Permission to archive: All you have to do is ask.
Spoilers: References to Harley's history and "The Killing Joke"
Disclaimer: DC owns all these characters and WB owns DC and Time Warner owns WB and I'm pretty sure the rest of the world.
Author Notes: I started playing with idea of writing this story when it occurred to me that two major characters, close to the same age, in the bat-mythos went to the same university on a gymnastic scholarship (at least, in some interpretations).
Competition
She was excited and nervous at the prospect of beginning this new phase in her life. The two emotions were so complimentary to one another that she didn't know which she felt predominately. Either way, her stomach was turning as many back springs as she would be in the gym of her new university.
College. The word alone sounded so grown up. After all, she reminded herself, she was grown. Hadn't she achieved this first step into success on her own? Her parents certainly hadn't a hand in it. They weren't even going to have to worry about the financial end of it. She had received a full scholarship to Gotham University. Sure, it was an athletic one, but what did that matter? Her grades had never been stellar, not bad either; it just wasn't something she had worried about much in high school. Gymnastics, though, she loved and it showed. At least to Gotham U it did.
She had gotten several similar offers to other schools and most of her friends urged her to choose some far off locale as they desperately wished they could. But she had never been a 'grass is always greener' type of girl and couldn't think of one reason to be anywhere other than the city she loved, aside from getting away from home. To that end, she insisted upon living on campus despite her mother's pleas.
These thoughts swirled around in her head as she checked in with other freshmen in a crowded lobby of an old, up-kept dormitory. There were several lines of new students divided by beginning letters of last names, but it was hard to distinguish them from one another as the crowd closed in around her. The faces that surrounded her looked equally anxious and excited in their new joint venture.
She eventually made it to the front and was shown to her dorm, which she would be sharing with a fellow gymnast. The window of the room gave a nice view of a large empty field in front with a few stately trees, letting in plenty of sunlight. Still, she had to admit that she was hoping for something bigger. She swore it was smaller than her room back home and it left little space between her bed and the one her new roommate currently occupied.
"Oh my god!" a freckled face with mousy hair gaped at her as she entered the new abode. "Don't tell me I'm rooming with Harleen Quinzel!" Clearly the comment was intended in jest as it was accompanied by a friendly smile.
"I'm sorry, but…do I know you?" Harley asked with a touch of embarrassment, feeling that she should.
"Doesn't even know my name. Figures," she replied halfway to herself. "Not that I'd expect you to, but any gymnast that went to high school around here in the last few years would certainly know you and maaan did we hate having to compete against you." She rose to her feet and offered her hand. "I'm Angie."
She accepted Angie's hand and shook it warmly. "Call me Harley. We're teammates now after all."
"Hallelujah!" Angie sang out, flopping down on the bed she had claimed. The girls giggled as they reminisced about past gym meets while setting up their room.
Harley couldn't have asked for a better roommate. Angie's intense respect for Harley's capabilities made for a quick devotional bond. Harley knew this was partly due to Angie's desire to hitch her horse to Harley's wagon, but she didn't mind. It was something she had gotten quite used to over the past few years.
In that regard, Harley really didn't think college would be much different than high school. After all, while she rarely had anyone she could consider a close friend, she had always been generally popular. She attributed this to her positive disposition along with her appearance, which most people seemed to appreciate. She also knew she had an air about her that said she was going places without seeming to try too hard.
It was with this positive attitude that Harley headed toward the gym for freshman athletics orientation with Angie. The location of their dormitories were chosen quite purposefully, being right next to the gym, and Harley soon learned that most of the students in her building were athletes in one sport or another.
After an introduction of expectations, particularly concerning GPA averages, the athletes split up into their various sport affiliations to get acquainted with their teammates, coaches, and training schedule.
"What do you think the captain will be like?" Angie asked Harley as the freshmen athletes divided.
"Probably a hardass," Harley replied without hesitation.
Angie lost some of the pep in her step, a thoughtful expression replacing the cheerful smile she wore a moment ago. "…You really think so?" she asked with some concern.
"I'd imagine," Harley reaffirmed. "Most people picture the most skilled athlete as being captain, right?"
