Right, gymnastics. That was the very first thing she had to get back into. She had seen some of the crazy stunts Batman liked to pull and caught a few glimpses of his crazy gear. If she was going to survive jumping around in the urban jungle after him she had to have her body in the right shape for it. Harleen signed up for a gym membership that night, particularly one that had acrobatics, and decided to see if there were any tutors for parkour in the area. There had to be, Gotham was practically famous for all of its gargoyles and statues all over the skyscrapers, at least several famous parkour artists came from here.
When she walked into Arkham the next day she was smiling, genuinely smiling, to the point where some of the others were tentatively asking her if she was okay while others were clearly relieved. The one who had the greatest smile of them all, though, was her. The one in the mirrors and reflections who was not her, the harlequin with the makeup and confident tilt of her head. The Harleen that Harleen did not know, but the one she wanted to be. She was confident, head held high, and always looked on with approval at what Harleen was doing, black-painted lips pulled into a wide smile.
Echoes were coming back to her, though, just as Batman warned. At one point she whirled around and nearly shrieked when she came face to face with a grinning Joker looming over her, every single tooth in his jaw visible. Instead of screaming or cowering, though, Harleen's first instinct was to slam her clipboard into his face as hard as she could, and that was when she came to realize he was just a vision when her attack went right through him as if he was made of smoke.
God she hoped this wouldn't become a regular thing. However, she was incredibly proud of herself for not cowering this time and for fighting back. Good job, brain, you show those traumatic memories who's boss!
But she wouldn't go into Joker's cell yet. That was far too soon. She would make him wait.
She handed her resignation back into Arkham and told him that she had reconsidered, that she wanted a permanent position in Gotham, instead. He barely looked up from his work, but she heard the approval and relief in his voice as one of their best young doctors decided to stay. "So few of them do," he added with a smile.
I can't imagine why, Harleen did not say as she thanked the director and showed herself out. Anyone who stays here for any length of time is cracked in the head. Doesn't matter whether they're the patients or staff.
Weightlifting was utter torture, holy moly. How in the world did Batman manage to do this so often to look like he did? She knew he had to have some sort of routine, probably squirreled away in that crazy cave of his. Schwarznegger would have wept at the sight of the Caped Crusader, in pure male pride. Meanwhile Harleen was burning her muscles to cinders just through a few of these routines, but she had to build muscle.
It took her a week or two to rethink her position, and realize that she was being kind of an idiot. And not from her own insight, either, even though she sorely wished it had been.
"What is the definition of insanity, Doctor?" Riddler asked her casually as she sat in front of him once more.
She didn't look up from her note taking. She had already written a detailed analysis of him the last time she had been in here, and while jotting down a few more details never hurt, it was not the main reason she had come in here.
Her list was growing bigger by the minute. Strengths: Intelligence! , insight, charisma, knows how to get under people's skin, knows how to make himself seem harmless, Intelligence. She had to write that twice because she was quickly realizing the more she talked to Riddler the more she realized that everyone else was a complete idiot for downplaying him compared to other titans such as Joker and Scarecrow and Killer Croc. That was precisely what Riddler wanted, to go unnoticed, to be seen as the good one. That was why he escaped so many times and why each and every time everyone was so surprised. For goodness sake Harleey was half-certain that he could make a pretty good escape attempt right this minute, if he actually wanted to. It did not slip her notice that unlike every single other inmate here, whenever Riddler escaped it always took Batman a while to bring him back, and always when he caught him in the middle of some other scheme of his.
Weaknesses: psychological compulsion to tell riddles and the truth. Narcissism. Can be easily flattered. Physically weak.
"The dictionary says 'a severely disordered state of the mind usually occurring as a specific disorder,'" she replied absently as she wrote. "But, knowing you, you don't mean that. Let's try Einstein's definition: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Am I close?"
"Bingo! You're good!" Riddler said with a laugh, lounging sideways in his chair. "So tell me Doctor Quinzel, why do you persist in trying to build up your physical strength? You will never compete or even come close to matching Batman in taking down criminals."
