"You were a vision in the morning

when the light came through.

I know I've only felt religion

when I've lied with you."

- Halsey, Colors

"Is this your card?"

Of course it was. The damn nine of hearts.

Harleen put on her best poker face and raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "No."

Incredulous, Joker looked from the card in his hand, then back up to her. "What do you mean, no?"

They were back to sitting across from each other again, on the floor and bored out of their minds.

She gave him a little shrug and tried not to break. His face was priceless. "Not even close."

Running a hand through his mussed green hair in frustration, Joker searched through his cards, brow dipped. "I've done this one a million times," he grumbled to himself.

A giggle bubbled in Harleen's throat at his reaction and she had to cover her mouth to disguise it as a cough.

But it didn't go unnoticed. Frowning, Joker peered up at his doctor with a dark glare, unamused. "Go away. I don't want you here anymore."

Openly laughing now, Harleen pulled her hair up into a ponytail and glanced at the elevator. The light above it was still out. "I'm kinda stuck here, J. Where do ya expect me to go?"

Shoving the playing cards angrily into the box, Joker sneered and stood up. "Sit in the corner. You're in time out."

According to her wristwatch, it was nearly nine o'clock. The storm had to be over by now. What was taking so long?

Rubbing at her sore neck, Harleen sighed and gave Joker an odd look when he moved to take off his shirt. "What are ya doing?" she asked, uneasy.

Despite herself and all that she stood for, Harleen couldn't look away. Beneath the alabaster skin and sinister tattoos were a lot of toned muscles. Simply put, he was positively ripped.

Joker smirked at her and slowly dropped to his knees. "My morning workout, toots. Do you mind?"

Neck and face flaring with heat, Harleen averted her gaze when he started a set of push-ups. When did she turn into a schoolgirl with no self-restraint? She needed sleep. And a Vicodin.

He snickered to himself. Suits her right. Nobody, not even the mighty Doctor Harleen Quinzel with her stupid blue eyes and lab coat, was allowed to one-up him. On anything. It went against his very nature.

Pausing, Joker flicked some hair from his eyes and decided to have some fun. "Hey, Doc."

She was busying herself with her briefcase, tight-lipped and embarrassed. "Hm?"

"Would you count for me?"

Struggling to remain passive, Harleen cleared her throat and refused to look at him. She knew what he was doing. "What, ya forgot how?"

"It'd help me concentrate." His voice dropped. Gravelly. Tempting her. "Pretty please?"

Feeling herself begin to sweat, Harleen worked her jaw. "Stop it, Joker."

Joker rolled over and leaned back on his palms, tickled by her response. He had riled her up so quickly. "Stop what, Harleen?"

The unsteady rise and fall of her chest was mouthwatering. Oh, how he'd love to bend her ass over that chair and —

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a bone-tired Jeremiah Arkham and Harleen sagged in relief.

"Oh thank god," she all but moaned, shakily pushing herself up onto her feet. "I was starting to think you had forgotten about me."

Stepping into the corridor, Arkham made a face at their states of undress. Harleen, without her shoes and jacket — was her skirt twisted backwards? — and Joker, completely shirtless on the floor of his cell, looking like he had a big secret.

If there wasn't the glass barrier, he'd have to ask them to explain themselves.

"Storm ended hours ago," Arkham told her in that deep grumble of his, "But lightning struck nearby. Shorted out the phone lines and elevator circuits. Idiots in electrical took forever to fix it."

Stepping into her heels, Harleen began to daydream about a cup of hot coffee. And breakfast. And her bed. In that order. "If it's okay with you, sir, I'd like to go home to freshen up. I hardly slept."

Joker rolled his eyes at her and shrugged on his shirt. The bitch slept like a damn rock. Snored, too. And she was hiding her accent again. Interesting.

"Fine," Arkham brushed her off, upset that he wasn't able to do the same. "But be back before noon. We have new residents and I'm handing some over to you."

