For Bradley, she kept her expression neutral and concerned. Even after he demanded her session tapes, she still kept her face impartial. She knew that Bradley wouldn't be pleased with them. The Joker obviously seemed to intimidate and frighten her. But how could Harleen explain that it wasn't fear that made her heart race and her lips tremble, but excitement and passion? That her letting him interrupt and talk over her was out respect, not cowardice? Of course, a crush on a patient wouldn't make Bradley jump up and down either.

But still when Bradley yelled, even screamed at her after listening to the tapes, Harleen was the epitome of an apologetic and bewildered doctor. It was only when he finally screeched that under no circumstances would Harleen ever be considered to treat the Joker again on his impending reentry to Arkham (with half of the GCPD looking for him it looked likely) that Harleen's face slipped a little. She thought he saw it too, because for a half a second he looked taken aback at the pure anger in her eyes. But she quickly closed her face off again and Bradley decided he had imagined it. Harleen put on a good show. She even let her faux shame show for the other doctors to see and heard a few concerned whispers.

But in the privacy of her own home, she was distraught and heartbroken.

How could he just leave me? Didn't he realize how . . . special those sessions were? She listened to their tapes over and over again and tried to spot any references or hints to his escape. She listened hollowly and thought of all the things she should have said.

She used up all of her sick days to take a week to mourn him. She spent her days uselessly weeping and moping about her apartment. She didn't realize that in city like Gotham, a man like the Joker had more than just the GCPD looking for him.

Finally, the day after her sick pay ended, Harleen waited for dark to fall and hailed a cab to Arkham Asylum. She had decided that was her best bet on checking in on her patients. She could imagine all the rumors swirling around about Harleen Quinzel, the intern turned slut who went insane.

As she was entering the building, she heard a deep voice call out from the shadows.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel?"

"Yes?" she answered automatically. She whipped around and strained her eyes to make out a shape in the shadows. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," the voice said. He stepped forward and Harleen almost gasped.

"How do you know my name?" she asked in horror to the giant and menacing shape that was the Batman.

"I have your patient." Harleen's mind was slow to realize what he meant. "I need you to let us inside," he said, still masking his voice to a deep growl.

"You mean . . . You have Mr. . . I mean the Joker?" she fumbled.

He inclined his head slowly to the door and access panel opened by security card only. Harleen fumbled for her card with cold hands, dropped it, and cursed as she slid it in.

The idea that this man was an imposter – not the Batman, but a mockery of him – never occurred to her. This man exuded confidence and deception as if he had been born in his dark cape and cowl.

"Why even bother with a door?" Harleen asked, despite herself.

"I've broken enough windows at Arkham. I would if I had to," he growled, dragging a tightly bound body behind him as they entered Arkham.

Harleen hurried to the desk and turned the lights on in the hall. At this time of night, the front desk security team had gone home. As the florescent lights flickered on, Harleen gasped.

"What did you do to him?" She rushed forward, horrified.

The Joker sat uncomfortably on the ground with his legs and arms tied tightly with rope. He was sporting a black eye with several lacerations lightly bleeding around it. There was blood on his knuckles and wrists.

"I did what I had to," the Batman muttered, turning in the doorway.

"Who do you think you are?" Harleen spluttered, outraged. She pointed an accusing finger at the Batman, surprising herself with her own ferocity. "You beat up a defenseless mental patient like he was a punching bag!" She dropped to her knees and began to pat the Joker's greasy green hair. "How could you?"
The Batman half turned around and Harleen caught a glimpse of his surprised blue eyes. He looked at the two of them huddled on the ground with growing unease. But then his eyes flickered up as guards burst into the room. Arkham was filled with top of the art surveillance cameras, so both Harleen and Batman had known the second the Joker entered the premise they would come running.

Harleen blinked and he was gone. She turned her attention back to the Joker, cooing softly as she stroked his hair. "My poor, poor baby," she whispered tenderly before the guards could take him away to his cell. She thought she saw an enlightened glimmer in his eye as they carried him away.

