Author's Note: So over the weekend, I left the notebook I write the first draft of this story in at school. Otherwise This would've been posted a few days ago. I know it's a bit shorter than usual, but I'm already working on chapter four, which should be equal to or longer than this. I just wanted to reward you for your patience instead of waiting several more days to post. So enjoy the Jokeriness and the other special characters that make an appearance in this chapter. Also, enjoy the Rocky Horror Picture Show reference thrown in. Ten points to whomever spots it. :)

"Well, well, well. Right on time, doc." The Joker said in his nasally tone.

His eyes followed her slow, nervous trail from the door to the metal table bolted to the middle of the floor. He could almost smell the nervousness on her. She hadn't been so that first day. She must've read his file. They all thought they were hot shit until they read his file. She sat herself gingerly into the metal chair adjacent to him. She attempted to shuffle her seat forward but it didn't move. It too was bolted to the floor. The Joker gave a howl and Harley blushed.

"Let's begin at the beginning, shall we?" Harley was surprised he was actually going to talk so soon. "Tell me about your childhood. Did daddy beat you? Did mommy smother you? Were you neglected? Underappreciated? Am I close yet?"

"Mr. Joker, I believe I'm the one who's supposed to be asking the questions." Harley was a little uncomfortable with how close he had been at describing her life growing up.

"Well those are the questions you want answered, aren't they?" He asked, smacking his lips.

"Well would you like to tell me about your childhood?" She asked, opening her notebook and readying her pen.

"No." He gazed at her, bored.

"What would you like to talk about, then?" Harley persisted.

"I wanna talk about you." The Joker leaned forward in his seat, as much as his restraints would allow, keeping his eyes locked on her. "I wanna talk about how you got this job. So young yet so accomplished, it raises questions. I wanna talk about your twenty-twenty vision."

Harley self-consciously pushed up her glasses.

"Why would I be wearing glasses if I had perfect vision?" She tried to challenge, but to her own ears, she sounded unsure.

"They didn't take you seriously in college, did they? Another bleach-blonde bitch who thinks she's too pretty to work so instead she's just gonna fuck her way to the middle."

Those words got Harley's blood boiling. She had heard them too many times before.

"I worked my ass off to get this job." She defended.

"They don't believe you though, and that pisses you off. Nobody ever gave you the recognition you deserved. Your parents didn't, your teachers didn't, and now your co-workers don't. They talk about you when you're not around. They say little Harley must've blown Sharpe pretty good to get a job here, let alone a session with the Joker!" He smacked his lips and blinked slowly.

Harley looked right back at him, giving nothing away. Inside though, she felt like her whole body was shaking with years of hurt and anger. She could feel tears threatening to make themselves known. Balling her fists under the table, she struggled to keep her composure.

"You're reading an awful lot into a pair of glasses." She finally responded.

The Joker threw his head back and howled his bone-chilling laughter. It sent a shiver, not of fear but of excitement, down Harley's spine. She didn't know what to make of the sensation.

"You see, I knew I'd like talking to you, doc."

Harley closed her notebook and capped her pen. She stood and began to walk towards the door.

"Aw, c'mon, doc." He teased. "We were just getting started. In fact, I think I'm having a breakthrough right now!"

The Joker laughed at his own joke and Harley looked back at him.

"Just have a seat and we'll talk about whatever you want." He held up three fingers and his voice went deep. "Scouts' Honor."

Harley considered him for a moment. Her professional mind told her not to indulge him, to keep walking. Her emotions, however, were mixed. On the one hand, she could barely contain the hurt that was raging inside of her, tearing at her insides. On the other, she felt an uneasy excitement at being so close to such a dangerous man. Even as he said these hurtful things, she wanted to get closer. As if by hearing him pick her apart, she would magically be able to do the same to him.

He tilted his head toward her and looked up, licking his lips lazily.

"Truce?" He asked.

Harley turned back and sat down. She reopened her notebook and uncapped her pen.

"What is your birth name?" She asked, prepared for anything.

"I don't do that on the first date." He replied.

Harley pressed on, expecting no less.

"Do you think killing is wrong?"

"Do you think lying is wrong?" He countered.

"Yes." She was afraid she had lost control of the conversation again.

"Then why do you do it every day?" He licked his lips, his eyes ever-concentrated on her.

It unnerved her, the way he always stared at her. She felt like he was reaching in and revealing the truth about her just with those eyes. She looked down at her notebook, but she could still feel him watching.

"You didn't answer my question." She said.

"No… You didn't answer mine."

"I don't lie." That was a lie.