Harleen, who had been putting on her jacket, stopped short. Her jaw fell slack. "Wait, does that mean —"

"You're hired in, Quinzel. After a full night with Giggles, you deserve that much."

Delirious, Harleen squealed and wrapped her arms around the man in a tight embrace. "You won't regret it," she assured him as he winced, "Thank you so much."

"Great, okay, good. Now go home." Arkham pried her off of him and shook his head as she skipped to the elevator.

Right before the doors shut, Harleen looked over to Joker and waved, mouthing, "Bye!"

Once she was gone, Joker pressed two fingers to his temple and shot himself in the head with an invisible gun. "Bang."

Exhausted, Arkham couldn't help but chuckle at him, a great feat. He never laughed. "Me too, bub. Me too."

A sizable cup of coffee and a long shower later, Harleen felt much better and decided to spend her last couple of hours lounging in bed. Soft, cotton shorts and no bra was heaven on Earth.

She had done it. She was a certified psychiatrist at The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane — and all it had taken was nine stitches, an unforeseen murder, and a night alone with a psychopathic gangster clown. Easy enough.

Harleen knew it was unorthodox to be happy. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the slight concussion that Joker gave her three weeks ago, but she couldn't stop smiling as she changed her occupation status on Facebook.

Her internship and part-time hire at Arkham had been kept secret from everyone but her mother and Brandon, so her phone promptly blew up at the update.

Caroline, a close friend from university and fellow psychology major, was the first to call. "No. Way."

Buzzing with excitement, Harleen rolled over onto her stomach and squeaked. "Uh-huh! Can you believe it?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Lucky bitch!" Caroline laughed, anything but bitter.

Harleen twirled a lock of hair around her finger and grinned. "I didn't want to jinx anything, ya know?"

"Ugh, I hate you. How was training? Tell me everything."

Over the next ten minutes, Harleen gushed about her experience. Everything from getting her first lab coat and ID, to Griggs and his dorito fingers. But she managed to sidestep around her main patient. "You know I'd tell you more, but confidentiality…"

Caroline scoffed. "Confidentiality my ass. Seriously, who do you think I'd tell, my mother? I won't say anything."

Wary, Harleen fiddled with her pillow case. If only Caroline knew what it had been last used for. "You swear? It's kind of…heavy."

"Pinky promise."

"Those don't work over the phone," Harleen teased, stalling.

A dramatic groan. "God, okay, I swear." Silence. "Harleen, I will come over there and smack it out of you."

"He's very —" Harleen paused, not knowing where to begin. She glanced over to the rose on her dresser. It was in water, now. "Vexing."

Caroline was hushed with interest. "How so?"

"You know that prank where you find a sleeping person, put shaving cream in their hand, and tickle their nose with a feather? So they get it all over their face?" Harleen glared at the wall. "That's him. But instead of cream, it's probably blood."

"Who does he work for? Maroni? Falcone?" Caroline was frenzied as she listed off Gotham's biggest mobsters.

Harleen scrunched her nose. "Self-employed. I can't see him working for anybody."

"What's he look like?"

She thought back briefly to Joker's bare chest and blanched, stammering, "Uh, you know. Average guy. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Caroline pouted. "Seriously, that's all you got? I'm trying to live vicariously through you."

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Harleen hesitated. "Um. He's decently pale, I guess. Grey eyes." She mumbled the rest. "Green hair."

Glass shattered on the other line. "You're with The Joker?" Caroline screamed into the phone. "Harleen! What the hell!"

Not knowing if her friend was in public or alone, Harleen quickly shushed her, "Christ on a bike, Carol, the whole world doesn't need to know!"

"How are you not dead?"

"I have no idea."

Breaking several rules, Harleen eventually confessed. How he had strangled her, how he had manipulated Steven. The way he could stare at somebody from across the room and make them crap their pants in fear.

But she couldn't find it in herself to talk about Joker's parents. That was their moment, for her ears only.

