A/N: This chapter's existance is all thanks to DeGlace, who wrote the sweetest review EVAR. Thank you so much.
"What you want to know about me is, do I think I'm crazy?"
Harleen sat still for a moment. Yes, that was what she wanted to know about him, among other things. But she wasn't entirely sure if she wanted his answer. If she wanted her own answer. Her plump lips tightened and she responded, "I'd be interested in hearing your opinion, yes."
There was something scornful about his laugh. "Short answer is 'no.' And consider yourself lucky," he added, wagging his finger at her, "because three years hence and I would have been sore at you for even implying it. But you know, Doc…I've grown soft. I realized a while back that I have to put myself in their shoes, you know, the public. I mean, look at me!" He giggled, touching his chest. "Skin stained, scars over the whole of my face…can you imagine?"
The Joker rested his elbows on his knees and shifted in his seat as far as his chained ankles would allow, leaning forward. "You know what I try to do, Harley? I try to show people the truth. I'm a philosopher, you could say. Like…like Socrates. I. Am. Like. Socrates."
"Socrates didn't kill people."
"He didn't have to," he responded, squinting one eye. She wondered if he was aware of the expressions his face made. "These, ah, these people. In Gotham. They're…withdrawn. Unwilling to learn. To think. So, I make them think. You know, Harley, I don't kill just to kill." His voice, his face, grew lighter. "Really, at the end of the day…I just want to see everybody smile."
Harleen's heart pounded in her chest as the Joker's head lowered. She felt hot with pity, shame, sadness. The clown's shoulder's slumped and she felt her soul snap. That man before her, that wasn't a cold-blooded killer who knew what hate and cruelty truly were. How could she have thought, even for a second, that he was really aware of any ramifications of his actions?
"You know," he said after a minute, "my father. He was like that. With everybody. Not me, though. Just everybody else. He didn't care much about me. Except when I was…in the way of something, you see. Like his drinks. That was when…you know…" He swiped a fist through the air and Harleen winced. "But there was one time, one time when he and I got along great. He took me to…the circus. And-
OOOoooOOO
"The circus?"
Jonathan Crane started a little as Harley's high-pitched warble was suddenly interrupted by the Joker's first words since he'd sat down. He looked a combination of confused and furious, his face arranged with wide mouth and curled lip.
"Whatsa matta', puddin'?" Harley squeaked, her eyes wide. Crane could see her gymnast's body tense, her shoulders creeping towards her ears.
"My fah-ther never took me to the circus," the clown told her harshly. "Can't you remember anything? Don't you ever listen?"
A sheepish smile, an attempt at passivity, jerked across the girl's lips. The Joker stood now, calmly, staring down at her with heavily-lidded eyes. "But- but puddin', you just said that you couldn't rememb- ah!"
A purple-gloved hand swiped through the air and across Harley's face and back, then again; Crane drew back in his seat while she whimpered, torn between the desire to help an abused woman and the fascination of watching two subjects interact.
He chose the latter.
Joker let it stop after six, letting his arms rest at his sides. His henchwoman's head was low, her cheeks quickly reddening, her eyes glistening even in the low light of Crane's apartment. Even before the purple-suited crime boss spoke, Crane could tell his tone had shifted.
"Harley. Now- now Harley, look at me. Look at Daddy." She raised her face gingerly, staring up at him with eyes that were as watery as they were adoring. The Joker's hand lifted and then found a resting place on her head, his fingers tunneling gently through her blonde hair and forcing the pigtails to come slightly loose. As their eyes met, he smiled; so did she.
"Now there's my baby," he said, practically purred. "Now, the place where my father took me when I was a boy was…the ice show."
"The ice show?" Harley parroted in a squeak, trembling slightly. The Joker nodded and sat down next to her, his hand still on her head.
"Remember, babydoll?" Before she could open her mouth, he went on, saying, "You know, maybe I do remember that session. You got your pad, Crane?"
Jonathan started slightly to suddenly be the center of the Joker's attention before nodding for a moment. The ex-psychiatrist stared down to the paper, frowning, replaying the scene in his head. Harley had done nothing wrong. She didn't deserve that, that abuse, that misery—why did she endure it?
"Hey. Hey." Crane looked up at met the Joker's eyes, though reluctantly, and watched him part his lips to prod at a scar. "C'mon, Doc, pay attention. Do your job. Now. By session three…Harley was all over me."
OOOoooOOO
"What a sad story," crooned his insipid little doctor, her pale brow furrowing beneath a lock of blonde hair that'd come loose. "Oh, Joker, I…"
Chewing on his cheeks and tongue to resist the urge to smile, the Joker lowered his head and nodded. "He never did warn me that the ice was thin. But," his head snapped up, his demeanor changed, more natural, "I got better. A stay in the hospital, a rasp in the lungs, and," he raised his hands and spread his fingers, "all better. Like…magic."
"I see."
As Harley lowered her head to write something on the pad in her lap, the Joker couldn't help but smile. She was a real cutie, that one. And already so very unstable, at least by the standards of society. If they were letting people like her into watch the crazies, maybe he wasn't so far off-base. Maybe he and Batman would be cellmates soon.
The fantasy lasted less than a microsecond and provoked a tiny giggle.
Speaking of which, the Bat hadn't come to visit him. At all. And he was beginning to feel lonely. Top that off with all this nonsense about being good, not hurting anybody or causing any trouble, and, well…what a pain.
Pain. Pain, what- oh, pain, in his wrists. That's right, those manacles. Nuisance. Too tight, putting so much pressure on his veins. And speaking of veins, Harley had some really pretty ones—she didn't get a lot of sun, evidentially.
