JxHQ: Kidnapping

Long one shot set from the perspective of Dr Harleen Quinzel, who encounters the Joker outside of sessions for the first time, in a situation she'd much rather forget.

Set in the Animated Universe e.g BTAS

Harleen Quinzel was never one for blending in.

Her appearance wasn't so out of the ordinary: with dyed blonde hair, big blue eyes and pretty, but still not in the big leagues of beauty. Nor did she dress outrageously; now that she was a doctor she kept it simple and stuck to slim neutral coloured skirts, black pantyhose and a fitted blouse. With any other mindset she might actually achieve that goal of blending in.

It was the way she carried herself.

In college she'd given other kids the wrong impression in the way she'd floated around, dark eyelashes batting at every turn. She was smart, athletic, popular in fact, things that were so foreign to her teenage self, and so she was always smiling and giggling. It wasn't an act - she truly was having fun, it made living that much easier. Of course those wrong impressions turned into a two year long rumour about how Harleen had slept with the professor to get those straight As, and suddenly she didn't seem so interested in being nice to people anymore.

After eight years of college and several residencies, she was finally a licensed doctor of psychology. Her trail of interning had led her to Gotham City's own Arkham Asylum, the most dangerous mental hospital on the East Coast. She'd been told she was overqualified for the position that she took on in the interview, and she simply smiled and dismissed it. Her response was that she wanted to help people. The warden simply stared at her as if she were as insane as the patients the building itself held.

It seemed she was yet again an outcast at Arkham, the only one who was still fresh enough to think that these patients could be helped. The only one who didn't want to settle. The only staff member that seemed to not want to off themselves when talking about their work.

That had been the first sign that something was wrong with this place, and soon she began to feel the effects of Arkham's torment too - the building sapping away at her grip on reality. She'd increased the quality of life of five medium level patients by this point, but it seemed like it came at the cost of making her life less and less bearable. For once she understood what Arkham was about and why everyone was so miserable.

Now he had had his eyes on her since she'd started at Arkham, asking around and fetching as much information as possible on the girl in the six months she had been working there. She was a excellent gymnast; parents living in Brooklyn; even that as a child she was a Girl Scout. He had eyes and ears everywhere, and so he'd caught on as soon as she became disheartened.

It was then when he grabbed the nearest guard and threatened to kill him unless Dr Quinzel was assigned to his case. She'd been scared as shit in their first session; she'd tried to hide the tremors but he had sharp eyes and all he had to do was watch her intensely to make her breakdown. The Joker loved the effect he had on people.

After six weeks of being his doctor Harleen was beginning to grow a fondness for his intensity, and so the walks back home to her dingy apartment in the Narrows just felt wrong. Before they had been a way to clear her mind of the chaos of Arkham and to relax, but now they just felt empty. For the first time in a long while she felt herself longing for the danger and excitement her work could offer. She'd only gone home because her boss had suggested it, telling her she was starting to look ill with all of these late nights.

She couldn't understood where he had gotten the idea that she wasn't well, but had obeyed at the worry he might put her on leave and keep her away from her precious Arkham, and the thrill of danger.

Even the streets of Gotham weren't quite the same soul crushing atmosphere she remembered. With her apartment and doctor's office keys tucked in the gap between each finger like a set of claws, she kept her footsteps fast and light as she had taught herself as not to linger for too long, whilst also keeping to the shadows. Walking in the light would simply bring more attention to herself than to the people following her.

On this particular night she wore a black skirt and powder blue blouse, buttoned up all the way and hidden beneath a long brown coat. Her hair was still pulled back in a low ponytail, with the lengths tucked into her collar to prevent anyone grabbing it, but also to block the cold wind from nipping at her neck so much. It was late Winter now and though Gotham was cold and dark all year long, the first couple months of the year were always the most bitter. Harleen didn't mind - she loved snow and Gotham sure had plenty of it at Christmas. By this point in the year the smog had begun to smother the atmosphere of the city, and so the snow had melted away to lead back into the perpetual rain Gotham had to offer. It was a little trickle at the moment, but she didn't want to linger too long in case it developed into an icy rain storm.

There was a leap in her heart at the sound of footsteps behind her, albeit she didn't twist around, instead keeping it moving toward her apartment. If she could afford it she would have bought a car, however she was only on a measly intern's salary, one that could hardly pay for her rent and food never mind gas. The walks were good for her health, but she wasn't a fool. Having lived exclusively in large, dangerous cities, Harleen knew there would be a time when her life would be threatened. She just thought she'd be a little more afraid.

