AN: I own nothing. Please be aware I may add warnings as this isn't set ins tone yet. I will always write it in the AN.

Contains: Original Characters, unethical practices, mentions of drugs/medications, light Dom/sub, teacher/student rp references, violence (not too graphic, but still), Arkham Asylum being a horrible place to be.

Tik tok. It was that annoying sort. The cheap plastic clock, its missing hand and the constant buzzing and flickering of the sharp fluorescent lights brought back intense body-memory reflexes from classrooms and linoleum-floored corridors.

"What's that thought right there?" Said a kind voice.

"What's what?" Harley huffed, crossing her arms.

"Your thoughts drifted again," Dr Leland explained.

"Weren't ya gonna ask stuff?" Harley deflected.

"I did," the doctor smiled.

'Oh… Well, it's always the same. How are you? Did you sleep well? How are you feeling about the medication? Are you experiencing any troubling thoughts?'

Harley shrugged.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You seem… Distracted," Dr Leland prompted when no proper reply was on offer.

Why did Dr Leland have a framed picture of trees on her desk? Harley stared at that stupid thing so many times, never ever asking her about it. It looked like the kind of photo that came with the frame, but it was taken on a cloudy day and actually less aesthetically pleasant than a stock photo.

"Harley?"

"Huh?" She replied, absentmindedly swinging her legs over the edge of her seat.

"Thought so," Dr Leland sighed with a smile. "You know I was very proud of you for coming back on your own - that was very mature of you, but we aren't going to make a difference with these therapy sessions if you don't talk to me."

"I'm talkin'," Harley mumbled, glancing at those boring birches again.

"We are not letting him out today," said Dr Leland.

"What? Who?" Harley replied.

"You know who," her assigned psychiatrist replied as she rose from her seat.

His name was forbidden in this room. It had been for ages. Ever since they realized indulging Harley's obsession with the Joker did the opposite of calming her. Dr Leland picked up a file from the desktop. It was a thick one and Harley knew it wasn't the only issue of its kind. Dr Leland flicked through it.

"We haven't talked about him," she said, looking through her notes of their previous sessions. "For quite a while."

Harley crossed her arms.

"Nuthin' ta talk about."

"Isn't there?" The doctor prodded.

What was she supposed to say? She wasn't usually allowed to bring him up - but the moment Harley stopped talking about him they wanted a full status report of their relationship. She didn't care about him, everyday he stayed in that solitary confinement cell was a blessing.

"Can I go now?" Harley asked, twirling a faded pink-tipped ponytail.

"In twenty minutes," her psychiatrist replied, checking her wristwatch and not the broken clock on the wall. "Do you want to just sit there or will you try to have a conversation with me?"

Harley shrugged.

"I think it would be more fun that way," the doctor smiled encouragingly at the patient. "Don't you?"

"I don't wanna talk 'bout him," Harley huffed.

She pulled her feet up onto her chair.

"Why?" Asked Dr Leland, leaning on her desk with the file still in hand.

"Why? Why? Why?!" The harlequin snapped. "He tried to kill me! Isn't that enough?"

"It hasn't been in the past," Dr Leland noted. "What's changed?"

"Nothin'," Harley mumbled. "And 'sides ya nevar let me talk about 'im before anyways."

Harley looked to the clock but, as the hand counting the minutes was still as missing as it was a moment ago, it imparted no new knowledge.

"You've made some new friends recently, haven't you?" Dr Leland inquired, placing the file back onto the table.

Harley shook her head.

"Harley…"

She knew what they wanted of course. Confirmation. They knew. Only they wanted her to give them details. If they understood every dynamic between their patients, they could use it against them. There was nothing to give. She barely even saw Dr Crane. He couldn't eat with the others yet. He had to be watched every moment he wasn't in his cell - and the orderlies weren't fond of giving themselves extra work. Harley hadn't seen him for two days. Not since Tuesday. Everyone and their niece in Florida knew what they'd done by now. Many people here had associates or friends in Stonegate - those of the patients that were criminally insane that was, but more importantly, there was a certain honour codex. Turning on others 'in the club' was a faux pas.

That had been a major surprise to Harley. Sure, she had heard it all before but when she was the joker's girl she'd never experienced it. The big shots in here had little reason to care beyond the principle of the thing. Nobody cared that much for their goons, Harley knew that better than anyone. Still, some were just waiting for an excuse to stir the pot.

"I'm proud of you."

"Huh? Whaddya mean…?" Harley replied, snapping to attention.

"It's not progress in the clinical sense but…" Dr Leland continued, pleased to be listened to. "You've shown me some real strength of character. We've had a lot of discussions about a certain person over the years. If this is really a clean break, then I am happy for you."

Harley shrugged again but couldn't help a smile. It was refreshing after all of Red's complaints. Her professional side of course knew that Dr Leland had reason to say practically whatever she needed to say to get Harley to cooperate.

"It's done," she offered.

