This was not a normal day in Arkham Asylum. No, this day was filled with anticipation, nervous glances and whispers around every corner. This was something Dr. Harleen Quinzel had never experienced in her short time there, and it made her stomach twist in knots. She didn't even need to ask her colleagues what the fuss was about because they wasted no time telling her.

"He's as insane as they come."

"He's killed more than 500 people-"

"-And those are just the ones we know about!"

"He's killed or seriously injured every doctor who's ever taken him on."

"Don't look him in the eye!"

"The call him The Joker."

Harleen had heard of him, in news articles and on television. She'd never seen what he looked like, mostly because she never cared to. Any man who could commit the crimes he has didn't deserve the recognition -that's what he does it all for, the recognition. Another famous wannabe who didn't have the talent to make it in showbiz and now parades around causing destruction just to get his name in the newspaper.

They drug him into Arkham in a straitjacket. He had what looked like a muzzle covering his nose and mouth as if he were a rabid dog. Every doctor at Arkham stood on the upper level looking over the railing as he was drug in. He didn't fight the guards, but he didn't cooperate either. He merely hung limply as they carried him, feet dragging across the floor. He stared downward, and many of them wondered if he was even conscious. Harleen, her curiosity taking over, slowly separated from the crowd and walked closer to the stairs as they brought him passed. As if on cue with her movement, The Joker's head snapped in her direction and his eyes locked with hers. They were right when they said don't look him in the eye, because she suddenly felt very naked, very vulnerable under his gaze. She found herself nearly drowning in the blue sea before realizing she'd forgotten to breathe.

As she let go of the trapped air in her lungs she was snapped back to reality and felt the eyes of all the other doctors on her. Joker, now standing and refusing to move as he gazed at her was suddenly shoved forward by one of the guards as the continued to their destination. He stole one last glance at her before he disappeared around the corner.

She tried to go about her daily business as usual after that. The daily routine of drinking two cups of coffee in her coat closet, sorry excuse for an office. She'd look over her patient files again, because you always miss something the first twenty times, then she'd check on each of them. Follow up on therapy sessions, change around some meds, try and pretend their brains weren't unworkable mush. She always got the incurable patients, the ones who were so far gone they couldn't tell you which way was up. She'd been begging to take on harder cases, to actually have a chance to cure someone.

They always said to be careful what you asked for.

XXX

Don't forget to breathe, Harleen.

Nervousness and anxiety twist inside her as she prepared for her day. She's hardly touched her first cup of coffee because she's trying to give herself a pep talk in the mirror, but it doesn't help.

"You just had to keep pushing for harder cases, didn't you?" she mumbles to herself. She'd never expected them to give her him though -him being the Joker. The madman of Gotham who has put every one of his doctors in the hospital or the morgue.

"You wanted a challenge, Dr. Quinzel," they said.

"It'll be great experience for you!" they said.

"Great experience if I live to talk about it," she mumbles again. She couldn't turn down the case though, not after all the pushing she'd done. She'd have to take it and do her best to succeed.

Her mind snaps back to his eyes. So pure and blue, and how they bore holes into her soul like no person or thing had ever done before. This was going to be a tough patient indeed.

She quickly pulls her hair up into a tight bun and tugs on her shirt in an effort to look put together and professional -after all, first impressions are everything. She downs the last of her now cold coffee and heads out of her office. The Joker's file is grasped tightly in her hands and she looks over it for what might be the hundredth time as she walks.

The Joker has no registered name, almost like he appeared about of thin air years ago just to cause pain. No dental records or finger prints could match him to an actual resident of Gotham -or anywhere else for that matter. There were numerous reports of arson, robbery, murder, grand theft auto, mass murder, assault with a deadly weapon… The list went on and on. He's been to Arkham twenty-three times, each time he managed to escape in a new way than the last. More often than not it was found he'd bought off someone on the inside to help him escape quietly in the middle of the night, always leaving one or two casualties at the least.

Before she knew it, she was standing outside the door of the maximum security wing. This particular area was home to only the worst of the worst, and she'd only been inside a handful of times, but always to accompany a fellow doctor. She'd never had a patient of her own behind one of these doors She shows her name badge to the first guard, then the second. Finally, she's walking down the hallway, reaching his room.

"He's ready for you, Doctor," one of the guards says, "if you need anything we'll be right outside." She nods and takes a final deep breath before entering the room.

He is sitting at the metal table in front of her. His straitjacket still on, but this time his muzzle mask has been removed. She takes in the full sight of him, careful to avoid meeting his eyes. His hair, an electric green is slicked back, with only a few stray strands falling over his face. The word Damaged is clearly tattooed on his forehead just under his hair line. He has a small cut above his left eye and one on his right cheek which is also swollen. His lips are painted a bright red, and the color is bleeding slightly out the corners. She's suddenly very aware of the fact this man is wearing more makeup than she is.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Joker," she says. He doesn't respond, but simply watches her as she gets closer and places the file on the table in front of her before taking a seat. "How are you feeling?" she tries again. He still doesn't answer, but cocks his head to the side slightly as continues to gaze at her. She avoids his eyes and begins to look through his file.

"Mr. Joker, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel and I'll be your primary psychiatrist during your time here at Arkham," she begins, "I would like very much to be able to help you, and I can only do that if-" she's cut off by a sharp laugh. Her eyes snap up to his face as he continues to laugh.

"Help me, Doctor?" he chuckles, "How ya gonna help me? Ya gonna stick me with some needles, huh?" Suddenly his smile vanishes and a form of aggression takes over him as he growls at her. "Ya gonna drug me and pretend it's a cure? Hmm, Doctor? Or ya gonna stick those probes to my head and let the electricity do the dirty work? I can assure you I've been strapped to every table in this joint and I've been given everything you've got so tell me, how ya gonna help me, Doctor Quinzel?" He purrs her name before his body relaxes again and he throws his head back in another laugh.

She is speechless for a moment, taken aback by his suddenly outburst. She knows she needs to say something but she can't help but watch his features while he cackles. His eyes squint, but don't fully close, his lips spread across the majority of his face and his cheeks get red in the excitement. She can't help but find him fascinating.

"I can assure you, Mr. Joker," she says when she finally formulates words. "I've never used electroshock therapy on any of my patients. Nor do I agree to over medicating. I don't know what kind of doctors you've had in the past, but I am very different." He observes her for a moment, eyes flowing over every inch of her before giving her a smile. It was not a smile that worried her, or made her stomach twist with anticipation of his next move. No, this smile made her relax a little more and convinced her to meet his ice blue eyes.

"Well I can assure you, I'm not like any of your other patients, Doctor Harleen Quinzel," he purrs again. "Tell me, do your friends call you Harley?"

"Oh," the question throws her off guard momentarily. "No, I don't really have any friends."

"Well, Harley, you've got one now."