"Doc," he said, looking up and causing her to do the same, "why don't you tell me a little about yourself. I mean, I can't do all the talking. It's only fair."
He watched her grit her teeth, finger the fountain pen he'd returned to her at the end of the last session. She was going to say 'no'. Letting his knees bow out a little, tilting his head to the side.
"Should I guess, then?"
This unnerved her. Harley sighed and removed her glasses, saying, "I shouldn't, Mister Joker."
A smile twitched across his lips. "Molested? Food stamps? Childhood friend die? Help me out here, Harl."
Her face tightened as she regarded him, and she finally murmured, "My father just wasn't there for me much. That's it. I had a fine childhood"
Oh. Oh oh oh. Oh no.
No no no.
This was too perfect. This couldn't be true. She couldn't have just said that, no no.
She was talking, now, trying to redirect the topic, but she wasn't going to get him anywhere else. She hadn't just given him anything, she'd given him something to work with.
Oh, this girl was crazy all right. No doubt. She wanted him like no other.
That naughty little thing.
"So this…father of yours," he cut her off, "was he a bad man?"
"Mister Joker, we're not here to talk about me." There was a warble, there. Oh, yes.
Leaning forward in his seat, his lips coming down into a frown, his brow furrowing, he cooed, "Did he drink, Harley? Is that it?" When she didn't reply, he licked his lips. "I understand, Harley. Some people…some people just aren't meant to be…people. And then those shouldn't be parents. You know you think that."
"I don't," she whispered, her head lowered. "Please, Joker, that is enough. I'll end our session early."
"No, you won't," he told her definitively. He felt his voice lower. It did that sometimes, take a life of its own. He didn't mind. "You won't because you're lonely, Harley. Because you see what I see. You see people that try to protect themselves with ritual. Like…your father. Maybe he thought that being a daddy would…make him better. Make him normal. And you're tired. You're tired of your school friends. You're tired…of reading the paper, and seeing that some other little blonde girl was kidnapped. You're tired of existing outside of your job. You stay in your office until the clock strikes twelve, staring at the wall because you just don't want to face the outside world."
Harley's eyes widened, her hand tightening into fists. "How-"
"Guards talk, Harley," he said. "They talk, like I and the other inmates can't listen. They talk about the pretty little bimbo trying to fit in, trying to be a doctor, the one who stays all night like it will impress somebody. And even I can force two and two to make four, Harley."
Clearing his throat, sitting up straight, the Joker asked, "Are you lonely, Harley?"
The girl's lips twitched.
"Harley. Answer me. Are you lonely?"
Her head gave a jerk forward, tiny. He watched with satisfaction as her eyes misted over.
Lifting a hand a brushing the hair from his eyes, he asked, "When was the last time somebody touched you, sweetheart?"
She didn't respond.
"Was it me? Was the last person to touch you, me?"
Her shoulders trembled and she whispered, her voice choking, "Stop, stop, please stop, please."
Oh, victory. So close. This was the best part, the just-before. So close to that finish line tape that he could reach out and touch it now. But that would spoil the fun.
"I know that I…scared you, Harley. But were you happy, too? You know," he licked his lips as he thought, trying to prod into her psyche, doing what he learned to do without a textbook, "I saw your face. And people, when I grab them, when they don't like what I'm doing—they struggle, Harley. Constantly." He let his eyebrows lift. "And my joke. My joke was a joke because you enjoyed it."
"No," she whispered.
"Yes, Harley. You don't want to live mundane anymore. You don't want to…to go by the Iceberg Lounge, let some boy take you home and fumble with your bra. You don't want some fairytale moron to promise to be gentle. You want…a break. Excitement. You want to be hurt, don't you? Is that why you took that job? Is it? So…so you could be around people like me? People you could take home with you at night, to be an invisible bedmate? Harl," he smiled, "baby, I'm so flattered."
"No."
The Joker's eyes refocused and he looked at her, at this…this doctor, tears pouring down her face. She was being serious.
"No, you're wrong," she was saying, pausing in her tears. "I didn't take this job because I like…like…mmph." Her teeth clenched and she looked away. Poor baby.
"Then why did you take this job?"
Her whole face scrunched, her nose wrinkling in an undeniably cute way. Tears ran to the corners of her lips, and she squeaked, "Because I'm so, so tired of always being so very alone."
And then she broke. It was like an explosion of fireworks; the pen and pad fell to the ground, along with her glasses, and she was crying, doubled over. A miserable wreck.
Oh, did he ever want to know what those tears of hers tasted like.
"Harley…" he breathed her name and she looked up to see him spread his arms. "You don't ever have to be alone when you're with me, baby. I'll protect you."
Her chest heaved; she weighed her options, he could tell, but like a woman, emotion won over reason. Clickclackclickclackclickclack and into his arms, warm and soft and delicate.
Harley cried against him, her face buried in the side of his neck, gasping with every sob, and the Joker smiled because he knew she couldn't see it. His arms slid around her waist, the clack of the chains deafened by her crying, and he held her tight. Oh, she felt so nice, the best thing he'd felt since coming to Arkham.
There, smiling, holding her, basking in her tears and brokenness, the Joker imagined how nice it would feel to snap her neck, and realized it was just as satisfying to snap her soul.
I am of the camp that believes Harley was insane before she met the Joker, and I do think that she was desperately lonely, even if she didn't conciously recognize it; she only ever had one meaningful realationship, and he killed himself because of her. In fact, his death was why she decided to seek out working for the Joker in the first place. In my mind, and in DC's, apparentally, it only makes sense that she would sort of...attach herself to the Joker prematurely. She made it easy for him.
Next chapter is going one of two ways--very sexy, or very silly. We'll see where it goes, kids.
xoxo