A/N: Sorry, this chapter is going up a little later than I had wanted it to but time got away from me! It's also shorter than I wanted and I apologize but I hope to make up for it with another chapter sooner rather later! But this one is pretty long, probably could have split it into two but idk I always appreciate a nice long fanfiction chapter! If it's still Sunday night when you read this, I hope you cozy up and have warm beverage to enjoy with it!
Anyway hope you enjoy, please review they really make my day and plus they help me with the story!
In the weeks following Harleen and Joker's change of scenery, the two of them had developed a sort of routine. In the mornings, Harleen would oversee the guards as they moved Joker from his cell to the session room, watching to make sure that he cooperated and that the guards treated him well; on a couple occasions they would jolt him upright too quickly or shove him more roughly than was necessary, and she would immediately scold them for it. Once they two of them were alone in the session room and Harleen was satisfied that the guards weren't peeking in, she'd rub an admittedly ridiculous amount of lipstick on his mouth (they used up a tube every two weeks or so) and they'd begin. Though their sessions were allowed to go as long as she wanted, every moment she sat across from the pale porcelain clown prince felt fleeting; she could spend hours in that room, just the two of them, and no matter what it always seemed to feel as though it were passing so quickly; some days she could almost swear that her watch was moving in double, sometimes triple time. However, once the sessions had ended, she could almost swear she'd been with Joker for hours. She would emerge from the room after a measly few hours feeling as though she'd been away for days; without fail, she'd always feel a euphoric and warm kind of dizziness wash over her, destabilizing but oddly enjoyable. It was as if the four walls of the session room were so far removed from Arkham- from Gotham City, from the world- that it was a different kind of place entirely. Inside the room it was warm and exciting and fun and alive, but as soon as the door slammed behind her she felt empty and bored- painfully under stimulated.
When she went home, either because of a weekend or to write reports, she craved the company of Joker. She longed to speak with him, to laugh with him…to touch him.
Yes, after weeks of trying to explain the butterflies away and weeks more of waiting for a crush that she had thought was only the result of an unprofessional combination of (what she decided to call) psychiatric over sympathizing and loneliness to pass, Dr. Harleen Quinzel had accepted that what she felt and had felt from the very beginning was deeper. She wasn't in love with him, at least not yet. But she was falling, she knew that, and each day that passed was only intensifying those feelings. In the earlier weeks she had fought it, aggressively denied the self-imposed accusation, afraid that accepting them would only do her harm. Then she had admitted it, though only to herself, but simultaneously tried to explain it away and excuse it. But only recently had she fully accepted it, allowed herself not only surrender to the fall but enjoy it. It was nice to love someone, it was fulfilling. Though it was also equally infuriating and often times anxiety inducing, particularly when Joker was the object of one's affections. She fretted over him constantly, even when she was with him, worrying about what perhaps any other person might logically assume- that he did not love her and would not love her. On multiple occasions she would lay in her bed, bottle of wine in hand, mulling over that possibility; she could only allow herself to entertain the dreadful idea when she was drunk and even then it hurt her so intensely she'd often shed a few tears before passing out.
Option A: he was a text book sociopath and would not love her because he was simply incapable of it; a rock could not give you blood and perhaps the Joker could not give Harleen the kind of love and affection she knew she was all too ready to give him. She thought she preferred this option of the two, though they were both terrible, because it was less personal. It wasn't that she was flawed or unlovable, but that he himself could not love her. It was still terrible, awful, to think that a man she loved so earnestly could not feel in that way for her or anyone else- it made her heart break for him. But, she preferred it to option B: that he very well could love but just wouldn't love Harleen because he simply didn't want to. Though option B had been her least favorite alternative in her oversimplification of the issue at hand, it was an easier anxiety and fear for her to rationalize. In every minute of every session she was overanalyzing, eager for some kind of validation or sign that he had some kind of affection for her; she worked hard to please him, make him comfortable, and watched his responses to her carefully, reading into them more than she knew she should. It truly overwhelmed her at times, and she was intelligent enough and self-aware enough to know she was in danger of slipping, but she couldn't help it anymore; it almost felt like an addiction.