Dr Leland nodded and scribbled something on a notepad. Harley's finger drew the shape of heart on the armrest of her chair in a repeating motion. Above her the fluorescent lights continued to hum like huge ceiling-dwelling wasps. The licensed psychiatrist stood, placing the notepad on the desk before walking behind it and rummaging through a drawer. Harley straightened a little in her seat, trying to see what was written on the pad. It was a prescription pad. Dr Leland was changing her meds - but why and to what? The writing was in the usual fast scribbled code of course and upside down. What's more, Harley knew that Joan Leland knew she would try to spy.

"Ah, there we go," said Dr Leland as she withdrew a small ringbinder.

Harley leaned back in the chair again but the look in Dr Leland's eyes told her the deceit wasn't necessary. Still, it was not commented upon. The doctor simply flipped over the pad before opening the binder.

"Let's see… Let's see," she mumbled.

The disappointment and unfairness bubbled in Harley's stomach.

"Hmm… Yes," Dr Leland continued. "I think this might be right. There are some initiatives available - should you be willing. We don't use these so much since… Well, it is rare that people qualify."

Harley hugged her legs tightly.

"What's that mean?" she inquired, not truly caring.

"It means," the smiling doctor explained. "That I think you could use a distraction. A little responsibility. Something to take your mind off things. You're a very caring person, Harley. Why not put it to good use?"

"Like what?" the harlequin mumbled.

"It can be difficult to adjust to Arkham, you know that, how would you like to help others?" Dr Leland replied. "You'll show a few new people around, let them have someone to talk to."

"I aint gonna babysit," Harley gasped, lowering her feet to the floor and crossing her arms.

"Well, I think it might be good for you," Dr Leland said, still smiling. "And of course it would come with a few benefits."

Harley exhaled. That's what they were. Users. She didn't want extra yard time. She didn't care for therapy. She wasn't here to get better. Harley was here because Jonathan Crane was and she could barely even see him.

"Do you remember the talks we had about the word 'obsession'?"

"Sure," Harley shrugged, barely listening.

"It's never healthy to anchor your happiness in one thing alone," Leland continued. "Don't you agree?"

She waited for a reply that did not come.

"There's no reason why you should be isolating yourself," Dr Leland tried, knowing she was hitting a nerve.

"Don't!" Harley yelled, jumping to her feet, only to step backwards, hands raised placatingly, once she realized she'd made a sudden movement. "No, wait! Don't ya push that thing! It's just… I'm not, okay? I wouldn't be alone if ya just let me see 'im!"

Every hour she spent out of her cell was spent looking over her shoulder - or his, when he'd been out. She saw the looks and glances. The tension. Who was she supposed to befriend?

"Patients need to be ready to socialize, you know that," Dr Leland said gently, removing her hand from the alarm button on her desk. "What about Miss Isley?"

"When is he ready?" Harley replied, ignoring the comment about Pamela.

"Who exactly?" Dr Leland prompted, smirking.

She bit her lip. They were going to force her to say it. Out loud. Then it would be in the notes, on the record. Not that they didn't know, but still, it was private. It wasn't theirs and talking about it to them, even just a little bit, felt like sullying it. It wasn't a case study. Desperation gnawed at her.

'Just say it. If they'll let you be together, just say it.'

It was a stupid thing to do - to react as she did when she'd first seen him again. If Dr Crane had been lucid he'd have told her as much. But he wasn't - and he hadn't been since. It was vile. Whatever it was they gave him, it made him a husk. She should have never showed them. Harley wondered if they weren't keeping him locked away on purpose, using him as a bargaining chip. You couldn't put it past them and she gave them that advantage.

"Dr Jonathan Crane," Harley stated, looking down in shame.

"Hmm," a pleased Dr Leland hummed, writing something in her notes. "I really don't know."

"What? But…" Harley objected.

"He's not my patient," Dr Leland explained, still writing, as if this wasn't common knowledge. "It's entirely up to Dr Washington. You, however, are my concern, Harley. Won't you sit back down?"

Harley shook her head. She should have seen that coming.

"Alright," Leland nodded. "If you prefer. Would you like to talk about your friend, Jonathan Crane?"

Silence.

"You've worked together recently, haven't you?" Dr Leland continued.

Harley stared at the soft soled shoes on her feet, seething. There she went again. They could pick up a newspaper if they wanted to know - they definitely had, but that wasn't the goal. No, Harley had to talk. Harley had to cooperate. Sing like a trained bird. No thoughts were her own. They'd turn every leaf of the forest floor until nothing was hidden from them.

"Harley, we just talked about this. You really need to talk to me."

The patient in question turned her head, still defiantly refusing eye contact. The plastic clock was still ticking. The hour-hand moved so slowly.

"I think you ought to consider the offer," Dr Leland said with a sigh.

She pressed a button.

"Thank you, yes," she said to the microphone in her desk. "Please escort Miss Quinzel back to her room. I will see you Monday, Harley. Your time's up."

TBC