"Right," Angie agree. "But it's supposed to go to whoever shows the greatest leadership skills. Someone who inspires the team."
"Sure, it's supposed to, but how often do you actually see that happen?" Harley asked. "Too often no one fits the bill, or too many do. It always ends up going to whoever paid their dues. That person is often bitter at the extra time and commitment they spent toward reaching their goal and wants to put everyone else through the same crap: a hardass."
"But weren't you captain of your squad, Harley?" Angie reminded her.
She had been, of course, and knew it was no great feat. In truth, she never had to work much harder than anyone else; it just came naturally to her. And it was easy to inspire others when they were assured victory because of you. All of this, despite being true, sounded like bragging to Harley, so instead she simply answered, "An exception to the rule."
Angie seemed disinclined to argue the point, whether because it seemed clear that they were about to be addressed again or because that was simply her way, Harley was unsure.
After being introduced to the rest of the squad that she would be spending a great amount of time with over the next few years, Harley found that she was no less recognized by the majority of her surrounding peer of freshman than she was initially by Angie. The few that didn't know her were recruited from outside the area and, not wanting to feel left out, quickly fell into line in acting as though they were supposed to give her some amount of respect.
Harley beamed inwardly, hardly remembering why she was nervous before. Rising to a leading position in her gymnastic squad in high school had been a cinch, after all. Somehow the thought occurred to her that it might be different in college, but why should it be after all?
The giggling and socializing quickly died down when their coach introduced himself and the squad leader, a graduate student by the name of Barbara Gordon. She carried herself with confidence, but Harley honed into the glasses, out-of-date fashion sense, and the way she spoke. Nerd, it all seemed to scream at her, and she smiled softly to herself.
It's not as though she was foolhardy enough to believe that she was going to be leading much of anything as an underclassman, but she knew with a comparison like Barbara Gordon she would be able to get enough support from her teammates to make a bid for it earlier than most. Junior year was definitely a possibility.
The amount of times their newly presented squad leader used the term 'discipline' alone was enough to put it in the bank. It's not a term that tended to win people over. She was so serious! It brought to mind the old adage 'you attract more flies with honey than vinegar'.
And the way education kept being harped on was astounding. As though they didn't know what college was for!
That said, Harley was also familiar with the reality of balancing school and athletics. In her previous school, if your GPA dropped below a 2.5, you were not allowed to participate in extracurricular activities…or so they say. She'd seen this rule bent time and time again, particularly for the major sports like football, baseball, and basketball.
In fact, even she had proven that no rule was absolute. She had been struggling in math during her senior year, but was supposed to be representing her school at the state level. Between keeping her from the competition or ignoring a slight dip below the rigid 2.5 line… Well, it went without saying that she made the school look good athletically, if not academically.
This Gordon gal needed to lighten up, no doubt about it. Harley was sure everyone felt similarly and that was all the in she needed.
"Harley, wake up! You're going to be late again!" Angie insisted.
She grunted back unintelligibly, while swatting at her blindly with a limp arm.
"You made me promise to force you out of bed, remember?" Angie pleaded.
Harley groaned and forced herself to roll out of bed. "Why me?" she moaned, willing herself to her feet and painstakingly making her way across the clothes-strewn floor, the small size of which made the mess look all the worse. She headed toward the even smaller bathroom to hastily throw herself together, skipping the shower for lack of time.
"I don't understand you, sometimes," Angie admitted, standing behind her as Harley leaned closer to the mirror to examine her face. "If it were time to go training, you would have popped out of bed in a nano-second."
"I like training," Harley explained in a tired voice. "I don't like expository writing."
"Does anybody?" Angie teased.
"The teacher hates me," Harley declared emphatically.
"That's because you're always showing up late to class," Angie teased. "But I'm sure she doesn't hate you. Maybe you'll impress her with today's paper."
Harley's eyes suddenly shot wide, Angie catching the look reflected in the mirror.
"Oh, Harley, you didn't!" Angie exclaimed.
"That's due today?!" Harley panicked.
"You didn't write it?"
"I did!" Harley insisted. "I started it…" she faded out meekly, before submitting to her fate.
