Here... we... go.
Chapter 13: I Can Feel Its Approach Like Fire, In My Blood
I was roused from my usual deep thoughts by a harsh knock on my door. I immediately recognised the knock to be Joan's. Only her raps on the door were as short and sharp as the ones that had disturbed me then; she understood and shared my distaste for elaborate, bothersome knocks.
"Come in," I beckoned. "Hey Joan. What's up?" I asked, trying to remain casual, but ultimately failing. I and Joan both knew that since The Joker had escaped over a week ago, we only ever spoke when it was of significance to either of us, meaning when there was anything related to the Joker. Joan firmly held in her hands the latest newspaper. She plopped it down on my desk, and folded her arms sternly, expression unreadable. I gingerly picked it up, fearing what new developments would be made.
"Joker still at large: body count rises," the headline read. My heart sank; he must have been so alone and frightened; if he'd killed anyone, it would have been because they had tried to hurt him first, like an injured animal. Anyone that fell victim to his retaliations deserved it. However, I decided to keep those opinions to myself. As tolerant as Joan was of my strange old ways, I doubt she'd accept my recent shift in perspectives to the way in which I saw most people's murders as justified in one way or another.
"How are you, Harley?" Joan asked softly, shoulders loose and rolled back; she was trying to engage with me. I stifled a dark chuckle; she chose the wrong week to engage me in anything.
"It's been a week, Joan! How much longer can this go on for? And if he's brought in, Peters probably won't even let me continue working with him now he knows how our sessions went and that Mr- I mean… Joker targeted me when he escaped." I responded, rubbing my eyes, no longer concerned about my appearance, with now-smudged eyeliner added to the tired effect. Joan sighed and turned to leave, seemingly resigned to my despair.
"Don't say I didn't warn you at the beginning of this mess, Harley. If he's brought in, you and I both know I'll do all in my power to let you continue your work with him." She said, before shutting the door behind her.
I rolled my eyes at my former mentor's abrupt attitude, before catching sight of the scar on my wrist; I couldn't help admiring it slightly. I'd always been abnormally drawn to tattoos and scars- they were like stories, untold tales on the skin. And that scar's story was very interesting indeed. Sentimentality got the better of me, and before I could block out the story, my heart tightened with something more than just remembering something good. It was love. Yes, as crazy as it sounded, I found myself missing the Joker. I laughed bitterly as I figured that I belonged in Arkham as much as the other patients did.
I got the joke and understood life now, and that of course made me 'different' from the others- the helpless souls that fell for society's rules and seriousness. The 'normal' people.
"The world can't handle someone being different. They have to lock anyone who's different away. The world's cruel like that, you see? It's cruel and corrupted, just like Mr J. There's no salvation here." Everyone's out to hurt each other, I added silently. Before I could slip even further down the rabbit hole that was my mind, a sudden commotion and uproar began to kick up outside my office, accompanied by the sound of several high heeled shoes clonking down the hall in the same direction; the elevator. The shouts and excited phrases in hushed tones made me wonder, a flicker of hope flaring in my chest. What could rile up such a boring group of people, but the arrival of something- or someone?
Suddenly, Peters burst in, red of face and hair bedraggled along with a distinct lack of coherent breathing. I jumped to my feet, hopeful assumptions getting the better of me, and with seemingly good reason. He wouldn't have burst in if it wasn't a dire emergency.
"It's him," he panted. I needed no further explanation. Sprinting as fast as I could, I pushed past Peters and out of the office, following the direction of the commotion and ignoring Peters' breathy objections to my rush of pushy eagerness.
Ahead, only five or so steps away, held a crowded mound of thriving bodies, clustered in disorganisation. Through the swarm, I felt a surge of hatred course through me as I spotted the form of Batman; his set jaw and bulky, huge outfit imposing everyone who stood by him. Who he stared at near the ground was obscured from my view. Using my arm to propel and guide me through the cluster of nurses who began to complain about my breathless bustling until I called out that "he is my patient", assuming it could only be him, I pushed through and finally emerged in the clearing, to the centre where the object of their attention lay. And there, crumpled at Batman's feet, bloodied and broken, lay The Joker.
