Chapter 11

Harleen met her gaze's reflection through the mirror as she breathed in heavily, her pupils dilated, eyes wide and stricken. She felt so nervous, as if butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach; as if... any second now, she was on the verge of gagging.

Yet, aside from the nerves, there was an exhilarating thrill there, too. She felt as though she was a child again that had done something naughty- stolen the last cookie in the jar, smeared worm guts and entrails over the newly scrubbed walls- and at any moment, she could get caught and punished.

Steeling herself mentally, she fluffed her hair so it didn't look so flat on her head, then reapplied the red lipstick she had purchased last night, making sure it lined the edges of her lips perfectly. Satisfied, she reached over with a shaky hand, dropping her lipstick into her bag and grabbing it. She sat her leather handbag on her lap near the gap where the steering wheel began, another electric shock thrill darting up and down her spine.

It was in there still, just where she had left it last night. Wrapped in a white, non-see-through bag so that not only no one found out what it was, but so it wouldn't leave her bag a mess by the time it was given to its intended receiver; spilling its contents all over her packet of chewing gum and her newly brought lipstick and her packed salad for lunch for the day.

She'd brought something for him. Something she knew she shouldn't have done. It was not permitted, as part of Arkham's strict guidelines and rules of staff conduct, to purchase and buy an inmate a special gift, but Harleen was hoping she could budge the rules a little. She'd seen it and passed by it last night in the grocery store near her apartment, while still floating dizzily high after their interaction that morning after what she'd confessed to him in secrecy, one of her most inner, private thoughts.

She'd never met somebody like him before. She'd confessed to him the one thing she'd never mentioned to anybody, out of fear of being judged or considered abnormal; One of her constant, violent fantasies of murdering her mother.

It was so humbling, how he had reacted to her confession; As if it was the most normal thing in the world. He hadn't even blinked an eyelid to her confession. No, Mr. J had acted as though it were intriguing, her little secret. It hadn't repelled him at all.

She just couldn't resist buying Mr. J something and she was dying to see his reaction to it. The mere thought alone of how he would react to her gift, of whether he would be surprised or thankful, it made Harleen's heart clench and bounce in her chest, her brain gushing with blissful anticipation.

There was just a matter of getting the contraband in without the guards noticing. But Harleen was confident she could do it. It shouldn't be too hard, if she played it right. She planned to head into Arkham early, to pay an unscheduled visit to his cell as she had the week before. If she kept the gift hidden in her bag, it should be easy enough. She could do it.

Wiping a slight smear of lipstick off the corner of her lip with her thumb and readjusting her glasses, she finally mustered the energy to climb out of the car. She locked up, sliding her bag over her shoulder. It was so much more heavier than it usually was, all due to the gift. Even that small, minor detail in the way the bag's straps strained heavily on her shoulder against the weight of it, it created a new bounce to Harleen's steps.

Crossing through the lawn in her heels, she reached the front steps, sucking in a deep breath again to prepare herself for the day ahead of her. Then she shoved her way inside towards the room where her desk was.

Two men from security were already in there, fussing around in the staff kitchen making themselves coffee when she dashed towards her desk. They looked her way, then seemed to have to do a double-take. Harleen knew it was simply because she was wearing her hair down today, as well as the lipstick. She'd taken Mr. J's advice on board- not that the guards would ever know.

"Where's my patient?" she asked, trying to ignore the gawking looks. "I was sort of hoping to check in on him and visit his cell again this morning." She kept her bag, heavy and sagging, on her shoulder while she stood by her chair. "Is he in there and available for me to drop in for a few minutes?" She knew how ironic it was, asking whether her patient was available. He was literally locked in the mental institution, surrounded by trained guards and kept under strict supervision twenty-four-seven. He was going nowhere.

"No can do," one of the guards replied. "He's out for twenty minutes. You're going to have to wait until your session with him at eleven."

Harleen felt a surge of irritation flow through her like a snowstorm. He's out for twenty minutes? Where? Were they playing with her? "What do you mean, he's out?"

"Like all the others. It's Wednesday. Wednesday is activity day."