There wasn't anything to be done for it. She couldn't fake an illness, already being warned she could not miss anymore class and expect to get credit. She turned in her half-finished assignment, hoping for leniency, but college was apparently not as forgiving of such things as high school had been.
Harley had gone to the gym to work out the day's frustration. It was good to remind oneself of what you are good at, when the world wants to make you not feel good at anything. She was hoping to find the gym relatively empty, but found her least favorite person there instead: Barbara Gordon, the last person she wanted to see.
She immediately thought about coming back later, but Gordon had already caught her eye and given her a wave. Nothing left to do, but suck it up now, she decided before taking a deep breath and striding toward the uneven bars.
Even Harley didn't completely understand her animosity toward their squad leader, but it was definitely there. She had learned a little bit about her over the past few months. As it turned out, 'nerd' didn't even begin to describe her. Her academics were beyond reproach and she was majoring in library sciences. A librarian! She'd probably take being referred to as a 'bookworm' a compliment.
Harley would have been able to accept Barbara's leadership role on the basis of her academic prowess, discipline, and team-building capabilities, if not for one thing that kept bothering her.
She was good. On top of everything else, she was really, really good.
Harley was known for being equally proficient in all gymnastic fields, be it the vault, uneven bars, balance beam, or floor. She occasionally, though rarely, found someone had a knack for one of the events more than she did, but no one could beat her across the board. She had thought herself one in a million until she met Barbara, who was equally, if not more, capable.
Harley couldn't understand how it was possible to be perfect at everything. Something had to fall to the side, hadn't it?
And, and, and, and…people liked her. Despite everything that made sense in high school, people genuinely admired this Barbara Gordan. She was open, friendly, and thoughtful. She kept high expectations, but did everything in her power to help those around her reach those expectations.
The only negative thing Harley could come up to say about her (and it wasn't for lack of trying) was that she often looked tired. Maybe the something that Barbara let fall to the side was sleep.
Harley didn't know what burned her more. The fact that Barbara was just as good as she was in the gym, that her academics didn't suffer for it, or that she was popular among her peers. What Harley did know was that she gave her a wide berth as much as possible. Just being around Gordon made one question one's self worth.
It was with these unpleasant thoughts that Harley chalked her hands and set to some simple rounds on the uneven bars. While doing so, she noticed that Gordon had slowed her routine on the balance beam and was watching with her peripheral vision. Harley responded by making some more complex maneuvers.
Barbara hopped off the balance beam and walked over to the bars. "Mind if I give it a try?" she asked good-naturedly, leaving Harley little choice but to dismount and watch her squad leader go through a series of maneuvers before dismounting herself, and gesturing for Harley to take another turn.
An informal, friendly competition had begun between the two of them, or, at least, it was supposed to be friendly. Harley screwed her face with determination as they took turns on the bars, upping the ante by making their routine more complex as they went.
"Want to take this to the floor," Barbara suggested after awhile, as neither were gaining the upper hand on the bars with their flawless composition.
Harley simply nodded in answer, determined to show Barbara that someone was better than her at something.
As they had on the bars, they each took turns performing different routines of increasing skill across the floor. Barbara occasionally threw out a compliment or two, prompting Harley to do the same, hoping that it came across sincere.
Barbara had finished another beautiful routine from one corner of the mat to the other. Harley decided to end this string of back and forth by completing a difficult double layout. She set across the floor with precision, getting the proper lift she needed to complete the move.
To the untrained eye, she had executed the maneuver perfectly and, in fact, she had gotten a small round of applause from a few onlookers in the gym. However, Harley knew she had landed too roughly, and that she didn't stick the landing as she should. She was more than aware that Barbara had to have caught it, skilled as she was, but she was polite enough to join in applause, conceding the round to her.
"That was fun!" Barbara said cheerfully. "And you are quite skilled. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going to be able to teach you anything at all," she admitted with a smile.
"Thanks," Harley returned as genuinely as she could muster. "See, you tomorrow at practice," she finished, latching on to the first opportunity she could find to exit, feeling embarrassment under her squad leader's discerning eye.
It had been coming. She'd been warned. But somehow she felt that she was being treated unfairly all the same. Following the first quarter, her grades did not reflect the necessary GPA she needed to remain on the squad. A hearing was being held to determine her fate, or at least that's what it felt like to her.