She wanted to know more about Joker, gain a deeper understanding the man she already loved so much. In the beginning she felt as though she had been helping him, and some days she felt like the two of them were on the brink of curing him, getting to the root of his problems. But after those days, she always pulled back, fluffed up the conversations again. She was afraid to ask to intrude too much on him; she avoided the kind of deep unpacking of trauma that was typical of her line of work for fear it would upset him or make him angry with her in some way. So then they spent their time together talking about random sort of things; they were more like rambling conversations between friends and while they were compelling, but they had little psychiatric value. As such her weekly reports to Dr. Arkham were lackluster on their best days and sloppy on all the others. Though she had pushed away her professional goal of a tell-all book, she still desired to keep her position at Arkham Asylum, if only to avoid the extreme separation anxiety she knew awaited her should she ever be fired.
It was that very worry which occupied her mind one morning when Dr. Arkham had called Harleen into his office. Though in the first couple weeks since he had approved her session room he had dropped in on her from time to time to check on her, it had been weeks since she'd had any sort of interaction with the man outside her reports and a few polite professional emails so she was sure this wasn't going to be about anything good. She just hoped that whatever scolding he had in store for her would be quick, as she had just called down for Joker's transport and was on her way down to meet the orderlies when he had called. She wasn't crazy enough to put off her meeting with Arkham, though the thought of the orderlies being down there alone with him almost made her do it.
"Dr. Arkham?" she knocked lightly on his door even though it was opened. "You wanted to see me?"
"Oh yes Harleen, come on in," he answered. He didn't look angry, she noted immediately, so she knew she wasn't in any kind of trouble. But he had also called her Harleen, and he only called her (or she supposed any other doctor in the asylum) by her first name when he was concerned or worried about their wellbeing. Shit, she thought to herself as she settled into a seat across from him. That was almost worse than being in trouble; she half hoped she was wrong, that she really was in great trouble and he just felt bad for her.
"Is something the matter sir? Have I done something wrong?" she asked, unable to help herself. She hated the way she sounded, immature and inexperienced.
"No, nothing is…wrong." He folded his hands together and laid them on his desk as he looked her up and down, as if considering how to approach this conversation.
"Is it my reports, sir? I know they aren't full of a lot of…information, but-"
"Oh no, Harleen the reports are fine- I mean, the information is perfectly acceptable. Still more than we've learned about him in all his stints here at Arkham. But there is something I would like to discuss with you about them."
"Yes sir," she responded nervously as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.
"You're still not in trouble, don't worry," he cracked a sympathetic smile. "I just…wanted to see if you're okay."
"I-I'm fine…?" she answered, clearly confused. "Why do you ask?" she asked, when she really wanted to ask what that had to do with her reports.
"Are you sure? I know it seems like I'm always asking, and I don't mean to bother you. But I feel like I haven't spoken with you in a while and these reports…"
"I thought they were fine?"
"They are, it's just- the way the way that they're written…the way you speak about the Joker…" he paused, uncomfortable with the question she knew he was about to ask her. "There is a tenderness in the way to speak about him- a softness, a sensitivity beyond what I think is…appropriate for a psychiatrist." He chose his words carefully and spoke professionally, but she knew what he was really asking her and was just too afraid to say. Defensive, and a little embarrassed she replied too quickly.
"What are you implying, sir? That I've fallen in love with my patient?" she scoffed, hoping her forced laughter would make him think otherwise. Act like it's some sort of unheard of or outlandish thought, like it's laughable and you've never considered such a thing, she told herself. "I wouldn't worry about that sir. It would be terribly unprofessional, and more than a little ridiculous." He seemed unconvinced by her answer, so she kept going. "I'll admit that I am tenderhearted, I perhaps am a little more sympathetic that certain situations call for, but I assure you-"
"It's not your level of professionalism which concerns me- it's not the idea that you may have feelings towards a patient," he countered, careful not to use the word love, "While that would be an issue it's not what concerns me. What concerns me isn't your tenderness towards a patient…so much as the who the patient is."
"What is that supposed to mean, huh?" Irritated more than embarrassed now, she felt her accent slip out again but was too annoyed to care.
"It's not your fault, Harleen, if you find yourself slipping. I want you to know that. It's more of a reflection on the Joker than it is of you. It's my fault too, I should have paid closer attention, been more careful with you. The kind of manipulation he's capable of-"
"I ain't being manipulated, I ain't in love with the Joker," she paused to compose herself and put her doctor voice back on. "I apologize that I've made you worry. If it would help to make you feel better, I will be sure to write up my reports more carefully. Now if you'll excuse me, my patient is being transported-" she moved to leave but he stopped her.
