And now we'll commence one of my favourite chapters of the entire fanfic. This was always something I envisioned taking place when I read Mad Love, and I like to think that something (perhaps a little less dark than I've written it) took place during the comic.
(I also don't know if I've made it clear but from now on, unless I have a sudden change of heart, all chapters will be from Harley's POV, just to simplify the chaotic events that are gonna go down. From J's perspective, I've covered what I needed to)
Chapter 10: The Darkest Side Of Me
(Session #24)
Why am I still bothering with this? I pondered as I fiddled absentmindedly with a button on my blouse, waiting for the guards to leave. Every session goes the same way; I end up opening up to him, feeling weird about him, and then he talks about my character development. He's not being treated, I am! It would help if I had longer with him, but that's impossible with those twits about… With each session, I had become more annoyed with the presence of the guards and their roles that signalled the beginning and end of each session, as if their existence was only in place to aggravate and restrain me. I tapped my shoes on the floor with impatience, and stifled a snort as The Joker raised an eyebrow, detecting my eagerness and pointing it out. The Joker was the only person who could ever read me like a book; in comparison to him, Joan had barely even scratched the surface.
Reining myself in and feigning control when I had already handed all control to him, I straightened my back and subtly covered my slightly bared chest from the guards; Arkham's security patrols were infamous for having prying eyes that watched more than just the patients. Derek and Tom left, and I relaxed, dragging my chair closer and taking a second to admire my patient whilst he busied himself with various, insignificant things, including his position which he stiffly tried to alter, too shackled to move much.
When I'd first started treating him, he had looked awful. There was barely any meat on his bones; his cheekbones jut out like razors. His hair was slicked back but bedraggled, a darker shade of green than it used to be before his incarceration. Now, its radiance impressed me; it was lighter, healthier- a fair reflection of The Joker's then-current state.
As the sessions went by, he was restoring himself to a healthier state of body, and I couldn't deny the confusion it incurred in my mind; how was he different? Arkham's done nothing to help him, so why the improvement? I considered asking him about it, but wondered whether he would take offense to my picking up on how he had once looked any less great as he did at that current moment. So instead, I favoured the point I originally intended to open with, taking a drawing breath in preparation before allowing my voice to splinter the cool, collected atmosphere.
"Tell me, Mr J, have you ever been in a serious relationship before?" I asked, ensuring my voice was as professional as possible. However, the question was practically unsalvageable. No matter what the context, it came off as childish and immature. With a sigh, I was reminded of how schoolchildren in the playground would send their friends to ask someone out on their behalf, despite that they were too young to be in any serious relationship.
"Why, are you offering, my dear?" He drawled, his voice dripping with synthetic charm. Not even a fool could miss his tone; the topic was something he either found tedious, or at that moment saw no gain in discussing- neither sounded particularly fetching. I frowned briefly, before switching to the upper hand and allowing my lips to twist into a cruel smirk.
"Nope. Please, do us both a favour and answer the question sincerely. Have you ever been in a relationship before?" I sighed and clicked my pen to begin making notes the moment I caught him roll his eyes and watch his chest fall in resignation.
"As I've said before, I'm an incredibly busy super criminal, Harley dear. I have never had the time, patience or interest in that. Until recently, anyway." He added, throwing a sideways glance to me for good measure. My heart murmured, a small flutter of the same foreign emotion to throw me off balance and pause my note-taking. I shook my head, not feeling quite in the mood to pay attention to my likely hormonal brain, and instead trying a different but not entirely unrelated line of questioning.
"Okay… When it comes to the crunch, do you think sustaining a relationship would be a possibility for you?" He licked his lips, the question briefly silencing him and making him thankfully void of emotion, a sweet reprieve and a chance for me to gather my thoughts. At last, he dragged his radiant eyes to meet mine, holding me steady like a match between predator and prey. I squirmed under his gaze, the alien feeling returning to my bones and coursing through my veins, simultaneously setting fire to my heart but cooling it down to the point that I shivered. It was like a shock of electricity, but it felt grand all the same.
"I would consider it, if it were the right person of course," He declared slowly, his lips moving with a deliberate exaggeration as if to try and get something secretive across to me. I perked up immediately, something far more pressing stealing my attention.
