Chapter 3 – Bad Day

Harleen adjusted her skirt as she prepared for her ten thirty session. The highlight of each week. Today was the first day they'd hold it in her therapy room. She'd worked hard for that one but after three months of slow information and no incidents during their sessions, working her way to sitting in a room with guards and Joker unbound, she'd managed to coerce Arkham to allow it. The guards would still be posted outside her room, a panic button within reach to put it on lockdown should he do anything. But it was the only way to get him to open up. He hated that room they'd started in. The one he called the 'interrogation room'. And really, he had a point.

She'd learnt things here and there. The first kill he'd made that he remembered at least; someone who had screamed at his deranged appearance. How he felt about 'The Bat'; that particular interest bordered on obsession. That he made up the explosives and gun use as he went along confessing that the rumours were wrong about his military experience and considering the number of times he'd accidentally fired off a round he was astounded people thought otherwise. His exaggerated offence had put her in fits of giggles.

What Arkham didn't know is she'd paid for these titbits of information in a way no doctor ever should. But Joker told her she was fascinating. That he wanted to know more about her. She saw the sweet talking a mile away but was still flattered.

He had been genuinely surprised when she told him how she'd become a psychiatrist after her own doctor had helped her. Then he'd asked about her parents. He'd been silent for a long time after that like he was digesting. She wanted to ask him about it but that ran a little too off topic. And she was already worried about the guards telling Arkham.

Shaking off her apprehension she took one last look around her room. They'd removed nearly everything that could be used as a weapon but she insisted on keeping some personalisation. A bowl of candy on her desk in one corner, a pile of plushies near the couch she let her patients stretch out on. She hoped he liked it.

She sucked in a breath when the door opened. The guards escorted a cuffed Mr J inside who took a cursory glance around the room. The one who was always the first to point his gun at Joker raised an eyebrow at Harleen as if asking for confirmation. She could almost hear the thought of 'your funeral' when she bobbed her head insistently. He did as he was told and unlocked the handcuffs after the ones on Joker's ankles. A look of something flashed in the Clown Prince's eyes but whatever it was he suppressed it and watched stoically as the guards left the room and locked the door behind them.

When they were gone he turned to her, arms open theatrically and a fond smile in place like he was greeting an old friend. Harleen rose from her chair perhaps a little too quickly to cross the room and take one of his hands in a firm shake, almost going in for a hug but stopping herself.

"Harley! This feels so…appropriate." He complimented but something in his tone suggested it was an insult. Harleen's eager smile faltered as she glanced around the room wondering what she needed to change. She attempted to brush it off as she reached for the two cups on her desk before escorting him to the lounge. It was high and plush. Joker delighted in bouncing onto it a few times trying to ignore the plastic she offered him.

"Mr J." She insisted earning rolled eyes and a grunt that basically said 'fine, if I have to'. He took the cup, offered a cheers as he clapped it to the one she held for herself and they both took their medication. It had been an idea of hers after Arkham had complained no one was really able to get him to take his pills without risk of injury. Since Joker knew about her treatment she'd suggested taking them together.

Harleen didn't want to broach electroshock therapy, not yet though it was something she had discussed with Arkham. While Joker was always very pleasant with her, avoiding anymore playful yanking of her arms, he had proven violent to others. The guard who had brought him breakfast about a month ago still complained of pain in the fingers he had broken. That had delayed her requests for a private session significantly.

"So many cats." Joker commented as he looked over the pile of soft toys. Harley missed the slight derision in his tone, gushing over how adorable kitties were. She didn't even notice the way he looked at her for it.

"Harley..." He said her name as a long sigh, a 'what am I to do with you' sigh that made her stomach flutter. "You are so…adorable." He confessed inciting that red tinge on her cheeks. No matter how many times she spent in front of the mirror telling herself she wouldn't blush today, she always did. He did it deliberately too. Like he enjoyed it. That made it worse.

"Would you like to continue from our last session Mr J?" She asked cautiously to change the subject. She'd been on the verge of some sort of breakthrough. He'd mentioned wanting to do stand up. A whiff of a past.

"How about we do you first? You don't mind if I do you?" Joker retorted making himself comfortable on her couch. Rain began to hit the windows distracting him for a moment as he realised there was a chance at freedom here. Did he risk it? Did he run for it and see how things turned out? Chaos was in his nature after all. He was beginning to think Harley would bounce back if he did; she always seemed to bounce back when he hurt her with his words. It was a very odd trait he was exploring carefully.