"You don't need to be present for the transport, the Joker will still be there when we've finished."
"I prefer to be present, the orderlies are rough with him." She immediately regretted her response and closed her eyes so she could escape the judging look she was sure Dr. Arkham was giving her. Neither of them spoke for several moments and an uncomfortable and tense silence filled the office.
"You can't fix him Harleen." He said bluntly. "His brain doesn't work the way yours or mine does, he doesn't process emotions in a normal way. He can't." Harleen's anger melted away and was replaced by pain at his words which confirmed what she had suspected and feared about her and Joker's situation. Sensing this shift, Dr. Arkham's tone became gentle. "I think you're just too close to the situation, a little overwhelmed maybe?" Harleen nodded without fully meaning to. "I won't terminate your sessions with him, at least not now. But maybe a little time away might allow you to gain some perspective." It wasn't an order, just a simple suggestion. One she wouldn't take, at least not now. She wasn't going to leave him, she couldn't. More than ever she now desired to help Joker, to fix him and prove Dr. Arkham wrong; she wanted to prove to him, and to herself, that Joker was just broken and that underneath everything he was just a man- like any other man, who wanted and was capable of having all the kinds of things normal men wanted and had. He can be fixed, she repeated to herself manically, he can love me. Though she had only been thinking those things to herself, the last part felt like a whisper.
"If I ever need a break, I promise you will be the first to know." She tried to smile at him, to let her know that she was okay and that she appreciated his concern, but the smile fell flat and she felt it.
"Alright," was all Dr. Arkham replied. She knew he was unsatisfied with her response; he had probably hoped that he could convince her to start her leave immediately, but he didn't want to force her. Harleen began to leave again, careful to take her time so it didn't look as though she was rushing to get to her patient. Once she reached the door, she turned around again with a smile to thank Arkham for his time and also as a last attempt to show him she was perfectly fine. She wasn't fine, but she hoped he couldn't tell.
"Thank you for your time, sir."
"That's alright, Dr. Quinzel," she relaxed a little, happy to hear him use her last name again. She turned on heels to leave with her hand on his office door handle, preparing to close it. "Be careful," she heard him say as she pressed the door shut behind her.
"Hello Dr. Quinzel," Joker addressed Harleen but didn't turn his head to look at her, whether because of his limited mobility or his displeasure she couldn't be exactly sure. But she wasn't preoccupied with his mood, not now after the conversation she'd just been in.
"I apologize Mr. Joker, I was in a meeting." She sounded cold, but then she meant to. She had decided on her walk down to the session that she was going to try, today more than ever, to make some kind of therapeutic break through. No matter what he did or didn't want to talk about, she was going to push him, get beneath the surface. She had to, even though it would hurt them both, if she was ever going to fix him and prove Arkham wrong. It was going to be hard, harder for her than him maybe, to make him uncomfortable and angry with her. But then she would try her hardest to disconnect, at least a little bit. It was all for his own good. "Shall we begin?"
"Nuh uh." He shook his head. Harleen half wondered if his being difficult was a direct response to her own change in tone and mood. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"We're all business today aren't we, Harley?" he glanced at her but quickly looked away, and began moving his lips. He pressed them together and made popping noises, the way people do when they're trying to annoy someone, but she realized he was really just trying to get her to notice his mouth.
"Oh, I see." Normally, she'd put his lipstick on him without him having to ask, but she'd been so focused today she'd forgotten. Without a word she got up and rubbed a little on his lips, more sloppily than she normally did, but only because she couldn't bear to be so close to him.
"Thank you." He mumbled as she walked back to her chair. He was clearly unhappy with her, though he tried to appear otherwise.
"Now then, Mr. Joker, let's begin."
"No 'how are you?'" he looked at her now, unhappy but amused. "No 'how are you feeling'?"
"Not today, Mr. Joker. Why, is there something you'd like to talk about?"
"Not particularly. You?"
"Yes actually," she began confidently. "What made Batman break your teeth like that?" She braced herself for an outburst- she expected him to scream at her or yell, at the very least become aggressively silent. But instead, he laughed in her face. It was a genuine laugh, not sarcastic or mocking. He was truly laughing; she could tell by the way he threw his head back. The sound was hearty and loud, it's deepness seemed to shake the whole room.
"I killed his pet, Harley." He finally answered her after what seemed like hours of laughter. "His pretty little bird boy. I bashed his brains in and ol' Batsy didn't like that.