Activity day. Activity day was where the inmates were allowed to go outside for some fresh air for a few hours, though they were heavily monitored and locked in by the gates. Some patients liked to exercise, while others just liked to sit still and breathe in the fresh air, letting the sunlight soak into their Vitamin-D neglected skin.

During her induction and staff initiation into Arkham, Harleen had been informed it happened most Wednesday mornings between eight-thirty to eleven and she was early. Still, already her day was not at all going to plan.

Sighing loudly through her nostrils, Harleen picked a few files off her desk, hoping to keep her bag concealed behind them. She would have to decide on another tactic then. Though it was early, she could somehow get into the session room before the guards even had a chance to check her belongings. So that was the plan.

Peering over at the men again to make sure they hadn't seen her, she turned back towards the entryway. Just her luck, the men had returned to doctoring their coffees and stirring in their sugar and milk. She was safe.

Heart accelerating in wicked anticipation, she moved down the corridor, her weighed-down bag swinging beneath the concealment of her files. Then she heard it, the very last thing she needed right now.

"Harleen? Harleen Quinzel? Is that you?"

Harleen faltered in her heels, shutting her eyes briefly in irritation before stumbling back to look at the person that the voice belonged to. She found her boss Mr. Jeremiah walking after her, the bottom of his white coat flapping with his brisk strides. He was a thin, nearly bald man in his late fifties, with hollow cheeks and narrow grey eyes. It was the last thing Harleen felt she was ready to deal with, especially after what had happened yesterday with her patient and their near-kissing incident in the session room, and, not to mention, the forbidden contraband she was hoping to smuggle in.

She felt discombobulated and distracted from what had happened still, the skin on her wrist still stinging dully from her raking her fingernails down it yesterday afterwards. She wasn't even sure if she had done it hard enough yesterday to draw blood.

When she had gotten home later that night the day before, changing out of her clothes, she could only see the faintest imprint. Now, she felt as if the skin had opened up anew, fresh with blood. A part of her was dying to glance down at her sleeve to make sure the blood wasn't seeping through, spotting and marring her freshly-ironed blouse, yet she couldn't; being too preoccupied over the thought of having to deal with her boss to even check.

"Mr. Jeremiah, Sir," she breathed nervously, fixing up her glasses. She sounded guilty, as if she had done something wrong and it was weighing heavily down onto her conscience. Which she really had, in all things considered. And there she was, doing wrong again, in bringing in her patient a present. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to smile, "It's good to see you. I... I was just getting prepared to have my session with-"

"- I wasn't sure if that was even you for a moment there?" He laughed, his eyes darting down to her skirt fleetingly, then to the strands of her blonde hair that were cascading around her shoulders. "You look... different with the hair out?"

"Yeah, I..." She peered down at the numerous case files she had squished under one arm. "I just thought I'd try something different today. Some sort of... change. They always say change is healthy." She would never dare tell anyone that her patient, her soulmate, had influenced her on her latest change of appearance.

"Walk with me. It'll give us a few minutes to have a good catch-up." Doctor Jeremiah held out an arm behind her, beckoning Harleen to follow him down the hallway.

She hesitated, glancing down at her watch, her mouth falling open, jaw muscles slack. "But Sir, I... I really should go prepare-"

"- Nonsense, Doctor Quinzel. You seem prepared enough as it is, with all your notes in front of you, all your files. It'll just take a few moments of your time. And besides, you don't start the session until eleven, do you?"

Doctor Jeremiah was right, of course. The session wasn't due to start until eleven. She had a full hour until she was even due to meet her patient in the session room. Plus, with... what the guard said. Activity day.

"Um, yes, that's right, Sir. I don't start the session until an hour away."

"Then come on."

Crushing the files to her chest, she followed with a few slow, tentative steps, her stilettos clacking as she swallowed dryly. She felt her throat tighten, her heart race. She was addled with dread, and Harleen felt as though her stomach was whirling around like a washing machine on full-speed. She had been dreading this moment to come, having to report to her boss.