It was recommended that she dress professionally for the hearing, but she didn't have much in that regard. Harley stared forlornly into her closet, trying to decide what she had that was the closest equivalent, when Angie suddenly appeared behind her.
"What are you doing here?" Harley asked, surprised, but happy to see her. "Aren't you supposed to be in Biology?"
"I came as quick as I heard," Angie panted heavily, having just raced across campus. "If Mr. Perkins doesn't understand the importance of being there for a friend in need, he can suck it!"
Harley smiled broadly, but it was quickly replaced with the sad expression she'd been wearing all day. "How'd you find out?" Harley asked in embarrassment.
"Don't worry," Angie reassured her. "Only the squad knows and we don't want to lose you. What can I do to help?"
"I don't really have anything to wear," Harley admitted.
"Girl!" she declared dramatically. "Do you really think you need to ask permission to borrow my clothes in a time of crisis?!" Angie quickly pulled a skirt suit from the closet and handed it to her. "I wore this when I applied here. It'll probably fit you well enough."
Harley gratefully put it on and it did seem to work alright. Angie was a bit taller than her, but that only made the skirt hang longer on her legs, which she thought probably would only prove to her benefit.
Angie offered to walk with her to the hearing. Harley tried to get her to return to class, feeling shamed enough at the situation without having a witness, but Angie insisted on the grounds of moral support. They walked silently past large oaks and stately buildings as they crossed campus, surrounded by students that were tossing Frisbees, playing guitar, eating with friends, and basically enjoying the college life in direct contrast to her.
They eventually found themselves at one of the more formal looking building on campus and were directed to a specific room with a large wooden door that Harley felt had quite an ominous look about it. She took a big breath and walked in, looking behind herself at Angie for reassurance.
"Good luck," her friend whispered, as the door shut, blocking her from view.
Harley found herself sitting in an isolated chair in front of a long, polished table. Behind the table sat four representatives of the school in professional attire who Harley thought looked terribly stern. The feeling of discernment put her at great unease and she squirmed slightly in her chair.
Her GPA, she was informed, had fallen to a place where she had been put on a probationary period with the team. If her grades did not improve the following semester, she would be off the squad and, as such, lose her scholarship.
She felt slighted and argued her case. After all, her GPA hadn't dipped that low, just barely below the allowed limit. And the work load, she explained, was simply too much for her to keep up with. Between her responsibilities to the team and the outlandish expectations of her teachers, she didn't know how anyone kept up with it all.
It was pointed out to her that everyone else was held to the same standards and that, according to witnesses, she apparently had enough time to enjoy a social life.
She reminded them that they were told to make time for social activities at orientation to avoid burn-out and that, despite trying, she felt burnt out as it was.
Balance. Balance was the word she heard repeated to her over and over again. She had to find 'balance' between the academic, athletic, and social aspects of her life. No practical way to go about that was described to her, just that it needed to be done.
"I've been put on probation," she growled to Angie's questioning face, after exiting the room.
"That's great!" Angie sang out, oblivious to Harley's mood. "I was worried that they'd kick you off outright."
"And," Harley continued, thoroughly annoyed. "They are forcing me to see a tutor."
"Who knew they'd be so helpful?" Angie sighed in relief for her friend. "I always thought college was about throwing you to wolves. A whole 'you're in the real world now' type of thing. You are so lucky, Harley. And so are we. You'd be a terrible loss to the school."
Harley didn't feel lucky though.
What Harley neglected to tell her friend was that a tutor had already been lined up for her. Barbara Gordan had apparently been 'kind' enough to volunteer. This had been presented to her in a positive manner, as though she were supposed to be happy at the prospect of having yet another aspect of her life under the watchful eye of her squad leader.
She wanted to complain about it to Angie, but from her upbeat attitude thus far, Harley was pretty sure she'd just try to put another positive spin on it. Aside from that, she knew that saying anything against the beloved Ms. Gordon wouldn't sit well with Angie…or anyone else for that matter.
She wished there was someone, anyone, that she could talk about it with. Someone that would listen to her relentlessly bash her squad leader, despite having no provocation, and wouldn't admonish her in the process.