Her pen stopped writing. She did not look up, did not acknowledge him because she knew flattering his ego was a mistake. He already knew he got her, the best to do was to minimize his victory as much as possible. He also already knew the truth, lying to Riddler when he clearly knew something was an utter waste of time. Playing along with his game was far, far better with the results. "And why do you think so?" she asked pleasantly, leaning backwards.
"Because you're a woman," Riddler said with absolutely no sugar coating whatsoever.
That finally made her lift her eyes, and Riddler grinned at her, a chuckle escaping his lips. "I fail to see your point," Harleen said, forcing her voice to stay calm.
"Of course you do," Riddler replied, sounding bored. "Athena you are not, Quinzel, more like Aphrodite with your swooning." He grinned a little at whatever expression he saw on her face. "Batman exercises to build his muscle because he's a man, he is fully capable of punching villains with his barbaric fists and winning in fights with them because that's what he is made to do. No matter what our current modern ideals tell us, Quinzel, you will never be able to match him in physical strength no matter how hard you try." He leaned forward, grinning. "Riddle me this: What common trait makes the wolf, the hawk, the snake, the shark, such successful hunters?"
Quinzel frowned a little. It wasn't really much of a riddle, but she decided to think. "They're all different animals with different methods of hunting, living in vastly different environments. There really isn't much in common between them," she said with a shrug.
Riddler scowled at her. "Oh really Doctor, is that all you can think of?" he said derisively. "You'll never be an assistant to Batman like that."
She was going to hit him with her clipboard if he kept that up. She curled her toes in her boots and bit the inside of her cheek to keep calm. Alright, fine, she would play his game. Considering how different all the animals were scientifically, there had to be some sort of similarity that was fairly asinine and more metaphorical than anything.
Wait, he had already given her that one. They were all hunters, he had said it. And they were successful because of how they had evolved to—"They're successful because they play to their strengths," she replied, meeting his eyes. "The hawk uses its eyes and wings so it may strike where no one sees it, the shark can smell blood from miles away and its teeth are razor sharp for rending prey, the—"
"Yes yes, you get the point!" Riddler said, waving his hand dismissively. "A man's advantage is in his physical strength, his size. Nothing a woman will ever hope to match, but she has her own set of strengths too." He looked at her knowingly.
Harleen was trying very, very hard not to look stupidly stunned by what he was saying. Of course it made sense, everyone had their own strengths and weaknesses and someone didn't need to be physically strong in order to get the better of an opponent in a brawl. After all Riddler himself was as thin as a rake, Harleen doubted he could even move his own couch without needing help, and he could, would, and often did wipe out whole teams of officers before Batman would swoop down to apprehend him just because he knew how to fight.
She would have to also enroll in a self-defense class later. In fact the whole method of teaching in those was about acknowledging a woman's natural disadvantages when facing against a man, and teaching her to use her natural advantages.
And what was her strength? Her gymnastics. Her flexibility. Her guile, her psychologist brain. Riddler made up for his lack of muscle by using weapons like his cane, she was going to have to learn how to fight with something similar, as well. Even Batman could do that. He had his Batarangs and who knew whatever else was packed away in that crazy belt.
Why Riddler had decided to give her another push, Harleen had no idea. The whole situation seemed to just amuse him, and if he was half as clever as she thought he was (which was also simultaneously five times smarter than most people thought he was) then he was no doubt bored out of his mind sitting in his cell for some kind of opportunity that only he knew how to identify in order to escape. Riddler liked messing with people, liked forcing their minds to think in paths he set before them and controlled. That's why he often spoke in riddles, it was his way of controlling others while he held all the cards. Why he was setting her feet on the path that could very well end up with the two them eventually facing down as enemies she had no idea, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Back in her apartment, she frowned at herself in the mirror, in front of the outfit she was trying on. Red and blue jacket with red and blue shorts. Squares of color, unmatching, asymmetrical. Pigtails, caked white makeup on her skin, heels and shorts—no no, too impractical. But crazy was what she was going for, right?
