Rotten & Damaged

A/N:

I do NOT own anything Harley Quinn, Joker, Suicide Squad, DC, or Warner Bros. This is a FANfiction. Thank you and this is going to be the one and only time I say it. I did not create this with the intent of copyrighting. Now enjoy my freakin' story!

Chapter 1- Honestly

I remember it all. How I met him. How I came to be who I am today. I remember it all. One thing I don't remember is how the fuck I came to love a clinically insane murderer with a penchant for cackling at inappropriate times.

To do this day if you ask me why I came to love my puddin' I'll tell ya the truth… I have no idea. It's just who I am at this point.

My high heels crack on the floor with each step. People know when I enter the Asylum whether they want to or not. I know I'm pretty and smart, that's what gave me my confidence. Nothing I wanted was ever denied… well, a few things. Say… a loving father, a perfect home, a… never mind.

I breeze past the receptionist's desk and walk into my office. I slam down the thick-to-almost-bursting manila folder I had been carrying and snarl, "Sit down!"

I pull out the large, glossy photos and point at the top one, "Are you fucking kidding me, Arkham?"

My boss sighs and shakes his head, "No, Harley, I'm not. Look, I knew you were fierce when I hired you, but if you could calm down a lit-"

"Calm down? Calm down? Oh yeah, Arkham, that's real easy ta do when I've been put on the feckin' Joker's case!" In my anger, my cover-up accent slipped, revealing my Brooklyn roots. I pace, "I want the publicity. I want the fame. Hell, I want the challenge. But Joker? I'm your newest recruit! What makes you think I can handle THE Joker?"

"You've got balls enough to scream at your boss when you're passionate. You've got balls enough to face this demon. Harley, in all honesty, you are the only person I trust enough and know enough to help him. If he's got the smallest chance in hell of recovery, you're the one to get him there."

"I appreciate the confidence booster, but my ego's large enough, thanks." I sigh, slipping into my chair. I roll my neck and brush a loose strand of blond hair behind my ear, "Fine. I'll take it. But I want a raise, Arkham. Joker is a big case."

He smiles at me, an emotion I barely see on his face: happiness. He nods, "Of course, Harley. Absolutely."

He goes to stand and I hold up a hand when my phone dings. I glance at the message and my blood boils, "Arkham? When do I start?"

He shifts uncomfortably and murmurs, "Today. In an hour." I tensely nod my head and signal him out of my office.

I start scanning through the many files on Joker. Name, unknown? They don't know his real name? How weird is that. Ok, focus. Look for clues on conditions and illnesses. How many of his doctors has he killed? All twenty-eight of them!? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

My alarm goes off on my phone and I grab my stuff. I shut off the alarm and make my way to Area 10, where we hold very few of our patients. Only the worst of the worst are housed here. I swipe my ID card, go through a metal detector, and check-in with a guard before making it to the correct room. #1077

While I wait for my newest to arrive, I review his information. Suddenly, the door slams open and I hear wild laughter. I see a flash of green and white and about ten guards carry a struggling body over to the table. I hear chains rattle as they sit him down and connect the chains to the heavy-looking cuffs on his ankles.

He's in a straitjacket and I have to stop myself from choking on my spit in surprise when he checks me out and smiles fiendishly. He chuckles, "Hey, darlin', ya here to talk to me or relieve some of my tension? I know you wanna pay special attention to me. Am I right, Doctor?"

I look at the guards and order, "You can leave now. Shut and lock the door on your way out. Privacy is policy here."

The guards nod and walk out, I heard one mutter, "Good luck, lady. Hope you make it out so I can pay 'special attention' to you."

I finally turn to the Joker and straighten my pad of paper before picking up my pen. I scribble down the date, time, and patient's name before starting, "Hello, , how are you today?"

He smiles wide, "Oh, I'm fantastic! Have you tried the 'Food for Good Prisoners' in the cafeteria? It's worth the taste, I have to say." He changes on the spot, smile curving down into a snarl worthy of a tiger. He growls loudly before snapping, "How do you think I am, doll? Look at me! I've been placed in a prison after spending years in a throne! How the hell would you feel, eh?"