"Ay, sweetheart where ya goin'?" a man called from behind her, a little too close for her comfort.

Nevertheless she chewed her pink bottom lip and continued on without faltering. Not once did she think herself stupid enough to turn around, however that only served to stir on the group of unknown size following her home. She doubted they would continue to stalk her the couple blocks back to her apartment, but she didn't have a plan ready if they did follow her home to the complex, or even if they kicked at her door. She didn't have any friends or anyone to call on in her complex, nor at work, or at least anyone that would help her.

Harleen had managed to befriend a patient at Arkham named Pamela Isley, and boy was she wished that Isley could be on the other side of that glass here with her now. It seemed strange that she was calling on a convicted murderer and terrorist to help her fend off these civilians, but that was what her life was becoming nowadays: strange.

She increased the pace without making herself look hurried, and turned a corner onto a street she didn't recognise. This caused her to swear and falter in her tracks as she mentally went over how she could get home from here, however this was more than enough time for the strangers behind her to close the distance.

"Well ain't you pretty." one man commented, as she turned to examine the group of three men. They looked to be in their late twenties like her, but were dressed in street getup and so they doubtfully had much in common. Not many enemies but enough that they would be able to intimidate the average civilian. The problem was that she wasn't that average of a girl.

Immediately she lunged forward and caught a man with her makeshift key claws, scratching him in the face haphazardly.

He stumbled backwards and held his right eye. "You bitch!" he spat, a scowl on his face.

The other guys looked in confusion at their friend, before one thought it smart to make a move on her and try to grab her by the waist. She flipped out of the way of his easily choreographed attack, before landing neatly back on her feet.

Thank God I traded my heels for sneakers at the end of my shift, Harleen thought with a half smirk. It had been a while since she had properly flipped like that due to work and long hours, however it was as if she'd never left, the muscle memory guiding her through it and she had to stop herself before she raised her hands above her head in a gesture.

Unfortunately the long gap in training had made her rusty and fairly slow, and so not quick enough to dodge the next man's sucker punch to the chest. It sent her tumbling backwards and knocked the air from her lungs, and so she held her body in pain as she attempted to stand back up.

"Time for some payback, slut." the man whose face she had keyed remarked, advancing on her with a blade he removed from his pocket.

Her brow hardened and she panted harder than usual to regain her lost breath, looking up at the man. Three sudden noises broke the night, followed by a splash of hot liquid onto Harleen's face. With an agape mouth she raised a hand to touch her face, removing it to find crimson red blood on her fingertips; they were shaking now and she pulled her legs up to her face with a shriek as the three hooligans fell dead onto the ground next to her.

Clouds of icy breath emerged from her mouth into the cold Winter air as she whimpered, eyes searching for the source of the gunshots. It wasn't as if she cared for the men's death, she was more afraid of whoever wanted to save her life, and whom of those few people had access to guns.

A dark skinned man appeared from the alleyway holding the smoking gun, quite literally, and held out his other hand to her. He had a kind face, and smiled deeply as he spoke. "It's alright now, miss, you're safe." he assured her.

He was dressed in civilian clothes and yet wielded a slick pistol, and so Harleen was suspicious at first. Nevertheless she reached out to take his strong hand with her shaking one, and with an effortless tug he pulled her to her feet.

"Thank you." she murmured, nodding her head to reassure herself and him also. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

He shook a hand. "It's nothing, better to clean Gotham of the scum and to save someone in the process." he replied nonchalantly. "My name is Garry Richards, by the way."

She gave him a smile and held out her hand, in which he took. "Harleen Quinzel. My friends call my Harley." she responded in turn.

His eyes lit up in a manner that Harleen missed. "That's an interesting name..." he began.

A nondescript van swerved around the corner and onto the road beside the two of them rather dangerously fast. Harleen tilted her head to glance over at it in shock, before a dull ache was felt in the back of her head. As her eyes drooped shut and limbs weak, Garry and another man that hopped from the van helped to load her into the back of the vehicle, before quickly speeding from the scene.

Confusion followed her consciousness as she awoke much later. Or at least she thought it was later, opening her eyes lead to black, and her muscles were tight as if she had been immobile for hours.