Harleen of course blushed at the innuendo and did that thing where she dusted her hair behind her ears. He hated it; it made him want to roll his eyes. But doing that would let her onto his secret so he decided to watch her hands closely like they fascinated him.

"Where were we? Ah! That's right! Your father had just killed your mother." Harleen didn't even know she'd been played.

She was interrupted three times by the guards informing the hour and that the session was meant to finish. Eventually she told them she was extending it and to advise staff she wouldn't be treating her other patients today. Whispers of being on the verge of a breakthrough were greatly exaggerated.

Instead she was the one telling him her life story. He had asked her very particular questions about her mother's death. Ones that had unsettled her. What had her screams sounded like? How long was her father still beating her before he realised she was dead? He'd greatly enjoyed her tale of her father, covered in blood, sweeping her into his arms and fleeing. They'd been found five days later on the run.

Joker had expressed wanting to meet the man, interrupting her stories about living with her aunt. Harley had gone quiet then, something that he bit into relentlessly until she confessed that he was dead too. He'd been placed on executioner's row after the number of people, and guards, he'd killed in the riot that had broken out on her first visit. She'd only been allowed to visit him three more times before she watched them inject him with toxins.

"So that's why you fight so hard for the Asylum." Joker observed. Harleen realised she had been crying and wiped at her eyes. It was getting dark but she loved talking to him so much she hadn't even turned the light on. She was glad for it now. How pathetic must he think she was?

"Well, I believe we've made a great breakthrough today Miss Quinzel!" He declared, moving to sit up like they were done. She could hear the glee in the role reversal. It reminded her why she was here and her jaw set stubbornly.

"Your turn." Her tone brooked no argument, squaring her shoulders when he sighed long and hard in a 'worth a shot' statement.

"Didn't realise we were playing 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'." He complained while lying back down.

He could lie. Any old sob story would do. The idiot was eating out of his hand most days. Just put on his best act and go. But he found as he told the story that elements, sometimes opposing though she didn't notice, came from the flickers of potential memories he had left from the before.

And boy did she eat it up. Even in the darkness, the little beam of light through the blinds showed him enough to confirm she fell for him with every word. Her compassion was sickening but also entertaining. He had long determined his efforts to contact his crew were fruitless. She was his escape, her trust was the key. He was rather certain her loyalty was all but cemented.

"So little Miss Harley Quin. That was my very bad day." He concluded, sitting up in the darkness. At some point he'd removed his shirt. Why hadn't she noticed that? Now she did as the light coming through the blinds illuminated strips of white flesh like a pedestrian crossing.

"That acid must have been painful." The words came out a whisper. This poor, tortured man in front of her, this man she was destined to fix.

"Yes…well, at least my skin's numb to it now." He confessed trying to light his eyes in a playful way but it was half-hearted. So that was how he could withstand all the beatings he received from Batman. His nerve endings were damaged. "But some things I can still feel…strongly." The words were purred from his mouth while he held out his hand to her. A little too eagerly she took it in a firm grip so he could feel anything. His fingers dusted across her wrist.

Harleen knew what he was doing, that should have helped her resist it. But it didn't. This brilliant, terrible, amusing, sad man just needed someone to love him. To fix him. She could do it, she knew she could. She just had to reach down and pull him out of the darkness if he would just let it go.

Realising she'd held his hand a little too long she pulled back trying to ignore the way he watched her. She felt like a lamb again from that look. Like he was about to pounce.

"Oh my. It's gotten really late. I think we better finish up here for today." It was a weak withdrawal. He was trying to look affectionate still but there was that slight sneer on his face he got sometimes. The one that made her feel like she'd disappointed him. She hated it. But at least today she had had a major breakthrough. When she gave Arkham her report he would surely approve of more private sessions.

Joker sat on his little cloud. He'd polished off half of her candy bowl as he told random stories, praising her for helping him unlock his memories in their past sessions. So many since her 'breakthrough'. He joked, she laughed, he smiled like he adored it. She let him sneak out with some of her toys, she sneaked him treats. They played a game of cards. Then he'd regale her with more tales to show just how much he trusted her. He got a little lost in the act greatly exaggerating some details. When he left here he needed to give Bats a present. One had to properly thank a friend for putting them up for such a long time.

"You said your name was Jack." Harleen's voice interrupted his story breaking him from his distracted thoughts. Joker staggered in his chair wondering why the details really mattered. But then he noticed the look in her eyes. She was hurt. What had he said that hurt her? Surely something more than a different name, she wasn't very good at noticing the contradictions in his stories anyway.

