THREE

Week Three: Session #05 - Doctor Harleen Quinzel

It was their fifth session.

She was seeing him twice a week and they were now at the start of the third week. She was already utterly exhausted and nothing much had really happened. It was simply the process of remaining alert, aware of his every action and move - and the vortex of his personality. She knew, of course, she couldn't expect too much this early in the game and tried to quell her impatience. After every session she went back to her office and typed up detailed notes of their every interaction - every thing he had said and every gesture he had made. It would all be compelling material for her book. The whole world would be fascinated by his slightest movement.

After that, she had a meeting with Doctor Leland, to debrief on the session. Joan was terribly anxious about the whole situation, but she'd been overruled by Doctor Arkham. As Harleen's direct supervisor, however, she'd insisted on these sessions. That way Harleen had the opportunity to discuss anything disturbing or strange that had happened with Joker and also to talk about her own anxieties and concerns.

They were supposed to be a relief for Harleen; instead they just made her all the more anxious. She couldn't, of course, betray to Joan any sort of self-doubt or uncertainty, couldn't go into detail about the sessions. Because what if she revealed she'd done something wrong - something horribly wrong - said too much or given him an opening - and then Joan decided she couldn't handle it and took him away from her?

No, not now when she was so close. By the end of the year, she'd decided, she would have the manuscript typed up. It wouldn't be hard to find a publisher. Then finally, finally, the world would look at her and take her seriously.

It was a coup, she knew. The Joker. The psychopath psychologists the world over had wet dreams about. He defied most definitions, exhibiting the traits of many, refusing to fit neatly into any particular one. His activities had been the extremity of anti-social, and yet he seemed to have no real motive for them, apart from his fixation on Batman. Unlike many of the rogues in the Asylum, Joker displayed no particular convictions. He had no boundaries, no limits. Nothing was considered too heinous or outrageous for him and he insisted on doing everything with a theatrical flair.

And everyone was afraid of him. Not just the Doctors, and the Guards and the citizens of Gotham. But the other Rogues, as well. No one crossed The Joker.

And she was his Doctor.

She was going to be so famous.

But she hadn't counted on the toll it would take on her. Come Fridays she no longer had the energy to meet her old Uni buddies for drinks, but would instead crawl home and collapse into bed, spending the weekend vegging in front of the TV, or at the cinemas, or taking slow, long walks in the park, letting her mind blank out.

And still nothing had really happened.

He was so charismatic. The guards led him in now, restrained as always, smiling at her. She stood to greet him, still unable to tear her eyes away.

"Good morning, Mister Joker," she said, friendly but professional.

"What's up, Doc?" He replied lazily.

"I'm doing well today. How about yourself?"

"A little tied up, but maybe that's a good thing." He chuckled as the guards strapped him down. "I don't know if I could restrain myself around you otherwise." He said it casually, his eyes rolled to the ceiling, and she knew he hadn't said it for her benefit. Sure enough, Ethan responded as Joker expected he would.

"Watch your mouth around the Doctor, Clown." He snarled, shoving the butt of his club under Joker's chin. "You better think twice about whatever it is going through that twisted skull of yours."

"Thank you, Ethan," Harleen said firmly. "But I would rather my patient not be intimidated here. This room is a safe haven. I assure you Mister Joker is always exceedingly polite during our sessions."

And she gave The Joker a little smile, as though they were in conspiracy. But it was true, apart from his first remarks about her looks, he'd always behaved himself.

Ethan nodded gruffly, gave The Joker a final glare and he and his partner left the room.

Once the door was shut, she turned to her patient, who was chuckling to himself.

"They would probably go easier on you if you didn't provoke them."

He grinned rakishly. "It wouldn't stop me killing them. And they know it."

She knew he was a killer, but it gave her a jolt to hear him refer to it so glibly. "Shall we talk about that?"

He tittered. "I dunno, Doc. Shall we?"

She tried another tack. "Why do you like to provoke them?"

He shrugged. "They're so grim. Haven't you noticed? How can I resist? Every good comedian needs his straight man, and since I don't get to play with mine in here I have to improvise."

She felt slightly breathless. It was the first reference to Batman he'd made yet. While she paused to find a way to pursue the matter, Joker continued:

"But let me ask you something. Doc. I'm a very bad man, but you're not afraid of me - oh, I dunno - asserting myself over you?" He spoke quietly, with just a hint of insinuation, turning his eyes to her with one brow raised.