Instead, Harley seethed inwardly.
"You have strong ideas, Harley. It's only your organization you need to work on," Barbara expounded cheerfully, while Harley tried not to sulk. "Organizing your thoughts correctly on paper with a proper introduction, body, and conclusion will help the reader make sense of it themselves. The reader can't read your mind and simply follow your train of thought as it bounces around."
Harley wasn't even trying to focus on her words, letting her thoughts quietly fly out the window while giving the impression she was paying attention through eye contact. The two gymnasts had found a quiet spot in a corner of one of the universities larger libraries.
It was clear that Barbara spent a great deal of time here as she seemed to know her way around, reminding Harley once again of her squad leader's major. The area felt too quiet; even the hushed tones of those nearby seemed to echo in an unsettling manner, giving it an oppressive feel. The high, thin windows didn't help as they created thin bars of light to stream down across the floor. Harley mused that it gave off the impression of a prison, which was fitting as she felt captive herself. Contrarily, Barbara seemed to find it peaceful.
"If you find yourself thinking too many things at a time, jot these ideas down," Barbara suggested kindly, though to Harley it was beginning to sound like more of a drone. "Then go back and add them in a fashion that flows with purpose in your paper. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, sure," Harley hummed after receiving a visual cue that it was her turn to respond.
"Great!" Barabara encouraged. "This will help you in every subject matter, Harley. Most professors base your grade mainly around research papers and it's the one area you seem to struggle with the most. Let's start with a proper introduction. You're opening sentence… Harley?"
Harley's eyes shot wide as she suddenly sat up in a more flattering posture and began straightening her hair with her fingers as best she could.
"What's got you worked up all of the sudden?" Barbara chuckled.
"He's gorgeous!" Harley whispered, indicating with a nod the figure approaching their table.
Gordon gave her a knowing look and a soft smile, before turning around to see who all the fuss was about. "Well, he'd certainly like to think so," she commented, with a playful roll of her eyes. She raised her voice just enough for the figure to hear her. "But I wouldn't let on. His ego is big enough as it is."
"No such thing," he returned after reaching their table, Harley doing her best to look nonchalant, but approachable. "Hey beautiful," he greeted Barbara with a peck on the cheek. "What do you say about getting out of here?"
"Stop it!" Barbara swatted at him playfully. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" she indicated Harley. "Harley, this is Dick. Dick, Harley."
"Dick Grayson. Nice to meet you," he offered as he reached out his hand to her. "Barbara has mentioned you. She says you're very talented."
Harley shook it, trying not to look to disappointed, noting the firm grip. "Dick Grayson?" she clarified. "As in Richard Grayson…as in filthy rich Richard Grayson?"
Dick insistently put on an overdramatic face of mock hurt. "I'm the very model of cleanliness! But seriously," he dropped to a whisper, "We try to downplay all that. You understand."
"Sure. Of course. No problem," Harley returned in a quick monotone.
"Well, since you ladies are busy, I guess I'll catch you later. Don't forget, we have that thing tonight," Dick reminded Gordon.
"Grayson, since when do I forget anything?" she returned, somewhat insulted.
"You never know. Today could be the first. Try to get some rest beforehand, okay?" Dick finished, before walking away.
Harley didn't follow the final bit of the conversation, finding herself suddenly filled with intense bitterness. She couldn't believe that, on top of everything else, Barbara Gordon had that beautiful, wealthy man. Girls like Gordon weren't supposed to attract men like him. That's not the way the world worked. None if it made sense. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was grabbing the biggest, heaviest book she could find and hurling it as hard as she could at her squad leader's head.
"Harley! Are you alright?" Gordon asked, her eyes full of sincere concern.
She hadn't realized it, but her body had physically tensed up, her face red in anger and she had a firm, tight grip on a very large textbook. She caught herself instantly upon hearing her squad leader and forced herself to relax. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I…I'm just so worried about my grades."
Barbara patted her lightly on the hand. "I know, but trust me when I say that it's going to be okay. I'm determined that you are going to succeed. And, if you are just as determined as I am, there's no way we can fail."