I jot down quick notes before replying, "Frankly, I'd reach out to someone who is spending their precious time to try and help me. I wouldn't lash out over a question. Can we move on, or do you want to yell at me some more?" I feel empowered by my fearlessness. No one is going to get away with anything today.

Joker looks at me in apparent shock, He slowly smiles and laughs, slow and dripping with insanity. He finally speaks, "What's your name, Doc? It's been awhile since someone made me laugh. I like you. And none of my previous doctors can say that."

I shiver at the mention of his previous doctors, of which he killed all. I point to my nametag, "Dr. Harleen Quinzel at your service."

"Harleeeeen Quinnnnnnzel. Hmm, rework it a bit and you get Harley Quinn! Harlequin, the very spirit of fun and frivolity. A name that puts a smile on my face! You can understand, I'm sure, why I might be attracted to it."

I open my mouth, but he continues, "It reminds me… of someone who I can tell my secrets to." I smile and nod.

"You can definitely do that. I'll keep your secrets, ."

"Please, don't be so formal. Call me J."

"Mistah J, then." When I say it, my Brooklyn accent pulls out of my throat full throttle. He smiles and chuckles softly, something like I've never heard before.

"Say it again. I like that," he prompts me.

"M-Mistah J." What the hell? Why can't I say it normally?

He leans forward suddenly, "Oh, we're gonna have fun, Harley. I can see it in your eyes. You're just as crazy as I am."

"I'm nothing like you," I hiss evenly. I ignore the fact that he called me Harley, because it just feels right. And, if it'll get him to talk, then even better.

"Oh, darling, that's what the last psychiatrist said. And then she went insane and ran herself into a brick wall until she died. You're more like me then even she was." I shiver and tell myself it's from fear.

He leans as far as he can go and he whispers, "I like you, Harley. Do ya like me?"

I feel myself leaning towards the unstable man across the table from me. I stare at his blood-red lips and whisper back, "Not particularly."

I lean away quickly with a victorious smile as his eyes widen in shock. He sits down and I watch as those plump lips curve into a smile and peel apart to reveal his metal-covered teeth as he laughs. His neon green hair is messier than the pictures as he leans back. I watch him carefully. This might be easier than I thought. He's open to talking to me. I test my theory, "Can you tell me something about your childhood?"

His smile disappears, "So long as you keep my secrets secret-" I nod quietly and I'm ready for anything to come out of his mouth, "-then I don't see why not...

"You know, my father used to beat me pretty bad. Because I misbehaved, or sometimes I would just be sitting there and pow! My father was an alcoholic. The one time I actually saw him smile was when he brought me to the circus. I remember the clowns, one with his dog. His little dog would follow him around, tugging on his pants so it would fall down. He kept pulling them up and they'd fall back down. My father laughed so hard, I thought he would bust a gut!"

I wasn't ready for that. Anything but that. We laugh together and he continues, "I wanted to make him happy. So, one time, I put on his Sunday pants. When he got home from a bar trip, I was waiting at the door. I had his pants around my ankles, 'Lookit me, dad!' I tripped and had the pants fall down. I ripped the crotch right out of the pants!" We laugh together, I'm crying I'm laughing so hard.

"And then he beat me. But that's comedy. You're always taking shots from people who just don't get the joke. Like my father… or Batman!" Suddenly, it was becoming clear in my mind. I had a chance to fix the unfixable. The only thing standing in the way of Joker's healing was Batman, our apparent saviour. He was a liar, though; I had always been suspicious.

I nodded, "I think that's enough for one session, Mistah J. Thank you. I never thought we would make such a big breakthrough in the first session. You proved me wrong."

He cackles, "Will I be rewarded, Harls?" A shiver ran up my spine, but I stood with my stuff in hand and went to the door. I knocked on the door and turned to him.

"That all depends on how well you behave, Mistah J," my voice was husky. His eyes widened and his lips parted. The door opened and I walked away. What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed this! Read & review; tell me what you think! I'll try to update multiple times a week, or once a week depending on my review, ok?

XO ~ Puddin's {formerly: Draco's Girl (C) Check out my other story, ok?}