"Dr. Jacobs!" a familiar yet unwelcome voice calls to me. Practically prancing down the polished white hall is Dr. Jonathan Crane his sights set firmly on me.

"Oh no…" I groan. I just got out of a meeting with a woman who attempted to saw off her own arm because it was "possessed". I'm so not in the mood for any of his bull—

"Harley?" he taps me on the shoulder. I flash him the falsest grin I can muster.

"Dr. Crane," I reply with forced pleasantry.

"Have you thought about my offer?" he asks his voice slick and oily. He certainly doesn't waste any time getting to the point, "both of my offers?" he smirks. A shiver runs down my spine. His gives me the creeps.

"How many times do I have to tell you," I hiss, venom drenching my voice. I keep my face half hidden by the chart in my hand so not to alert the rest of the hospital personal of my loathing for this man, "I am a happily married woman, Crane."

"Of course," he doesn't falter, "I was merely kidding," he clears his throat in defeat once, "but I was wondering if you were still interested in that job offer."

"I said let me think about it," I attempt to escape. His hand latches onto my coat to hold me in place. I sigh in obvious frustration.

"I know you're well aware of the pay raise you'd receive and I am well aware of how you've recently expressed interest in criminal psychology and having the chance to work with some of Gotham's…strangest," his grin becomes a sneer, "of course I could always find someone more appreciative of my offers," he leans in close to me so that I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek, "I know you want this job, Doctor."

Damn. He's right.

Before either one of us has the chance for a potential threat or witty remark a heavy hand smacks down onto Crane's shoulder. He grimaces as the hand squeezes.

"Can I help you?" a calm—yet menacing— voice belonging to my husband questions.

Crane recognizes his captor immediately and releases my arm. He holds his hands up in surrender. In exchange Will loosens the grip on his shoulder and somehow manages to elegantly poise his body between Crane and I. "None at all…"

"Good," Will replies in the same tone. My freed arm instantly links itself with his, "So I take it you'll be going then?"

"Yes," Crane twitches, a glint of anger in his pale eyes, "Think about it Har—" Crane stops himself from using my full name beneath my husband's predator gaze, "Dr. Jacobs. You know how to 

contact me," instead of facing me as he says this Crane's eyes are focused on the object between us; after a few moments of hungry stares and subtle growling the former huffs away without another word.

"I don't like that guy," Will announces after Crane vanishes around a corner. He throws his arm protectively around me.

"Neither do I," I snort.

"He was trying to make a pass at you," he grumbles.

"Is somebody jealously?" I giggle.

"Yes," Will replies seriously. I suck in a deep breath and hold it. Oh, he's not going to like this.

"I'm thinking about taking the job," I say carefully.

"What?!" he instinctively tightens his hold over me, "No." he says firmly.

"Will please," I wriggle free, "it is a better job. Better pay."

"W-we don't need it," a tongue slides its way over Will's lips, "I don't want you working there, Harley," a hand snakes its way through his messy hair, "Not with him!" he hisses.

"Trust me, that's a turn off," I reach for his hand but he pulls away.

"Then what could possibly be a turn on?!" his voice is getting high-pitched again. Not a good sign. I must restrain myself from shushing him for making a scene (though he has created worse) but he most certainly wouldn't like that.

I reply smoothly, softly, "Better hours,"

"In a shitty place,"

"A chance to do want I've always wanted,"

"Peering deep inside the minds of the criminally insane?!" he shouts in disbelief, "the legitimately crazy?!" Yeah, what a stretch.

"The confused," I mutter. He mutters something intangible in return, "Like I said more money,"

"HA!" he cackles, "Contrary to popular belief the world is not all about money, Harley," he pleads.

"I never said it was," he opens his mouth but I don't let him go much further, "and contrary to popular belief, nobody these days can survive without it. What happened to us wanting to get a bigger place, a better place, in a better neighborhood for," I pause, "you know."

This stops the frustrated rant forming in his brain cold, "you know" he mocks, "it's not safe…" he ends in a whisper.

"All the criminals are safely behind padded cells in their cozy strait jackets, Will," this time he allows my fingers to entwine with his, "I'm taking the job."

He bites his lip, anger evident in the ceases above his brow. Will speaks again in a deep growl, "he so much as looks at you wrong," he threatens. He means Crane, not the criminals.

"Hey," I stop him, keeping my mood calm, "I trust you to wreak havoc on the entire city if anything should go wrong."

"Don't say that," he means the go wrong part.

I kiss him gently, "I'm taking the job," I say softly. He sighs, defeated and unhappy.