Chapter Four: One Of Us Is Going Down
Session #3 (Joker)
"Would you be so kind as to explain to me how these managed to get in my office?" His doctor opened the session, firm hands clasping both the deep red rose and the note atop her lap. The objects she grasped sent him rocketing into his own past, remembering the texture of the petals, the colour contrasted amongst the dullness of the cell. The Joker smirked, lips spread wide over his teeth as a deep, sinister chuckle escaped his throat.
"Why, dear Harley, it's really rather simple..." He had decided that now was the perfect time to put his favourite nickname of hers to good use, enjoying how well it complimented him. He had grown into it already, it was just a matter of waiting until she agreed.
"I'm sure the guards would be interested to know that you've been out of your cell." She warned, sounding like a teacher with a disobedient child. He supressed the urge to roll his eyes, fists clenching as his mind poured violent thoughts into behind his eyelids, the sight of her dark blood streaming down her pure white top, tainting it with evil and perfection and staining her skin, saving her life by setting her free with violence, the bird trapped in a cage locked in by society, ready to escape through wickedness and insanity.
"Come off it, Harley. If you were really planning on spilling the beans, you would've done it by now. But you haven't, so your point is meaningless!" The Joker cried, laughter spilling out over every few words, uncontrollable giggles fit for a clown, and a king at that. They don't call me the Prince for nothing, my sweet.
"Regardless, Mr Joker, I don't want to see things like this appearing in my office again. It's highly inappropriate, if nothing else." She sighed, making some marks here and there on her quant little notebook page. It was obvious that she had nothing of substance to scrawl down, but she was making herself look busy for his sake. Oh, how precious, his mind crooned, licking his lips at how delicious the session was turning out to be, and it had only been two minutes.
"You know, toots, you look less perfect than usual; a little tired, in fact. Sleep not doing you any favours?" He asked, slapping on fake sympathy to his childlike tone to try and coax more out of her. A delightful shift of the hardness on her face proved that she was as hard as putty; he watched with unadulterated exhilaration as she deteriorated from hard set features to a weaker, more natural form; her barriers were going to be easy to bring down, when the time came to set off the explosives he was already beginning to lay down. It was a matter of time, patience, and a careful choice of words. She sighed lightly, her fragile, petite form rattling as the dark circles began to become more prominent, the more The Joker stared.
"I had a weird dream about slow dancing in a really weird situation and I recently moved into a new apartment; it's all… taking its… toll." He began to vibrate with glee as she faltered, the realisation dawning on her face at her rookie mistake of explaining factors that made her weak. The way her forehead's creasing ceased to smooth, her eyes widening just a fraction, all indicated that she knew. One of the most important rules of psychiatry; never give away to your patients any signs of weakness. And she, without even needing a charming term of endearment or a bat of an eyelash, gave it up. She was weak-willed, pathetic- although The Joker sensed that usually she would be at least a tiny bit stronger, and that she was at a weaker mind-set. It was a sorry state for a doctor of The Joker. It was… embarrassing for him. As he contemplated this, he made care to mentally stash away the fact that slow dancing, in one way or another, had some effect on her. Just another weapon to add to his artillery against his precious doctor, another explosion to add to the mental barrier.
He glanced to the note again, and refreshed his mind as to why he decided to play with his doctor at all. The note, as he saw it, was the first stage of his plan. He wasn't big on schemes; he was more of a spontaneous, destroy-as-much-as-you-can-before-Batman-catches-you kind of guy. However, he was going to make an exception for his doc. She'll become solely dependent on me. Through fear and charm, if I balance the two perfectly, I'll have her picking fluff-balls from under my toenails before I can say the alphabet backwards, he patient knew that isolating her from the world, sheltering her from society, drumming only his ideas into her frail mind until everything was based on the worship of him was a classic example of Stockholm Syndrome, something that The Joker had heard of, had excited him, but he'd never experienced in any way before. In more ways than one, she would be his first. I can't go down that road now; if I do, I'll get too excited to be patient, he reminded himself, clenching his fists to contain his bubbling excitement. He looked away from the note and focused on his doctor again, who was frowning at her lap, tapping her pencil impatiently over the leather of her notebook. He cleared his throat, taking the centre of his own stage before speaking, as he always did. One of his mottos or ways of thinking was to live every moment as if he was on a reality TV show, as if there was an audience hanging off his every thought, movement, action.
"Oh, doc, you'll be fine. I used to have weird dreams when I was little, y'know." He began casually, and she perked her head up as he seemed to be willingly giving her information. She's very naïve; has she really already forgotten that last time I fooled her into thinking I was Luke Skywalker?