"What made you do that?" she questioned, glancing down at her clipboard in the hopes that he couldn't read her facial expressions. If he had, he would have seen her wince ever so slightly, and press her lips together so that she didn't look as torn as she felt. Perhaps hearing about his having killed someone shouldn't have surprised her given his history and who she was- or rather who people thought he was; but between Dr. Arkham's warnings and hearing him admit to something so terrible, it was becoming increasing difficult for her to believe in the abused and harmless victim of a man she had come to know and adore. His mercilessly killing Batman's side kick was a harsh reality to face, and difficult to reconcile with the idea she'd had in her mind on how Batman had come to mutilate Joker's mouth. She waited for him to answer, half hoping Robin had been the aggressor, though she knew it was unlikely. His smile fell away and was quickly replaced with a menacing mix of indifference and rage she'd ever seen. His striking blue eyes, normal light and twinkling mischievously darkened, as he stared at her with an intensity she hadn't yet fallen victim to. Still, she noted, there was light amusement in his voice as he spoke.
"Because I wanted to." He stretched out the last syllable for a while, keeping his lips puckered in an "o" shape for a few moments. "That's how me and Batman play, sometimes people get hurt." His cold, casual tone sent chills down her spine, but really broke her heart more than anything. He doesn't mean this, he doesn't mean any of it, she tried to convince herself.
"But why?" she pressed harder, sounding more desperate than she had intended to.
"It was fun."
"You don't mean that." No, you don't want him to mean that, she scolded herself. But she quieted the voice inside her head and continued on. "There must be some deeper reason than "just for fun."
"Boredom then." He snapped, suddenly defensive at having his villainous character called into question. Any other day, a quick outburst like that would have been enough for Harleen to switch the subject so as not to upset him, but given the day's circumstances she was almost glad to see she had hit a nerve; to her it was an indicator that he was in fact capable of the very feelings Dr. Arkham had said he wasn't, all he had to do was let her in and she could fix him. You can fix him, she repeated to herself, he's still a man deep down.
"How did you feel when you-killed him? What made it fun?"
"It's always fun to take the other kid's favorite toy," he answered her like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was stupid for asking.
"You killed him because…he was something Batman loved?" her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she couldn't be bothered to care. Another crack made its way into her heart at having to say those words, and she waited for his answer hoping that he would disagree but knowing all too well that he wouldn't.
"Uh huh." He stated simply.
"Are you afraid he'll return the favor? That he'll take away something you love?" She was nervous for his answer, but half hopeful too that he may admit to some sort of affection towards someone- though preferably her- just to know that he was capable of it. At that, a smile made its way back across his lips. He tilted his head slightly to one side and stared at her, as if he was aware of the deeper meaning behind the question.
"He bashed my pretty little face in didn't he? He took away my smile."
"I mean a person." Subtle Harleen, real subtle. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear at a pathetic attempt to appear indifferent and disconnected the way a more capable therapist might be but in the end it really only made her look like a lovesick teenage girl in high school asking a football player if he liked her back.
"Why would a person ever mean that much to me?" he asked. He pretended to be confused, almost innocent in his question but she knew he must have known just how cruel he was being.
"No one? No one you like, who you care about? Not a single soul who's at least a little bit important to you?" she leaned in, desperate for an answer that would make her feel at least a little bit better.
"Nope," he popped the "p" more aggressive than was necessary. "I don't think I have or would ever want a person who could be that important to me, Dr. Quinzel. "
And with that, she was crushed. He could tell too, she knew it, which made his faux display of innocent indifference hurt more. Neither of them spoke for a while. Joker hummed a little and looked around the room, never keeping his eyes somewhere for too long; Harleen could only sit and mull things over for a while, so that's what she did. She wasn't going to be upset though, she decided quickly, she wouldn't be the heartbroken weak little girl she felt like inside, at least not here. When she went home, sure, she'd cry and drink wine and she would let herself be depressed that the psycho-murder clown she had fallen for was incapable of returning the sentiment, and she would let herself be ashamed that she had ever thought otherwise. But now, she would not let him see that he had cut her so close to her core. No, instead she would let the rage and frustration she felt take center stage. After she felt she had sufficiently recovered, she straightened herself in her chair and watched him, briefly considering the idea of ending the session right then and there but decided against it.