"Damn, Quinzel," Caroline laughed weakly, taking it all in. Then, mischievously, "You know what this calls for?"

Harleen shook her head immediately. "Carol—"

"We're going out tonight. And I'm getting you drunk."

It took only two glasses of champagne for Harleen to feel loose and wonderful. She never viewed being a lightweight as necessarily bad. For some people, it took a lot of cash to get buzzed. For her? Hardly anything.

Squeezed into a short, black dress, Harleen smiled coquettishly at one of the bartenders and watched Caroline grind against some guy on the dance floor. She was tan with long, black hair, and drove men wild with her big brown eyes.

Harleen didn't mind hanging back. She had never been to Smile and Grin, after all, and wanted to take it all in while she could.

How Caroline had even found the place baffled her. It was tucked away in the outskirts of Gotham, disguised behind crumbling brick at the end of an ominous backstreet. Entrance required a password, even — merry go 'round — as well as a firm pat-down from the hulking bouncers. As they entered, three men were getting thrown out, faces beaten and suits stained with blood.

Was this some sort of uppity boxing match? What was Caroline getting her into?

But Smile and Grin was nothing short of magnificent. The nightclub was dripping in diamonds and dim lighting. Fine leathered booths, extravagant wall pieces. Tuxedos everywhere. In her simple curls and mini-dress, Harleen felt incredibly underdressed. She had expected some dive-bar with a rickety jukebox, and this joint… was anything but.

Despite being harshly frisked moments prior, Caroline and Harleen were kindly ushered inside by lavishly dressed attendees who kissed their knuckles and showered them with compliments. For pretty faces like theirs, one of them cooed, drinks were on the house.

Little did Harleen know, when their first bottle of expensive champagne was being set in front of them, her cell phone at home was exploding with calls from Arkham himself.

It didn't take long to notice that the upper section was for VIP personnel only. Each booth was closed off with glittering, golden beads and had guards stationed at each entrance. Everything was so luxurious and grand. The owner had to be a millionaire.

Caroline soon padded over in her scarlet outfit and plopped down beside her. "Isn't this fantastic?" she breathed, high on life. Immediately, a footman placed another flute of champagne in front of her, to which she graciously accepted.

Flustered and tipsy, Harleen giggled. "I feel like I'm dreaming." She took a long sip from her own glass and hiccuped. "Seriously, did you roofie me, or somethin'?"

Eighteen missed calls, back at home.

Taking Harleen's hand in her own, Caroline leaned forward and beamed. "Congratulations, Harl." Downing her flute in one fluid gulp, she pulled the blonde up out of her seat. "Come dance with me."

Too inebriated to decline, Harleen let herself be led to the center of the night club and laughed as Caroline took her hips. The gentlemen nearby whistled in appreciation as they danced against each other to the booming, hypnotic bass.

If they kept this up, they'd be getting free drinks all night. Just like college.

With fair skin flushed and ruby lips tugged up into a playful smile, Harleen was turning around to press her backside against Caroline when she saw it.

From the elevated floor, two armored, brawny guards were flanking a man in a sharp purple suit. They led him into the largest of the VIP booths, and she could have sworn that she saw a flash of neon green slip behind the beaded curtains.

Blinking rapidly, Harleen stopped dancing altogether, swaying only from the alcohol in her system and from Caroline's hands on her waist.

Noticing this, Caroline tipped her head to speak into Harleen's ear, concerned and slurring. "You okay, girl? Gotta throw up?"

Harleen stared the booth for a moment longer before shaking her head and turning back around. Work was getting to her. She was seeing things. "Nuh-uh. I think… I think I need another drink."

She was hallucinating him. She had to be. There was no way, it was absolutely impossible —

But then that laugh, his resonating, unmistakable laugh, echoed dangerously above Harleen and swallowed her whole.

"Ha… ha… ha…!"

Thank you for reading. I love you all. Reviews are always welcomed and adored. Will update soon.