"Really, Mr Joker? Are you sure you're not just messing with me again? You're not going to launch into another fictional anecdote stolen directly from some corny science fiction movie?" She whipped, a glint of mischief in her pale blue eyes. The Joker found himself slightly taken aback, heart faltering just once to realise that his presumptions had betrayed him. His eyebrow slowly rose as he acknowledged that she was smarter than she sometimes gave the impression of. Before proceeding with his anecdote, his ever-whirring brain made a snap decision, something he did far too often. Confident that there was definitely potential nestled in that brain of hers, he decided to break another boundary, send one layer of the wall crashing down into the sea of oblivion, where he felt determined his doctor would end up.
"Say, Harley…" He drawled, carefully peeking at her from underneath his lashes to watch her reaction. The girl took the bait completely, not a single seed of doubt planted in The Joker's mind this time. He'd recovered from his brief stagger in stride, and was now picking up the pace, a panther whose gaze locked down on the innocent Antelope.
"Why do you keep calling me Harley lately? I'm positive that the standard doctor to patient relationship is meant to be on surname terms only." She questioned, her hands flopping softly onto her notebook, rustling the paper and causing him to lick his lips, trembling with excitement all of a sudden, the moment richer in reality than even his vivid imagination could concoct. He shifted slightly, leaning closer to her than usual. Trap in place, he thought, glee dripping from every word his conscience uttered. Time to spring it.
"Why shouldn't I? I trust you and want to refer to a name I know you like. Is that so bad?" He asked, pouting his lips slightly and furrowing his eyebrows, hoping she was the sympathetic type. Of course, being a psychiatrist means she needed a stiff upper lip, but he held a small glimmer of hope that sympathy was one of her weaknesses. Fatigue could add to the strength of her reaction, he reckoned. It was a delicate balancing act, a tango of emotion versus environment. It made his fingertips tingle. The moment the words left his lips he knew he'd won the opening act- her spine falling back and relaxing into the chair from disbelief proving as much; and now it was time for the main show.
"Anywho, I want you to stop calling me Mr Joker. As… charming as it is, it just doesn't fit, you see! I like the Mr though… gives me a certain, sophistical edge, don't you think? But Joker just doesn't go… call me a perfectionist, but I need something else." He continued, feigning disinterest by staring at his gnarled, cracked fingernails. They held no interest to him, but it was all about keeping up appearances. Not only did he understand and appreciate that, but he loved it.
"What would you like me to call you, then? I… I quite like Mr J, I guess?" She added meekly, grimacing the moment she uttered the name, exquisite features contorting to express her distaste. His head shot up, a huge grin spreading over his lips as he nodded approvingly. Beautiful, brilliant! She took the bait and said the exact words I needed! We are truly on the same wavelength.
"Yes… Yes! Mr J is far better, don't you agree? You're my Harley Quinn, and I'm your Mr J. We sound like Arkham's dream power couple!" He pretended to gush, and she giggled quietly, reserving herself. He could tell that the struggle was greater than last time; he was impressed that only three sessions in he'd already made progress to breaking her. And he was so hoping that she'd be more lasting. Laced amongst the laughter was fear; a genuine terror of his words, as if she feared they might come true. He basked in the revelation, glad she was afraid of herself, of the truth.
"Yes, well… You mentioned you used to have weird dreams? Do you fancy maybe telling me some more about them?" She changed the subject, nervously fiddling with the bun on her head and playing with one of her collars. He chuckled darkly; she wasn't hard to unnerve, either. The game they played was simultaneously tedious and exciting; one minute, The Joker was certain she'd be as easy to snap as a chopstick, and then at times she proved herself to be steely and sharp enough to dodge even the most deadly of bullets.
"When I was a kid, I remember my old man telling me something about rats being deadly; the plague and all that gobbledy-gook. For a year or so, I used to have crazy dreams about them! They used to eat me, take me to their nests, use my torn open ribcage as homes and whatnot… it was all bizarre really. I should point out that I'm also cursed with the ability to talk in my sleep. So my brother would sleep in the same room as me and listen to me babble away like mad about 'em at night! So one day, when I'm busy showering myself of my sins and whatever else, my brother sneaks in and stuffs a dead rat into my towel. I finish my duties and grab my towel, pressing it to my wet, youthful, stark naked body, and feel something furry! Naturally, I grab the furry object, and when I realise that it's nothing other than a mangled dead rat, I scream and run out of the room and down the stairs, straight into my lounge room completely starkers, only to run right into my next door neighbours, round to pass on some incorrectly delivered mail! So there I was, stark naked with a dead rat in my hand!" He burst into laughter, slapping himself with what little leeway his shackles allowed, roaring with pleasure as he felt his slip in control enough to entice even Harley into giggles that began to build and build. She pressed her hand to her face, laughing for real, a musical sound that reverberated off the walls and shone over him, giving him the opportunity to absorb it, store it away. The laugh was maniacal, out of control, as if her body treated it as a necessary function rather than a reaction. It was hysterical to watch, the glint in her eyes suggesting that she herself recognised that she was losing her grip and thus, as always she worried, her professionalism. She pulled herself to, the humour never losing presence in her bright blue eyes as she steadied her breathing, chest rising and sinking rhythmically, almost lulling him into a trance. His heart squeezed with undiluted glee as he watched her concentrate to pull herself back to her professional composure, and his mind began to drift as he imagined that look of concentration as she struggled to claw out of his iron grip, skeleton hands clamped around her neck as her circulation ebbed away into never-ending nothingness. Patience; in time, it'd come.