Harleen was given strict orders by Bradley to not even visit the floor where Joker was being facilitated. It didn't even cross her mind to do as she was told. Harleen merely snatched his keys and waited the hours needed to visit the Joker. By the time he realized they were missing it would be the next morning, and she'd have long slipped them under his door.

Harleen took the back stairs and nearly killed herself on the fire escape, but successfully made her way to the Joker's cell without meeting any of the hallways she knew were monitored closely with cameras. She slipped through his door without hesitating.

"Harley," he said almost as if he had been expecting her.

"Look," she said, coming closer. "I shouldn't even be here. But I had to see you."

"Did you? Me? The lowly old mental patient?" He cackled lightly.

"When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about you," Harleen said earnestly. "I realized that I . . . I uh, well I guess I kind of fell in love with you, Mr. J," Harleen said softly. "All those sessions and I did my best to listen and be impartial. But I guess I did the most unoriginal thing possible. I went and fell in love with my patient," she laughed nervously to Joker's impartial face. She looked down at her fidgeting fingers. "I just thought that maybe, well –"
"I loved you back?" He laughed and tears stung Harleen's eyes as the sound echoed in the room.

"Oh," he said after a minute when her sobs became apparent. He waited a moment, obviously uncomfortable. "Harley . . ." For the first time since Harleen had met him, she thought he sounded uneasy. "Now stop crying. I mean it – I can't stand that whimpering, Harley. STOP!" He bellowed unexpectedly. Harleen hiccupped in surprise and took her face out of her hands. "Good girl. Now, it's nothing personal, sweets. I just don't love anyone."

"Anyone?" she asked in wonder, her tears subsiding. "But that's horrible."

He shrugged in the gloom. Harleen leaned in closer to see his face better and was once again struck by his wounds. She put one hand softly on his cheek and traced a nasty looking bruise.

"You poor, poor thing," she repeated sadly, her tears starting up again. "The bad Batman hurt you."

The previous gleam entered Joker's eyes and all of a sudden he went from annoyed to downright miserable. "That's what those people do to me, Harley," his eyes downcast. "Bats beats me up and then throws me in here to rot," he said bitterly.

"No one should ever hurt you. And you won't rot in here! I'll be here for you," Harleen whispered softly.

The Joker threw his head in his hands to hide his grimace. "But see – I'm trapped in here. Even with you," he barely kept his face straight, "I don't know if I can stand another few months here. But what else is a guy to do?" Joker said. "I tried to get out of here and look what Bats did to me!" He said indignantly. "I had no one to help me, I suppose. I shouldn't have expected anything more."

"I could help you," Harleen whispered.

"No, of course you couldn't. You're a doctor here. I can't ask you to do that for me, Harley," the Joker said. A smile was beginning to creep its way onto his otherwise dejected expression.

"If I free you, I'd be free too," she said. "We could do whatever we wanted. Be whoever we wanted," she repeated, remembering his previous words. Her eyes were huge and transfixed. "I don't have to wait around and pray you don't break out and leave me. I can help you break out of here. I can break out with you," she whispered.

"Now, now, let's not go too far," the Joker heeded, but Harleen's didn't hear his words.

"I'm going to leave you now, sweetums. But I'll be back. I will, Mistah J," she grinned an insane smile and left the Joker a little taken aback as she sprinted out the door.

Her first stop was the department store she had visited almost a month ago. She flipped through the glass of the upmost window with near ease and walked casually down the aisles, seeming oblivious to the fact that it was nearly midnight and everything had been locked up for hours. She reached out and grabbed things by merely glancing at them. Black leather, red and black cotton, heavy black boots. Lastly on her checklist was a visit to Guns & Ammo, where she picked up a beauty of a gun that the man assured her would suit any and all of her needs. He was a pain about some permit or other though, so when his back was turned Harleen walked out of the store with it and a month's worth of ammo. It was a shame he chased after her though; he had been willing to give her such a good deal on it.

Harley left his crumpled body in the street and reached her apartment. She picked up a needle and thread for the first time since medical school.