I approached the therapy room at one PM on the dot, and felt my confidence in my skills falter. Why me? Why not Dr. Young, who had more experience in dealing with Level Two patients than I? Regardless, I needed to suck it up and do my best to keep calm and not let anything he'd say get to me.

I took a deep breath as I stood in front of the room, nodding to Lyle Boles, who didn't bother to acknowledge me and just opened the door. The lights flipped on and my eyes immediately landed on a figure in a straight jacket, who was shackled to a chair.

That wasn't dramatic or anything, I thought.

I closed the door behind myself and took a seat across from him. He slowly looked up at me through his curtain of greasy, green-tinted hair. His lips stretched, widening his Chelsea smile. It was one of the most eerie things I'd ever witnessed.

"Good afternoon. I'm Doctor Morgan. I will be your therapist during your stay here at Arkham," I said with as much courage as I had in that moment.

Christ. Sounds like you're welcoming him into a hotel or something.

He tipped his head up and I was met with a pair of striking brown eyes. Beautiful, velvety eyes that held no light in them.

"'Afternoon... Doctor," he drawled, watching me with interest.

"Would you mind stating your name, please?"

He let out an airy chuckle.

"Now why would I suddenly do that?" He kept his eyes fixed on me, burning through my flesh. "You can call me 'Mister J.'"

I sighed, already knowing he wasn't going to be easy to work with.

"Okay... I guess we'll just start out slower, and work our way up. How are you doing today?"

He wiggled a little in his seat, smirking.

"A bit restrained, Doc. Although... I'm feeling much better now that I'm in such... lovely company."

I felt a shiver go up my spine as I watched him lick his lips. He suddenly tipped his head to the side, squinting his eyes.

"Apache?" he asked.

I stared at him, confused by his words.

Judging by some of the footage that's been on the news, and the report I was given on him, he didn't spout random stuff out.

"You're Native," he said. "So... ? Apache? Shoshoni?" He leaned forward a bit. "Cherokee?"

I couldn't help it - I did smile a little.

Don't.

"You were closer location-wise with the first two guesses," I said as I clicked my pen.

He grinned and sat back in his seat.

"Navajo?"

"Correct. I see you're educated on diversity."

"I do find people fascinating, Dr. Morgan. Especially women as beautiful as you." His head was down again, and he gave a slight wiggle of his eyebrows.

That wasn't creepy or anything.

I cleared my throat and looked down at my papers, beginning to take notes on his movements.

"You seem a little nervous," he said, obviously feigning compassion. "Tell me - is it the scars?"

"No. I've seen much worse in my time," I said, immediately thinking of Victor Zsasz.

"A doctor as young-looking as you couldn't have seen much in her pretty little lifetime."

Our eyes met. I saw one of the corners of his mouth twitch as my fingers tapped the tabletop.

"I'm older than I look," I said calmly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself? What kinds of things make you happy?"

"Oh, this is that kind of therapy session," he said, clicking his tongue. "How disappointing. I was hoping for a very different kind."

Another couple wags of his eyebrows and I was on the verge of scoffing and rolling my eyes. I had to admit, though, if you looked past all the bad things he did (and took away the scars), he would have been a very attractive man. He definitely could have posed in magazines.

I cleared my throat. "I would prefer to keep this professional, please."

He suddenly leaned back as much as he could in his seat; I heard his feet struggle against the shackles as he attempted to get more comfortable.

"Are those pretty tight?" I asked, feeling a slight twinge of sympathy.

Sure, the guy kills a bunch of people, but let's have some pity for him. There's using that logic.

"The ape wanted to make sure I wasn't about to launch out at the pretty doctor coming in to talk to little old me. They did a body cavity search before tying me up in all of this, y'know," he said, licking his lips again. "I would be lying if I said I didn't think of at least twelve different ways I could've killed them on the spot."

Well, I can't exactly blame him there. That would be humiliating.

Elaine. Stop.

"Anyway, I like fireworks," he stated in a quickened tone, tapping his feet on the floor. "I enjoy a good explosion, but don't let that give you the impression that I'm ostentatious - I'm a man of simple tastes. I like knives, gunpowder, a little gasoline... Simple."

I wrote all of this down as he spoke.

"The fireworks... They make you smile?"

"I'm always smiling, Dr. Morgan." He squinted again as he stared at me. "What does the 'E' stand for?"

I chose to ignore his question.