"I gotta say, Doc, I'm a little over all this seriousness- the psychobabble nonsense," he finally broke the silence once he sensed she was about to start up again. "I don't like these kinds of questions."
"Well Mr. Joker, I am your psychiatrist. I'm supposed to be asking these types of questions," she countered.
"Harley dear, is something the matter? You seem angry," he glanced at her hand which had begun aggressively clicking on her pen cap.
"I'm fine. We're supposed to talk about you," she slammed the pen down beside her and folded her hands in front of her.
"I don't think I want to talk to you when you're like this," he pretended to be offended as he dramatically turned his head away from her, but really was getting annoyed she could tell. The sudden change of position loosened a piece of his green hair and she watched as it fell delicately in front of his face. She longed to brush the piece away for her, despite the fact that he looked rather precious with that one floppy piece of hair dangling so freely; it brought out a boyish charm in his that was so endearing to her. But she held her ground, holding on to her rage.
"Well too bad, you don't have a choice." She snapped. "Now let's talk about your obvious, almost inhuman lack of ability to connect with anyone or anything on a deeper emotional level."
"Oh Harley!" His eyes widened in mock surprise, "Is that what's bothering you? Have I hurt your feelings?" He puckered his lips into a pout and eyed her carefully.
"As your psychiatrist," she began trying to keep control of the session as well as her own emotions, "That sort of thinking is of particular interest to me."
"Oh alright, Doctor, I see. It's of no consequence to me really, but if it'll make you feel better go ahead and try to make sense of this brain of mine. Give it to me straight, what's wrong with me, huh?" He wasn't speaking in his normal voice, instead he used a pretend and exaggerated sort of worried voice, mocking her and her reaction to his emotional disturbance. It didn't hurt Harleen's feelings though, it only made her more irritable.
"I think you're a pussy." She startled Joker and herself with her language, but kept her eyes down and fiddled with her clipboard so she would appear unbothered. "It's not that you can't love or care about anyone or anything, but that's what you want people to believe. I think the truth is you're afraid to let anyone in, you're scared. That's the real reason behind everything you do," she watched as Joker's expression switched from amusement to annoyance, but she kept going. "The reason no one knows your name, who you before you were all of this. It's not because you're trying to be mysterious or menacing, it's because you're too scared to face your past, too afraid who you were or what you left behind. How's that for psychobabble?" Her harsh analysis left both of them speechless, and the long rush of words left Harleen especially breathless. It was a cathartic, at least to begin with, getting all of that out in the open. For the briefest of moments, she felt almost normal- pre Joker normal. She was clear headed and calm, that aching pull she had felt for weeks on end now had dulled to nonexistence and felt alright for a while. In fact, she was quite pleased with herself, at least until she looked up and made eye contact with him again.
The pained, almost desperate expression his face made her instantly regret everything she had said; his eyes, still on hers, darkened again but not in anger. His breathing was suddenly heavy, almost as if he were hyperventilating though she was sure he could breathe perfectly fine, and the shallow breaths moved his chest in a way that seemed almost unnatural underneath the straightjacket. She wanted to apologize, but found herself too ashamed to actually speak the words, too embarrassed to say anything to him.
"The session is over," was all she managed to get out as she rushed past him towards the door. As she slammed the door behind her, she was suddenly overcome with all of the emotions and feelings she had felt for him the past few weeks that had seemed to disappear after her outburst. The orderlies, clearly confused by the shortness of the session, looked awkwardly at her, probably expecting her to say something but she couldn't bring herself to speak.
"Um, Dr. Quinzel, ma'am?" one of them cautiously approached her. "Is something the matter? Did the patient do something or-"
"No, I've just ended the session for the day," she answered softly. "You can take him back to his cell," she told them as she moved to leave.
"You aren't going to take him back with us?"
"No, not today."
She walked back to her office and grabbed her things quickly, wanting to get as far away from Arkham Asylum as she could. The work day wasn't over yet, but she didn't care- even having to sit in her office alone for a few hours, knowing what she had done to him and knowing he just downstairs would be too much for her. After she had collected her things, she made her way back to Dr. Arkham's office, too much of an emotional wreck to feel embarrassed.
"Dr. Arkham?" she opened his door without knocking or announcing herself, "I think I'd like that break now."
A/N: Please please please review if you can! It really helps me with the story as far as what kinds of things to explore with the characters and what to improve on! As always thanks for reading and if you have any requests or situations you'd like to see play out in the story please let me know!
