Author: First Batman story; I felt inspired when I started watching some of the Harley Quinn episodes of the animated series, and then I read a few of the comics involving the HarleyxJoker relationship. That, mixed with my seeing the new movie too many times, has made it impossible for me to just sit still and not write anything. So, here we go. I was thinking that I definitely wanted some HarleyxJoker stuff going on, but I thought that Ms. Quinzel could use a little competition. You might hate me for it, but oh well. It's not a romantic competition, because, let's face it, the Joker doesn't really think along those lines. (At least not for anyone besides Harley, in my mind) It's mostly a Harvey Dent sort of attraction, he wants to bring this new person down to his level. I'm probably going to be switching point of views, so don't get confused. And no flaming, got it? I'm going to delete any pairing flames, because they annoy me. This story is really for me, and for any fangirl who likes Batman and the Joker. All you'll have to do is put yourself in the main character's shoes and...voila!
This is my first time writing for the Joker, which should be interesting because there's so many different versions of him. In my mind, this Joker is a mix of the comic book original and Heath Ledger's Joker. Enjoy. And this is just the teaser chapter, so it's going to be shorter than the rest. (I might use a few of the Joker's original lines, too. Just because they're spectacular.)
He had told himself he wouldn't be intimidated. He was, all modesty aside, the best. So, when Nigel Himen heard that the infamous Joker had been sentenced to life in Arkham on a plead of insanity, he jumped at the chance to be the man's psychologist. If he could turn the Joker straight, he'd be the most honored and respected man in his field. He could write a book about it, get the movie rights...it would be spectacular. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one thinking along those lines. Dozens of shrinks applied for the job, and obviously, the ones already working at Arkham got priority.
So, Nigel had waited. He wasn't surprised when the first couple of doctors had quit after only a few days. Nigel only grew uneasy after three months passed, during which time the Joker has sent two dozen doctors squabbling and whining all the way back home. Then, the day came where he got a phone call. The voice on the other end sounded tired. "I'm calling for Nigel..." He was used to the pause before his last name, and jumped in before the woman could mispronounce it.
"Heeman, with a long sounding 'I'. And this is him." He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a bit of a chuckle from the woman on the phone. She recovered well.
"Yes...this is Betty Garrison, over at Arkham. You applied for a psychologist job, a few months ago, am I correct?"
Nigel clutched the phone a bit tighter, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. "Uhm, yes. That's right." He ran his hand over his bald spot, wiping the sweat from his skin.
"Well, today's your lucky day. A position has just recently become available. Are you interested?"
"Yes!" Dammit. So much for staying calm. "I mean...I'll have to check my schedule..."
Another chuckle, this one sounding slightly more mocking. "You do that. I'll see you Monday morning." There was a small 'click', then the dial tone rang in his ear. All nervousness forgotten, Nigel hung up the phone and set about preparing himself.
Monday morning rolled around, and Nigel dressed himself in a beige business suit, and combed his hair over the bald spot, slicking it down in place with some water. He swapped out his contacts for his small round glasses, and slid his feet into his most expensive shoes, which made a delightful squeaking sound when he was walking. His car, which was precisely three shades darker than his suit, was parked behind him, and Nigel waited outside Arkham's gates for his escort, who appeared a few moments later. The woman was wearing a standard nurse's uniform, like something out of the sixties. As she drew closer, Nigel focused on the small brass plate pinned above her left breast. "Hello, my name is Betty Garrison" She spoke as he read the words, and Nigel offered the woman his hand.
"Nigel Himen." He saw the small smile pull across her face, but ignored it.
"Yes, well, welcome to Arkham. I'm afraid we don't have time for a tour right now, would you mind starting right away? We have a patient who's threatening to call his lawyers, if we don't adhere to the one hour a day of therapy. And he's already missed four sessions."
"No, no. I don't mind at all. Maybe...you could give me a tour later?" He tried for a warm smile, but Betty just looked at him, her eyes darting up to his combed over bald spot.
