The cell was in a dire state.
Once-white, padded walls were smeared dark copper - the origins of which she tried not to dwell on. The air was stale and unpleasantly warm as if the ancient ventilation system of the asylum finally gave up after years of overuse, and the narrow, metal bed in far corner seemed to be half broken. Nevertheless, the cell was a lot more spacious than those of her other patients.
Nothing but the best for the King, thought the blonde doctor as she took in her new, gloomy workplace.
She slowly approached the heavy desk in the centre until a lean man in a straight-jacket came into view.
Harleen stopped in her tracks.
She couldn't see his face yet, but even in the dim light she could make out the unmistakably green hair.
Letting out a soft sigh, she smiled contently. She was truly meeting him. The Joker. It was the beginning of a life-changing experience, she could feel it. She just had to do it right and then...She closed the distance between them in few, impatient strides.
And she felt her heart sink.
The man she was so anxious to meet was facing her with his eyes closed. He just sat there, still as a statue, having not a care in the world that he was part of a session that was supposed to either make or break her career. She took a moment to eye his appearance. Everything from the slicked-back hair, the thin lips with remnants of red paint, the sickly pale skin, the horrible 'Damaged' tattoo sitting proudly on his smooth forehead….. It was all just like she'd imagined. He was giving her a cold shoulder, but it didn't matter.
Her dreams did come true after all!
She spread his files neatly in front of her and cleared her throat.
Nothing. Not even a twitch of mouth to indicate he was aware of her presence.
She took a deep breath.
"I wish you a good afternoon. I am your new psychiatrist -,"
"You're late, dollface."
She froze, his growl cutting through her frame like a well-sharpened knife.
"You are late to our appointment. I've sat here, bounded like an animal, for ages when you finally marched in. Now, in my field of work, keeping your partner waiting is really bad for business. Was that the note you wanted to start our relationship on, huh?"
She couldn't look away from his gaunt form as he cracked his neck from side to side. Was she imagining things or did he sound genuinely insulted?
She sat there in stunned silence until his high-pitched cackle filled the air.
"What? A shrink who has nothing to say? That's new!"
And with that, his purple eyelids flashed open and he pinned her down with a pair of merciless blue eyes.
For a moment, the man in front of her looked every bit as taken aback as she felt. However, his chapped lips soon stretched into an enormous grin. She suppressed a shiver. The bared metal teeth seemed more like a threat than a friendly gesture.
"I take my words back! You were certainly worth the wait. So, what brings you to Arkham, Dr...?"
She shook off her trance, cursing herself inwardly. What was she doing?
"Quinzel," she said as firmly as she could, "my name is Dr Harleen Quinzel. It's a pleasure to meet you. You're quite the celebrity down here."
She hoped a compliment would break the ice. She knew he loved attention. It was a 'Psychopathy 101' kind of thing. To her dismay, he just kept leering at her unblinkingly.
Clearing her throat, she quickly added: "I will be conducting these sessions with you from now on, so I hope we will get on well and that you'll benefit from our time together. You may address me as 'Dr Quinzel' or just 'Doctor', whichever you like best. What should I call you?"
"You never answered my question, Doctor. What are you doing at Arkham?" he purred as he leaned across the table, the metal clips of his straightjacket clunking on the surface. She sensed danger in his honeyed tone. An act. It was all an act. On top of that, he just somehow gained control over the therapy. How? When?
Running a hand through her ponytail in slight frustration, she decided to humor him for the moment.
"I did. I told you I am your new therapist. I am here to help you."
The howling that erupted from his form sent chills up her spine. She knew he was unstable, but this was something else. She couldn't bear it. The wild cackles kept bouncing off the walls, shaking her to the very core. She needed him to shut up... He had to shut up now!
Tears streamed down his pale cheeks as he finally calmed down.
"Help?" he croaked.
"With what? Imma a big boy, I can tie my own shoelaces."
"So you feel like you don't need help? It says here," she tapped the thick folder with her finger, "that you've been to Arkham Asylum four times already, plus five times at the Blackgate Prison - for a short amount of time. It seems pretty clear to me that you have a problem. People don't usually spend time at special security institutions just like that. Have you ever thought about why you are here?"
He gave her an intense look before leaning forward once more. She couldn't help but do the same.
"I am here," he whispered with his lips slightly parted, "because I like to be here. And after today, I like being here a lot more."
Well. She certainly didn't expect that. She felt her face burn from the unwanted attention and he gave her a small, slow grin.
This line of questioning was futile.
"Let's get back to my previous question. What should I call you? I don't address my patients by their Arkham ID number, it just doesn't feel right," she added in slight distaste. He cocked an eyebrow at her last remark. Sitting back in his seat, he measured her from underneath hooded eyelids.
"You know who I am."
"No, I don't," she retorted, "I know your…your, what do you call it? Your 'business name'. I know the persona you show to your thugs and fellow criminals. The one you so proudly present to the Gotham News. To Batman."
She saw him tense at the last remark but she continued nevertheless.
"I want to get to know the real you. The person you are when you're on your own. Without the audience, the attention. Who are you when the curtains close?"
She was shocked by her own heated monologue. She tried to control her breathing but her trembling fingers already gave her excitement away.
He laughed, the light from the small desk lamp catching in his silver smile.
"Aren't you a prying little monster? I tell you what," he leaned forward again, the restraints around his shoulders stretching.
"You gotta earn that, doll."
"Dr Quinzel," the blonde corrected him with a slight frown.
His smirk only widened.
"Fine. I'll just call you Mr Joker," she concluded with a huff, flicking through the files.