He let out a peal of laughter again.

"Honey, you're so full of shit, every word out of your mouth so far has been a lie. Go on, tell me one true thing. One thing that no one in this world can prove false. Can you do that?" His voice had become nasally again on this last part.

Harley was silent for a second. Should she indulge him or try to take control of the situation again? She watched those eyes bore into her, penetrating deeper and deeper but never resurfacing. No matter what she said next, it would be the wrong answer, either for him, or for herself. Instead she said nothing. She once again gathered her things and headed toward the door. This time, the Joker said nothing to stop her. That was it, he thought. She was done. Little Harley Quinn didn't want to play the Joker's game anymore and that was no fun. When her hand landed on the door knob, she hesitated.

"I'll see you this time next week." She said and exited.

It was absolute truth and the Joker howled in triumph, writhing in his seat and bucking against his restraints. Oh he was going to have some real fun with her. Just when he thought he had her all figured out, she did something new to make him rethink the whole thing.

When Harley got home that night, she kicked off her shoes, tossed down her purse and keys, and ran to the bathroom to relieve her overfull bladder.

Washing her hands, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her glasses reminded her of what the Joker said about her. Of course she could not, and would not admit it to him, everything he said had been true. The frustration at not being taken seriously, never receiving praise for her hard work, her attempt to be respected professionally by wearing a pair of non-prescription glasses she had bought at the Gas 'n' Shop. It had taken all of her will-power to not cry when he had said all this. It hurt because it was all true, and she knew that. He had out-psyched the psychiatrist. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing this, though. She needed to gain control of the situation. And she certainly couldn't tell Joan. She had succeeded inasmuch as she had gotten him to talk. The only problem was that he was talking about her.

Harley snatched off her glasses and tossed them in the little trashcan next to the toilet. She splashed some water onto her face and dried off her hands. She once again unzipped her skirt and removed her stockings and garter. She exited the bathroom and walked into her bedroom.

Tossing her dirty garments into the hamper in her closet, she crossed the room and turned on the lamp next to her bed. She flopped onto her bed and closed her eyes.

She had to get the Joker to talk about himself. She needed something she could use. Right now, he was deflecting her questions. There was something he didn't want her to know. Either she would have gain his trust or provoke him into talking. The latter would probably take forever, if at all. She would need to find something that would piss him off. Knowing his history, this could be a fatal move, but something told her it was her only choice. She had faith he wouldn't kill her, at least not yet.

Harley awoke out of what felt like a coma. It was still dark, though and she looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Only about five minutes had passed. She was cold. Sitting up, she realized she was in her shirt and panties, above the covers. Without standing, she reached over to the dresser that stood only two feet away from the edge of her bed. Opening the second drawer down, she pulled out a pair of old sweatpants that had "Metropolis Tigers" printed down one leg. She removed her panties, throwing them toward her closet, and replaced them with the sweatpants. She did the same with her shirt and bra, replacing them with an old t-shirt from the same drawer. Pulling back the covers, she climbed in and almost immediately fell asleep.

Harley sat in the staff lounge, sipping her coffee slowly. She was very reluctant to start working, though she couldn't say why. It was just routine rounds today. No Joker.

"Good morning, Harley!" Joan said brightly when she walked in. "How did the session go yesterday?"

"I'd say rather well for a first session. Nothing useful yet, though." Harley hoped she didn't ask what they had talked about.

"Well of course not. It's only the first session. I don't expect immediate results."

Joan pulled a paper cup from the stack next to the coffee pot and filled it. She added a few packets of sugar and snapped a lid on it.

"Well, keep me posted, alright?" She asked.

"Mmhmm." Harley responded, attempting a convincing smile.

Joan nodded and left. A moment later, she was back.

"Ah, Harley. Level eight is short-staffed today. Would you mind covering some of their patients?" She asked. "Bill can field yours."

"Um, okay. I'll be down in a second." Harley accepted.

A change of environment sounded too tempting to pass up today.

"Thanks so much. Dr. Hower will help you when you get there." Joan disappeared again.

Almost immediately, she poked her head in and gave Harley a quizzical look.

"Did you-?" She began, then shook her head and left again.

Harley was met with a whole new experience when she arrived on level eight. At once it was made clear the difference between the criminally insane and the just plain insane by the security measures they took. Though she was on max. sec., the patients were no more secure than the min. sec. patients of the criminal unit. Glancing down the hall, she approached the first lab coat she saw.

"Excuse me." She said and the doctor spun around. "I'm Dr. Quinzel, from the criminal unit. I'm here to relieve some of the work load."