She felt a warm, hot blush flood her cheeks. She had not thought of him in those terms, but he was so horribly charismatic. It still made her reel, even after two weeks, just how disarming he could be, and how captivating. Not to mention how dangerous.

"No," She said, recovering herself and hoping the blush was not visible in the dim lit room. "Sex crimes have never been a part of your MO. The closest you've come was the crime you enacted against Barbara Gordon, the Commissioner's daughter." She hoped that might lead into discussion of Batman, or at least of his criminal inclinations.

He did not take the bait.

"Maybe I just need to find the right girl." He said darkly, staring at her with a frightening hunger.

She felt her mouth go dry, her heart rate pick up. Oh God I'm alone in here with a complete madman, the voice of reality thundered in her ears.

Then suddenly Joker's expression opened and he smiled playfully, laughed at her. "Relax, Doc! I'm just kidding!" His voice was light and friendly, and his laughter was delighted as sheer relief flooded through her. Despite herself she laughed a little, grateful.

"You should've seen your face!" He chuckled, "I really had you going then! Ha ha ha!"

She found it difficult to reconcile this playful, laughing man with the darkly glowering predator of a moment before. But he seemed to evoke every personality with absolute authenticity and he was harmless now. So it was easiest to believe that.

"But seriously, Doc," He continued. "You're right. I've never bothered with the old rape and ravage. It's not where my interest lies."

She cleared her throat, scribbled a few notes.

"Do you consider such crimes beneath you?"

He raised an eyebrow again, swivelling his head to look at her.

"Interesting choice of words, Doc." He observed. "Why do men rape women?"

She shrugged. "To assert dominance. To establish power." It felt a little odd, to discuss such an intimate topic with him. He just seemed so… knowing. Her ears were burning a little.

"So it stands to reason a rapist feels disempowered generally - emasculated. Inadequate." He seemed to relish the words, to roll them on his tongue. She nodded sharply.

"Yes, there's generally an underlying motive along those lines. Resentment of women and the desire they evoke, feeling enslaved to it, believing themselves to be unfairly rejected and so they commit rape to counteract those feelings."

He smiled at her, dazzling and bright. "Do I strike you as the sort of guy who feels inadequate in any way, Doc?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again when she realised she wasn't sure what to say. Joker seemed content to continue and she realised that she should be taking notes, and began scribbling frantically.

"How boring. How common. Nothing challenging about it. Nothing intriguing. I once seduced a Dominatrix you know, but not just one of those ones who flings whips around and yells at people. This woman hadn't let anyone touch her in years. She controlled her 'slaves'" - he sneered the word - "Absolutely. They couldn't look at her, or even stand up next to her. She used them as furniture - one to sit on, one to rest her feet on!" He laughed at the memory. "She sat there in that club with her nose in the air, not looking at anyone. You had to ask permission to speak to her, even. And woe betide anyone who so much as brushed against the hem of her dress. By the end of the night I had her naked and begging for more. She submitted to me, but I didn't make her. And afterwards, when she realised what she'd done - heh heh. That was interesting."

Harleen couldn't believe it! Completely unexpectedly he was giving her information - real information about the things he did when free - when he wasn't committing one of his elaborate crimes. Her pen scratched as she tried to keep up. He'd fallen silent and she could feel his eyes on her, but she just had to finish this sentence -

"Have you ever been raped, Doc?"

Ink spattered. Her head whipped up. His voice had been quiet, innocuous and now he was staring at her with one eyebrow curiously raised, lips twisted in a small smile.

"W-what?" She felt suddenly nauseous. Had he really just - but - "I beg your pardon?" She said indignantly. He shrugged, pressed his lips together, then grinned nastily.

"A pretty girl like you. I'm sure you've made a few guys want to."

The sense of sick violation was overwhelming. She rose to her feet, her notebook and pen falling to the floor.

"This session is finished." She gasped, and pressed the buzzer for the guards.

He said nothing more as they unstrapped him and she retrieved her notes from the floor, hoping the guards would not notice the way her hands were trembling. After they had left, she counted to ten, then hurried to the nearest bathroom, where she locked herself in a stall and bust into tears.

Joan wanted to know why the session had finished early. Harleen lied and said Joker had been unresponsive and distant. She'd dried her eyes and reapplied her makeup by then. When Joan asked if everything was all right, Harleen smiled brightly.

"Yes. Everything is absolutely fine."

--

No, I'm not about to take the angle Harley's ever been raped. Think about it. If someone just popped out with that question to you, how would you feel? Especially if they were a stranger and a psychotic killer to boot.