Note: I am very sorry for this super-late update!

Hope you are all still with me.


I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

-T. S. Eliot

The young blonde slipped her way along the ice covered side-walk to the gate of her apartment block. As she fumbled with the keys that got stuck in the way-too-small pocket of her trench coat, she chanced a look at the inky sky above. It was the usual, star-less February evening in Gotham. The chilly air was crisp on her face and her cheeks so frost bitten that she couldn't even feel the gentle touch of snowflakes that danced around her in a soft winter breeze. Had she been able to ignore the drunken shouts, cursing and distant dog barks that formed a natural part of her slightly dodgy but still tolerably safe neighborhood, it would had been a magical night. Well, almost magical, thought Harleen wretchedly as she pushed at the old hinges and entered a circular shaped front yard. She guessed she'd need more than magic to fix what she had done. Maybe a full blown miracle.

Never mind. We figured.

Harleen gulped past the lump in her throat. She'd really done it this time. There was no way back.

Passing the bare bushes of briar-rose and brambleberry covered in a thin layer of snow, she was met with the gingham dress of old Mrs Spencer who was currently hovering over a little row of azaleas. Harleen knew she was checking the temperature inside the blanket-like sack she'd put over her beloved flowers. The pensioner threw Harleen's slim legs in sheer nylons and stiletto-heels a disapproving look before wiping her muddied hands on the apron. "Look at ye, missy! Upon my word, if ye haven't caught pneumonia t'day my name's not Susan Spencer! What were ya thinkin', walkin' around like that in this godforsaken weather? By God's nightgown, if I were yer mother..."

"Good evening to you too, Mrs Spencer," the blonde replied with a sad smile. She felt too low to even acknowledge the older woman's ravings. Harleen carried the large grocery bags over the threshold before chasing after an escaped tomato with an apologetic look as it landed by Mrs Spencer's arthritic feet.

"Silly piece of wo'k," the old woman muttered under her nose as she watched the blonde's retreating back, "The looney house is clearly messing with yer head."

Chop-Chop. The repetitive sound of a knife hitting the cutting board felt like music to Harleen's ears. Manoeuvring in the small but homey-looking kitchen, she gathered the cut bits of fresh tomatoes and popped them into the sauce pan followed by crushed basil, black olives and garlic. Tomato puree. That was the only thing she was missing. The young doctor walked towards the light kitchen cabinet, hands hovering above the numerous goods stored there.

Almonds. Soy sauce. Canned peaches. Tuna tins. Cocoa powder. Vanilla puddings.

Harleen halted. Her fingers trembled as she gently reached for the sachet, tracing the decorative picture with a fond smile.

Oh, if only they knew him how she did...

...

"Ooooh, look at that!" Joker purred excitedly as the glowing blonde opposite him proudly presented her hand. "Royal flush, Mister J."

"Shady lady. How did ya get that, huh? You're hiding some cards up your sleeve, aren't you Doctor Quinzel?"

The blonde psychiatrist just shook her head with a smile: "Now don't be a sore loser, Mister J. Although," she added teasingly, "I have to admit I thought it'd be a lot harder to beat you at cards."

Joker's lips stretched into a devious grin before he ran a hand through his freshly colored hair: "Oh believe me, had you agreed to playing that strip poker like I wan'ed, there would had been zero chance of you winning, doll face."

...

Harleen sighed softly, closing the cabinet with the tomato puree tin in her hand.

Yes. Maybe if they really knew him, that would had changed things.

Never mind. We figured.

She felt a new pang in her chest. The cold words seemed to be permanently burned into her retina no matter how hard she tried not to dwell on them.

But she will go, she resolved with a set jaw after adding a pinch of salt and black pepper to the sizzling mixture.

The next time Cathy or Sheila ask her, she will go.

The blonde shut her eyes close in frustration. It wasn't as if she didn't want to see them anyway. She just didn't have the time! All she had, she gave up for...him.

Harleen swallowed, her throat painfully dry. It was true. When she wasn't with Mister J, she was thinking of him. Always trying to find out more, to get to know him better. She analysed him from distance, from her car, her bed, her shower, recalling his every move, every whisper and purr that escaped his ever-grinning mouth. She was aware her life revolved around constant note checking, book consulting and digging up old police records. She shouldn't be doing that to herself, she knew, but her life seemed to be spinning out of control these days. She had no power over her own thoughts anymore and although her behaviour probably bordered on compulsion, she couldn't put a stop to it. Mister J's treatment simply was her priority.

Wasn't that the way it was supposed be, though? She had to take her job seriously after all. Being a psychiatrist was a great responsibility and...

Or maybe it was an obsession. At least that's what her mom had called it.

Harleen sighed. She knew Therese Quinzel would had definitely liked to further voice her opinion on the subject but her only daughter hardly even found time to listen to her many voice messages. Harleen's chest clenched at the thought even now.

Her mom kept inviting her to come back to Canarsie for a weekend. Saying that she and Nan missed her, that it had been too long.

It probably was.

She couldn't even remember the last time she saw her family apart for those two rushed days back in December. She barely settled down for a Christmas Eve dinner and Boxing Day before heading back to Gotham. She'd promised Mister J that she'd come for a visit. She simply didn't have the heart to leave him there, all alone at the asylum for a whole week. It was Christmas season after all…She didn't tell her mother that, of course. She had never understood her career choice in the first place, let alone her ditching family time for someone like Mister J. "He's a psycho, baby! What do you mean you want to see him?" Harleen could almost hear the would-be family argument in her head.

