It was a warm night in Gotham. Tony concluded it was too warm for customers to come in and fill their bellies with hot marinara and rich bread. Overfed tourists would be bad for business…if he had more business, that is.
He closed the doors an hour early. Seven 'o' clock. He looked at his watch. "Oh, well," he sighed, pouring himself a half glass of red wine. "You can't win them all."
He picked up his glass and turned to go toward the back to retreat to his office. There was a loud knock on the glass door and he yelled, without turning, "We're closed! Come back tomorrow!"
The knock grew louder and more persistent and Tony roughly set his glass of wine onto an empty table, leaving a deep purple droplet on the tablecloth.
"Didn't ya hear me, ya stupid asino? We're closed!"
Tony's heart threatened to leap out of his chest when he saw familiar dark eyes staring at him through the glass. "Dio..." he muttered.
He carefully walked to the door and peered out. "Jack?" he called quietly.
Jack didn't answer him, but continued to stare. Tony unlocked the door and let him inside, offering to take his overcoat, but Jack shoved him away.
"Jack …it's been…years." Tony couldn't catch his breath. "Where did you go? Where have you been?"
He watched as Jack stepped over to the glass of wine, which he picked up and sipped carefully. After setting the glass down again, he took off his Fedora and looked at Tony.
"Hey, Pop," he said quietly.
Tony smiled. "Jacky…il mio ragazzo…" He stepped closer and gingerly placed his calloused hands on Jack's face and wept. "You're back…you're back for good, yes? Please say you are…"
Jack slowly shook his head. "No, Pop. Only for a while."
Tony stepped away, wiping away his tears. "What's the matter, son? You know you can trust me."
"I know," Jack smiled. "That's why I'm here."
Harleen was pensively sipping on her coffee tumbler. Her mother always warned her that too much caffeine would be bad for her skin. She giggled at the thought, not really sure where her mother had gotten the idea. "You're thinking of chocolate, Mom," she would tell her. Besides, Harleen's afternoon coffee was a most soothing treat to which she looked forward to everyday.
The new patient docket she had received had been an interesting one. He, too, was scarred, physically and mentally. His pictures were almost too surreal. Nigma was a very handsome man from his front and right-side mug shots. Then, the left-side shot showed his disfigurement: a giant, purple tinted question mark carved into his temple. The color indicated the cuts may have been fresh.
Harleen smiled to herself. "You seem to have a new fetish for scars." She shook her head, almost not believing what she had just said.
A knock on the door and then the creaking of its hinges brought her out of her trance. She closed the docket on her computer and stashed away her notebook to swap it for a fresh Steno pad.
A new orderly escorted The Joker inside, leading him to the couch in front of her desk. He had on a new pair of chains, stronger ones, and she could see that the cuffs around his wrists were tighter than ever. This made her heart skip a beat, thinking that this must have caused him some kind of discomfort. However, she banished the thought as soon as it occurred.
She wasn't about to be distracted again.
When the orderly left and shut the door behind him, a solid minute of silence passed until The Joker cleared his throat. "Come a little closer, Harley," he said with a smile.
"Hell, no," she answered, coldly.
They were both taken aback at her tone and The Joker folded his hands in his lap. "Oh, I see. I upset you again."
"'Upset' isn't even the word to describe what I'm feeling, Joker," she said, not looking at him but writing on her notepad.
"Would 'flattered' be the word?"
Harleen looked up finally and scoffed, "Why would I be flattered in the fact that you tried to rape me?"
The Joker's face contorted in a genuinely surprised expression. "Excuse me?! Is that what you thought I wanted?"
She stood up, her impatience giving her the courage to step closer. She leaned against the front of her desk and crossed her arms. "Well, what would you call bending me over the desk and grinding into me?"
The Joker growled, "Fun!"
Harleen raised her hands in frustration. "You're becoming insufferable."
"Take it easy, sweetheart," he said. "And, I wasn't grinding. You're so dramatic." He eyed her body, her blood-red pencil skirt wrapped tightly around her thighs. "But I kinda like that trait."