She was lying on her side and her shoulder pressed against a hard cold surface, leading to a shooting pain as she tried to moved. A groan escaped her chapped lips as she found her hands were securely tied behind her back. A few flaps of her eyelids allowed her to come to the conclusion that she had a blindfold over her eyes.

There was no doubt that she'd been kidnapped, the only issue was wondering who the hell would wanna kidnap her. Of course it could just be strangers wanting to sell her off to the highest bidder or pillaging her for organs as she'd heard. It hurt to think but if her memory served her well then the strange man had saved her before knocking her out. He had also asked her name, she assumed the usual trafficker would just grab her without a care for her name. There was always the problem of getting attached to one's victim and so she thought that they'd avoid getting to know her, makes killing her all that more difficult.

There was a shiver down her spine as she realised she could hear breathing from inside the room. She grew still, and soon enough she could hear her own breathing growing stronger and more anxious. It was a foolish idea but she pulled the strength together to clear her throat, before speaking out into the silence.

"Who is that?" she murmured in question, her voice shaking.

There was a noise of interest from across the room, before she heard heavily weighted footsteps heading toward her. She'd hoped it to be another kidnapping victim, however she was now a lot more certain that this was part of the organisation that nabbed her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the footsteps stopped right just in front of her, and she could smell the leather of the individual's boots by her face. There was the creaking of fabric as they knelt down, and placed their hands in the most appropriate of areas to lift her up onto her rear. She replied with noises of bewilderment at the stranger's gentle touch. This was soon followed by her gasps as they raised their fingers to hook around the blindfold on her face and pull it clean off without struggle.

Harleen groaned as even dim light slid into her sensitive eyes, albeit she blinked and stared hard at the now man that she saw in front of her. He was a large man - she could tell even without him standing up - very muscles and yet also somewhat out of shape, like a retired bodybuilder. His hair was buzzed off and he gave an air of low maintenance, this was a man that cared more about his work that his appearance. Most importantly his pudgy face was soft and oddly kind, and once her eyes had fully adjusted she could see that he was looking at her in a friendly manner. His eyes were down turning and rather dopey as they pointed at her for a tad too long, and so she looked back at him with bewilderment.

Was he going to kill her? Or was he here to help here? He had sat her up and took off her blindfold after all, which increased he chances of escaping if only slightly.

"Are you feeling any nausea or faintness?" the man asked, his features folding in question.

This didn't seem to be a trick question however Harley chewed her lip and drew back from him. "Why are you asking?" she asked hesitantly.

His eyes dropped from her to the floor, before pulling back to look upon her face. "Boss doesn't want you getting a concussion or brain haemorrhage." he responded.

She gulped at his words but lowered her brow. "Then why knock me out and risk that?" she asked in reply.

He didn't pause to think, instead already having formulated an answer for her. "Well I'm sure you wouldn't have come here voluntarily."

She scoffed. "Yeah I'm sure of that. Where the hell am I anyway?"

He cleared his throat. "Boss doesn't want you knowing that, sorry miss."

Harley raised an eyebrow and twisted her lip. "Typical."

He stood up straight and took a few steps away from her as if he didn't want to be in the same room as her for too long. "So are you experiencing any nausea or faintness?"

She sighed and gave a simple shake of her head. "No, I'm not."

"Okay. I'll go tell the boss you're awake." He began to walk away from her.

Her eyes grew wide at this and she raised her brow, moving forward on her rear to follow him. "The boss? No you can't, please help me, I-"

This was the extent of the words she could splutter out before the man picked up his pace and left through the door adjacent to her, one she hadn't even distinguished as something other than wall. The room was still too dark. Anything could be hiding in here with her, and she had never felt more unsafe, not even on those Arkham night shifts. It was funny to her how she had come to enjoy danger when it was at the asylum, where she was dealing with the worst of the worst. The glass wall separating her and those murderers had made her over confident; stupid. Now that there was no panic button; no guards; no safety net; she was afraid, she didn't mind admitting that. Maybe this was good for her: a little taste of the real world to shake her out of this stupidity.

The experience of being kidnapped so far was very out of the ordinary and the perpetrators were strangely friendly to her, but she still had to remember that there was the threat of death. She might never get back to her crumby apartment to clean out that milk carton that was now a couple of days over the sell by date, or to Arkham to see her patients again.

Hell, she didn't even know who had grabbed her.