"Oh, Barbara, you are just so sweet," Harley offered, dripping with saccharine. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Call me Babs. All my friends do. …Say…Would you like me to show you something?" she offered, slyly.
"Show me what?" Harley asked.
"If you promise to give me your full attention while I explain how to write an appropriate opening paragraph you'll see," Babs promised.
Despite herself, Harley nodded in agreement, curiosity getting the best of her.
Harley yawned deeply, nursing a cup of coffee in her hand. It wasn't a beverage she normally drank, but it was far too early to do without it. She still didn't know why she was standing in the middle of the gym, in full leotard, at 4am.
Barbara had successfully taught her how to write an introductory paragraph. It turned out not to be that difficult, just a simple formula really. She wondered why she hadn't been taught it in high school if it was so important. …Maybe she had and just didn't realize it. She wasn't the most attentive student, after all.
Afterwards, Gordon had directed her to meet up at the gym at this ungodly hour to keep her promise in 'showing her something'. In truth, she was deeply disappointed in the instructions. She was hoping that maybe whatever it was would be some dirt she could use on Gordon later, not…well, gym stuff. What did she hope to show her here that she could find impressive?
She made a face after taking another sip of the bitter drink and looked around the large, dark, unoccupied room when all of the lights suddenly came on. She shielded her eyes from the sudden onslaught, blinking back tears, when her squad leader came into view.
"Ready?" Barbara cheerfully asked, dressed in a leotard herself.
Harley noted that she was much more chipper than herself and wondered if she had just opted to skip out on sleep last night all-together after her and Dick's date. The thought made her grimace inwardly.
"Why'd we have to do this this early?" Harley inquired while attempting to make sure it didn't sound like a whine..
"Because I can't have anyone else see," Gordon answered secretly as she walked to the uneven bars and chalked up her hands.
"I don't get what's going on here," Harley admitted.
"Ever see the Korbut flip?" Babs asked.
"Sure. I mean, recordings of it," Harley answered
"Ever see it…in person?" she eyed her knowingly.
"You can do it?!" Harley demanded in a hoarse whisper. "But that's an illegal maneuver!"
Barbara didn't speak another word. Instead she took a standing position on the top bar, sprung off into a backwards somersault and regrasped the bar. This maneuver gave her enough forward momentum that her mid-section twirled around the lower bar quickly without the use of her appendages.
Harley was impressed, but tried not to let on too much. She felt cheated in that what she was promised to be shown here was just another excuse for Barbara to show off.
"Now, would you like me to show you how?" Babs offered, after dismounting.
"What? You…You would show me?" Harley asked, feeling torn. More torn than she may have ever felt before. Part of her didn't want to give Gordon the satisfaction. The other part couldn't pass up the opportunity.
"Sure! I mean, it's been banned for a reason. It's dangerous. I've never shown anyone else," Babs assured her. "But I think you would handle it fine. You're just so naturally gifted."
That was all the prodding Harley needed to put down her mug and chalk up her hands.
Epilogue:
"And what happened after that?" a smooth voice prodded from the dimly lit room.
"Nothing," Harley mused glumly from her reclining position on a couch. "Nothing at all and that was the problem. It was her final year at the school anyway. Graduated, y'know. But they gave her all the most difficult routines in the meets. I could've done them!"
"I know you could have," the voice soothed. "You're very talented."
"Thank you," Harley sniffed graciously. "Not that anyone else noticed. It was the one place I shined and they wouldn't let me. Of course, in following years I was given more opportunity, but-"
"But you were never in a position where you could have been compared to her," the voice finished for her.
"Exactly! It's not like she needed it!" Harley vented in disgust. "What did little miss perfect have to prove anyway?"
"But really Harley, what happened next?" the voice pushed a little harder.
"I already told you. Nothing." Harley tensed up a bit at the discerning eye of the figure in the adjacent chair.
"Oh, but something did, didn't it?" the voice insisted, knowingly. The figure leaned closer and she could see his eyes gleam with anticipation behind strands of green hair. She, not for the first time, marveled at how well he read people and briefly wondered what she had done to give herself away.
"You-you can't tell anyone," she implored nervously. "Promise?"