"Do you like music? Art? Any books?"

"Oh, I think we've talked enough about me. Let's talk about you," he said, his voice getting deeper as he spoke. "So what does the 'E' stand for? Emily?"

"No."

"Elizabeth? You don't look like an Elizabeth. Elizabeths are all stuffy and uptight. You look like a woman who can let her hair down and be wild," he said with excitement in his voice.

I did smile a little. He was kind of amusing.

"No, my name is not Elizabeth."

"Emma? Emilia? Erica? ... Edward?" He raised his eyebrow.

"None of those." I laughed a bit.

"Then could it be... Elaine?"

I paused as I stared down at his chart.

"Ah... Found it. Elaine. I like the way that sounds. Mind if I call you Lainey?"

I looked up at him in time to see him lick his lips again, staring at me intently.

"As I stated earlier, I'd prefer we kept this professional."

"If you say so, Doc. Tell me, is there a Mister Morgan around?" He shifted in his seat again.

"I am not married," I replied.

You're not supposed to disclose personal information, idiot.

"I don't care much about music," he said suddenly.

I looked up at him, wondering why he was answering my questions at random.

He stared back at me with those beautiful eyes. He didn't have the gaze that a lot of my patients had - the one where you knew what was wrong with them, be it some form of mental illness, drug addiction, breakdown... He didn't have that glassy look. His eyes showed almost no emotion.

He suddenly leaned forward in his seat, making me jump a little. He licked his lips as he gave me a quick up and down look.

"If I had to guess that there's a guy in your life, he's not giving you what you need. Am I right?" His voice was low.

"I..."

Dammit. Stop being so weak-minded! You're his doctor. Act like one!

"I'm not at liberty to discuss my personal life. This session is about you, and our treatment plan. I think I'm going to prescribe Lithium to start out with, and see how you do on that. Does that sound alright to you?"

He smirked.

"I can get drugs just like that, huh? Boy, you people waste no time in trying to turn us into zombies."

"It's not like that, Mister..." I frowned, not knowing what to call him, since 'Joker' seemed so ridiculous. "It's just not like that."

"Really? Because I saw about twenty patients downstairs and I've seen more awareness in a zombie apocalypse movie."

Ah! So he does watch movies.

He sat back in his seat again, wiggling some more. His shoulders were pretty broad, but I knew he had good height to him. I couldn't get a very good view on what his build was actually like.

Stop thinking about his body. What are you even doing?

He smirked, probably knowing that I was staring too long.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Doc?" he asked quietly. "You know... If you dropped by my cell some time, I definitely wouldn't complain." He licked his lips.

And in the back of my mind, very far back where there was no logic and no intelligence, I was picturing the scenario. Never mind that he could kill me easily, never mind that I could be fired and have a horrible reputation. No, it was all about how a guy was willing to fuck me. And probably kill me afterwards.

I looked away, feeling the apples of my cheeks burn.

"That would be very inappropriate, like most of this session. Tell me about the murders - how did you feel when you took those peoples' lives? Is there any remorse?"

He gave me that squinty-eyed look again.

"Why would I feel something like that?" He adjusted himself, continuing to wiggle a bit in his straight jacket. "Most of them were pawns - they served their purpose in my little game, and kept Gotham distracted while I worked."

"Why did you feel the need to cause so much chaos and cost the city millions of dollars and numerous lives?"

"Well that, Lainey," he grinned as he said my name, "is a story for another day. Wouldn't want to get everything out in one session, now would we?"

It might save me from having to sit with you for very long.

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

"I hope you don't get used to the face being like this. The next time you see me, I'll probably be a little more, ah... recognizable."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They want me scrubbed clean of my makeup for some crazy reason."

"I believe it's the hospital's policy to keep patien-" There was a knock on the door before Lyle opened it, interrupting me.

"Time's up, clown," he said as he entered the room, pulling a dolly in behind him. "You gonna cooperate this time?"

Joker stared at the dolly with disgust. Lyle turned his back to adjust the dolly for Joker to be strapped to when Joker pulled one arm free to wave at me, then quickly put it back behind his back. I felt like I could have screamed - he could have done anything during our time together, and Lyle wouldn't have known the difference if I couldn't get to the panic button in time.

I watched Lyle load Joker on the dolly and strap him onto it.

"Remember what I said," Joker said with a wink as Lyle wheeled him out of the room.

All I could do was sit in my chair and watch him disappear around the corner.