She leant forward, letting the stupid shrink feel her breath on his cheek.
"Are you afraid of the Joker?"
Mr Shrink reared backwards, but Harley grabbed the lapels of his lying white coat and drew him back to her.
"Are you afraid? Because most of Gotham is. With good reason."
She spat out the last line, and he recoiled, so abruptly that she was left with a handful of thick white fabric in her angry, clenched fist.
"I'll take that as a yes. Well, I guess you don't know who you're dealing with."
His wide, searching eyes really confirmed he did. "If you don't do what I say, Mr J will hunt you down and destroy everyone you love. There won't even be bodies for you to identify, unless of course he thinks it will hurt you more than them being lost to history."
"Hel – Nurse! Nurse!" he called. It was funny, hilarious really, the way she didn't even know Mr Shrink's name, but he knew her well enough to be terrified. She had sixty seconds, tops. But Harley paused to consider the ludicrous fact that, even when everyone he loved was being threatened by someone with all the power of the Joker the – the Joker, goddamn it! – he was still far too proud to call for help. That meant he had a kind of strength. A strange, selfish, weak strength, but strength none the less.
She had just thirty seconds before the orderlies appeared, to hold her down and pump her full of chill-the-fuck-out drugs. But Harley knew how to make every second count. Mr J had taught her well. She grabbed Mr Shrink's intact lapel and the remnants of his torn one. "He'll find your loved ones, and we'll hurt them, we'll carved them up so bad you can barely recognise them. We know how to cut someone just enough that you'll need to stare at them for just long enough to fix their torn faces in your mind, and remember it forever, and you'll know it's your fault. And then, when you pray for death, we'll hunt you down, and make sure you don't get the relief you'll be begging for. We'll carve you up, just like them, to remind you, and then we'll flay every inch of broken skin off your body. Then, we'll cut off your limbs, one by one, starting with the fingers, and working our way up."
He stared at her, and only seemed to regain his voice when she was tackled to the ground by over-glorified guards in scrubs.
"What do you want?" he cried desperately, even as she was dragged away.
"Just a nice photo of Mr J, to keep under my pillow." Harley smiled that wide, grotesque, disturbing smile that was half smirk – the one Mr J had taught her – even as her face was ground into the floor, then she turned and shined a truly happy grin at the orderlies dragging her off to the special solitary confinement cells.
And just a day later, when she returned to her usual cell, there were half a dozen Polaroids of Mr J laying there, proving she could still control the staff, any staff member, whenever she wanted.
And of course, the shrink was gone soon after. Arkham had learned its lesson about letting their puppets get in clown's pockets.
AN: Thank you for reading! And now you're done, I'd like to say that more than anything else I value constructive criticism, and right after that comes compliments, and then anything else you have to say. Except for people complaining it's too short, I know, I know, and I'm already working on that particular flaw.