Gangs were a huge problem in Gotham, and so it was just a likelihood that these people were part of a gang, right? The man who had checked she was alright hadn't been wearing any insignia or any colour that would have lead her to believe it was a particular gang, or at least not one at the top of the roster. She doubted that they even knew that she was a doctor at Arkham, or how many people would notice her disappearance and form a party to look for her. They were probably just a close knit newly formed gang looking for some quick money. Women always provided good ransoms from the GCPD.

Yeah that was it. It was because she was a woman. Not a bad looking one at that, and she now didn't care much for who the boss was; he was probably just some kid her age who needed money. Organs paid well but she doubted this guy would cut her up and sell her on the black market, that was usually left to the top name gangs, usually foreign. In Gotham that concerned the Irish and Russian crime families operating in the North island of Gotham City. Her hopes of living through this rose considerably.

Strangely she felt a pang in her heart at the thought that her life was in the hands of a bunch of nobodies. It seemed her experience working at Arkham had made her rather elitist about the whole thing - if she had been kidnapped by a big name gang then it would be a whole lot more interesting, maybe because her name would be everywhere afterwards. She was always attracted to fame. Or maybe it was because she'd be in contact with a real messed up criminal, she'd also always been attracted by big personalities. Or perhaps it was all driven by that self destructive streak in her soul that just pushed her to do these dangerous things.

Despite that streak she still sat in the dim light of the room with fearful anticipation, waiting for someone to join her in this place for better or worse. She didn't like the chill she got on the back of her neck by being alone in this unfamiliar place. Harleen was almost afraid the room would close in and eat her alive, as if it were no more than the mouth of the monster that was Gotham. The people were scary here, but the town held a malice like no other, and one couldn't even been safe and alone.

One look down at her body provided the information that she was still dressed in the clothes she had been grabbed in, sans her bag, coat and shoes. The absence of the coat caused her to shiver - the room was cold, especially the tile material of the floor. It was Winter, but she got the idea that the building didn't have the luxury of heating, it wasn't really on a criminal's top list of priorities.

After a minute the door opened once again, and the room was cast in the artificial glow of the LED lights in the opposing room. Under different circumstances she would have raised a hand to block the rays, but instead she squinted and turned her head away.

This was worsened when the intruder flicked the switch and bathed the room in a sickly yellow light. She gave a noise of complaint, and blinked rapidly to allow her eyes to adjust to the new light.

"Harley girl! Bet you didn't think we'd be meeting like this, eh?" the male voice spoke, cutting the silence. Too familiar, it struck a nerve in her heart and she gasped.

Her eyes finally caught up with the rest of her and she found herself looking at the tall man leaning in the doorway, his thin long frame illuminated by the light behind him. His white skin stretched and creased as he pulled his red lips upwards into a sick grin, and his dark-ringed eyes watched her carefully, like a beast with its prey. No longer was the Joker in his orange Arkham jumpsuit, and it served to say just how different the circumstances were. He wasn't dressed in his full outfit that she had seen in the news, he looked far more casual, most likely for her benefit: his long purple coat and tie were missing, and his powder green shirt was unbuttoned just slightly. The man raised a gloved hand to run through his thick green hair.

She looked back at him with utter shock and kicked her legs out in front of her to move her body away from him. His chuckle as she did so just caused her to move faster, and she swore as her back collided with the wall. He began to approach her in long strides.

"Leave me alone!" she hissed, before he closed the distance and bent at the hip to look down at her.

"Leave you alone? Oh but Harley I thought we were friends! That is what you told me in therapy, wasn't it?" he purred, reaching out a hand to caress the side of her face. It was so tender, more than she ever would have thought possible from him, and her breath hitched.

She'd told him that they could be friends in their most recent session, after he'd mentioned that she wasn't like the other doctors. Of course he had grinned at this, however he agreed and joked that he'd have to get her a friendship bracelet. The Joker had been remarkably docile in the six sessions they'd had together, he'd never laid a hand on her during that time despite threatening a guard to have her as a doctor. The clown in the paper was almost incomparable to the one she had been having sessions with and so she hadn't been confused when he'd agreed to be her friend. Of course he'd been frightening and made very dark jokes from time to time, but mostly he was just playful. He wanted to talk about her in a friendly sort of manner, or tell her stories to avoid answering her questions, and so she'd began to doubt whether he really was the same man that put deadly laughing gas in the ventilation system of an elementary school last Spring.