"Don't look so worried," he said after throwing a quick glance at her face. "You're not in any sort of trouble. Nothing's wrong. I was just meaning to speak to you two weeks ago about how your progress is going with your patient, but... as you know, I've been incredibly busy. Endless amounts of paperwork and the wife at home, you know how it is."

She saw Doctor Jeremiah scratch and rub at the soulmark on the back of his hand distractedly, as if merely speaking of his wife alone made it tingle.

Harleen had overheard Doctor Jeremiah speaking on the phone in the hallways to his wife once, and what she had heard, it had astounded her. His voice had dropped all levels and pretense of professionalism, to the point where he had sounded so affectionate and loving to her.

"I'm sure that rumors have been floating around from all the staff, but... my wife's expecting any day now, you see." A proud, watery laugh escaped him. "We've had a few false alarms, going back and forth to the hospital. I just want to make sure everything's alright."

"How adorable. What's she having?" Light, easy conversation. She could do this. Anything that distracted him from asking about what she had gathered so far in her case notes. Anything that drew attention away from the fact that she was still carrying her bag with her.

"Well, that's the thing. We don't know as yet. The wife wants to keep it a secret and find out on the day once she's given labor. Can't go against that."

"That's probably for the best." The flighty remark came out before she could prevent it. "Surprises are always great. It's always nice to be surprised."

He laughed shortly in a way that seemed forced, then his face fell, straightening out into seriousness. Harleen could feel perspiration gathering beneath her blouse. "How are things progressing with your first patient? It's been eight sessions, over... five or so hours worth." Eight sessions and over five hours spent with the patient. It daunted Harleen how he had been counting down the exact amount of time she'd spent.

"It... it's going well, Sir," she said, purposefully glancing down along the hallway. Looking away was easier than having to stare right into her bosses eyes and lie to his face. "We're slowly getting there."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're not telling me you want out."

"Want out? Why would I want that?"

"Because he's certainly not the easiest inmate to deal with. I think that's a given. I felt a little... bad when I assigned you to him, being so... green the way you were. I know its your first time, and he's a hard nut to crack."

Hard nut to crack. His words floated in her brain, taunting, tempering her. "Oh, he's not so bad. The Joker," she muttered dismissively, unable to conceal the slight defensive edge to her voice. The green lines on her belly beneath her blouse tingled and stung at the uttered name of her soulmate, and thoughtlessly, she brought up her hand, pressing her palm flat against it through the fabric of her blouse. "Actually, we seem to be getting along just peachy so far."

She caught Doctor Jeremiah throwing a skeptical look her way, his tufted graying eyebrows raised halfway to his receding hairline.

"It's a challenge, sure, and... each session brings something unexpected and new, but I've never been one to shy away from challenges, Sir. It's just... slow moving at the moment." She jerked her shoulders, as if spiritually tossing his remark off her back. "I was taught by a lecturer at Gotham University that establishing rapport and trust with your patient is one of the most important things you can do, so that's what I'm working towards right now." Even as she said the words, she knew it were a terrible excuse.

She was excusing her inappropriate behavior, rationalizing it. It wasn't about establishing rapport and trust with her patient just so that she could break down his walls, not really. It was flirting and games, and accessing each other, and a whole lot of attraction towards him on her part.

"I saw how you were like, when I first met you, Doctor Quinzel. You had qualities that I appreciated, qualities that I found suitable for working here." They had reached the end of the corridor near a rectangular window that opened up to show the large green, carefully maintained yard of the Asylum, surrounded by heavy gate enclosures. Harleen could see a few of the patients exercising outside, grouped near a hoop while they played basketball. As for her soulmate, she couldn't see him anywhere. "You possess a good heart and are compassionate, with always wanting to see the best in most people. I can see it and, no doubt, everyone else can. But with the likes of him, you just... you don't want to forget what he is. You don't want him to take advantage."

"Oh? And what is he, Doctor Jeremiah?"

"He's a menace. A public nuisance. Even if you could successfully cure him and have him reform, I know they'll never legally declare him mentally competent and allow him to be released."

