I'm going to try to keep this story as short as possible, meaning it will probably read more like a series of one shots about everybody's favorite clown before his days as Batman's nemesis. To be honest I wouldn't normally have anything decent to write for Batman but this entire story is inspired by and completely based around a very odd dream I had recently and simply couldn't get out of my brain. Anyhow I never read any of the Batman comics (i used to watch some of the cartoons)so sorry if I completely screw with, well, anybody's back story. The story is supposed to take place prior to the new batman movies, with Heath as the Joker in my brain. Story is told from an original character's point of view, for now, who I named after a certain character from the comics and cartoons. Okay so that's enough rambling. Enjoy.
"And how does that make you feel?" I hate that question. I hate asking that question but when all else fails what else is left in the head-shrinker's arsenal. Oh, great. Now I'm mocking myself.
"I don't feel," the teenage girl sitting across me from hisses.
"Right. Of course you don't," I doodle another row of Walmart-esk smiling faces into my notebook. Is it awful for a psychiatrist to give up hope for one of their patients? What am I thinking? Yes, yes it is.
I clear my throat, "Well—"
"It's time for diiiiinnn-nnneerrr!" a nurse sings as she bursts into the room. She carries a plastic tray topped with Jello and chicken nuggets.
"Well," I continue, thankful for a reason to escape, "looks like it's time for your dinner," a close my notebook and rise from my seat, "so I guess this means so long for now, and that I will see you tomorrow, Sara."
The girl narrows her eyes in my direction, "I don't eat," she says flatly. I nod, awkwardly, and shuffle my feet for a few seconds in hopes I'll say something miraculous. I don't. I turn on my heels and leave the room.
"What a relief," I whisper as I step into the white halls of Gotham General Hospital. I mentally kick myself saying that out loud. I'm not supposed to despise my patients I'm supposed to help them. I glance at the clock above the nurse's station, hoping that the small movement will distract me from my previous thoughts. Well what do you know; my shift is just about over. I sigh in relief.
I take a step forward and then another, making my way slowly to the elevator. As I stroll down the pristine white hall my eyes wonder, falling to a duo of men dressed in clean matching scrubs. I recognize them, a couple of surgeons with a habit of staring. The moment they notice me staring back one of them, the blonde one, averts his gaze. He mumbles something to his friend before retreating without glancing back in my direction. It may just be my tired eyes and the florescent lighting playing tricks on me but for a second I thought I saw him blushing—and smiling—as he walked away.
The second one continues to grin wickedly, winking one of his dark eyes at me. I reach the elevator and groan. Here he comes. I press the down button. Nothing. I press it again.
"What's up, Doc?" my admirer leans himself against the wall in what he believes to be a flattering pose. He keeps that obnoxious grin upon his face.
"My shift is over, Joe," I say, trying not to make eye contact.
"Yeah, but," he takes a step closer and I step back, "it's poker night in the on call room."
"Oh really?" I laugh.
"And we would just love for you to be there, Doc,"
"Who me?" he nods, "I guarantee half the people on call tonight—no I'll go ahead and make this statement as broad as possible—half the staff in this hospital don't even like me."
"That's not true," he attempts to reassure me, though his smile falters.
"I'm shrink, Joe. The IRS of the medical community," the elevator dings and its metal doors slide open. Joe extends his arm to stop me from entering.
"Please?" I shake my head, "it'll be fun. When's the last time you went home from work and actually had fun?" I take a deep breath. Fun, well that certainly was a long time ago, "Harley…" he coos.
The elevator dings softly again as its doors slide shut, "fine!" I surrender. Joe is positively giddy as he leads us to the on call room. I hope he doesn't think this is some sort of date.
"Hey everybody, look who I found," he announces loudly as we enter the room. I'm greeted by four sets of silent stares. One of which, I notice, belongs to the blonde doctor with tussled hair I saw before.
After several long seconds of awkward silence the atmosphere begins to lighten. Joe directs me to my seat for the evening: one next to him and across my other admirer. He says nothing as Joe and the others begin to laugh, reminiscing about poker night memories past. I, too, remain silent as another doctor deals out the cards, "deuces and jokers wild," he laughs cheerfully. I peek at the cards I've been dealt. Nothing. Just my luck.
This pattern continues throughout the night. Everyone, even I…sometimes, laughs and jokes. Of course every now and then someone's pager would beep and they'd be swept away by a patient in need. A never received a page, nor did I expect to, or a winning hand. In fact I folded nearly every round. Not much of a risk taker.
As my cards are dealt to me for what feels like the hundredth time I yawn, "looks like this is gonna be the last round for your friend, Joe!" somebody chuckles. I think Joe comes to my defense, but I don't care. I'm tired.
"I fold," I say, barely glancing at my cards. Nearly every doctor in the room follows suit, save for Joe and his friend the Quiet One.
The blonde surgeon puts down his cards first: two eights and two aces. "Dead man's hand," he says. His voice startles, soft and deep. I don't think I've ever heard it before. It draws my attention to him and for the first time I notice how young he is. Fresh out of med school. Not that I'm much older, of course. Sigh, maybe that's why I'm a lousy psychiatrist, no experience.
Joe laughs, pulling me back from my thoughts, "three of a kind," he says laying down his cards, displaying his trio of Jacks.
"Oh, I'm sorry," his friend says, sliding his cards away to reveal the fifth one beneath them. A joker, "Jokers wild, right?" a sly grin begins to tug in one corner of his mouth.
"Damn it," Joe says, "you always win."
His friend laughs loudly, "It's not very challenging against any of you."
"Oh come on. Who do you think you are the world champion of poker?"
He simply laughs again, the new twinkle in his eye catching mine, and like the true lady I am… I yawn again. "That's it for me," I mumble, rising to my feet. I gather my things and say goodbye. Joe and the others simply wave me away, almost glad to be rid of me. I exit the room and close the door behind me. The clicks of my heels echo down the deserted hallway.
"Harley, wait!" someone yells once I'm halfway to the elevator. I spin to see the blonde surgeon racing toward me. I hadn't even heard him go through the door behind me.
"Yes?" I carefully prompt once he reaches his destination. He watches me carefully, squirming in his own skin. He licks his lip nervously.
"I didn't really plan…no…uhhh…" he runs a hand through his already messy hair. He closes his eyes, sucks in a few deep breaths, and opens his eyes again. This time they shine with confidence, "here," he smiles, and with a magician's flourish removes a playing card from his scrubs, "My card." He grins, handing me a laughing joker. Scribbled across the card is a name and phone number. Before either of us can say another word his pager beeps loudly, slicing through the hospitals eerie silence. He grimaces at the noise before silencing it. "Um…maybe, you know. You could give me a call sometime? When you're not busy playing cards with those other fools I mean," he says, gingerly inching away from me.
I smile, "I'd love too."
He grins from ear to ear, "Great," is all he manages before his pager beeps again and he's forced run. As he dashes down the hall he glances back at, smiling, every few steps.
I peek down at "his card" again to read the name: Dr. William Jacobs. I smile.
Another's Note: I made that name up from a combination of two different characters Heath Ledger once played. It seemed an appropriate thing to do.