The following week, I was back in Joker's cell for our weekly therapy session (though I did drop by once before the weekend to pay him a little visit...), and he was still cuffed and shackled to his chair - well, correction: his feet were shackled, and his hands got out of the cuffs. How he managed to do it was beyond my comprehension.

"Since Valium and Seroquel RX aren't working for you, Dr. Woods recommended I prescribe the combination of Depikote and Geodon. With Depikote, we'll need to run more labs unfortunately, and we'll need to monitor your liver. Are you okay with this?"

Joker rested his hands behind his head, appearing to be bored by the medical talk.

"The Batman threw me off a building and I laughed the whole way down until he caught me for some twisted reason. If this were a game of Chess, I'd say that was him swiping my Rook with his Bishop, when I expected him to throw out his Queen and put me in Checkmate." He leaned forward a bit. "And I always win Chess."

"Bobby Fisher have some competition?" I smiled at him.

"He wouldn't know what hit him." He chuckled in his dark, creepy way that oddly grew on me.

"So you don't have much regard for your own life then, is that what you're saying?" I scribbled a few notes about his Chess references and the building incident.

"It was so unexpected, I just had to laugh, Doc!" He grinned as he returned to his neutral pose. "If I get blown up or shot, or maybe beaten in the head a few more times, it really doesn't matter much to me. Nothing's killed me yet!"

Side note: Prescribe Citalopram to see how well he does on it...

"This sounds like you may be in danger to yourself as well as others. I think I'll also prescribe Celexa to see how you do on that, as it could help improve your own self image."

"My self image? I see nothing wrong with it." He grinned. "So when's the part you're going to show me ink blot cards so I can laugh at all the dirty pictures I see? That hasn't come up yet."

I sighed as I stared up at him over my reading glasses.

"That's the Rorschach inkblot test. That's used for personality tests. I've already established your diagnosis and personality type."

"Oh?" He sat up a bit in his chair, seeming more interested. "And what is wrong with my head, Lainey? What did that clever little brain of yours pick up?"

"Normally my patients don't ask me such questions, but..." I flipped through my notes on him. "I've come to the conclusion that you suffer from delusions of grandeur, psychosis, moderate to severe depression, antisocial personality disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder."

I noticed his knuckles turning white as I read off his diagnoses. He lunged forward as much as he could, trying to grab me by my arms. Luckily I was a few feet away from him on his bed, and he couldn't get out of the shackles.

"And what makes you think the latter? You know, you're too much fun for me to kill, Lainey. That's why you've lived as long as you have. You are mine, so I won't kill you..." he said in a quiet tone, almost like he was reassuring himself. "But why would you think I have post-traumatic stress disorder?"

"You show signs from Criterion D and E - aggressive behavior, self-destructive and reckless, your sleeping patterns are poor, your inability to recall your past, hypervigilance... Going by your response to this, I'm assuming I'm not too far off, am I?"

I tapped my pen against my paperwork, watching his body language closely. He was tense, and seemed like he would inject poison in my veins if he had access to any.

"If I'm gonna have a past, Lainey, I prefer it be multiple choice. Sometimes I remember things one way, sometimes another..." His tone was light, almost like he was amused. "It does not mean you're able to delve into my mind and understand what's going on. You people make it sound so simple when it's not."

His mood flipped like a light switch, and he was becoming aggressive, which was extremely rare during our sessions.

"Then what is it? What are you feeling?"

"I feel... nothing." He stared me in the eyes - his cold, dead eyes were locked into mine; I felt dizzy and anxious under his gaze.

"I liked it better when you weren't being a doctor and were being you."

I sighed. "I'm a little distracted right now. This is what I have to fall back on."

"Oh?" His overall demeanor seemed to switch back into amused, as if nothing just happened between us.

"And what is going on in your mind, Lainey? Does it have to do with the swine?" he said with bitterness.

"Yes, actually," I said, having long given up on correcting Derek's name. "We set a date for next month, but he decided his band was more important, so he bumped the wedding by a couple days."

It's definitely a good idea to discuss this with a patient.

"So..." he started, "am I invited? I do love wedding cake." He licked his lips.

"Like I said... I think that's against protocol."

"Who's the best man?"

"Derek's brother," I answered bitterly.

"Does he have a name?" Joker watched me, eyes full of amusement.

"Dan." I sighed. " Anyway, I believe we need to get back to work on a new treatment plan. I can't leave here without a more set plan for you."

His eyes widened as he suddenly leaned forward, body tense.

"Leave?" he repeated. "What do you mean leave?"

"Derek doesn't like Gotham," I said quietly. "His job is in Metropolis, and I should be able to find work there." Joker rolled his eyes.

"All about sacrifice... And what's he sacrificing for you, Lainey? Will he quit his precious band, and finally give in to your needs? Or will things just remain the same, only this time in a new place and a piece of paper that legally binds you two together until you're ready to claw his throat out?"

I cleared my throat. "I can't answer that. I don't even know."

He snickered and chuckled to himself, then he suddenly leaned forward, lowering his gaze on me.

"Where are you going on your honeymoon?" he asked in a low voice, licking his lips in the process.

"We haven't even talked about it," I said honestly. "The reception is going to be a week apart, too. He thinks people are going to show up at a wedding at night. Can you believe that?"

