Thanks to everyone who had read this so far! :) It really makes my day.

Latenightreader - No, sorry. I only realized there is another villian in the serious with that name. Hope you keep reading though!

Madnessisme -Wish grated *poof*

Seremela - You know I enjoyed you reading it! *hug*

Disclaimer - once again, I don't own these wonderful characters except for Miss O'Reilly. Sorry for the length of this chapter!

At first he seemed dead; lying so still and breathing so little it was almost believable. Samantha was standing on the balls of her feet and almost breaking her neck to peer inside what would be the last place the Joker ever laid eyes on. Bare walls and no blanket on his mattress; Samantha almost felt pity, but reminded herself of what he did and was still capable of. Coffee, I must get something in me before I can't take anymore. This day is starting to wear me too thin, she thought.

Looking in one more time at the man who was more than likely sleeping, she took in several observations. Aside from the scars, no other markings except actual laugh lines around his eyes and mouth were present. His hair was extremely oily and suggested that it had been washed only a number of times in the past couple of weeks. His socks appeared to be hand made, as did the rest of his clothes. She wished she could just step inside the minds of criminals like him, to understand what made them so much different from her. She began daydreaming and was abruptly pulled back to reality.

The man covered in crude make-up was staring straight at her and only a breath away. His eyes danced with laughter and an odd smirk covered his face. Samantha, who had jumped, was glaring back at him.

"So," he said in a calm voice. "You're my shrink, huh Doc?"

"Yes, and its doctor," she corrected through gritted teeth.

A hint of agitation graced his face, "why don't we just say I've been on my best behavior and let me go, I really have things to do.," he said, the smirk fading quickly.

"No. Whatever it is, can definitely wait; and let me make it clear to you that I don't play games."

"Why not? Someone not tickle your funny bone right?" He laughed. "I can change that, by the end of my sessions, you'll be grinning from ear to ear!"

"See you at 4 o'clock." Samantha turned and began to walk away. She could still hear the Joker laughing and his voice rang in her head. She hurried to complete her coffee run before her session. The valium she took seemed to not be helping and tempted another, but knew better. Pacing the room, she waited until four. Glancing out of her window on the sixth story, the world didn't seem so bad. Inside the building was a different story. A loud knock pounded on her door and she jumped. Get a grip, he's not scary, just a bad clown whose ego needs deflated.

The door opened and two guards appeared to be dragging the handcuffed prisoner in. The Joker was giggling about something and the guards just rolled their eyes at him.

"Miss, he's to remain hand-cuffed at all times unless otherwise stated. We'll be standing outside the door. Just call when you need us to drag him back. The foot cuffs will be removed as Dr. Harrington 'deems it a comfort issue' to the patient," the guard's tone was increasingly bitter.

"Sir, I understand the rules perfectly. I did work here at one point you know," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "And one more thing, don't be bitter about his feet not being cuffed. I do believe it's the least of Dr. Harrington's worries. And I'm sure if you've a problem with a patient being comfortable, we could arrange for you to experience it while someone's trying to get you to pour your soul out to them." Samantha smoothed her blouse and heard an overly gleeful chuckle from the demented clown. "I will call you when I'm finished for today, gentlemen." The heavy oak door closed behind the men and Samantha sighed. The Joker was watching her every move and analyzing just as she was analyzing him earlier.

"Well, well, well," he said, trying to smooth his oiled hair with both cuffed hands. "Should I be honored by your presence or do I need to cower in fear? You won't get what you want, either way."

"I don't understand," Samantha said while unlocking her drawer and grabbing a ballpoint pen and a notepad. She proceeded to sit on the uncomfortable leather chair and tried not to show her disdain for the furniture; after all, it was a rather fortunate gift.

"This couch is by far the most comfortable thing I've sat on," he smirked.

"Sarcasm. Great." Samantha annotated the top of the paper with the time and date; a habit generating from her school days. "Now, what do you want me to call you? Is there a real name or simply 'Joker'?"

"You can call me whatever you want. And if you play your cards right, you can call me 'yours' too."

Disgusted, she nodded. "Uh-huh. Well, where do we start? I suppose you want to talk about your painful childhood, of how you got those scars, and all that jazz, right?"

"Actually, no. I don't want to talk about it. You see, I'm still alive and that's a good thing. And these scars, well, you like 'em don't you?" He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to make the scar more pronounced.

"We're not going to get anywhere," Samantha muttered, she slammed the pen and paper down beside her. "I guess I just have to play your game then?"