"What do you look for in a partner then, Mr J?" I asked, aware that the question had no dignity. But I seized the opportunity, recognising that romantic circumstances may be a strong indication towards his mentality. He chuckled throatily, before taking a deep, dramatic breath.
"Obedience is a must… and wit, actually. Also, maybe some charm and observational talent should be thrown in there for good measure…" He dragged on and on with rather misogynist stereotypes of women, to which I began to find offensive; I tried to battle down the feeling, convincing myself that he was only joking to irritate me, but then his direction took a turn that threw me so off guard that I briefly lost the ability to breathe, constricting me to silence.
"Being such a… dark character as myself, I'd like a little contrast just for fun. I like a blonde. A blonde that can pull off red is just a bonus. I like a girl that can really get in my mind and stay there… A psychiatrist, perhaps." I stood up, irked by his comment. I could hardly believe what I'd heard.
"Joker, are you implying you'd wish to initiate a relationship with me?" I asked, cringing as my voice wavered, aggravation only increasing when he simply shrugged with a little knowing smirk. I stood straighter; I could recognise a challenge when presented with one.
"That isn't appropriate." My voice faltered, betraying my confidence and making shame heat my cheeks. Why are you even bothering with appropriateness at this point? After what happened last time? The professionalism was scrapped a long time ago.
"My sweet, you never said no." He reminded me gently as I sat down. I was acutely aware my cheeks were flushed with a spectrum of emotions, bombarding my pale flesh all at once. Before I had a chance to counter his comment, he changed the subject. Seeing no point in lingering on something he clearly wasn't too bothered about, I allowed him to divert.
"How about you, doc? You ever swung your hook in another man's pond?" He asked, grin only widening. My discomfort increased at the enjoyment he took from asking me such a personal question. However, I kept in mind that our relationship was quid pro quo, and with a sigh, I opted to tell the truth. At this point, I was scrambling at frayed ends of ropes, hoping they'd eventually pull me to the answers I needed. The frays were always balanced on being either too flimsy, or just about strong enough.
"I've only ever been in one, back when I was in my first year of Uni. It only lasted a year, but it was awful. He used my looks to better himself to his colleagues, and then at last minute when I considered spending my life with him, decided to abandon me to pursue botany. Last I heard of that son of a bitch, he was screwing some ginger botanist and got tied up in legal issues over her sudden disappearance. Marc LeGrande was his name. Bastard." I spat, fists bunching as brief glimpses and flashes of the terrible period of my life screened before my eyes.
When my rant was done and I had cooled down, a niggling sense of discomfiture swirled in the pit of my stomach as I noticed that The Joker hadn't said one word of interruption, or even a joke. It was unusual for him, to say the least. His dark eyes were fixated on my clenched fists, and it made me feel awkward as I uncurled them, feeling them click satisfyingly, bones unlocking and arranging themselves to their own normality.
"What are you staring at?" I asked, voice slightly higher in pitch to my dismay. Stop it.
"I don't think I've seen you this angry before; it's like you're coming loose. See, doc? This is how psychology works. It all comes loose…" He trailed off, deep in thought as his eyes finally began to drift from my hands and to my eyes. As always, I was captivated, immediately held in place.
"I used to get angry when I was my pop beat me. But instead, I sought a different route. I chose to make people laugh, and deflect my anger in more creative, funny ways. You see, Harls? It all links together like I've said before. Life's just a joke, and we should all be laughing. Don't be angry; make 'em laugh instead. Even better, make them pay!" He cried, hands splayed in exaggeration as he began to hype himself into his own speech. The speech itself made me gasp and rocket from my chair, propelling backwards.
The chair screeched to the floor, but I paid no heed to it. Like a snap, a tendon breaking, my brain detached itself. I felt the jolt course through my bones and frazzle my skin, and suddenly the world was in high definition, a shade clearer than it had been up to that point. The same thought echoed through my mind; I was free. The weeks of sessions where I felt like I was on the brink, the edge? I thought I'd solved it, I thought it'd sunk in, but I was wrong. I was only ever stepping closer to the edge, and now I had fallen down, finally on the same ground as The Joker, where I'd always wanted to be and never known it.
