"Wanna know how I got these scars?"
He asked the question so many times, he had trouble keeping the stories straight. He did particularly like the one that involved his father. Complete bullshit, of course, but it did give him yet another reason to hate dear old dad. The wife one was good, but a bit unbelievable. He didn't think Dawes-ey had thought it to be the truth, but it's amazing what people will do if they have a knife shoved in their face. Hee.
No, none of the stories he told were true. He supposed he liked to have his past be a multiple choice question as opposed to a yes-or-no answer. He lied to Harvey Two-Face, too. He was a bit of a schemer. That is, he had a reason for everything, even if Bats and the Commissioner didn't quite get them. Maybe. Gotham General, for example. There was a whole story behind that, and say, wanna know how he got those scars?
He'd been in Arkham for a month now, diagnosed by the skinny man with piercing eyes and glasses that he didn't need as "schizophrenic with psychotic tendencies" . Hah. Tendencies. He knew full well that he was more than occasionally psychotic. He'd scared off three doctors, killed a fourth and badly injured his fifth and most recent doctor. And maybe that was why the inmates- most of whom weren't crazy at all, but simply stuck into Arkham so Dr. Crane could have a little fun (personally, Jack thought Crane needed his own padded cell, but who's going to listen to the lunatic?)-the inmates thought they should maybe teach him a lesson in manners. It didn't help his case the he'd stabbed one of Falcone's thugs with a fork. And then another. And two more. Everyone got so angry, but really, he was just doing his civic duty, ridding the streets (or cafeteria, as it were) of the mob's scum.
He still didn't know how he got out - or did they get in? It didn't matter, he didn't know - but suddenly one of them - the bald one, he thought he remembered being told that this one was a killer, too - pulled a knife out of his jumpsuit. Hah. What a joke. Like the idiot was actually going to try to hurt him within the walls of the Asylum. Security had tightened since his little escapade with the fork, along with the liquidation of his meals. On the other hand, he hadn't been afraid to kill someone in broad bulb-light (no windows...were they afraid someone would jump?), and this was night-time. Damn. The man had tilted his head to one side, like a dog, and had grinned maniacally.
"Such a pretty face. But so, so serious. Why, Jack? Why so serious?"
He had tried to back up, but found, instead of air, a concrete wall behind him. Or maybe it was padded. The details were a little fuzzy. The bald, crazy man advanced and then- nothing except pain and fear and red and black and alarms and ohmygodimgonnadie.
A blonde doctor had run in and nearly passed out at the sight, but nonetheless had hurried over to "elevate your head to stop the bleeding", was what she had said. He wanted to say, hey, you're really cute, how about you and me going out to dinner after I get out of this loony bin, but all that he could hear was an agonized howl. With a jolt, he realized it was his own. Oh God, he thought, I'm gonna die. Hmm. Maybe he said it, because the cute doctor (Quinn? Quinzel? What was her name?) Said, "Don't be stupid, you're going to be fine."
Her voice was shaking. The next thing he knew he was in an ambulance speeding its way toward Gotham General and the pain had been replaced with a nice, tingly euphoria.
The doctors at Gotham General didn't care about the psychopath they were treating. The stitched him up haphazardly and tossed him back in the Asylum.
The first night after the stitches came out and he saw himself in the mirror they so kindly provided, he lost it and killed his guards. He was lucky that it was the night that Dr. Crane decided to break all of Arkham's crazies out of the lockup. Baldy wasn't so lucky. After Bats hopped between the man and whoever it was he'd been threatening, Jack tapped him on the shoulder, asked him why he was so serious, and slit his throat with his own knife. After the haze of panic had settled, he went out and bought himself some face paint and decided he was going to put a smile on everyone's faces, whether they liked it or not. Bats didn't like it, and Jack (or Joker, as he now preferred) ended up back in Arkham for his trouble.
In his first session with his new psychologist, he got there first. When she walked in, he nearly fell off the couch. It was her. She smiled primly and sat down to start their session. She didn't recognize him, and if she did, well, she was a damn good actress. So, to thank her for saving his life, he decided to let her join his little crew. And, for the record, her name was Quinzel. Harleen Quinzel.
Joker looked at Harley, snoring lightly in a chair, still fully dressed. He grinned a little.
"Wakey, wakey, Harley-girl."
"Hmm - wha - ? Oh, Mistah J! Aren't you the handsomest sight to wake up to!"
"Hey, Harl, wanna know how I got these scars?"
Smile!: Ahem. Many thanks to Bob Kane, who created this guy, and owns him. Also, to princessebee for inspiring me with her amazing work. Honestly. It's like a psychological profile of Joker with every fic. The "Mistah J" line (at least the last bit) is from her fic "DCU: Celebrity". It's JokerxHarley, which, in my opinion, is the best pairing in the DC universe. So THERE. I now direct you to her wonderful "DCU: Arkham Asylum: Tainted Love" fic, which is a lovely explanation of how Harleen Quinzel becomes Harley Quinn. :) And of course, to my wonderful beta, who puts up with my erratic postings and strange oneshots. Many thanks, Maddie(aka zombieegirl)!! :)
And last but CERTAINLY not least, the Prince himself (or at least...this version), the late Heath Ledger. His performance was absolutely amazing and awe-inspiring. May he rest in peace, and my hugest condolences to his family and friends. He is and will continue to be missed by all. R.I.P.