Shock snatched away my breath and I gasped with the last of my stolen air, tears immediately screening my eyes and beginning to trickle down my face, burning and singing my cheeks with fury. A small puddle of blood crowned his head and decorated the floor like spiders' webs, whilst gashes and bruises littered his skin like confetti. No doubt delivered to him by Batman.
I dropped to my knees, forgetting any form of dignity, and cradled my motionless patient in my arms, scooping him up like a concerned mother would for her child. A crooked smile stained his face, but I knew it was most definitely a performance. After weeks with my patient, I could tell when he was genuinely smiling and when he wasn't. Any crack in his composure would ruin everything for him, so he pretended like he wasn't in pain. This new information made me feel what could only be described as black. Bile rose in my throat, my teeth grating together in anger. My eyes burned as I glared with as much contempt and fury as I could muster at Batman, whose frown was evident even through his partly obscured face, jaw now set in discontent.
The crowd of insignificant nuisances suddenly hushed when they at last took notice of my tears, as if they expected me to make some emotional speech and fly away into the sunset with The Joker in my arms. I closed my eyes and chose to shut them all out, wanting it to just be me and Mr J alone together, but my ignorance was short-lived.
"Why does she care so much about him? He's sick in the head. It's weird," I heard one of the newer doctors mutter. My eyes snapped open and I whipped my head like lightning to face the culprit.
"I see more of the Joker than just his mentality," I spat, "I see him as a person, an actual human being who needed my help. I also see the corruption of those who had the nerve to think they could treat him by shocking him near to death repeatedly, as if that wouldn't worsen his fragile state of mind!" The doctor blushed and stared at his feet, flinching as I then lashed my arm out to point stubbornly at Batman.
"None of this would have happened if it weren't for you, Batman! None of it!" I screamed, vocal chords straining to appease my sudden demand and rush of emotion. Batman looked taken aback and turned his head to a fuming Peters for an explanation, to which he could offer none.
Instead, the boss nodded to four security guards who stood by, who then marched forward and snatched The Joker from me. My arms burned from where he once lay cradled, and I brokenly yelled out in defiance as The Joker was dragged away from me, from my protection.
I would have been able to restrain myself to silence if it weren't that his tightly closed eyes opened briefly to wink at me, in reassurance, as if to say "I'll be fine". As he did so, blood began to drip from a gash lodged just above his eyebrow, and then his head slumped backwards, and he was unconscious, grin agape, eyes fluttered closed again. I finally understood what it meant to have your heart break.
The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving me alone in the hallway with Peters, who seemed to be just as red-faced as he was when it was from breathless surprise. Now, it was from an entirely different emotion, and one that had far less benefit for me.
"Harleen, never in all my years at Arkham have I seen such a display of insolence and lack of professionalism! Don't walk away from me when I address you!" He yelled, as I stormed away back to my office, shaken. When I reached my door, he pulled me back by my collar, despite my protests.
Bile rose in my throat once again and I considered spitting it in his eye and showing him who ran this show, because by God it wasn't him. The only person who's ever allowed to tell me what to do is Mr J. But the thought of not being able to treat The Joker again was more important than teaching a bastard a lesson about superiority, so I decided to cool off slightly, allow him to have his rant, and deal with the problem another time.
"You'll be lucky if you see this through to the end of the week, after your little performance out there!" He spat, teeth bared in an animalistic, failed display of dominance. Feeling the door's handle with my hand, I pulled it down, pushed the door open with my back and escaped Peter's hammy grasp, slamming it in his face, smirking privately at his cry of pain through the door.
"I'll leave the moment The Joker does!" I retorted, locking the door with a reassuring click, knees weakening.
"Does that mean when he escapes, or when he's cured?" Peters sneered, before his boots began to squeak away, incoherent grumbles following the way he paved. I'm free for now, I thought.