Maybe she should dye her hair. Or not dye it, dye the ends?
No no, that was silly.
Red and black, perhaps? A corset to show her figure, ponytails once more...red and black hair? Maybe one of her leather jackets to go over it?
She held the outfit in front of her, then ended up throwing that one on the bed too.
Maybe a tutu? She looked so cute in a tutu! Where was that old one she showed up to last year's Halloween party in? Chainsaw massacre ballerina Barbie!
That made her pause for a moment in thought. Well, she certainly couldn't say she didn't fit into Arkham, at least a little.
Harleen tapped her chin in thought, then simply sighed and tossed it aside. Maybe later.
She scrapped her muscle building routine, instead focusing on her gymnastics and her exercises that affected the whole body, not just things that built up arm and leg muscles. She was going to have her whole body be a weapon, something that would always be ready no matter what was going to be thrown at her.
Also she took up those self-defense and martial arts classes she said she would. How she was even managing to sleep at this rate was beyond her, she was dead tired every time her face hit the pillow. How in the world Batman managed this kind of life was beyond her. Oh wait, that was right, he had no life. Now she was absolutely certain of it, there was no way he could manage a damn job at this rate unless he was totally insane and had coffee on an IV drip stashed somewhere on his person. Knowing him she wouldn't be terribly surprised, but it was much more logical to assume that he just had his Batman persona as most of his life. Whatever he had to do in the public eye must have been relatively minor.
Yet while her muscles ached, after a while the burn went away. It started to feel less like she was forcing a badly rusted machine into doing something and more like she had polished and oiled it beforehand before revving it up. Harleen simply felt stronger, faster, better in what she was doing. Her mind felt sharper, her movements quicker, and she felt less and less vulnerable each time she flattened one of her teachers after learning a new lessons.
Joker was going to get one hell of a surprise the next time he tried to jump her. If he was going to bother to.
Maybe a full body suit? She needed to hide her identity as well, after all. These criminals were vindictive, and many of them already knew her name and face. She had to hide some of it at least. Black and red, she liked that combination, and the white makeup. But didn't that look a little too much like Joker?
Or maybe that was the point. Taking him, taking what terrified her in him, and making it into her own identity, her own strength. She would use it against him.
A cute little jester hat, perhaps? Or was that overdoing it? She glanced at herself in her mirror again. A bunch of bells would be awfully cute. But...nothing was final yet. She decided to look at what was on the internet later.
"Hey there Doc. Whatcha smilin' all to yourself for?" Joker's voice leered at her from the glass of his cell as she walked by. "You look so pretty like that. Must have been somethin' special, huh?"
Harleen froze in her tracks, her heart giving a huge thud against her ribs. Joker couldn't stand seeing her in a good mood. Every time he saw her smiling or having even a remotely nice day he would try his best to say something to her, to inflame her, or to simply remind her that he still existed and was watching her. That he had his claws in her still.
Quite frankly, she was starting to get tired of it. She needed to be done with him, to wash her hands of his filth forever.
"You have such a sweet smile, Doctor Quinzel," Joker whispered. She could hear his grin. "I miss it so much. It makes me wanna talk to you."
She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. You know what? He wanted a fight, then fine. She could play that game. She would take his game and beat him at it.
Still smiling, Harleen turned around slowly and met his gaze. It was cold, chilling, and black, and she forced herself not to cringe from it. "I'd like to talk to you too, Joker," she replied, adjusting her glasses and readying her clipboard.
Of course, even if Joker was phased by her sudden change in behaviour, he didn't show it at all. Instead he just grinned and grinned, ever wider until it looked as if his face would split from it. "Oh Doctor Quinzel," he purred as he opened his mouth and licked the glass door, "you spoil me."