"Harley, Harley, Harley, this is a safe place," he assured her. "You told me that, remember?"
She had, after all, she reminded herself. Since becoming his therapist, she had successfully convinced him of this and gotten him to open up to her where everyone else had failed. It'd be contrary of her not to do the same. He might, in fact, ultimately conclude that maybe this room wasn't as safe as she had claimed it to be if she did not trust its sanctity herself. She took a deep breath after reaching this conclusion.
"Okay," Harley began with trepidation. "Okay, so, so I just thought… I used to think if something were only to happen to her- Nothing too bad, you understand!" she added hastily.
"Of course," the Joker returned easily.
"But if something were to have happened to her, then they'd have to give me her routine at the following meet and they'd see I could do it just as well. Maybe even better!" Harley's eyes shone with the thought.
"And did anything nasty ever happen to little goody-two-shoes?" Joker encouraged.
"No," Harley murmured. "But then, I thought that maybe I could…"
"You could what Harley?" he pushed, as she suddenly looked as though she might lock up after all.
She looked away from him before continuing and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I bought a ski mask…and a bat."
"Oh my," Joker chimed in with satisfaction.
"One solid swing to the knee would have been all it took. Or the ankle. No one would have ever suspected me. She was my squad leader and my tutor and I never said anything bad about her to anyone else. I could have gotten away with it," Harley continued.
"Then why didn't-," the Joker began to ask until a thought occurred to him. Instead, he suddenly howled with laughter.
"What's so funny?" Harley insisted, taken aback by the insensitivity of him taking so much pleasure in something that had always filled her with shame.
He looked ready to try an answer her and briefly attempted to compose himself, but failed and ended up falling to the floor instead, doubled over in laughter.
"It's not funny," Harley chided him with irritation. "I've never told this to anyone before and-"
Joker held up his hand to pause her as he calmed down, breathing heavily. "Yes, it's funny. In fact, it's sincerely one of the most hilarious things I've ever heard. Remember what I told you Harley? You take shots on those-"
"Who don't get the joke," she finished, remembering it well.
"Yes, and you don't get it yet, but I promise you will and you will be laughing with me before it's over with," he assured her. "First of all, it just occurred to me that I actually gave you a bit of helping hand in this matter. You're welcome, by the way."
"Oh, that," Harley replied, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. "Yes, I was wondering when we would get to that. You were a few years too late, by the way!"
"Well, pardon me," Joker responded in jest.
"And that was part of my story," Harley continued. "But you interrupted me."
"Oh goodie! I was hoping it would be. I have my best listening ears on," he declared with anticipation.
"Explain the joke to me," Harley begged. "I really do want to understand."
"I will." Joker crossed his heart with his finger for good measure. "But first tell me about me. You know I love stories about me."
"Okay, so a few years later, I went to practice like I always did and the whole team was there, but they weren't practicing. They were all hugging one another and crying. I thought someone must have died. I really didn't know. I was too busy with gym and school to spend much time reading the paper or watching the news," Harley elaborated. "That's when I found out what had happened. What you had done to her. Y'know, it didn't occur to me until then who her father was," she mused.
"And how did the news make you feel, Harley?" Joker asked. "Did you join your teammates in mourning?"
"Well, of course, I did," Harley answered. "I had to, didn't I? But really," she dropped to a whisper again. "I didn't feel that bad about it."
"Did it make you happy to hear she'd never walk again? Never again be able to do all those fancy somersaults and backflips?" he urged.
"…Maybe," she mumbled. "…A little."
"Come, come, Harley," he added with pep. "Why so sullen?"
"Because," Harley started to explain, before deciding to approach the subject in a different way. "Do you know that's the day I chose my major? Decided to go into psychology?"
Joker smiled widely. "Inspired by little ol' me, were you?"
Harley smiled back, watching him beam inwardly from her peripheral vision. "You're so cocky!"
"Well, how can I help it?" he asked. "Just look at me."
Harley rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, indirectly I suppose it was because of you. It's just…when I didn't feel the way I was supposed to, I wondered why. I know it was wrong to be happy at another's misfortune."
"And why's that?" Joker inquired and seemed genuinely confused.