Doctor Jeremiah's word stung Harleen more than they probably should have. It was like rubbing salt into some invisible wounds. She leaned against the wall, peering out at the large expanse of the yard through the window, the little heads of the inmates that reminded her of ants.

If he was never going to be released, then what would that mean for them? Soulmates were meant to have a future, share a life together. Getting married, having children. Though Harleen never pictured herself as the motherly type, particularly not after how things had been with her own mother as a child, maybe priorities changed when you were with the person you were soulmarked to? Was that something that was going to be denied to her forever?

She shook her head gently, pushing the thoughts away. "Where's my patient now? One of the men from security said he's out there for activity day? So he interacts with all the other patients much?"

Doctor Jeremiah laughed, drawing Harleen's gaze to him again. It was as if he found her question to be ridiculous. "This is your first time here, so you can be forgiven for not knowing his prior history in Arkham, but..." He rubbed his chin with his fingers. "The first time he was in here, we thought we'd give him the benefit of the doubt. We let him interact with the other patients."

"So what?"

"So, we learned never to do that ever again. As it turned out, that had been our... biggest mistake." Doctor Jeremiah rested a shoulder against the wall, peering down at his shoes. "Think of it, if you can, of... fish in a pond. Poor analogy, but just go with it."

"Fish in a pond? How's that relevant to-?"

"- The other patients are small fish in the pond, while... The Joker, think of him as a shark. Little fish surrounded by a shark. I'm sure you can imagine what happens when the shark remains in the water with the little fish for too long."

A laugh tickled the base of Harleen's throat. "The shark devours the little fishies?"

"Exactly." Jeremiah's voice was somber. "The shark, seeing himself as high up on the food chain, a dominant species compared to the little fish... he wrecks havoc, terrorizing the little fish until he eats them all alive, one by one."

"What? So now you're telling me that my patient is a cannibal?" Another laugh threatened to escape Harleen at how severe he seemed with the ridiculous analogy, how stern.

"Of course not. But... The Joker, as no doubt you've read in his files; he's got the reputation for being one of Gotham City's most highly-ranked criminals. Feared. Revered. A real crackpot thug. Drugs. Extortion. Murder. He's used to thinking he's superior to everybody else due to that; He's got a whole team of followers out there, but that's probably only because he'll kill them if they don't follow his lead. He likes to feel he's the... dominant species, high up there on the food chain. When we let him out that day, it was sheer turmoil and... chaos."

Harleen felt her soulmark prickle; A jolting tingle shooting up her chest at what she was hearing. She could see Jeremiah was disturbed. Even as he spoke of it, he seemed far away, distant, as though he was replaying the unfortunate events all over again in his head. "So what did he do while he was... with the others?"

"He thinks a lot of things are funny, even... sick, horrible things. Surely you've noticed that during your sessions?"

"Sure," she shrugged.

"Well, a lot of the patients here, they're already going through a lot of mental trauma. As I explained when you started and we gave you the run down, a lot of patients have... mental difficulties. Depression, schizophrenia. Fragile psyches." Jeremiah scratched around his chin again. "Anyway, The Joker set his sights on one of the inmates. This other guy, he was... heavily depressed. Severely so."

Harleen arched off the wall closer to him, hanging off his every word. "So what did he do?"

Everything he was telling her, she found it so fascinating, that her patient would dare do that, that he were even capable of it.

"I wasn't there to know what fully transpired, but... somehow The Joker convinced the depressed inmate to kill himself. Some of the guards that witnessed it said that he was... taunting and provoking the inmate to do it. Playing on his fears, heightening his mental distress. And when he did... The Joker laughed. Like the whole thing was a good fun joke."

"That's terrible," Harleen muttered as was expected to say, lifting a hand, covering the side of her mouth as she glanced outside the window again.

Truthfully, she didn't feel anything. No stirring of compassion for the inmate, no disgust over her patients behavior. There was just an emptiness there, a hollow feeling in her chest, as if she were made of glass. Nothing.

"So that's why we like to keep The Joker in segregation and forbid him contact with the other inmates. He's volatile. Dangerous to the other patients health's. Solitary confinement seems the best option for someone like him."