No. Her mom could just never understand the importance...the importance of it all.

But her girls were not like her mom…

Harleen forced her eyes shut. They used to be so excited, so happy for her. I knew you'd make it, Harls!, was Sheila's ready answer after the overjoyed congratulations and laughs. Cathy even welled-up. And she had promised them that day that she would keep them up-to-date about everything. That she would divulge all the information she was allowed to share under doctor-patient confidentiality over a glass of red wine somewhere in the fashionable establishments in the luxurious part of Gotham. They could only afford to go to such places on special occasions and her scoring the sole right to the treatment of the city's most infamous crime lord certainly fell under that category. But the celebratory dinner never happened.

October, Harleen thought as she worried her lip. That was the last time she saw them. That amounted to more than five months of turning down all their attempts to reach out to her. No talks about her progress with the Clown Prince of Crime. No lunches or coffee, no shopping, no clubbing till their feet hurt and their heads felt dizzy. No time for their troubles, joys or their own internships at the East Gotham Psychiatric Hospital. And worst of all there were those missed calls and missed birthdays followed by shitty excuses and frantic promises of the "next time" that never came.

Harleen slowly stirred the marinara sauce, tears threatening to fall right into the pan in front of her. There was no way back now, no matter how many times she'd apologise in her regret-filled messages. She knew, she felt she was no longer a part of their tight knit circle, a circle that had survived five years of university life. The fact that their "How are you" texts got scarcer and scarcer was a proof enough. And it was all her fault.

A single, hot tear found its way down her cheek, reddened from the kitchen heat. If only they could meet him! If they'd known what he was really like, they could understand. The Joker was curable, no matter what everyone else said. And he was different. So different from what everyone else took him for…

...

The green haired man watched with pure amusement as the blonde flushed scarlet, hesitantly mirrored his stance across the wooden table.

"You really need to stop saying such things, Mister J. Someone might get the wrong idea."

"Maybe. Is it really that bad though when one only speaks the truth?" he coaxed with a slow smile. Harleen couldn't help it but trace his narrow face with keen eyes as she had done many times before. The sharp curve of his cheekbones, the elegant shape of his nose. The sly, cruel lips that spoke kind words only for her... So close, so close…

She could feel the heat of his body, smelled the cheap asylum soap that clung to his translucent skin. She even caught the sickly sweet scent of his medication every time he exhaled with a low growl. All this mixed with something warm, something spicy and vigorous that she came to recognize as simply being him.

It was by far her favorite smell. It calmed her down, reassured her that he was really there, that those moments they spent together in cold, grey therapy rooms were not just a figment of her imagination. And as she looked up to meet his piercing gaze, she felt her heart clench with a desperate desire to know if he thought their time together was a dream sometimes too…

...

Yes. If they had met him, they would had seen why it was so crucial to invest so much energy into Mister J's treatment. Her private life, her social life… what were those in comparison to the possibility of curing the notoriously deranged gangster who had his own street name tattooed on his abdomen?

He was worth it. It was all worth it, she could feel it in her humming heart. And yet...

There were those reminders, those constant, sharp pangs of guilt that plagued her conscience and proved just how alone she had really become in the course of her pursuit.

Harleen sighed, digging the heels of her hands to her red rimmed eyes.

Greater good.

All she had sacrificed was for the greater good of Gotham and the discipline of psychiatry.

If only the girls would realise that, if only her mom could see…

They would had forgiven her.

...

"Do that again," she asked softly, desperately hoping to break the silence that both terrified and excited her.

"What?" he whispered back.

"Smile like...that."

He threw her a questioning glance but couldn't help but grin at her transfixed face.

The blonde laughed softly: "Has anyone ever told you, you look like the Cheshire Cat, Mister J?"

His smirk only grew larger. "Maybe. Did you finally get lost in your madness, Alice?"

"I'm not the one who's mad, Mister J."

"Oh yes, you are," he chuckled lowly.

Harleen started to feel dizzy. Everything about that moment between them in that dim room was surreal, so strange and contradictory and yet, it somehow all felt as natural as breathing…

She barely recognized her own voice echoing in the silence as she quoted the children's book: "How do you know I'm mad?"

Joker's red lips stretched into another rictus grin but she could only see the hundreds of long, pale eyelashes that lined his half closed eyelids. She could had counted them all, they were so close. So close...

"Oh, you must be. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here."


First of all, apologies again for not updating for almost two months! Guess you've probably all forgotten what even happened in the previous chapters. I arrived at a bit of a "fork on the road" with this story and had to rework my plans for future chapters, hence all the silent planning and no uploads.

But I really hope you liked this new chapter: things will start getting sticky now…

The second half of this story is approaching, ladies and gentlemen. Harleen, run. Run while you still can!

I would like to say a huge THANK YOU to all those who followed/favorited Sick Rose, it means a lot. I would especially like to thank those amazing people who made the end of 2016 very sweet by leaving a review: your mom, Deadly Sapphire, KillerJack, Guest and a BIG shout out to Anise and ReginaSlytherin (love the name btw)! Your incredibly long and detailed reviews really left me so, so happy (and blushing). So thank you for taking the time to write them and deciding to let me know how much you like this story. I hope I will continue to deliver.

So thanks for reading everyone, I really appreciate your support.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review to let me know what you think!

Love,

ZeldaK