Five minutes later she found herself in the chair in front of him again, but this time with two heavily armed guards flanking her. It didn't make her feel that much safer, to be honest. If anything the fact that Joker didn't seem to give a damn about them being there was an even bigger indicator that it was a pointless gesture. Or maybe he was bluffing. Harleen wouldn't put it past him at all. She did take a small bit of satisfaction in knowing that even if he did somehow manage to leap out of his chair (he was chain to it this time but let's be honest it wasn't like that really stopped him) and kill her then he would most likely be joining her soon after. These guards had twitchy trigger fingers.
She wrote quickly and fluidly, mapping out traits that she had already discovered a long time ago but refused to write down.
Strengths: insanity, deviousness, cleverness, ruthless, cold, willing to do absolutely anything to get what he wants.
Weaknesses: insanity, mania, easily distracted, can be flattered, narcissism, obsession with Batman.
"Whatcha got there, Doc?" Joker asked with a small chuckle as she scribbled on her paper. "Not gonna change my medicines again, are ya? I like these, they don't make me sleep like the others do."
"With how you like to howl at night, that might actually be a good idea," Harleen replied mildly, once again not looking up. "You disturb the other patients."
"But I don't like sleeping when I don't want to, Quinzel," Joker whined, pitching his voice in that needling way that made the hairs on her spine stand up. "I get all cranky and upset when I'm forced to sleep and I'm not tired. Makes me all grumpy when I wake up later."
At least to give him credit, he was absolutely correct in that regard. That was actually why the staff went through so much effort to give him medication that didn't put him to sleep. Joker always got notoriously, dangerously volatile and angry whenever he would wake up after a medically-induced rest. To the point where he had to be strapped down to his bed to stop him from harming people (and himself) and at one point he chewed his way out of his straps and managed to escape the asylum because no one had bothered to watch him. That was probably one of the senior staff's favorite stories out of him, considering it got passed around at least once every other week.
"Some chamomile always works wonders with me," she said lightly, finally turning his eyes up to look at him. Mostly because with how far he was bending down to try and look at her she was afraid he was going to hurt himself and that wouldn't go well on her record at all, no matter how much he deserved it. "Herbal remedies are safe and effective, perhaps I'll talk to the kitchen about it."
"Mmm chamomile, a flower," he replied, tilting his head with a smile that might have been considered pleasant on him. At the very least none of his teeth were showing. "You're a bit like a flower yourself, Doctor Quinzel," he added conversationally, pushing the tips of his feet against the floor in an attempt to push his chair on two legs. It sort of worked, but with how tightly chained he was to the chair he couldn't move very far.
Great, what sort of fresh hell was this? "Thank you," she said, knowing it was best to remain pleasant with him. "You are too," she continued, her smile still in place. "Like nightshade."
Joker cackled a little, no doubt enjoying being compared to a poison, but Quinzel didn't have time to regret her words before he was looking back up at her with those wide eyes, black pools of ink swimming in viscous red-veined milk. "You're delicate, soft, like a flower," he explained, his lips curling and his teeth starting to appear. Like a tiger drawing back its fangs. "All ready to be...plucked."
Bile rose up in her and it took every scrap of her restraint not to hit him with her board, and yet with how he breathed the words, so hot and heavy and clearly enjoying the mental image they brought, she wanted to scream and run and never see him again. She could barely hear the growl of one of her guards next to her, no doubt saying something threatening, while she could almost physically feel the sweat starting to pour out from her skin while her heart raced frantically in her chest.
It was like she was trapped in his grip again. How was he always able to do that to her? To make her nearly lose herself with just the mere threat of him?
Just like before Batman came and rescued her. Like—
Then her thoughts ground to a halt as she instinctively, like a drowning person clutching and leaping at the first bit of driftwood to float by, hooked onto that stray thought. The one thing that was able to blot out all distracting thoughts like nothing else could: of Batman.
She remembered his voice. Remembered how his hands felt on her when they were holding her, even if they had been holding her down. She remembered his stubbornness, his infuriating coldness, his calm, his impassivity, his pure and unbreakable strength against the dark insanity that was Gotham City. She remembered his shadow over the moon.