"But he's escaped twice before already? I'm sure I read that in his case files?"

"Yes, unfortunately he has managed to escape here twice. But this time, we're taking it more seriously. That means supervision every day in a maximum security unit. He can't do anything as basic as washing his face without anybody seeing him do it." Jeremiah sounded proud, as if he was doing a great deed to the community of Gotham. "I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up spending his last dying days in here. When you're that far gone, when you don't have a full set of cards on deck... its where you belong. Here, forever, locked away from society so you don't get the chance to hurt anyone else."

Harleen felt her stomach twist and contort at the comment. The thought of him dying in Arkham... To never get to fulfill what they were meant for...

"How'd he get in here again anyway?" She'd already read the answer to that in his file. But she wanted Jeremiah's clarification.

"Batman apprehended him and delivered him back here. Funny thing is, from what I've heard, The Joker was placid. He came in easily this time around."

Harleen's mind buzzed frantically at Jeremiah's words. While everyone else in Gotham seemed to worship the masked vigilante, as if he was some type of hero, Harleen hadn't. As far as she was concerned, he was irritating. But he surrendered in easily after Batsy apprehended him? Why? Why would he have wanted to be in a place like this, when they treat him so inhumanely?

"I thought maybe he realized that this is where he belongs? He surrendered willingly, because he must know, deep down inside his heart, however... far-gone he is, that he needs us. He needs Arkham. He needs our treatment."

It hit her with such clarity, like a light-bulb clicking on by the flick of a switch.

No, he didn't need Arkham. He didn't need the treatment they offered.

What he needed... was what was inside of Arkham. A member of staff, the name that covered the side of his neck.

My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel...

The one that bore his mark in return.

He must have tracked her down because of the name on his mark. He surrendered willingly and purposefully let Batsy apprehend him because he wanted to find her. He needed her.

That was why he was there. For her.

After her talk with Jeremiah, she was late.

Clutching her files and heaving her bag off her arm, Harleen strode down the hallway towards the session room, her heels announcing her to the guards that were standing by the door.

"Geeze, I'm sorry I'm running late," she panted strenuously, her heart thumping in her ears from the exertion to get to the session on time. She paused by the door, rubbing her lips together, hoping they were still stained red. "I had a talk with Doctor Jeremiah. Is my patient here?" She sounded winded, breathless. She really needed to work on her cardio more.

"He's waiting in there."

The words on her soulmark felt as though they were flaring as she turned to glance through the window while struggling to catch her breath. As the guard said, he was in there. She stared at the outline of his head, at the back of his slick vibrant green hair, until she felt all of her stamina had returned to her. Then, letting her shoulders fall and drop into a relaxed stance, she made her entrance, her eyes glued to his head.

She had barely just reached her side of the table and her chair when he spoke.

"Finally. Ya know, I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up, Doctor." It was a gruff whine, as if he was letting her know how disappointed he was in her tardiness.

"I'm real sorry I was running late," she said, echoing the words that she had said to the guards. "I had to talk to my boss. He kept me for a while, but I'm here now."

Keeping her eyes on his, she dropped her handbag to the floor carefully while tossing her notes on the steel table before pulling back her chair. She examined his face while sitting, her heart singing in her chest.

"Oh, and by the way, I would never dream of standing you up, Mr. J," she added before she could stop herself, her voice soft and wavering in all of her conviction. "Ever."

His grayish-blue eyes darted across her face eagerly, as if he was considering whether she was being sincere on that or not. Then, his red lips pulled back into one of his dazzling, silver-teeth capped grins in satisfaction, making Harleen's skin feel all itchy.

"Then that's good, Doctor Quinzel. I just wanted to make sure that we're... on the same page here?"

She wasn't sure what it was in particular, but she noticed, during their sessions, every time she saw him and whenever he smiled at her, her heart seemed to soar. Seeing him now, spending time with him, being near, it was the highlight of her days.