Harley turned on her side to face him. "Because she never did anything to me," Harley explained. "Why hate her? She was only ever nice to me."
"Bullshit," he responded bluntly. "She made you feel bad about yourself, didn't she? Made you question your self-worth?"
"Yes," Harley agreed. "But she didn't do those things on purpose and then she went out of her way to help me without there being anything in it for herself."
He was abruptly on the floor next to the couch she was lying on, his faces inches from hers. She caught her breath at the quickness of the movement and how close he suddenly was.
"That, Harley, is one of the biggest lies they will ever tell you," he gestured grandly at the air around him to indicate society at large. "Everyone is selfish. No one does anything without there being something in it for themselves, whether it be simply saving their immortal soul or, like our dear Ms. Gordon, because they just want to feel bigger and better than everyone else. Do you understand?"
Harley nodded slowly in response.
"Good girl," he finished, before returning to his chair, his voice regaining a jovial tone. "Besides, you've always said that we should be true to our feelings. It's never wrong to be who you are. So tell me, Harley, without shame, how do you really feel about Ms. Gordon's fate?"
Harley muttered in a quiet tone, "I'm glad you shot the bitch."
"Didn't quite catch that, dear?" Joker encouraged.
"I'm glad you shot the bitch," Harley repeated a little louder.
"You can do better than that. I said, without shame. Let it out!" Joker insisted.
"I'M GLAD YOU SHOT THE BITCH!" Harley yelled. She found herself smiling broadly afterwards, whether because she was glad it was out or that she was surprised she had said it, she wasn't sure.
"Happy to do it," Joker offered. "It's kind of my specialty."
Harley giggled in return, which reminded her of Joker's promise. "The joke!" she implored. "You told me you would explain it to me."
"Well, I really shouldn't have to," he chided. "But we've just covered a lot of ground and I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give away the punchline just this once." He started to snicker himself at the thought of it.
"Is it really that funny?" she asked excitedly.
"Oh yes," he tittered. "You ready?"
She nodded furiously.
"This city made a huge fuss when I crippled the commissioner's daughter. It was a big how to do, you can imagine. And it turns out my therapist," he chortled, trying to keep it together. "The one chosen to talk me out of such unwholesome activities… almost beat me to the punch!"
Harley clasped both hands over her mouth, trying to contain her laughter as she watched him fall to the ground in fits once more. The guards outside would be used to hearing him, but hearing her in her current state, they might actually think that he had somehow recreated his toxin within the asylum walls.
When the laughter finally subsided between them, Harley meekly added, "Well, sure, when you put it like that I guess it's a little funny."
"A little funny?" Joker mocked. "Says the person who can barely breathe and now has a bad case of the hiccups."
Just then, a timer rang indicated the end of their session. "Awww," they both chimed in together with disappointment.
"Well, this was fun," Joker admitted, as they switched to their correct positions, him cuffed to the couch and her in the adjacent chair, pen and pad in hand.
"Is it just me or do these sessions feel like they're getting shorter?" she hiccupped.
"Maybe you can do something about that," he prodded, as two guards came to escort him out.
"Hiccups, Dr. Quinzel?" one of them asked. "Maybe try a spoonful of peanut butter. I've heard that works."
"I'll do that," she answered, eyeing the Joker knowingly.
"See ya next time, Doc," he fare-welled as they forced him down the hall.
Harley hiccupped again as she looked down at the notepad in her hand. Joker, while he seemed to be a good listener when they flip-flopped their sessions, rarely jotted down anything that made sense to her. Usually bits of nonsense or disturbing doodles. This time, however, he had written a point reiterating that which he seemed to be most concerned with earlier in the session.
Everyone is selfish. So was she. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about.
Harley wondered if he meant that there wasn't anything to feel guilty about in this instance or if there wasn't anything to feel guilty about ever. And, if that were the case, if that was why he never felt so, because he felt all his victims ultimately had it coming anyway.
And, she wondered with some concern, if he wasn't right.
End Notes: The Korbut flip is something I suggest you check out. You can find a video of it through a simple google search. It's truly amazing and is now banned from the sport. I hope you enjoyed this story. I may have gotten a little carried away with the epilogue. As always, feedback is appreciated.