He would not give in to Joker's taunts. He never would, because he always kept his calm under every situation, used his brain. Because he was better than his fears and his trauma. And so was she.
As if that final piece was the last bit of the puzzle she needed, like the final chunks of garbage being thrown into a smelting pit to be melted down to make something better, she felt her fears slowly draining away. Oh it would take more than that before she would finally be truly free of him, but now? Joker had no power over her.
"I'm sorry, Joker," she said in an utterly calm, controlled voice as she gathered her clipboard. "But you are being very inappropriate right now. "I'm afraid I will have to cancel this session, until you learn how to behave yourself."
This time she saw it. The confusion, the shock at her reply not being the one he expected. It was brief, a blink-and-you-miss it moment of Joker losing his footing, before it was gone and replaced with a terrifying black rage that clawed at the back of her head as she gathered her things and left. It followed her until she finally turned down into a different hall and escaped the force of his gaze.
She took a moment to rest against the wall, panting ever so slightly with a smile on her face. One of her guards asked if she was okay, and all she could do was laugh.
The drive back to her apartment felt much shorter than it usually did. Everything did, in fact. The city felt brighter, the air cleaner, her own body more weightless as she effortlessly raced up her stairs, slid her key into the lock on the very first try, and flung open her door.
Of course she was starving and bothered to take a few minutes to order some pizza (she liked her to include salmon and broccoli because she loved her brain to be in top shape, thank you very much) before she skipped off to her room.
All of the outfits she had thrown around during the last few days were there. Many of them a mish-mash of older pieces of different outfits she had put together, while some of them she had made herself. She had a bit of practice in sewing due to a brief love of it during her early teen years, but it was kind of like riding a bicycle. When she started it, she took right off with it.
Black and red. Her colors. The black of Batman, of Gotham's night that he frequented so often. Red as a gaudy, flashy warning. Red like Robin. Red like the smile of Joker. Black and red, like diamonds and spades. Hearts and clubs. Her suit was finally finished and laying on the bed in front of her, waiting. Full body, just like she wanted, fitting her like a second skin so no stray scrap of clothing would get caught on anything when she was flipping around.
Really Batman, that cape was flashy and intimidating as hell but it had to be inconvenient. Or maybe not. Harleen had a feeling that no one but him would ever manage to make it work.
Sliding into it was easy and comfortable, and her zipper was along her shoulder, hidden by the wide white collar she had sewn into it to cover where it was. Before she pulled up her hood (she had forgone the idea of a jester cap to merely make it part of her whole outfit instead) she had to finish her makeup first, though. Well, she used the term loosely. White face paint was not really a true makeup, but she still hade makeup involved so it still counted a little!
She painted her face in broad, excited strokes, watching in delight as the pale, shimmering white covered her skin, hiding any features that might have made her recognizable. How much people relied on what they were used to seeing, in order to identify someone! She barely could tell that it was herself! When she had it good and thickly painted on she waited for it to dry some, before setting it with a white face powder. Then came the lipstick. She couldn't find a single brand out there that was dark and glossy enough for her, so she made one herself. Vaseline and black, glittering eyeshadow worked absolute wonders and allowed her to paint her lips in a far more precise shape than any tube of lipstick could.
When it was finally dry, she tied up her hair, put it under her wig cap, and then flipped up her hood, making sure it fit just as snugly around her head as she measured it. Oh, perfect. There was no way it was going to randomly fall off or slide off her head like this, if anything she had an extra collar just for that. She giggled and flicked one of the bells at the end of her jester hat, listening to it tingle happily.
As her final touch, she slid her black mask on her face. It was little more than an eye-mask with holes cut into it, but the effect was more than enough, and the new Harley Quinzel was staring at her from the mirror with a bright, cheerful smile and a wicked glint in her gaze.
No no, not Harleen Quinzel. Harley Quinn. That's what her name would be. The little harlequin to tail Batman and give the criminals of Gotham one more thing to fear in the night.
She looked at herself and laughed a little, spinning around to look at herself.
Yes, she was ready.