"Oh a game? Sure, I like games," he grinned. The painted smile lit up and his eyes danced with laughter. "Let's talk about you then? I can do this job, let's trade; I'll handcuff you and I'll sit there and write meaningless notes about what I claim to have figured out. All of its wrong you know. You sit here thinking you can make a difference in me. Think you can change me, make me normal? You're wrong doc, completely wrong. A man can change if he wants, but let's really look at the situation. The only reason you want to change things is so that you can make a name for yourself. Clean up the name your ex-husband left behind."

Samantha stared at him. She didn't know whether to throttle him or ask questions. Her anger was rising slowly and the valium was wearing off.

"How do you know about Crane?"

"I know, doc, I know a lot more than I let on." He giggled. "I know that this morning you paid visit to him, wanna know how I know?"

"Not really, but since you feel like chatting, go ahead."

"Your eyes. You know eyes tell you everything you'll ever need to know. 'Window to the soul' and all that." He tried to adjust his position, leaning over, then realized it was not comfortable either. "Knives let you see a person's fear as you stab them. It's almost a peaceful moment. Then their screams just get in the way. Or they beg. Yeah, I hate it when they beg."

"People believe there's more to life than being murdered or killed over a wallet," Samantha wanted to justify people's actions, but realized he wouldn't care after she had spoken.

"Wrong. There's not. Look at me, do I seriously think there's some heavenly power guiding us? No, it's our actions alone. People fail to see that. I'm enlightening them" He tried to gestured to himself, having to use both cuffed hands to do so.

"So you think you're some kind of grim reaper? Leading people to their destined resting place?"

"Exactly. See, you sit there, bound by rules and regulations. Being free means no rules. Everyone out there thinks I'm crazy, but I'm just as sane as you. Anarchy, there's where there is true freedom."

"Anarchy doesn't work. If there's no order anywhere in the world, people's morals disappear." Politics was Samantha's least favorite discussion. She always found herself more passionate that she should be.

"Let me make this a little more clear for you, doc." He jumped up and walked over to Samantha; she grabbed the pen before the Joker could. With his cuffed hands, he wrapped them around her neck and proceeded to lift her up to eye level; revealing how strong he was. "I'm not going to sit here and tell you I feel guilty and that I regret what I've done. In my world, I haven't done anything wrong. Those plaques on the wall and your education won't get you anywhere with me."

"I don't plan on curing you," she said, trying to take in a breath. "I plan on figuring out how your mind works; I know there's no curing someone as twisted and sadistic as you." The Joker dropped her and she hit the floor hard. He sat down in the floor in front of her and patted Samantha's face; she shuddered.

"Glad you feel that way because there's no way I'd lie for you. Now, just let me go and I'll say I forced you. Well, I am, but I'm not forcing you the way I should. I told you I could put a smile on your face, I don't understand why you won't let me."

"I don't need to smile," Samantha replied tiredly; she was tired of the games already and wanted the day to end, the clock on the wall said five o'clock. The Joker stared at her for a moment, debating his next move. Instead, he got up and sat back down on the couch.

"Well then, I think we understand each other a little better." Samantha got up cautiously and looked around. Her pen was missing and immediately knew where it was. The Joker had grabbed her pad of paper and was writing something, deep in concentration. She walked over to him slowly, and glared.

"I'll take that pen back now," she said holding out her hand.

The Joker eyed her hand and proceeded to keep writing. "It's not like I'm going to stab you yet anyway. I'm having too much fun. Perhaps you can bring in Batman and it'll be a real game." Samantha just shook her head. Nothing was going to happen today, she thought. I had better call it. "Fine, if you don't feel like talking about anything other than anarchy, we're just going to go our separate ways today."

"Aw, I was just starting to have fun!" he cried, clearly disappointed. He reluctantly dropped the pen and stood up. Samantha walked to the door and let the guards back in. After cuffing his feet together, the two guards tried to get the Joker to walk back to the cell. Samantha watched as he took his time, placing one foot slower after the other, making them wait for him. He thinks he's important, she thought, making a mental not.

She then fell onto the couch and sighed heavily. She picked up the pad of paper and examined what was written. In crude handwriting, it was a list of who the Joker thought was Batman. Was this all he thinks about, she mused. On the list included some interesting names: Jim Gordon, Dr. Harrington himself, and Bruce Wayne. The others on the list, she had no idea who they were. Ripping the piece of paper off, she placed it in her folder for the Joker.

"I think this is all I can take for one day," she said aloud.

"Are you sure about that?" said a male's voice. Startled, Samantha turned around and the billionaire himself, Bruce Wayne, was standing in front of the door. He was much more handsome than his picture showed in the papers, she thought. She already had known that, since Dr. Crane and her would occasionally attend one of his fundraisers.

