"What is this?" asked Dr. Bartholomew, as Harleen entered his office and threw her notebook onto his desk.
"Read it," she said, smiling smugly as she folded her arms across her chest. "I've spent the last few weeks interviewing the Joker, and we've discussed every aspect of his childhood, adolescence, and life before his accident. It's all there. You can resign anytime now."
Dr. Bartholomew smiled grimly. "Yes, very droll, Dr. Quinzel," he said, picking up the notebook and adjusting his glasses. "Abusive father, absent mother, yes, very standard. 'There was only one time I saw Dad really happy. He took me to the circus when I was 7.' Ah, now you see, that is interesting…"
"Yes, his early identification of clowns with happiness, and his desire to emulate them to seek approval from authority figures…"
"No, I mean he's used it before," said Dr. Bartholomew, standing up and heading over to a filing cabinet. He leafed through a drawer and pulled out a folder. "Two years back, on Dr. Price, now deceased. 'There was only one time I saw Dad really happy. He took me to the ice show when I was 7.' Well, it's changed slightly, but the basic premise is the same."
Harleen stared at him. "I don't understand…"
"You don't understand?" he repeated. "Then you're incredibly naïve, Dr. Quinzel, as well as stupid. He's lied to you. He lies to everyone. There's not a shred of truth in this whole document," he said, throwing her notebook back at her. "He's fed you a pack of lies, as he does to every doctor who analyzes him. It's a comedic routine he likes to do, changing it slightly to play on different sympathies, and I daresay for his own amusement. And you fell for the joke hook, line, and sinker. Not a very good psychiatrist, are you?"
Harleen felt tears come to her eyes as she flushed in embarrassment. Without another word, she stormed from the office and into the cell block, her whole body shaking in rage and shame.
"Hey, Doc!" said the Joker, grinning as she approached his cell. "This is a surprise – we just had a session…"
He ducked suddenly as Harleen threw her notebook violently at his head. "Woah, hey, take it easy…" he said, shocked.
"You're a liar!" she shrieked furiously, tears racing down her cheeks. "You're a filthy, horrible liar! I believed you, I trusted you, and you lied! You made me look like a fool!"
"What…oh, you mean the therapy?" he asked. "Well, yeah, I always lie to the shrinks about my past."
"Why?" she hissed.
He shrugged. "They see what they wanna see, I tell 'em what they wanna hear. It's the only way to hold a captive audience. Give 'em what they want – some kinda sob story that checks all the boxes. Criminals don't usually come from good families, so I give 'em that broken home crap. I usually have a nice childhood trauma that sets me off on my road to perdition, maybe get my heart broken early on by a dame that makes me harden my heart against humanity…"
"It's all lies!" shrieked Harleen.
"Yeah. So?" he asked. "It's a good story. Doesn't matter if it's true or not as long as the audience believes it…"
"I'm not your audience, Mr. Joker!" she shouted. "I'm your psychiatrist! I'm trying to help you, and the only way I can do that is if you tell me the truth!"
"Look, I appreciate the thought, kid, but you can't help me," he said. "Nobody can, because I don't want help. I don't think I need it. But the people in charge seem to think I do, so they force me to endure constant therapy sessions with countless doctors, and it's just so boring! So I make it more entertaining by making up a story! I don't see why that upsets you!"
"Because I'm not just another doctor!" hissed Harleen. "I'm different!"
"How are you different?" he demanded.
Harleen looked taken aback. "You…you saved me," she stammered. "I thought that meant…you thought I was special…I thought you trusted me, the way I trusted you…"
"Kid, my saving you didn't mean anything!" he snapped. "I don't have meanings behind my actions! I saved you because you were distracting my guys from their job, and I wanted them doing the work I was paying 'em for! That's all! It wouldn't have been funny if Batman had got wind of my operation while Moe was pounding you, and ruined it! I wanted you to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, so you wouldn't interfere in my operation anymore! That was my only motivation! That's it! I'm sorry I'm not some heroic knight in shining armor who was concerned about saving the honor of a lady, but I ain't that guy! I'm the Joker! I care about me, and me alone! My business, my jokes, my fun! I only think about other people when they're a target of my jokes, or in the way of my business, which you were, Dr. Quinzel! I guess I could have shot you, but then I'd have to go through all that effort in disposing of the body, and I thought you'd be more useful to me alive, since you were gonna work at Arkham and all! But I guess I should have known that you'd be just like all those other doctors, trying so hard to help me when they don't understand the first thing about me! I told you, I don't wear a mask! This is who I am! This is it! The Joker! There's nothing else to me, and there's no one else who's special in my life, do you understand?! No one!"
Harleen's heart had broken even more with each passing word, and now the tears trailed in constant rivulets down her cheeks. Before she could control herself, she slapped him hard across the face.
And then she reeled back in horror at what she had done. She had struck a patient. She had struck the Joker. He seemed as stunned as she was, but before either of them could say anything, she let out a sob and raced out of the cell, back to her office.
The moment the door was shut, she collapsed onto a chair and began sobbing her heart out. She didn't know how long she cried before she heard a soft knock on her door.
"Come in," she whispered, wiping her eyes.
"Hey, is this a bad time?" asked Dr. Baker, entering. He noticed her red eyes and sat down next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing. I just…should have listened to you about the Joker. You were right – he's nothing but a liar. A selfish, sadistic psychopath who doesn't care about anyone except himself. I guess I…wanted him to be something else. I think I had actually started to care about him. God, I'm such an idiot," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.
"No, Harley, you're not," he said, embracing her and soothing her gently. "You just wanted to see the good in him, just like you want to see the good in everyone. It's sweet, not stupid."
He kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now c'mon, dry those pretty eyes."
She smiled at him. "What…did you come to see me about anyway?" she asked.
"Well, I was gonna tell you Crane's escaped again," sighed Dr. Baker. "So you've got one less patient. He managed to sneak out through the vents. And they finally found the body of that guard who helped Isley escape. He was found in the compost heap, strangled by some ivy. Not pretty. But in between all that bad news, I wanted to ask you if you wanna go out tonight. You could use some cheering up."
"Yeah…that'd be nice, thanks," she murmured.
"Great. You'll feel better after some drinking and dancing tonight, I guarantee it!" he said, kissing her forehead again. "Pick you up around seven?"
Harleen nodded. She had been out with Dr. Baker a couple times now, and he had been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and a very charming, funny, nice guy. She liked him a lot, and couldn't imagine why the patients didn't. Probably just more of the Joker's lies, she thought with a pang. He'd say anything for a stupid joke, no matter how much it hurt anyone else. He didn't care about anyone else.