"We're definitely on the same page. As I said, I just got held back." Her eyes darted down to her handbag to the side of her chair. Should she do it now? Or later? But when it came to these things, Harleen was never too good with delaying it. She wanted to see what he would think. "I got something for you, Mr. J. I'm not too sure if you'll like it, though."

The Joker's eyes lit up. It was something Harleen had observed happening a few times during their sessions. Whenever she played along with one of his mischievous games, when she had spoken about her fantasy of murdering her mother the day before, and always, always, whenever she mentioned that she had something for him or when he did the same to her, his eyes would ignite and flare up every single time.

"Ooh, I love these moments with ya, Harley Quinn." He moaned in delight through his teeth, leaning forward. The excitement, the anticipation, it radiated off every inch of him. Harleen apparently wasn't the only one who loved her surprises. "What do you got for me today?"

She glanced down at her open bag again, then she reached down, grabbing it by one of the straps, hoisting it up into her lap. She felt oddly coy. "I... I saw something last night and it... it made me think of you." With trembling hands, she opened the plastic bag, reaching in, grabbing the gift and cupping it in her palms carefully. "I'm not too sure what you'll think or if you'll even like it, Mr. J. But it just... it felt like something I had to do, you know?

When she glanced up at The Joker, she felt her heart begin racing to a rapid tempo. He was straining in the chair, desperately straining against the shackles at his ankles so he could catch a glimpse of what was in her handbag. His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth, to the bag, then to Harleen's face with intense scrutiny and curiosity.

"But before I give it to you, you have to promise me that you won't tell anybody where you got it from. Okay, Mr. J? 'Cause its like, against policy for me to give you special gifts from outside and all."

"Oh, I promise." He was panting laboriously, reminding Harleen of a hungry dog pining for water. "Cross my heart, hope to die. Show me."

Bracing herself for his reaction, Harleen brought the gift slowly out of her bag, placing it on the steel table between them. Along with the movement, dirt scattered and dusted onto her case notes, the purple flowers swaying.

"It's a plant that comes in its own little pot," Harleen announced, watching his face carefully so that she could experience all reactions he had over the gift. "I know its probably silly, but... after having seen your living arrangements in here, I thought you might appreciate it? Thought it might... brighten up your cell and make it feel a little more... homely?"

She found it fascinating, watching him. He leaned forward, dropping his head low, his nose inches away from one of the bright purple flowers. Harleen thought she heard him sniff at the flowers a few times discreetly, inhaling in their scent. Beneath his eyelid near the J tattoo gave off a small twitch as a low growly inhalation escaped through his glistening teeth. A crease marred his forehead, making his 'Damaged' tattoo appear as though it was caving in on itself.

"What... what do you think, Mr. J?" she prompted anxiously when he didn't say anything. "It's low maintenance, too, so you don't got to worry about watering it everyday. It doesn't even require sunlight either. I thought maybe you could, um, think of it as your baby." The instance it left her mouth Harleen felt a flush beat across her face furiously. "Like, you know, with babies how you've got to feed them and nurture them? Well, this can be like your baby, too, except you just... water it and... and watch it grow..." She faltered into an awkward silence as another rumbling inhalation left him. What was she even saying?

"Good." He clenched his eyes shut, as if he was savoring the moment. When he slowly opened his eyes and brought them up to Harleen, she saw the glistening warmth in them, the appreciation. "You're so... so good to me, aren't ya?" His voice was warm and tender, causing Harleen's skin to feel as if it was blistering again. "You're so good. So...sweet and... thoughtful."

Harleen interlaced her fingers together, then pressed her knuckles against one side of her too warm cheeks. When the words left her mouth, she sounded hesitant, uncertain, "You think so? I mean, do you... like it, Mr. J?" She blinked at him through the lenses of her glasses, worried. "If not, you can tell me. I won't get offended or nothing like that if you wanna tell me the truth?"

"That what you want, Doctor?"