"I'll have our security guard, Billy, do that. I'm really just the welcoming committee." She turned and started walking towards the building, with Nigel following just behind her. As she spoke, she held up a briefcase Nigel hadn't noticed before. "The Joker's files are in here, but there's really not much to read. No one's lasted longer than a week or two." Shoving the briefcase into Nigel's arms, Betty opened the first door with an I.D. card. There was a buzzing noise, and then she heaved on the door, letting Nigel go through first. They took a left, then went through another door, continuing down a long line of heavy doors with small circular windows near the top. Betty stopped outside the third one.
"This is where he has his private sessions. I'd strongly advise you don't get within three feet of him, and no matter what he says, don't touch him. Good luck, Mr. Himen." She pronounced his name the dirty way, and he barely noticed, watching her open the door with another obnoxious buzzing sound. Betty ushered him inside, and shut the door behind him. "I'll be back in an hour." Her voice sputtered from an intercom on the wall, a red light blinking with her voice. "Just call if you need anything." There was a click, then the red light went out.
Slowly, Nigel turned to get a look at the room. It was completely bare, and the table was bolted to the ground. The chairs were padded, but still looked extremely uncomfortable. Closest to him, the chair was empty. But on the other side of the table, wearing an Arkham issue prisoner suit, sat one of the most well known and least liked faces in Gotham.
"Hello...doctor." The Joker drew out both syllables of the word 'doctor', over enunciating the 't' and 'r'. "Come to pick my brain like all the others?"
"Mr...Joker. You can call me Dr. Himen."
"Oh, Nigel Himen? The famous psychologist? What an unfortunate last name. You must have had horribly fascinating parents."
Nigel shifted, already uncomfortable as he sat down and laid out all the papers on the table. "No. My family was normal."
The Joker lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Why so formal, doc? You look tense."
Nigel clipped a college pad to his clipboard, setting the tip of a pen on the top line and scrawling out the date. "I'm not tense. I would like to learn about you, though."
The scars on his face stretched in a grin. "You want to know all about my secret pain? My, how truly...twisted you are, Doctor Himen. Nigel. All right. Should I start with my childhood?"
Nigel hesitated, unsure what to write or say. "Childhood is a good place to start. What were your parents like?"
"Oh, doctor...it was horrible." The sincerity in the Joker's voice was such that Nigel couldn't help but lean in, slightly anxious. "You seem different, from the other doctors. I think I trust you." He sighed as he spoke, and Nigel bit his lower lip, waiting. "My father, you see, was a terrible, terrible man. He murdered my mother when I was six, right in front of me. Took a knife to her stomach, and wrapped her intestines around my throat. Pulled them tight and nearly strangled me." The Joker jerked his fist away from his neck, demonstrating. "Quite traumatic, as you can imagine." The velvet darkness of his voice was intoxicating, and Nigel found he couldn't speak.
"Wanna know about my face? What happened?" The Joker's hum dropped even lower, and he leaned in, face less than a foot away from Nigel's. "My father turned on me, right after killing dear old mom. Laughing as he does it, he carves my face..."
The Joker turned his dark gaze suddenly on Nigel. "How old are you, doc?"
"Thirty." Nigel was suddenly aware that he was in over his head. He couldn't think at all, and the shadows in the Joker's eyes were impossible to look away from.
"Aren't you a bit old to be going bald, Nigel?" A low chuckle started in the back of the Joker's throat, and he leaned back in his chair, bursting into laughter.
"That's enough now, calm down." Nigel stammered over the words.
"You're neglecting your clipboard, Mr. Himen." The Joker's giggling grew stronger.
The laughing prodded at his system, making him feel nauseous. "Be quiet!"
"What is it now, doctor?" The Joker slammed his palms on the table, the handcuffs clinking against the metal. "You look positively green! Like your mother's insides are tied around your neck!"
"Shut up!" Nigel sprang to his feet, and the Joker let out another bout of hysterical laughter. "SHUT UP!" He reached out and grabbed the Joker's collar, half lifting him out of his chair. The laughter grew louder. "SHUT! UP!" Without thinking, Nigel flung the criminal onto the ground, standing over him and yelling, the force of his voice hurting his throat. Next thing he knew, two men in white coats were dragging him from the room, the Joker's laughter ringing in his ears.
As they "escorted" him from Arkham, Nigel was aware of Betty saying to another nurse: "Told you he wouldn't last an entire session. You owe me ten dollars."