She cleared her throat, finger white with strength as she furiously scribbled notes into her book, the sound of pencil on paper filling the air and swirling around them. He could almost see the words, the analytics, the observations as they swirled to the sound, spinning around his head. All lies.
"And tell me, M-Mr J, what did your parents think about the situation? How did your father react?" He supressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead softly sighing in a tone that he knew she would misconstrue as the burden of reliving tragic memories. He coughed to conceal a giggle at the thought; really, he was sighing because of how dense she sounded.
"You know, toots, you have a beautiful laugh. You ought to laugh more, I'm telling you. There's nothing a guy should like more than a doll that can laugh for a nation over the smallest of things." He said, cocking his head as he awaited her reaction. She widened her eyes, the expectance of him opening up to her clearly weighing heavy on her mind. For him to disappoint her like that, it would surely leave a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Well, in my defence, I used to laugh a lot more than I do now, but unfortunately, in a job like this you can't afford to have fun. It's the patient that's the priority. When I used to do gymnastics, before I switched careers, I laughed all the time over absolutely nothing." She admitted, a glint of something rare and wistful sparkling in her eyes. He shifted a little; if he could sit up in his seat he would have. Now we're talking; gimme some of the good stuff.
"Now, why did you switch careers if you were doing so well? If you were enjoying it?" He pressed, leering at her as he felt the claws of hunger scratch at him, desperation biting at his insides, craving more than what they already had. In his eyes, they'd made so much progress. They had pet names for each other, he'd learnt lots from her, and furthermore, she still was in the dark over him- a few harmless childhood stories wouldn't suddenly light a match to his past. It was heavily unbalanced to her, but perfectly balanced to him.
"Sometimes, we need someone to bring us back to reality, Mr J. Reality, however boring and disappointing it may be, is the safer alternative. There may be a horde of evil and crime, but at least it can be dealt with. It trains you up, hardens you to it. In your fantasy world, you can just sit back and watch and know that you'll be no worse for it, but you'll never live. You'll become so soft and immune to life that boredom will drive you to want to leave in the end, anyway. Although reality is the opposite of freedom, it's ultimately better. What do you think about it?" She asked, a hint of a smirk ghosting over her lips. For a fleeting second, he felt startled by how smoothly she'd switched his diversion into something she'd gain. That's my girl… Again, she's pushing her own boundaries, how cute. He felt that she deserved a small reward, in the form of a definite topic to return to at another time, a bookmark, a footprint in the cement.
"I love reality; it has The Batman. And we all need Batman." He twitched with amusement as she made a few more notes in her book, -presumably about Batman-, her eyes never leaving his, locked in a silent duel. She looked like she was assessing whether or not it would be a fight to the death. He hoped for it.
"How could you need The Batman? You are, by definition, mortal enemies. It's inconceivable to me that you could possibly need and want the man who so often spoils your plans and schemes." She invited. He stifled a chuckle, shaking his head and smirking all at once, knowing that the triple blow combined with his words would tire her out, allowing him to direct the conversation back to her and keep it there. After all, he fancied asking what music she enjoyed, as a quaint little conversation point, and for future reference, of course.
"With time, and patience, you and I will get there, Harley. Just not yet." He winked, and she fell back into her seat dejectedly. What the girl failed to realise, was that The Joker's words referred to more than just discussing Batman.
A/N: And this is the last time I will post a chapter out of the usual timetable I have going. From now on, chapters will be updated on a Tuesday and a Friday. Stay tuned! And thank you for reading. It felt strange at first, sharing this with other people; it's been my private thing, my little secret project for almost half a year. But I'm glad it's coming together. And I know it may seem boring at first with it just being dialog and sessions, but there is just one chapter left until things begin to pick up. REALLY pick up. As always, pretty please with Joker-toxin on top R&R! See you Friday.