"You've been deliberately circling around my questions and trying to make these sessions about…well, sex!" she huffed.
He turned his head and grinned. "Is that what you're really pissed about? You really think I have the nerve to try to rape you?" He looked down and leaned forward. When he raised his dark eyes to her, Harleen's heart began to strike hard against her chest. He had somehow mustered up the most sympathetic expression and she could feel her defenses start to yield.
"Harley," he purred sweetly. "I don't rape. That's beneath me. Rape is a weakness. I am not weak, and I would never harm you."
Harleen could feel her temper subsiding at his words, but told herself to remain vigilant.
"I would, however," he continued. "Harm anyone…who tried to hurt you." He looked away, slyly, and said, "Like if your new patient were to…"
"How did you know about Nigma?" she interrupted quickly.
The Joker looked back at her, still grinning. "Word gets around, baby. And no, I've never heard of him until today. So, I can't give you any information for your files."
"I wasn't going to ask," Harleen said. "These sessions between us don't concern any other patients. These are your sessions…Mr. J."
An electric jolt traveled through him when he heard his nickname, sending a reassurance that he had her once more.
"No, Harley," he whispered. "These are our sessions."
Harleen tried to stop the smile from curling upon her lips, and she looked away to walk back to her desk.
"Come on, Harl," she heard him say tenderly. "Don't be so far away. Haven't I been punished enough?"
"Mr. J," she softly replied. "Every time I sit very close to you, you act out."
He shrugged. "I'm a man…alone in a room with a very cute girl. Can you blame me?"
She sighed. "That really doesn't help." She was about to take a seat behind her desk when she heard the most unbelievable sound to come out of The Joker's mouth.
An apology.
Harleen whirled around with a dazed look. "What was that?"
The Joker opened his hands and slowly stood. "I said I was sorry…for…invading your personal space."
Dear God, this is disgusting, he thought to himself. But he knew he had to try something extreme just to test her reaction.
His hands dropped in front of him as Harleen stepped closer to where their toes were on opposite sides of the yellow line in front of her couch. She crossed her arms again. "Sorry?"
The Joker nodded. "What can I say, Harley? I sure as hell am not going to beg. I can tell you don't find that favorable in a guy."
"You speak as though I'm interested." She realized how this statement could be turned around with him, so she quickly added, "To any apologies, that is."
He eyed her body again. "Would you stand normally and not like a frigid librarian?"
Harleen couldn't keep the giggle from leaving her and she uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips. "Better?"
He shrugged again. "If that's how you normally stand, then yeah, better." Their eyes locked again and neither one of them said a word for what seemed the longest time.
The Joker broke the silence and smiled. "Take a seat, darlin'," he said as he motioned to the space next to him on the couch.
Harleen sighed and mentally kicked herself for failing in her own promise once again, but she had a feeling that he was sincerely contrite. "If I take a seat, Mr. J," she smiled back at him, contrarily. "Can we talk about Rhonda again?"
His heat started to rise again but he swallowed it back down. "Maybe," he agreed, with a twitch in his scarred cheek.
She slowly sat down and watched him do the same. She then realized that he had called her by another pet name, but let it slide, concluding that she should correct him if he did it again.
He faced forward, his eyes turned away from her as she began. "It's just one question, really, and…that's all. I promise." When Harleen saw him nod in agreement, she asked, "Was Rhonda…your mother?"
"Can I ask you a question before I answer that?" The Joker said.
"You just did," Harleen joked for once, but she immediately regretted it when she saw his bothered expression. "Of course, Mr. J."
He turned a stern glare toward her. "Are you writing a book about me?"
Harleen's brow creased, confused. "What?"
"Don't lie to me."
She shook her head. "Mr. J…what gave you that idea?"
"Answer the fucking question!" he demanded harshly.
Harleen pursed her lips and tried to stand, but he placed a gentle grip on her wrist. "Hey…don't go," he said. "I need to know. I have a right, don't I?"
She let out a disturbed sigh. "There is no book, Joker. And I don't know where you heard that."
"Like I said, honey. Word gets around."
