold of Harleen before she could trip.

Turning angrily, Arkham shouted, "I swear to God —"

"Where is he?"

"What kind of question is that? He's back in Solitary." Before Harleen could interrupt, he spat, "Confined and sedated. Like a mangy animal should be."

Four days of insomnia and pain killers later, Harleen was ready to pull her hair out and demanded that she went back to work. The bruises around her neck that once marred her skin black and blue were starting to fade, but she decided not to cover them up.

What was the point of a battle if she couldn't show off her scars?

She got plenty of looks when she walked through main security Friday morning.

The stitches on the back of her skull made it impossible for Harleen to wear her hair up without screaming, so she let it fall in sleek, blonde waves over her shoulders and tried her best not to touch it.

Her phone rang the minute she stepped into her office. Setting down her coffee, Harleen moved around her desk to answer it. "Quinzel speaking."

"Hello, Doctor? Uh…" The young man on the other line trailed off and she furrowed her brow.

"Yes? Who am I speaking to?"

"Steven from—from sixth floor confinement, ma'am," he fumbled. An intern.

He had her attention. Lifting her cup to sip at it, she replied calmly, "How may I help you, Steven?"

"A certain patient is asking to speak with you." A nervous beat. "Demanding it, would be a better word."

Harleen choked a little and hot coffee dribbled down her chin. Hastily, she wiped it away.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But, um — our session isn't for another three hours. You can tell him that —" Some shuffling was heard on the other line. Then silence. Harleen frowned. "Steven?"

"Mmm, didn't think I'd get to hear that voice again." A deep, grating chuckle. "How's it hangin'?"

Harleen felt herself flush at the familiar voice. Trying to collect herself, she wondered if this unmonitored conversation was even allowed. "I've been better, Mr. Joker."

Joker huffed. "I don't like the sound of that."

Chuckling bitterly, Harleen shook her head. "What did you expect?"

"No, Doc, not you. That name."

She pouted. Of course.

He breathed heavily into the receiver. "So impersonal, don't you think?"

"Your refusal to provide your real name doesn't leave me with a lot of options."

Joker growled. "That is my name. But I don't prefer it, coming from you."

Tired of his attitude already, Harleen rubbed at her eyes. "What do you suggest I call you, then? Bozo? Pennywise?" She was still getting over that nightmare.

"J. Call me J."

She considered it for a moment. "J, huh? That's it?"

"They broke my arm, you know." He sounded frustrated. "It was very inconsiderate, Doc. I'm not ambidextrous."

For some reason, Harleen felt like apologizing, but she had too much pride. "Yeah, well. I have nine stitches in the back of my head, if it makes you feel any better."

A pause. She could hear his grin through the phone. "You're right, it does."

"I'm hanging up now. I have other patients to attend to." A lie. Two could play at this game.

"Others? Who?" He demanded.

Harleen bit back a grin. "None of your business. Confidentiality, remember?"

"Harleen…" It sounded like a warning.

"I'll see you in a little bit, Mr. J."

"I'm not done talking to you!"

Click.

Satisfied and finally feeling in control of her life, Harleen absently ran her fingers along the bruises on her neck and tried to ignore how fast her heart was beating.

Thank you for reading. You're all amazing and your reviews, follows, and favorites mean the world. Will update soon.