"Huh?" She shook her head a little, uncomprehending. "Well, of course, I want you to tell me the truth, Mr. J. Despite what some people might think, I'm not some fragile-"

"- No, no, no," he cut through her impatiently, each no a snap of his teeth. Sighing gruffly, he closed his eyes, turning his head side to side, evidently aggravated that she was misunderstanding him. Aggravating him was the last thing Harleen wanted to do. "I mean, do ya... want to have babies, Harley Quinn?" He reopened his eyes to focus on her steadily. "Is that what you want? Kiddies, white picket fences and marriage? The... whole nine yards?"

Harleen's mouth flopped open and closed, as if she were a fish gasping for dissolved oxygen in water. She felt speechless. No one had ever asked her something like that before. How was she even meant to answer that?

"Well, I... I'm not really sure," she admitted slowly once she recovered from the shock. "I haven't really thought about it before, to be completely honest with you, Mr. J. But I suppose, with the way I was brought up, I... I think that some women aren't meant to be mothers and some men aren't meant to be fathers." Her fingers found the crystal earring on her left ear and she played with it anxiously. "What about you? Is that... something you want, Mr. J? Do you want that?"

He grunted noncommittally while tonguing around his teeth.

It sounded so at odds, asking the question to the very same man she had heard her boss speak about so negatively, on what he had done to that other inmate, in manipulating the man into committing suicide.

Harleen tried to imagine it then; Him, coming home after work, briefcase in hand, to a house filled with children. The only image she could conjure up was sort of an old fifties housewife scenario, where she'd slave away making dinner.

The thought almost made her laugh out loud. It seemed so... infantile to wonder on such a thing. She would only be kidding herself.

He was not the type of man to be a father, and she could see that quite clearly. And, unabashed as she was to acknowledge it then, Harleen didn't think she was the mothering type, either. Especially not with how cold and emotionless her mother had been towards her as a child. She feared turning out like her mother and she loathed the thought of treating any children she could potentially have in the same callous, loveless way. She would never be like her mother. Never.

A question came to her, and Harleen hesitated, twisting her earring back and forth through the hole in her ear distractedly. "What... what about love, Mr. J?" she asked quietly, an ache to know forming in her heart. "You ever been in love before?"

Another grunt was The Joker's reply while he bent low, the tip of his nose near the flowers in the pot-plant that she had brought for him again. This time, Harleen didn't hear him sniff and inhale the scent of the purple flowers in. He didn't lift his gaze to look up at her, either. A gnawing suspicion told her that maybe he wasn't used to speaking about such vulnerable things, like babies and love.

"I don't know if I've ever been in love before," she muttered, answering her own question. "But lately, I... I've been feeling strange. Like every time I'm around you, it... it sorta feels right, you know? Like I'm... home or right where I belong or something. When I'm away for the weekend or when I know we don't have another session for a couple of days, I feel... depressed and like I can hardly stand not seeing you or... or talking to you." She breathed in deeply, lifting her chin. "I've never felt that way about somebody before."

She felt as though her bones had softened into gloppy mush as she peered up at his face quickly through the frames of her glasses. He still wasn't looking her way, seemingly preoccupied on the flowers in front of him, in the fragrance of them, the way they looked.

"And, like with yesterday, when I... I told you about my mother. You never judged me when I told you about how sometimes I want to kill her. You could have said anything; that I'm crazy, that I'm... abnormal, and yet you didn't, Mr. J." She paused, breathing in again to steady her voice. She could feel it tighten, as if her voice-box was a wet rag that was being wrung-dry. "It was like you got me, like you... understand me on an intricate level. It was a really, really big thing for me, talking about it. I don't talk about that just to anybody so it... it means something real, real special to me."

She fell silent, waiting for him to respond, her heart in anxious knots. Was she saying the wrong thing? Was he even feeling it too or... was she just being silly?

When he finally spoke, his voice was only just audible; a raw, rugged passionate whisper directed down at one of the purple flower petals. "Oh, Harley, Harley. Right back at ya, baby."

Hope this chapter was okay and that you enjoyed it? Sorry if its slow moving, I just want them to establish a bond before what happens next haha. I would love to know your thoughts as usual. Thank you so much for being so lovely and kind, for taking the time to read and review, it means so much to me!