He snickered.

"Oh, I can believe many things..."

Valentine's Day came quickly, and not to my surprise Derek was playing out that night. He didn't bother to wish me a happy Valentine's Day, no flowers (not like that bit mattered) - nothing. He just acted like it was another day. I did suppose I could see a point there; it was just another commercialized holiday, but to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't have minded him making an effort to at least acknowledge the day. Maybe it was too much to ask for.

Regardless, I still had to work that day and I was a little more on edge than usual - Calendar Man managed to get out (along with the Riddler, that annoying bag of dicks. Riddle me this - What has two legs, a haughty attitude, and speaks with too much arrogance? Give up? An Enigma), and given that it was the big V-Day, something bad was guaranteed to go down.

A few years ago on Valentine's day, Calendar Man murdered numerous couples in a park and posed their bodies into the shape of bloody cartoon hearts. Dr. Young treated him for a while before he started creeping her out with his little rhymes and insinuated threats. People go on about Joker being kooky - to be honest, I think Calendar Man might be a little more nuts than him.

Joker... How he was starting to make my heart flutter at the very thought of him. A man in clown makeup, who killed people and blew up a hospital? Who could react so violently at the tiniest things? I might as well have gone for John Wayne Gacy.

He and I had a session the previous day, and he acted more odd than usual. We were less "official" than our previous session - he got himself out of his cuffs and we had our fun together (no sex, but he did get a couple orgasms out of me. That man could work magic with his fingers). The odd part was him talking about the upcoming holiday, and went into detail about the fantasy he was going to have that day - he and I alone, he'd blow up a mob bank, and we'd sit on a roof top nearby and watch the "fireworks" over dinner. It was mildly disturbing, but hey, at least someone was thinking about me, and wanted to do something with me... even if it was illegal and would result in the death of many innocent civilians.

Christ, Elaine. You're going off the deep end. Maybe you two could share a cell together down the road.

Towards the end of my shift, I took an extremely long way out to punch out of my shift - I made my way through the cell block for level two patients. I passed by Ivy's cell, only to have her stare at me through the small window of the privacy door. She waved at me, holding up a flower she probably received from a guard she put under her toxin. Oddly enough, she never did that with me...

I smiled at her and waved, giving her the thumbs up because hey, at least someone could be happy that day.

Condone the madness. You're brilliant.

I quickly passed Zsasz's cell, hoping he wasn't peeking through his little window at me, since he was one of the creepiest inmates there. I finally reached Joker's cell, after what seemed like a longer walk than usual to get there. I didn't plan on going in to visit him - I just wanted to see him. To admire his body, to relish the person he was, and all his insanity. Afterall, it wouldn't be long before I had to leave; I handed in my letter of resignation two days beforehand, so it was just a matter of weeks before he and I would have to say our final goodbye.

He was reclined on his bed, staring up at the metal ceiling of his cell. He appeared to be deep in thought, gone to the world. At that point I knew it wasn't the medication causing that, so I could only sit and wonder what went through his mind - was it the supposed fantasy he told me about? Was he thinking about how he could mess with Batman if he ever got out (and if Batman ever reappeared)?

I placed my hand against the door, longing to go in and bring him home with me (and hope he wouldn't murder me), and kiss Gotham goodbye and run away with him. I wasn't enthused about the idea of living a life of crime, but something about him made me want to drop everything and go wherever he directed.

You need medication.

Less than an hour later, I was walking up the steps to my apartment. I could hear Maxwell mewing from inside, and I smiled a little at the sound of his greeting. I unlocked my door and was greeted by darkness (and a fuzzball rubbing against me). I flipped on the light switch and nearly jumped out of my skin at the large bouquet of red roses on my kitchen counter. There was a small note next to them, and a card attached to the vase.

I hurried through my apartment, checking to see if anything was missing (while armed with my aluminum baseball bat, because you never know if someone could be hiding in the closet or under the bed). After thoroughly examining my place, I found nothing missing and Maxwell was safe. I approached the flowers with caution, wondering if Ivy was behind it and finally planned to take me down with her toxin.

The small note next to the vase was from a familiar, yet faceless, person I hadn't heard from in quite a while -

Boss said you might like these.

- L

"Who are you, L, and how did you even know where I live..." I muttered as I picked up the card, which was in a white envelope with my name in messy handwriting scribbled on the center.

Inside was a homemade card, with a picture of Derek (how did I know it was Derek? There was an arrow pointed at "him" with 'Swine' written above) being stabbed in the throat with numerous "ha ha"s written around it. On the back of the card, there was a short message -

Happy Valentine's day, beautiful. Next year we'll go out and paint the town red.
- J

I grinned at his message, regardless of the gruesome portrait he drew of Derek's death. I admired the beautiful bouquet, and felt my body go into shock since it was the first time I'd ever received flowers.

You need a Lobotomy.

He remembered! He actually did something for me! I should get him something in return, or do something for him. Why would he do this?

He's manipulating you, you damn loony. Something's up, and don't be one bit surprised if this somehow turns around and bites you in the ass. Get out. Now.

I picked a rose out of the bouquet and sniffed it, enjoying its sweet fragrance.

Maybe this is just a small thank you for letting him wear his makeup.

This isn't like him at all. He doesn't do nice things for people, and you know it. What is he planning?