"Orange in the day, grey at night," a nurse had instructed Harley.
She changed into the orange, Arkham uniform since it was only eight o'clock in the morning. After she was dressed the nurse sat a tray on her bed. It appeared to be carrying a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice and toast.
"Breakfast is at eight, you have to eat it in your cell today. Maybe after therapy Dr. Strange will give you cafeteria privileges," the nurse explained as Harley sat down before the pale mush in a bowl, "You'll have a therapy session in about two hours, then in another two hours you'll have lunch. Depending on your behavior; rec room time, then dinner, then showers, meds, then bed. That's usually the schedule we try to keep," the nurse added.
Harley noticed the nurse was visibly uncomfortable, despite the orderly's attempt to be friendly. Every so often she would glance at the guard standing just outside the door in case anything went wrong. The nurse would try to focus her attention back on to Harley, accidentally staring at her stitches and then avoided looking directly at her all together. But Harley supposed she would have to learn to expect that sort of reaction with people. It did not bother her much. After all, the facial injuries were successful at frightening others away. And all Harley really wanted right now was to be left alone.
"Okay so, I need to ask you a few questions Ms. Quinzel," she began to examine a clipboard.
Harley recognized that it was most likely a form for her file. It would be a bit of an introduction on Harley that Dr. Strange would look over before therapy.
"You can start off by writing that I don't like to be called Ms. Quinzel," she said pushing her soggy cereal around with a spoon, "My name is Harley,"
"Alright," the nurse scribbled a few notes down onto her form, "Do you have any allergies Harley? To food, medication, anything?"
"Nope,"
"Were you on any medication before coming to Arkham? Not including what the hospital gave you, though, we have that documented already,"
Harley shook her head 'no'.
"Any illegal drugs?" was the next question.
"No,"
"I assume you are not addicted to anything then," said the nurse.
"Uh-uh," replied Harley swirling the orange juice around in its cup.
"Any diseases?"
"Not that I know of,"
"Well," the nurse began, "That's all I needed to know. I'll come back and pick your tray up when you're done with it," she informed as she turned to go, eager to leave the cell.
"I am done with it," Harley held it out towards her.
The nurse paused before saying, "I'll allow it this once, but you really should try to eat what your given. You don't want an IV do you?" the nurse accepted the tray of uneaten breakfast.
Harley didn't answer, instead she lay down on her stiff mattress. She faced the wall until she heard the metallic click of the orderly leaving and Harley's cell door locking. After that she sat up and looked around the little room. It was amazing how fast claustrophobia seemed to set in. Harley never battled with a fear of small spaces before, but suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe.
She lay back down on the stiff mattress and stared at the ceiling, hoping it would distract her from the four walls closing in.
This is where she would stay until she was cured. She had a feeling that was going to be a long time. Harley, having a vast knowledge of the human mind tried to diagnose herself. But it seemed as though she could not recall everything she had worked so hard to learn in college. All of it was gone, erased from her mind with all remnants of Harleen Quinzel and her former life. Funny thing was, Harley Quinn, spunky and loud didn't seem to show much anymore either. So who did that make her now? She didn't really know.
Her hand made its way up to her stitched mouth as her mind wandered, pondering exactly what was wrong with her. The stitches itched so badly, they were ready to come out soon. The flesh beneath them had healed back together and now rejected the black wires weaving in and out of it. Gently, she plucked at one stitch, trying to relieve her discomfort without removing it completely.
Harley pulled just a bit to hard and drew blood. She quickly wiped the little droplets of blood onto her Arkham uniform. She did not want to see them. Her own blood had never bothered her, until the last night she had spent with the Joker. There was so much of it then. And the scariest part of the whole ordeal was how it felt as her life force steadily ran from her veins.
Harley would never forget that feeling as she slipped into blackness, assuming death waited on the otherside. But instead it was a sterile white hospital room.
She recalled a nurse was there when she came to. A younger women in mint green scrubs had been changing an IV by her bedside. Without a word to Harley she called the doctor to inform him that the patient was conscious. Then the nurse exited the room with hast, leaving Harley all alone and very confused. She did not know what had happened or why she was here or why everything hurt so badly. It was not until the doctor made his appearance that Harley's questions were answered. In retrospect she could have done without the bad news and simply stayed in confusion for a while longer.