"Yes but that doesn't mean-" she began a little too hastily.

He cut her off swiftly. "Well am I your friend am I not? You're very confusing, Harley." he continued in a mocking tone.

She narrowed her brow. "I'm your doctor, Mr J, I said that you were my friend in a strictly professional matter so that we could come to trust each other. Trust that has just been trampled after you kidnapped me!" she snapped.

He raised a dark green eyebrow. "Well we're not in therapy now, cupcake. It would be simply inappropriate for us to continue like before."

Her lip twisted once again; whatever he was planning with her that began with kidnapping wouldn't end well. His docile façade had quickly fallen, though he was right - they weren't in Arkham anymore, she couldn't play the part of caring doctor if he wasn't playing at all. The best way to survive his game was to play along, but there was a dark nagging in her head telling her to give him her everything and go out screaming and biting.

Quite literally.

"What do you want with me?" she snapped in question.

He smirked and grabbed her face harshly. "Quite honestly, Harley girl, I haven't quite made up my mind yet." he replied calmly.

"I'm not gonna beg ya for my life, if that's what ya think." she retorted, her native accent slipping out as she became more agitated. She didn't like the way he was treating her like a pawn outside of their sessions. Not when he had been so kind...

The man leaned in closer in curiosity. "Oh toots, is that an accent I hear? All this time and I didn't know you were hiding it from me."

She grimaced. "I'm from Brooklyn. I thought it more professional to hide it."

He grinned. "Well I knew you were from Brooklyn, I was just waiting for the day that you'd share your real voice with me. It's very pretty if you don't mind me saying."

Harley exhaled loudly, pulling her face from his grasp. "I do mind. In fact I mind the fact that I'm even here with ya. And I mind that I don't know if you're gonna kill me or not."

His face fell a little, as if she was disappointing him. Good, that would serve him for grabbing her off the street and spoiling her evening.

Your evenings consist of coffee and late night viewings of Friends reruns, Harley, she told herself. Why don't you live a little. I thought you liked danger.

She had thought that she did like the danger, but maybe she had just underestimated what true danger was like. At Arkham she'd only had the taster, here in this unknown location with no one to help her she'd get to know true danger.

He sighed and seized her head again, this time by entangling his fingers in her loose blonde hair as she yelped. This grip allowed him to pull her face up and closer to his until she could feel his breath on her cheeks. From this close she could see how unnaturally clear and healthy his skin looked, despite the deathly pale colour of it. He was freshly shaven and she could smell the musk of cologne on his skin, along with gasoline and cigarette smoke.

She remained in his grasp and scarily close to him for a minute longer, as he burned holes into her skull with his bright green eyes. Thoughts passed through her mind about how she was the only one to be this close to him and to keep living, at least that was if he was going to allow her to. To say it boosted her ego was an understatement.

His grip softened as his eyes rolled back into his skull and he sighed. She took the chance to pull away from him, causing her weight to shift and her whole body to fall onto the floor with a slam. Black leather wing tip shoes and white spats appeared in her eye line and there was the sound of material creasing as Joker moved above her, out of her field of view. She took in a sharp breath through her teeth as she felt the cold sting of a metal blade against her wrists. He rested his knee on her back, forcing her flat on the tile floor as he danced the blade around in his gloved hand. It was uncomfortable but she tried to minimise her reactions; she'd pinned him for someone that was gratified by reactions of pain and sorrow caused by his hand, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

In the next moment he sliced cleanly through the rope tying her wrists together. She couldn't stop her mind thinking about what that blade could do to human flesh, most importantly to hers. It sent a shiver down her spine that scared her. Nevertheless she hopped to her feet and rubbed her wrists, which were rubbed red raw.

"Why tie me up if you're just gonna cut me loose?" she asked, as he stepped away from her carefully.

"To stop you killing my men - good help is so hard to come by nowadays." he replied nonchalantly.

She lowered her brow at him. "I'm not a murderer." she responded defensively.

He flashed her a grin. "Oh but you'd save your ego yourself with the excuse of self defence. Something to separate you and I, and I'm sure the city wouldn't blame you for it." he elaborated. "And you could go on sleeping at night."

Her feet moved her a few steps closer to him and she pointed a finger into his chest. "I'm not a killer, J. I'm nothing like you." she spat.