"Well…I guess my memory is still fuzzy after all. Can't tell what's true and what's not." He excused. Of course he did, it was an easy scapegoat and that fuelled the anger sinking in her stomach. She'd spent the morning with Arkham discussing his first electroshock therapy. Dr Crane, who was very pissed at the fact Harleen had lasted so long with the Clown Prince, someone he was eager to treat, had dismissed the progress everyone was praising her for. He'd gone on to say that the Joker was playing her for a fool. This had raised doubts with Jeremiah though he still thought the therapy should go ahead. She shouldn't have let him get to her but she'd started this session watching more keenly for the ways he deliberately acted; the flirting, the aloof praise.

So what if he did? So what if he was lying? He still treated her different. There was some truth to it, there was.

"Doc, what's with the frown on your pretty little face?" Mr J asked, leaning forward in his seat. He ran his cold hand through the green of his hair. It was a habit she'd noticed. He usually did it when he was thinking, scheming at his fastest.

"The higher dose of medication hasn't worked." She commented checking her notes. She was referring to blank slate. Fair. It had just been so hard to resist the idiot giving him the perfect opportunity to shove the keys into his neck. He wondered if the kid could still talk. But Joker hated that she was ignoring his question. Something had happened, something had changed. She was in a bad mood today. Was someone interrupting his work? Someone had. He needed to send them a present. A nice bullet perhaps.

"Dr Arkham and I have decided to begin a new treatment with you. To help with the psychosis." Oh, no, no, no. He knew where this was heading. He was putting a stopper on this. He wasn't going on higher doses to the point he was a drooling pool of nothing.

"Harley." He said her name in that best friend's tone. But her guard was up. Okay, this person who had undone his work was getting several bullets. Perhaps for their family first.

"This afternoon we'll commence your first electroshock therapy session." She didn't even look at him as she said it. The coward. If you're going to torture someone wear it with pride. A sneer formed on his face, the façade abandoned once he realised it was much worse than pills.

"Surely we could try something else Dr Quin-zel? I mean, flossing my brain seems a bit extreme. I thought we were going so well?" He asked. Using her impersonal title caused her anger to falter. There was that look in her eyes, the one that always silently asked for forgiveness when she'd disappointed him. But offence seemed to have a tighter hold on her. He sneered, sitting up properly. "Harley, come on." He changed tact trying to appear sweet. But she didn't change her mind.

A shock of rage flashed through him. He had just enough self control to aim the bowl beside her head instead of at it when he threw it. He couldn't risk her changing her mind on him because he'd smashed her face. It crashed into the wall behind her and she jumped but still she remained stern even when he swept up to stand over her in intimidation. The door to her office swung open revealing that hidden discreetly in her hand was a panic button. Greg stood there with the new guy who now aimed a shotgun at him. A shotgun, of all things? What kind of madhouse was this? They were ready for the zombies to attack.

Oh, this good little girl. This little tart. A spoiled princess he had denied and now she was throwing her tantrum. He tried to plead, to appeal to her sympathy but his act fell on a deaf audience even three hours later when he was strapped to a table in a laboratory. Her little lab rat. She was the one who administered the muscle relaxant. She'd pay for that.

All thoughts of revenge vanished when the first volts went through his skull. His memories or sort of memories flashed up in front of him. Some went up in flames, the ones he suspected might have been real, had he suspected that? They were twisted too. Which ones were they? The ones with the bat were worse than ever, some monstrosity from a horror movie staring back at him with glowing eyes. He laughed at the demon though; there was something funny about it.

Bright red blooms. She'd said that. The red roses that spread on people's chests when you shot them or punched them long enough. Black and blue. Black and blue. Bruises spreading. Then she was there. That woman, that insufferable woman. Oh, he'd get to her. When he'd burned this castle to the ground. But she was so pretty. She danced in front of him through a deck of cards. The suits complimented her well, the red and black. Diamonds, spades, aces, hearts. And he was the Joker to complete the set. The main card, the trump. The one that won the game.

When the relaxant wore off he was back in his cell. His memories from after the treatment played back to him in the wrong order, some of the words muted. Laughter, maybe his, maybe someone else's. The look of guilt on her pretty little face. Regret. Pleading for forgiveness. She didn't have to plead. She'd given him a present. He'd return the favour one day.