"I'm Mr. Nigma." The man replied. "No Dr. I'm just an intern. I think the person you want to talk to is Dr. Hower."

"Yes, I was told he would help me. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find him, would you?"

"Dr. Quinzel?" She heard a man say from behind her.

She turned to see a short, balding man poking his head out of an office doorway.

"Dr. Hower." He nodded his confirmation.

The portly man looked past her at the intern.

"Edward."

"Dr. Scott!" Mr. Nigma exclaimed.

Harley suppressed a giggle. Dr. Hower scowled but did not move from his spot in the doorway.

"Dr. Quinzel, thank you for coming down. Unfortunately, we are still quite busy and I am currently with a patient. Edward here can get you started with whatever patient needs the most immediate attention." With that, he closed the door.

Harley turned back toward the intern. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a goofy smile.

"Looks like it's just you and me, then. What do you sat we team up and do twice the psychoanalyzing in half the time?" He asked.

"Sounds like a plan." She replied, and they began down the hall. "Would you prefer I call you Edward or Mr. Nigma?"

"Oh, Eddie's just fine." He said. "Would you prefer Dr. Quinzel or maybe Dr. Quinn, medicine woman?"

Harley chuckled.

"You can just call me Harley."

"Harley it is."

Eddie was nearly a foot taller than her. He was lanky and took half as many steps to match Harley's stride. He had a shock of messy red hair that played off of his plastic hunter green frames. There was an everpresent riddle of a smile playing on his lips.

"So, what's life like upstairs? I hear you've got the Joker up there." Eddie asked as they continued to walk.

"Not as exciting as you would think. I think probably the only difference between them and these guys is the title." She said. She wasn't sure what to say about the Joker. "They're pretty tame, except during-"

"The full moon? Yea, I've noticed that. Makes sense though, don't you think? I mean we really are working with lunatics."

"Good point… Umm, do you think perhaps we should meet with someone?"

They had reached the end of the corridor. They both turned and looked back down the hall.

"If we must." He joked.

Heading back down the hall, an inmate called to them.

"Heyheyhey!" He said. "Is anyone gonna talk to me or what?"

Harley looked to Eddie. He in turn looked down at the files he had been carrying.

"Are you feeling safe today, Victor?" Eddie asked.

Harley leaned closer to read the man's file.

"Uh huh." Victor answered eagerly.

"There's a very pretty doctor that would love to talk to you today. I'd hate for you to scare her away." He pressed.

"I'll be good. I promise." Victor's impatience was rather suspicious to Harley.

"Eddie?" The skinny man looked down at her and she gestured him away from the cell.

"What is it?" He asked in hushed tones.

"He seems a little too eager to get us in there. I don't think it'll end well."

Eddie nodded seriously and walked back over to Victor's cell.

"Tell you what, Vic." Eddie said. "Dr. Quinzel and I are going to meet with the other inmates. If you can behave yourself until we're through, we'll meet with you."

Victor looked back and forth between Eddie and Harley, bounced on his feet and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, deal." He finally said.

"Shall we?" Eddie said, holding his arm out for Harley to take.

She looped her arm with his and they made their way down the hall.

At the end of their rounds, Harley and Eddie, very much enjoying each others company, returned to Victor's cell. Eddie unlocked the door as Victor stood at the back like he was instructed. Receiving the go-ahead, Harley entered.

"Harley? Harley! Can you hear me?" A far off voice said. "Harley, I need you to stay awake."

She struggled to open her eyes. Slowly, everything came into focus. She was sitting against the wall in the hallway of basic max. sec. Eddie was crouched next to her, looking concerned.

"What happened?" She asked weakly.

"Victor attacked you; slammed your head against the glass several times." He said gently.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I'm fine." Eddie chuckled. "But you're a little concussed. I need to take you down to the infirmary. Can you stand up for me?"

Harley slowly shuffled her feet and reached for Eddie's shoulder to pull herself up. When she was standing, the room began to spin. She stumbled forward into his arms. He caught her deftly and slung one of her arms around his neck. He hoisted her up and carried her down the hall to the elevators. Her eyes growing heavy, she couldn't fight the urge to sleep.

Well, that was quite a lot to handle over the course of two days. The next chapter will feature much more Joker as Harley begins to give in to her urges to be near him. And of course, with each chapter we will continue to see more and more of him. Please review and let me know what you thought of our first extended look at the Joker! Hope I haven't lost any readers yet, and I hope to also see some new ones in the reviews. :) Thanks so much!