"Let's talk about your public persona then, since you are so unwilling to let it go. Do you like being a gangster?"
She leaned on her elbows, staring at him through her glasses eagerly. He sat in silence, observing her with a coy smile. It was a bold question. She could hear his mind running leaps. Calculating. Planning his next move. And deciding that remaining silent would struck her already tight nerves the most.
She gulped, casting her eyes down. It was hard, pretending that it didn't bother her. That she wasn't dying on the inside for him to talk to her. She shakily reached for his files, turning the pages over with unseeing eyes.
She was furious with herself. Why was she letting him do this?
Focus. Get in control of the situation.
It had been easy to tell herself that in her little office. Having control over the session when he was present was a lot more difficult than she'd anticipated...
She came to her senses when she reached the photos at the end. She had seen them all a thousand times. The chilling mugshot, the glittering suits, the sports cars, the customized everything. She even remembered the police file in Dr Arkham's office that showed him in 'action'. She was fascinated by those pictures the most. The gun fights, the explosions; the hell he unleashed upon Gotham whenever he felt like it. When he was bored with the usual drug dealing and racketeering. He looked so cheerful, surrounded by dead bodies and blood stains on his silk shirts. Almost as content as he seemed now…
She looked up to see him staring at her with the same unreadable expression.
Her throat tightened. The silence was getting unbearable and she knew what was happening very well.
He had lost interest.
She failed. And it was a crushing disappointment to her. As if he could hear her thoughts, he gave her a smug smile before turning away.
No.
He wouldn't dare to do that.
Not after all the effort it cost her to actually meet with him!
He was supposed to be the milestone in her career! She knew she could do this! She only had to leave an impression, catch his attention!
"What about your style, Mr Joker? Those shiny suits are sure tacky. One would think your money could buy something better. But I suppose money can't buy taste, can it?"
Pathetic. The jab was pathetic and nothing short of juvenile. If it wasn't her job at stake there, she could have laughed.
He just stared at her in amusement before shaking his head and closing his eyes once more.
It felt like death to her. She had really, truly lost.
It was game over.
When did it even happen?
Tears stung in her eyes as she began to gather the files from the table. She had to say something. She needed to keep up appearances. She needed to let him know that it wasn't her who was being dismissed so callously. She forced herself to smile:
"Well, we should call it a day. You seem tired and I am quite exhausted myself."
No response.
She would have been ashamed of herself, had she been begging for attention like this from anyone else. With him though, she could only ramble on in a strained voice.
"I will try to have these sessions moved to mornings instead of afternoons. Perhaps that will-"
"You have no sessions," his cold, bored voice cut her off for a second time that day.
"You were here on a trial. And whether you get more sessions is not up to you."
He held her gaze with those emotionless, piercing eyes.
She let out a shaky breath. How did he know? How did he know?
She heard him chuckle.
"Thought I couldn't see right through your little bluff, did ya?", he hummed in a silky voice.
"You are no professional doctor, Harleen. You are just a pretty blonde trying to prove herself. You've been seeing who until now? Cleptomaniacs from the A Unit? Good old Jerry Arkham must have a soft spot for you, doll. That, or he's even more stupid than I imagined."
She was too stunned to correct him for addressing her so inappropriately.
She watched in horror as he practically lied down on the table between them, beaming at her excitedly: "Wanna know what else I know about you? I know you're a good girl from a bad part of Brooklyn with a knack for gymnastics. After all, mommy and daddy wouldn't be able to afford the tuition fees at Gotham University without that scholarship, would they?"
She was frozen to her seat, the cool metal chair biting into her burning flesh. Staring at the grinning man in front of her with wide eyes, she heard the screaming inside her head.
How?
Just how did he know these things?
The familiar pressure of panic began to rise in her chest and she heard him sneer.
"You got enough impressions of today's session for your little book or should I continue?"
She was sure she'd forgotten how to breathe.
There was no way he could have known that. She never told anyone about her plan to write a book based on her research here at Arkham! Unless she counted that job interview with Dr Arkham, but he surely wouldn't have access to that sort of thing...
She gulped, feeling streams of cold sweat trickling down her back. When she started to shake uncontrollably, she knew she had to get out of the room fast.
"I know what you're doing. I've read your files. You may have manipulated, bullied and frightened those therapists before me into hysterics, but I am not like them! I am not afraid of you. You can never corner me, Mr Joker! I believe you need me if you ever hope to appeal at court regarding your life sentence! So, I am standing my ground whether you like it or not, for your sake!"
And with that, she jumped from her chair and bolted towards the cell door.
A set of pale, calculating eyes never left her quivering form, not until the heavy metal doors slammed close and cut the doctor from his view with the definite sound of locks setting back into place. The green-haired man let out a soft chuckle, his mind already evaluating all the possibilities...
"You are right, Doc-tor. You're one-of-a-kind type of fool for sure."
...
First of all, thank you all so much for the follows, favorites and reviews! They sure kept me going when I was writing this chapter. I have to apologize for the long wait. When I posted the first chapter, I wasn't sure about the structure of this story. I was planning to write more snap shots like that instead of proper chapters. However, now I have a clear plot in my mind and know exactly what I'd like to put in the next installments of this little experiment.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, from my perspective it was incredibly difficult to write. I had so many ideas and versions of their first meeting I can't even begin to tell you. I am still unsure whether I am entirely on board with this one, but I know you've all waited long enough now.
Let me know what you think! Opinions are very welcome and read with great care.
Thanks for reading!
ZeldaK