She nodded. "Yeah, it sure does. Who said it? You know they talk shit about me. You've probably heard the popular rumor, huh? About how I rode the Dean at my school to get my Ph.D. so quickly…like, literally, rode him?! I'm sure you heard that one, right?"
The Joker could only stare at her. He had overheard that rumor, yes, but he wasn't going to admit it to her. Not when she was on a roll like this.
Besides, he noticed that when Harleen was sincerely upset, the natural drawl in her voice slipped out, and he was going to relish every moment he had with it.
"I earned my Ph.D., God dammit! They don't know how much I sacrificed."
"Harley…" he soothed her.
Harleen looked down at her hands in her lap and noticed he was still lightly holding her. She didn't move away.
The Joker bit his lip and gulped. "Yes…Rhonda was my mother…in a way. She was killed."
"How did she—"
"You said one question only, Harley," he abruptly spat. "And I answered it."
She nodded again and patted his hand. "Okay. You're right. Thank you."
He pulled away his hands and cleared his throat. They sat in silence again until The Joker said, "How's your boyfriend?"
Harleen giggled freely. "What boyfriend?"
His bright gaze turned to her. "Oh? What happened?"
"What do you mean 'what happened?' He beat the crap out of you. You were there, remember?"
The Joker laughed. "You're a quick one, baby. I'll have to keep my eye on you."
She rolled her eyes. "You've been doing that already."
He let out a deep throated giggle and crept closer to her, letting their knees touch. "I'm only human, Harley."
As soon as she had felt him touch her, she jumped and slid away quickly, nearly knocking over the end table at the foot of the couch. This made The Joker groan. "Jesus, Harl. I can't even touch you now? I said sorry…"
She didn't move, prompting him to move closer. She sighed. She wasn't in the mood for a game, so she sat still and let their knees touch once more, looking away from him.
The Joker licked his lips. "My real mother died of pneumonia."
Harleen slowly looked back at him. "And your father?"
"Dead, too."
Harleen could see that he was setting out bait, to reel her in closer to him. She would later regret taking it.
"Yours?" came his soothing voice.
Her mouth dropped and she stuttered, "I…uh…" She thought of the neglect, how her father left them with very little money, and how her mother took to drinking. Her mother was still back home, unemployed, and had shipped her only daughter off to college. Harleen was left with a pile of student loans and a broken heart.
"They're dead, too," she said, coldly.
The Joker nodded and carefully reached out his fingers and stroked her knee. "I guess…we're both alone in this world now."
Harleen licked her bottom lip, trying to keep the tears from falling onto her cheek. Her eyes burned as the moisture kept building, but finally she blinked and hot tears rolled down her face.
She felt The Joker's finger under her chin and he lifted her gaze to his.
She looked at his bare face, his scars beautifully sketched on his young, clean skin. His dark hair with deep shades of green was tangled against the frame of his jaw, and his dark eyes were searching hers, for what she was uncertain of and afraid to find out.
Harleen's vibrant, blue eyes regarded him with a certain curiosity. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight, high pony tail, but a thick, wavy tendril wilted past her right temple. Harleen's lips seemed to tease him. Red, full, and slightly parted, The Joker's mouth became dry and he wanted to quench his thirst.
Eventually, lost in their own trances, they had leaned in closer, a more peaceful and sweeter silence falling between them now.
Harleen could not control her urge any longer, the urge she had pondered for many nights since he first touched her. The Joker had grown impatient and was growing more ravenous as the weeks had progressed.
"Mr. J…I can't…" she whispered, the heat in her body rising.
He slowly raised his hands and his fingers grazed her jaw. "Who says you can't?"
They inched closer and she could feel his hands become warm on her face, and she could hear her heart pounding.
Or was it his?
Their bottom lips barely grazed when the silence was broken by the telephone ringing on her desk and Harleen shot away from him, wide-eyed.
The Joker looked at her and gave her a stern glare, his eyes burning with anticipation.
She quickly stood up and trotted over to her desk, trying to ignore the fact that The Joker had just violently kicked the end table.