"Mr. Wayne, what can I do for you?" Samantha said, walking over to him and shaking his hand. He looked tired and troubled; never a good combination.

"Actually I came to see how your first day back went. As you know, I invest a lot of money into this place and I need to know if my money's being used for," he paused, "good and not pharmacology experiments." The last part of it was intended to sting a little, as it was a direct comment about Crane.

"I understand, Mr. Wayne. But as you can see, I've nothing to hide except these hideous pieces of leather they call a couch and chair."

"You don't like them? I had them imported from Italy last week as a gift," Bruce said, smiling gently. Samantha felt her face turn red from embarrassment.

"Well, it's just the other set was so partial to me. It was a gift," she said quietly.

"What kind of gift would be broken in leather couches and chairs?"

"A gift from Crane. I always joked we should have had the brown leather furniture you see in the therapist offices in the movies. So as a birthday gift, he got them for me," Samantha said.

"Oh," was all Bruce could muster. "Well if you want it back, we moved it to an unused office. I can arrange to have it back in its rightful spot tomorrow morning."

"You really don't have to. I just find these so uncomfortable. It's just another readjustment I need to accept. You would think a psychiatrist would be more put together than this," Samantha said, "I didn't mean to offend you about the furniture, honestly."

"It's fine Dr. O'Reilly."

"You got my name right, thanks. Have a seat, I'm sure there's more that you need to say other than discuss the furniture," Samantha motioned for him to move from the door and make himself more comfortable. Bruce sat on the couch and shifted. He made a mental note to take care of the chairs.

"No actually, I don't need anything at the moment. I really wanted to see how you were adjusting to your first day back."

"It's …more than I can take I think. It's bad enough that I have to provide some sort of counseling to our newest celebrity. He insists on either driving me mad or driving me to drink; and I've no idea which one will come first. And he seems intent on figuring out who the Batman is."

"Does he have any guesses?" Bruce asked.

"There's a small list. It's funny you mention it. He named you as a possible 'suspect'. Is he right?" Samantha let a small smile escape.

"Yes, I parade around in a suit all night," he said, making light of the accusation.

"By that statement and tone of your voice, it is more logical now that I look at it. It would take a man with an enormous amount of free time to be the caped crusader."

"What about the tone of my voice, Doctor?"

"Just how you tried to make a joke of it," Samantha said, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable billionaire. He could be Batman for all I know, she mused.

"Look Dr. O'Reilly, I didn't come here to be accused as a vigilante. I don't appreciate it."

"Sorry, I was only trying to lighten the mood; I could use a decent laugh." Samantha stood up, signaling it was time for him to leave. He does look sad, she thought. But I'd be sad too if my best friend was killed by a menace. Rachel Dawes had once been a liaison to the Asylum.

"I'm sorry too," he started, "I know this must be hard for you. I did come here with a slight agenda. I hope you accept. I'm holding a charity dinner at the end of the month and I'd like for you to join me and most of the other elitists in Gotham. You haven't been to a function since-"

"Since Crane, you can say it. I'll have to think about it. Ask me again closer to the date. I do appreciate you stopping by." Samantha held out a hand and Bruce shook it, probably a bit more gentle than needed.

Bruce got the hint and stood up as well. "Well you don't have to think of it as a date. More as two friends going to dinner; but if you want a date…"

"Not right now. If I do change my mind, I think I'd find a way of letting you know." A small smile escaped from her. "That 'bat signal' still works, right?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow and laughed. "I'm not sure, I'll talk to the Commissioner," he replied, playing along.

She showed him to the door and closed it behind him, locking the three deadbolts that she had requested upon her return. Lying down on the couch, she stared at the ceiling. Samantha remembered the first couple of months in Arkham; it used to be fun, working with patients and helping them through their problems. Crane and her would discuss patients over dinner, talking for hours and offering advice. Samantha, she told herself, you've got to move on. She closed her eyes for a moment, and was dragged down into her dreams and memories.

Hours went by and Samantha awoke, groggy and stiff. Her eyes wondered to the small grandfather clock. Oh dear, its 2 o'clock in the morning, she thought, no way I'm going home tonight. She got up and stretched. Deciding that the drink machine might have some water, she fished out a couple of dollars in hopes that a snack machine was nearby as well.

The elevators were turned off for the night, a new order established by Gotham Utility so that the city could conserve more electricity. Small lights lined the halls and made the asylum appear more frightening that it actually was. Sighing heavily, Samantha knew whose cells she had to pass: Crane's and the Joker's. Perhaps they're asleep, I don't know if I can tolerate either of them right now. Walking quietly, she passed the Joker's cell, peered in on her way by, and was once again shocked. He was wide-awake and standing at the barred door.