I couldn't deny that he had a good point; if he tried to escape again, would I join him for the next round? Or would I rather see him cured? In the heat of the moment when he paid me a visit before escaping last time, I'd considered it; he seemed so happy, and it made me think about how much happiness he'd been neglected from due to other people's evil. I decided that I would join him no matter what; it was a case of whichever saw The Joker most happy. I allowed myself to be consumed in my own dismal thoughts, losing all sense of time. When I had collected myself enough to become aware of my environment, my fingers twitched towards the phone. I checked the time and realised I'd been thinking and musing over The Joker for forty minutes. I picked up the phone, shaking off the black cloud looming over my head as much as I could, and speed-dialled the only person I knew I could call.
"Harley? Are you alright?" Joan's familiar voice blared over the phone, tone laced with urgency. It gave me comfort but also slightly annoyed me; it was clear she'd heard everything that had taken place when the Joker was returned.
"What did you hear?" I sighed, already knowing the answer, but entertaining the possibility that I was wrong about her for once.
"Everything- I was in Crane's cell at the time; Peters' voice travels surprisingly far when he's angry."
"What should I do?! What can I do?" I fretted, after almost a total minute of anxiously rolling my bottom lip around my teeth. The tension frazzled the air, almost like static popping in my ears, the weight of my thoughts and mind and feelings all crashing together and melding into one.
"I can't believe these words are about to leave my mouth, but… I think The Joker needs you, and not in the traditional psychiatrist-to-patient sense. That's why Peters is so mad; you are the only one able to get anything out of The Joker. He… He needs you, and it pisses Peters off." Joan struggled, as if something was holding me back; upon reflection, it wasn't hard to hear that. My heart fluttered, and just like that it clicked into place. I associated need with love; I'd been aware and perhaps in denial of the emotion since he'd kissed me, but I forced myself to acknowledge the beautiful, desperate emotion for what it was. So that's what it is. This whole time. The weird feelings, the constant nervous butterflies, the red… I'm in love with The Joker. I'm in love with a mass murderer and certified nutso. I gotta hand it to you Harley, you really can choose 'em.
"Harleen..? Did you hear what I just said?" Joan insisted, and I realised I'd missed whatever it was she'd said. I managed to focus herself, as clear as the alien feelings I'd been having in the past had become, I had to focus on the matter at hand.
"Yes, sorry… yeah I did. Joker needs me." I repeated blandly, resigning myself to see out the conversation and then sulk until I could figure out what to do about my former patient.
"No, what I said after; I have some updates on him. But this is off the record- it's just a casual conversation about a psychopath, okay? I don't want to get the sack because of your attachment to Joker. I said nothing." Joan warned sternly, before the sound of rustling papers could be heard on the phone. I straightened up; perhaps the information she had for me would aid my decision-making.
"Go on! I'll keep it quiet, promise." I smirked wryly at how childish I must've sounded.
"As we speak, The Joker's treatment is wrapping up now, and in precisely two hours will be returned to his cell. Fifth band certified doctors are permitted access only, so you're fine to see him and try one last time to convince him to stop or whatever you can. I suspect that Peters will want you gone, so if you can magically cure Joker now, that would be great." My lips spread into the most painfully wide grin I could've managed under the circumstances, electric excitement buzzing through me, only washed down with the fresh waves of fear and tension over what I was supposed to do with the Joker.
"Thank you so much, Joan, you've been a big help. Always a big help." I sighed, before hanging up the phone. It wasn't until I'd placed the phone on the hook that it hit me how final my words had sounded, like a strange, less morbid eulogy to the relationship I had to Joan. She'd taught me everything about Arkham; she'd guaranteed I got to treat The Joker. Indirectly, she'd changed my life and made it the way it was now- it may be messy, but I wouldn't want it any other way.
I shook the sentiment away, and went to staring at the clock, my fingers beginning to thrum a steady beat on the desk. It was a waiting game, a countdown to something far more than just a reconnection between myself and the man I now recognised to be my love, and my obsession. It was a countdown to a huge change, and I didn't think it was the Joker who'd be changing; it felt like it would be me. If Harleen was the caterpillar, I contemplated what- or who- the butterfly would be.
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