Harley pulled the sheets over herself, she never remembered Arkham feeling so cold and damp when she worked there. It must have been her nerves. The bed sheets, of course, were uncomfortable but kept her slightly warmer. Exhausted from the stressful past few days Harley fell asleep.
"If you sleep during the day you won't be able to sleep at night," a voice woke Harley.
It was that nurse again. Harley wondered why this lady was acting like her mother. This was Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane, why should she care about Harley's eating and sleeping habits.
The woman looked about her mother's age, in fact. The name tag on her lilac scrubs read Karen and beneath her name said that she was head of the woman's ward.
"Are you feeling depressed? Is that why you're sleeping?" she asked.
Harley shrugged.
"Be sure to tell Dr. Strange that," she instructed, "It's time for therapy now,"
A guard who had been standing behind Karen produced a pair of handcuffs for Harley's wrists.
No straight jacket of ankle restraints, obviously they did not expect her to run. She had not planned on it anyway, Harley had no where to go.
Her therapy session was on the second floor of the asylum. A short elevator ride with the guard and Karen led her directly to Dr. Strange, who was waiting for her in one of the therapy rooms.
"Good morning doctor," the nurse greeted as the guard led Harley inside.
"Good morning," he responded to her, "And how is Ms. Quinzel?" he asked looking towards Harley.
She sat down across the table from him before the orderlies left the room, "My paperwork should say I wanna be called Harley," she said, getting a little tired of telling people that.
Dr. Strange seemed to consider her words, "I like to keep things professional here at Arkham Asylum, but I suppose I could make an exception this one time. If you agree to cooperate and answer all my questions I will address you as Harley. Do we have an agreement?"
"Sure,"
"Alright. While we're on the subject; let's begin with your name. Why is it that you insist on being called Harley when your birth name is Harleen Quinzel?" the doctor began.
Harley shrugged one shoulder listlessly.
"Does it remind you of your past. Perhaps your childhood where you felt more comfortable or safe. Or did someone special refer to you as Harley, your mom, your dad, a good friend... the Joker maybe?"
"Yeah, he did," answered Harley.
"I see. So by being called 'Harley' you feel a sense of familiarity. It reminds you of times when you felt happy," expounded Strange.
"No, I'm just not Dr. Quinzel anymore," she replied quietly, "I don't remember so much good times with Joker anymore. The bad ones sorta outweigh em,"
Hugo Strange nodded and wrote a few notes in a thick new notepad, "Let's talk about the Joker for a moment," he adjusted his reading glasses to better view the notes, "What first drew you to the Joker?"
"Whatdaya mean?"
"I mean, when did you first realize your feelings for him?"
"I dunno, I kinda felt bad for him when I was his therapist. He told me how he got his scars, made me feel a little sorry for him," explained Harley.
Hugo Strange became more interested at the mention of the Joker's trademark facial scarring. Though he knew the clown had a tendency to lie about them he wondered if Harley possibly knew the real story. After all, the Joker had kept her alive all those months, he obviously saw her differently then his other victims.
"What was the Joker's story exactly?" he asked.
"It's probably a lie, he does that. Besides ain't this supposed ta be about me?"
"Of course it is Harley," Strange assured her, "But the Joker played a very large role in your life over the past several months, we will talk about him often in therapy,"
"Well, it started when he was a kid I guess. His parents and other kids he knew treated him real bad. I guess he was a masochist or somethin' he cut his mouth open as like some emo way ta commit suicide. He didn't count on living through it or anything, 'least I don't think so," Harley told the story, but with less detail and drama as Joker did.
In reality Harley could remember every line of that story. And the way he told it, so close to her. At the time, He was so terrifying in some sick, wonderful way that she would never admit to. She would soon learn in the months to come that the Joker was nothing to be romanticized.
"But you don't believe that story to be true?" Dr. Strange broke her thoughts.
"No,"
"When did he share this story with you?"
"Right away. Maybe our second or third session," Harley could not recall exactly, the few therapy sessions they had blended together with the chaos that was the Joker.
"Tell me Harley, did he ever show a significant interest in you?" asked Dr. Strange continuing to record one of Joker's scar stories in the notebook.