"Mr J, is it okay if we call this meeting off early? I… I'm not feeling too grand." I admitted, before briefly asking for the guards to enter via walkie-talkie, to ensure they understood that it was nothing to do with The Joker. His eyebrows furrowed in an unrecognisable mix of concern and eagerness, and he sat up, head cocked lightly to one side in invitation of an explanation.
"Is everything alright?" I nodded, surprised and impressed that he'd care about me. A notorious bad boy, a deemed terrifying killer, caring about little old Harley! I felt special and unique, and it made me want to swoop across the sky and laugh and dance; it was like being a schoolgirl all over again. I'd finally gained something more personal than I had originally set out to achieve.
"Trust me, I'll be fine. Let's just say, everything's… everything's coming together." I trod carefully, faltering as his maniacal laugh began to build and build until it seemed to explode from him, fragmenting the air with his malicious laugh. As he was carted away, I stumbled back into my chair and swiped my hair clear of my face, a swarm of emotions beginning to cloud my mind. Before I could register anything, unexpected tears pricked my eyes and the painful lump in my throat caused me to crumple in a heap over the desk, arms folded beneath my head as I began to sob, my whole body hysterically racking.
I ended up wailing, like a siren, an emergency about to break out. Mr J is so misunderstood, my mind mourned. He wanted to make the world laugh as a way of coping with his abuse. He was only looking for the attention he never got from his parents! The revelations trickled down my cheeks, wetting the skin and making it glisten, light dancing across the moisture. All anyone ever does is hurt him. They all break him down and deny him what he wants and needs, and it drives him crazy!
"I promise," I managed to croak through smudged-lipstick lips, "I will never let anyone hurt my Mr J!" And hurt him, I knew they did. I had read the files, seen the news; Arkham was the most notoriously corrupt treatment facility within at least a hundred mile radius. I knew their illegal and controversial ways of treating their patients. I knew they'd given The Joker several borderline lethal sessions of electrotherapy. To think that they'd put such a damaged, misplaced creature through that torment made bile slide up my throat. I tried to dismiss the gruesome images plaguing my mind of The Joker enduring that, the familiar feeling of the pre-vomit sensation beginning to clutch at her insides.
Ruefully, I reached my decision, mind already racing along its set course. I couldn't stand by and let them treat my Joker like that, now I knew the truth. As I began to formulate a plan, scheming how to rescue my creature who had so tragically fallen for grace, the shrill and panic-inducing emergency alarm pierced the silent, calm atmosphere, making me jump in my seat and look up in question and shock to its source, wincing as the alarm shrieked in my ear, invading my brain. The lights shut off and the emergency lights replaced them, an eerie, strong red flashing light that washed the room with a bloody crimson. I gasped and stood up slowly, an ill sense of foreboding making me wonder why the alarm had been set off in the first place.
In my entire time at Arkham, the alarm had never been set off once, even for practice. I'd been informed when I first arrived that they were only used in extreme, life-threatening emergencies. It wasn't for a fire; in the event of a fire, a separate alarm sounded. This one was usually reserved for when a patient had escaped; there was only one patient I could imagine who would easily escape with a spring in his step. I hoped my suspicions of the exact cause of the situation were based purely on the fact he was on my mind anyway, but I knew that hope to be was skin deep. I knew the culprit, even if denial blocked out his presence.
Spine-chilling evidence came soon after as I heard the familiar, maniacal laughter and the whistling, the constant tune that always accompanied his mischief, even from our first meeting. The screams and panicked shouts of guards rushing past from the direction the laughter came from made me shrink back, and I knew that based on where my office was and where his cell was, he was incredibly, stiflingly close. I closed my eyes, chest puffing in exhilaration and utter fear, my metal door creaked open, and a peculiar sense of calm and acceptance washed over me. It was funny to think how at that precise moment when my patient stepped through the door, one of my only thoughts was that, the red lighting really suits The Joker.
See you on Friday! It's all change from now on. The next chapter is to die for. I'm incredibly proud of it.