It was their first session since his therapy. The reports had said he'd been docile in the days following. The guards had barely needed to monitor him. Arkham was pleased. She still remembered the look he'd shot her afterwards. She'd done something horrible.

Then she had gone home and she'd cried. She'd begged her father to come hold her but he wasn't there. So she'd curled into a ball and wept on the floor alone. She was helping him, she was; she was. It was a perfectly safe medical procedure. It would help him. Help him distinguish what was real and what was not.

She tried to use that as her armour as the clock ticked down to his arrival but dread still sunk her stomach. The first thing she noticed was the vacant stare when the guards brought him in. Head of security had wanted this to be a monitored session just as a precaution. She'd insisted that it needed to be kept private. She had to make up for what she had done. His head lolled around his shoulders as he watched the guards leave from the corners of his eyes. He didn't take a seat. There was something intimidating about his vacant expression. Something that had her on edge, her fingers twitching for her panic button.

"How are you feeling?" She asked. A dark look crossed his eyes. He didn't smile.

"Shocking." He answered but there was no laughter in his joke and she wouldn't dare. Of course she wouldn't. She knew what she'd done. The little bitch. His anger got the best of him and with a startled shriek from her, he launched forward, knocking her to the ground, slapping her little alarm out of her hand and clenching hard around her throat.

"J, you're hurting me." She gasped out struggling fruitlessly against his arms. Vaguely through his anger he heard the shouts of the guards asking if she was alright after crying out. Oh, no. He wasn't hurting her. Not yet. His fingers dug deeper. Some rational part of his brain tried to warn him that he still needed her. His rage wanted to pay her back here and now but she was his key. Couldn't break the key before you used it, especially when the lock smith wasn't answering his calls.

Joker growled in irritation, not because the guards had finally entered and were warning him to get off of her but because he was sick of this game. The punchline took too long. But he had to work with what was available to him. Before he could be pulled away from her he leaned in close, trying to look apologetic as his face brushed close enough to hers that she could feel his breath.

Then he was pulled back. He vented his frustrations, delighting in the sound when he broke Greg's arm. More guards arrived and then with his signature cackle he was dragged back to his cell.

The next few hours went by as a blur to Harleen. Her vision had swam, noises muffled by the sound of her own blood pulsing in her ears. Black spots danced, twirling like gowns at a ball. She tried not to cry, she couldn't do it. If she showed weakness, if they thought she wasn't up to the task things would go wrong. So very, very wrong. She couldn't have a very bad day. She just couldn't. She gasped in a breath that hurt when medical arrived. They helped her walk to a different room where they could tend to her wounds. But she didn't need to respond to them; there was only one person she needed to make sure she spoke to.

"Are you okay Harleen?" Arkham asked after she had been checked over and treated for minor bruising.

"Yes, I'm fine." She brushed off. She had to work fast to make sure this didn't set her back.

"I think it's time I reassigned-"

"No! No! It's okay. He was just upset because of the therapy. I've made so much progress." Harley interrupted. She couldn't lose him, not now. Screw her damn book. The way he'd looked at her after. The way he'd leaned in; he'd been going to kiss her, he had. Her father loved her mother. He beat her. Joker was just damaged like him. That was all. If she could fix him he'd be fine like her father could have been given the chance. Then she could tell him, tell him she loved him back.

Because she did. He was funny, smart, and handsome in his odd way. And he treated her special. Even the men she played for fools hadn't looked at her the way he did. She was just another thing to them but to him. To him she was something. And maybe part of that was an act but there was something real there.

Jeremiah looked at her apprehensively. He still wanted to take her off the case. She could see it. She squared her shoulders and tilted up her chin stubbornly. She wasn't leaving this room until it was confirmed she was keeping the Joker. He was her patient. He was hers dammit.

"…okay." Arkham conceded after what felt like an eternity. "But he's going in a straight jacket now and it's being held back in a max security room again." She nodded her head eagerly, bowing to any request just as long as she still got to see the Joker. It was destiny. She couldn't let it change over trivial matters. She had to make it up to him.

((A/N: Thanks for those few that are reading. Sorry for the delay.

I've got some nice easter eggs for other incarnations of the Joker in this one just for fun. I hope that Harleen's adoration of Joker feels like a natural shift as I tread the beginnings of unhealthy obsession. I feel like I may have been a little OOC with Joker pleading prior to the electroshock therapy. Hopefully it's not so bad as to throw people off.

Thanks again to anyone reading and once again: constructive criticism is cherished.))