She nodded a response, "He kissed me after the story,"
"Very interesting," Strange finally looked up from his writing, "Did he ever express that he loved you, with words or actions or both?"
Harley sighed, "The Joker never loved me,"
"I never loved her," Joker rolled his eyes at Jonathan.
Joker and Jonathan had ended up in the rec room together again. Crane had been hoping the previous day was a one time thing for the clown, because really, who in there right mind was letting him out of his cage and around others? He thought yesterday had to be some sort of mistake, now he found it was apparently some sort of punishment for him.
"Well you had sex with her didn't you?" asked Jonny.
"Oooh yeah. Sev-er-al times,"
Joker was yet again holding a book for Jonathan since he was incapacitated by a straight jacket. Today the reading material was The Scarlet Letter, not exactly Jonathan Crane's taste but something he picked at random knowing that he would get no reading done with Joker around.
Jonathan cringed slightly at Joker's last statement, he wished the Joker had some tact, "So you were just taking advantage of her?"
"We were taking advantage of each-o-ther," the clown corrected, "Are you done with this page yet," Joker waved the book around.
"Yes," Jonathan lied, he hadn't read a single word.
If anything came out of these awful hours spent with the Joker was the satisfaction that he; (former) Dr. Crane was possibly getting Joker to speak more than any doctor in Arkham. Sure it was not quite as formal as a real therapy session, but Crane was definitely getting him to talk. He decided that maybe just maybe it would not be a total tragedy that he and Joker were now "friends".
"You said you were taking advantage of eachother, I fail to see what Harley was gaining," he stated to Joker.
"Harley got the life of adventure and uh, lust she always wanted... but never ad-mit to," was Jokers simple reply.
The clown seemed to have an answer for everything. Jonathan wondered if he planned these quick answers for people, ones that always supported his theories on the self-centeredness of humanity.
Crane nodded thoughtfully, "So you think you helped Harley?"
"Yeah. I mean, you should know how it feels to let go and become whoever has lurked in you're deepest, darkest desires Jonny,"
"I suppose so,"
Jonathan was not sure he saw things quite the same way Joker did. He was not positive that Scarecrow was the result of some kind of repressed evil in him and that it was human nature to release that monster; as Joker had just insinuated. Jonathan Crane knew to much about the human mind and deduced that Scarecrow was a coping method for him. But Joker certainly believed that he was truly the Joker, and whoever he had been before the clown make-up had died. Even Jonathan had to admit that he was convincing. Sociopaths tended to be charming like that and able to talk people into things.
"Are ya done with this page yet?" Joker questioned with a little less patience.
"Actually I think I'm done reading for now. Thanks,"
Joker tossed the book back onto the coffee table. But much to Crane's dismay he did not move any further from the close proximity needed for holding the book. The clown remained unbearably close.
"Can we talk about you and Harley more?" Jonathan asked.
"Why?"
"Well, the truth is; I miss her... do you?"
Jonny lied to cover up the fact that he was working on a breakthrough in the Joker's psyche. He did feel a little sad for Harley, but not enough to try and have a real heart to heart with her murderous ex-boyfriend.
Joker paused for a while, Jonathan actually began to expect a complicated and revealing answer as to why Joker is Joker. But instead it was a short, "No,"
"Not at all?"
"Uh-uh. I don't like bein' tied down," Joker began poking the inside of his scars with his tongue.
"You murder and steal daily... why didn't you just, you know, cheat on her?" Jonny asked for lack of a more sophisticated term.
"I did," the clown nodded.
Jonathan was confused now, "But that does not make sense; you just said you didn't want to be tied- never mind," he sighed thinking of a few more questions, "Before, you had said you and Harley took advantage of each other,"
"Yep,"
"Do you take that approach with every relationship? You only have them to somehow benefit?" he questioned.
"Ev-er-y-one does that," the clown rolled his eyes.
"Perhaps," the former doctor began, "But not consciously. Do you consistently and consciously use relationships for your own gain Joker?"
"Maaay-be," he sighed.
Harley was determined not to cry. At least not in front of any Arkham employees caring for her, especially Dr. Strange. But she did not know how much more of this Joker talk she could take without having a breakdown, and it had only just began.