You're taunting him, Harley. You're going to get yourself killed.

Oh but it was so thrilling, risking her life like this with him. He hadn't killed her yet, so what said that he would? She was special.

His green eyes flashed red in a micro-expression far too fast for Harley to catch. As soon as it ended he seized the hand she had planted on his chest in his much larger hand, before bending it back painfully. She cried out in agony as she was sure her fingers would snap with the pressure. As a past gymnast she'd injured her hands and limbs plenty, but he was pushing her so slow and tedious, and she couldn't pull away from his iron grip on her.

"Who do you think you're talking to, hmm?" he purred, drawing out his words painfully as he pressed harder and harder on her hand.

She swore and bit down on her lip hard, before pushing past the pain for a moment and raising her other hand to strike him in the face. It was far weaker than she'd intended but it caused him to release her fingers and grasp both of her wrists in his hands instead.

He began to laugh cruelly as she struggled against his hold.

She exhaled heavily and glared at him with a burning gaze. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hissed, her fingers of her left hand still throbbing and hot.

Moving so his face was ever closer to hers, his smile grew. His eyelashes were a deep green and strangely long for a man. "You're my doctor, dear Quinzel. I thought you were supposed to tell me that." he teased.

At that she felt a smirk flicker at the corner of her mouth, but she soon removed it. "Well... you definitely have some psychopathic traits, and it's no denying that you're a narcissist. Along with that I'd say a touch of schizophrenia, most notably delusions of grandeur and lack of interest for usual tasks like eating or sleeping. And yet you're still fully capable of good hygiene; I don't think you fit properly into a single category."

He lowered his eyebrows. "Astute, but clearly held back by the limitations of your study. The important question is do you think I'm crazy?"

She chewed her lip and looked down at his chest to avoid his eyes. "No, I don't. You're a very intelligent man, Mr J, and I think sometimes you do make sense. I don't think Arkham is fit for you at all."

"Hmmm and so you recommend Blackgate?"

Harley paused and stammered as she tried to collect her words. "Not Blackgate, per ce, I just mean that I think you're entirely mentally competent and very in control of your actions. I think the so called madness you portray out on the Gotham streets is a show, something to throw others off."

Several micro expressions flashed across his face in that moment, uncaptured by Harley's eyes, which were firmly transfixed by his unbuttoned shamrock green shirt. In the gaps she could see bare white skin, lightly covered by dark green hair. She could spot stray threads coming from the end of the hem, as if the buttons had come loose before being crudely hand sewn back on. If he hadn't got a firm grasp on her wrists then she would have raised a hand to run a finger over the detailing.

In a flash his hand came up to seized her jaw, as he awkwardly tilted her head up to look at him. His expression was one of dark seriousness, and she took a sharp breath at the intensity of it; she was so used to seeing him humoured that she hadn't quite considered what he would be like cold. At some stage she had considered him incapable of being so.

"So my madness is a mask, eh dollface." he began, the tone more like that of a statement than a question. "A twisted game, hmm?"

Her breathing was faster now, more worried. "You do like your jokes." she responded carefully, keeping her eyes locked with his. She could see now that they were enchanting gems of green with hints of purple and gold, and they swirled around as if they were hypnotising her, seemingly making it impossible to pull away.

His white face was riddled with lines that remained even when his face was relaxed and unsmiling, most likely due to his very expressive nature. There were crow's feet at the corner of his eyes; his age and birthday was unknown but most sources estimated him to be between the ages of thirty and forty five, most likely older due to fore mentioned wrinkles. Harleen guesses he was no where near forty five, but instead had an old soul, much more set in the past that other individuals his age.

His smile lines deepened as a smirk crawled onto his red lips, ones that she was unsure whether they were painted or natural. She paused, her bottom lip falling loose as she waited to see if his expression was good for her or not.

It was when chuckling began to bubble up from his throat and gradually past his lips that she realised something was wrong. He released her completely and began to circle her with a steady pace, his laughter reverberating off of the walls of the empty room and flowing straight back into her ears. Naturally in his daunting presence she crumpled and shortened, despite her opposite attempts to stand tall and capable.

"Oh little harlequin." he purred, his eyes searching her up and down expertly. "I was beginning to wonder if you were really worth it, all this time and effort I've spent researching you and making sure that you were my doctor. From the moment I saw you with my own eyes I knew you were different from the others, but sometimes I worry that you don't live up to my standards."