"Please stop," she cried out angrily when Strange asked several more Joker related questions.
"I'm sorry Harley but these sessions are mandatory. Arkham Asylum is a place for you to heal but it is also punishment for your crimes,"
"Not the therapy session," Harley's eyes blurred with tears, "All this Joker talk, can we not talk about him?"
"Alright. But just for today. I cannot guarantee that I will never bring him up again," he replied as he wrote a few notes.
Dr. Strange decided to take the therapeutic process somewhat slower for Harley, at least for the time being.
He noted Harley's quick change in mood, her tone with him transformed very quickly after she felt Joker had been spoken of enough. The doctor considered this to be a milder form of bipolar disorder. It was a logical diagnoses considering the sickness can be caused by stressful events and Harley had certainly had her share of them. She would require to kinds of drugs for her highs and lows, her bouts of depression and anger.
Strange also began to consider a dependent personality disorder that had begin to form while Harley lived with Joker.
"Do you have trouble sleeping at night Harley?" the doctor finally asked another question after a long period of silence.
"I have nightmares," she replied.
The doctor nodded, "As I expected," he spoke to no one in particular, "Harley I am putting you in Lithium, anti-depressants and a mild sedative before bedtime. I also suggest as much social interaction as the Asylum provides. Understood?"
Harley nodded, agreeing without a word.
"Your prescriptions will be filled in a few days," Dr. Strange glanced at his watch, "Now if you'll excuse me; I have another session very soon,"
Another guard came to take Harley back to her cell, along with Karen.
"Hellllooo," Joker purred as Strange sat down across the table from him.
"Hello," he replied preparing his notebook, "You seem to be in a good mood,"
"Mmm hm. I made a friend,"
"Really. And who might this friend be Patient four, four, seven, nine?" asked the doctor.
Joker smacked his lips and leaned forward in his chair, "I know I've uh, probably asked this beeefore but-uh why do ya call me that? It's a lit-tle long if ya ask me... I mean, Joker is well less of a mouth full,"
"Yes, you have asked me this before and I'll give you the same reply; Joker is not your name,"
"Neither is Patient four, four, seven, nine," Joker argued.
"No it is not," Strange agreed, "It is however the title you have been given until you tell us your birth name," he explained, "Now then, where were we; your new found friend?"
The clown sat back, swiftly licking his top lip, "Jonny Crane,"
Dr. Strange took a moment to scribble a few notes, "I see and how did this relationship come about?"
"I'm a people person really... it's everybody else that uh just won't get ta know me," he shrugged a reply.
"But Mr. Crane is getting to know you?"
"Yeeaah, we talk alot in that dirty little rec room of your's,"
"Excellent," murmured Dr, Strange, ignoring the rec room comment and taking notes, "Since you are in such a pleasant mood today; is there anything you would like to share?"
Joker smirked, "Like what? My name, my age, my parents... my scars-uh?" he made a popping sound with his mouth.
"anything you feel comfortable with,"
The clown poked the inside of his mutilated cheek with his tongue in thought, "None of the above,"
Strange should have expected that, "Is there anything that would make you comfortable with sharing with me?"
"Pro-bab-ly not... but it couldn't hurt to try. Could it?"
"Is there anything in particular that you want?" questioned the doctor.
"A pony maybe," he smiled, "Always did want one when I was little,"
"Try to be serious Patient four, four, seven, nine," said Hugo Strange.
"Call me Joker," he suggested.
"I won't do that," Strange shook his head, "I can get you privileges around the asylum,"
"I got enough of those... unless we're talkin' key cards and extra pudding cups on Fridays,"
"I'm afraid not,"
"Then I guess you're not getting anyway eh Doc?"
I am not a doctor, obviously. I'm making an attempt to diagnose these characters with my small amount of education on psychology. Don't be pissed if you disagree with my diagnoses.
Again, Jonny trying to psychoanalyze though his licence as long been revoked. I see that character as doing that sort of thing quite often. Buuut perhaps Jonathan and Joker's relationship will be taking a different turn in the near future, hmmmm. Review and lemme know how you feel about it.
Sorry this was a little late, technical difficulties would not let me log in. :C