I'm your doctor, she thought with a grimace, why do I have to live up to your standards?

She didn't speak this to him, instead pulling her arms to her front and taking a deep inhale through her nose. This was seemingly the correct answer as he continued on without her input.

"You came in that first session, so intent on fixing me... on making me normal. And most recently you asked me to be your friend." he continued. "Do you think anyone else has tried that with me?"

Harleen stayed silent and looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say. The way he said it was as if she was an idiot, but she'd swore it was part of her plan. She had graduated with honours, she was smart, albeit it felt so wrong to disagree with him. Next to him she felt like a young girl, totally naïve and unprotected against the world's harshness.

His smile turned dark. "You're a harlequin; a fool. And yet you amuse me."

She chewed her lip and shook her head, more as if she refused to hear it rather than believe it. Her voice shook as she spoke: "I-I don't understand."

His eyebrows deepened in their cruel sneer. "You don't have to, my dear Quinzel. It's my game, and all you have to do is play along."

He moved in front of her and moved smoothly, his hands coming to settle on her hips. She didn't pull away but did give a noise of surprise and looked up at him with wide blue eyes, her pink lips part once again.

"What are you..." she began, before her words broke down into soft murmurs and she trailed off.

He flashed a dangerous grin. His teeth were a brilliant pale shade just like his skin, only differing in colour due to notable cigarette stains. She had never seen him smoke in person or in any media, and yet it fit his character so well.

"Oh Harley," he sighed, digging his fingers into her hips. "It's been so lovely to have you."

This sent alarm bells in her mind. These were quickly overcome when he slammed his head quickly forward against hers, the collision causing a ringing to play in her ears. A gurgle slipped past her lips and her sight began to deteriorate.

His laughter followed; his fingers released her and she felt herself toppling backwards, as if an anchor was dragging her skull downwards. So textured and loud, followed by wet and white soaring heat. White faded to black; she lost all sensation as she hit the floor.

It was dark outside when she came to.

The curtains were drawn aside and so the room was bathed in the dim moonlight - the room she recognised to be her apartment, her front room to be more precise. She was laid out on her beige sofa with a thin blanket draped over her.

Her shoes were propped up on the shoe rack by the door, whilst her coat and bag were on the hook. It was exactly how she found herself every night after work, however this time she was still dressed in her work clothes and makeup. Her head was banging and she held a hand up to it with a hiss. The sensation brought back the memories of being kidnapped and held by the Joker, and she took a sharp breath in. Out of fear she checked her bag to see nothing was out of the ordinary; the door and window were also safely locked, and she frowned.

Her bathroom was the next room over and so she shuffled sluggishly in. A mirrored cabinet revealed that her makeup was smudged, most likely from sleep, but there was no sign of injury on her. The headache seemed to be getting worse and so she popped an aspirin and groaned, this then bringing attention to the bruises littered her knuckles and fingers on her left hand. She shook her head and began to undress, pausing as she was sure she felt eyes on her.

A look around told her that she was alone, and so she continued, stripping off her jewellery and clothes and getting into the shower. The water was too hot but she revelled in it, scrubbing at her skin and washing off any unsightly thoughts she had had. It was irrational to think she had been kidnapped by the Joker, for several reasons. He wouldn't have let her go alive like this; she wouldn't have end up back at her apartment like this; and she would have had a lot more evidence in terms of injuries. Admitting that he had grabbed her would be admitting to herself that the clown knew her address, and that he was toying with her by not killing her. That or she was special.

She shook her head far more violently this this. No, she was his therapist for Christ's sake. He would have killed her if he actually got his hands on her beyond the asylum walls.

Her mind flickered to the moment he'd put his hands on her hips, and her hands instinctually came up to her breasts. In the next moment she realised what she was doing and stumbled back to lean against the wall, her eyes wide. If it had been a dream then she had dreamt of the Joker touching her like that, and that disgusted her. He was her patient, it was inappropriate. Regardless of the power imbalance she had being his caretaker, he was still a mass murderer, a killer of men, women and children. He was sick in the head and she was at home having wet dreams about him.

She suddenly became very self conscious and so she shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. Moving quickly to the front room against she pulled the blind, checked the door was still locked, and entered her bedroom. A foot through the doorway and she sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide.

The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cologne.

The End