You know, I had this idea. It amused me. But I can't work out how to insert strike-throughs in (If there is a way, please tell me.)
The idea was, you see, that any time in Joker-oriented narration that a word contained the letters "bat" that did not actually directly relate to the batman, the word would be struck and followed by a synonym. I thought it was cute, you know. The Joker immediately dismissing any word containing any possible relationship to the word "bat". But no. rejected my happy strike-through. As a result, chapter five ended up with a weird synonym repetition thing in the middle until I checked it and removed it.
mutter
Blah blah, disclaimer, blah blah, don't own, blah.
Harley took her time clearing up after the session. Her mind buzzed, astonished with how quickly the time had passed, how at-ease she had felt. Her initial nervousness had melted away as she and the Joker had talked, conversation coming easily.
She had intended for her first session to be a proper psychiatric evaluation, but amongst it all she had forgotten that they were in an asylum, one a doctor and the other tied to the couch. They had chatted like old friends.
Now she found herself without a decent record of the session. She sat behind the desk, her notepad in hand, and tried to make some notes of the time they had spent together.
Joker shows astounding friendliness, but refuses to speak about himself until a rapport has been established.
Even the most casual scan through the Joker's file turned up account after account of psychiatrists scared out of their wits or brutally beaten by the Joker after only a few sessions. He point-blank refused to speak to most people, and when he did he usually regaled them with tales of his latest clash with Batman. His willingness to talk with her had been a pleasant reassurance that she had made the right choice.
He is quick to note any possible subject changes that bring conversation back to his past or psyche, and will call you on it.
More than once during their conversation she had asked him about his youth or something in particular about himself, and he had stopped and scolded her in a jovial tone.
"Naughty girl, you've done it again! Don't think you're going to get me to open up that easy!"
If only she could remember what questions those had been. Truthfully, she hadn't noticed them after the first time as she somehow, as they talked, stopped thinking of him as a patient, merely as a new friend she was trying to get to know.
Harley shook her head. She couldn't allow this to continue too much longer... and yet, the session had gone so well that she would hate to think that this was her only chance. For an intern, she felt she had done pretty well, especially given reports of the last intern to grace the halls of Arkham. The poor man was alive and relatively sane, given the circumstances, but he would never work in psychiatry again.
Harley added a final note to her short assessment.
It may take another session to establish the… I hesitate to use the word trust… the connection that the Joker feels is necessary to proceed. I shall, if permitted, be happy to continue with all due caution.
She signed it, then made a copy for her own files. She would submit it to Joan Leland at the end of the day, and hope for the best.
It felt strange to write about him as "the Joker", she reflected as she gathered up her files and tucked her pen into her lab coat pocket. Most patients here had genuine names: Pamela Isely, Prof. Jonathan Crane, Jervis Tetch… the Joker had no verifiable name, only a list of aliases, the most recent (and popular) being Jack Napier. She rather liked the name, but had been warned against using it.
"Don't call him Jack, or Mr. Napier, or anything of the sort," Joan had warned her. "He absolutely hates it. It's not his name, as he takes pains to point out, and we really have no idea what is. He calls himself the Joker and we just started doing the same."
Harley opened the door of her office, her mind buzzing, and crossed the floor to set her files on her desk. She turned back to close the door, and noticed a folded slip of paper on the floor.
She picked it up, curious, ignoring the faint hope that it was from her patient. She had watched the guards lead him back down the hall to his cell; there was no way he could have escaped. She unfolded it with fingers that shook ever so slightly.
Had a great time, see you again soon – J.
Short and sweet. Harley smiled. She folded it again, carefully, and slipped it into a small, secret pocket of her handbag where she had put his first note, sent three long months ago.
She knew that she should tell someone. Dr. Arkham, or at least Joan. But somehow the idea of telling someone was repellent to her, like revealing a good friend's secret.
She was still smiling. Still smiling, at a tiny little note, like some lovesick teenager! How did he even get it to her?
The guards. Harley got to her feet and went downstairs to the guard station.
"Charlie?"
The blond guard looked up from the surveillance monitors in front of him.
"Dr. Quinzel!" He got to his feet. "Did you get the Joker's note?"
"You let him upstairs?" she accused, her gaze steady.
The big man laughed. "You crazy? Hell no! I'd never do that, ma'am, never you fear." He grinned at her. "Nah, I delivered the note up myself. You weren't there, so I just slipped it under your door." The smile left his face, his forehead furrowing slightly with concern. "It wasn't a threatening note, was it, ma'am? I didn't read it myself – didn't like to, see – but he seemed quite content after your session, I didn't think he'd be threatening you – "
"Oh, no, Charlie," she put a hand on the man's forearm to reassure him. "It wasn't like that. It didn't say much of anything really, just that he'd like another session. It wasn't the least bit threatening."
The guard relaxed. "Well, that's good." Something else troubling occurred to him, and he smiled nervously. "Here, uh, you wouldn't mind not mentioning this to Doc Arkham, would ya? We do little favours like that for the inmates sometimes – keeps em happy, less work for us. But I'm not sure that the boss would be too pleased about it."
Harley smirked. "Don't worry, Charlie, I have no plans to tell anyone about the note. I won't say anything if you won't, alright?"
"Fine by me, Dr. Quinzel!" He grinned with relief.
"And don't be afraid to bring up any more notes from the Joker. I don't think he has plans to start threatening me."
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It was with only a little satisfaction that Harley delivered her analysis to Joan Leland that evening.
"It's not much," she admitted, handing over the newest addition to the Joker's file. "I feel like I should have accomplished much more."
Joan read the short account. She looked up, stared steadily at Harley for half a minute, and read it again.
"Do you mean to tell me," she said, putting a hand to her temple, "that the Joker actually talked to you?"
Harley tried not to sound a bit smug. "Yes, he did. I was hoping he would, given his reaction to –"
"Yes, we know he likes your name, Harley, but…" Joan read the account again, flabbergasted. "We honestly didn't expect you to get anything from him."
Harley frowned. "I didn't," she admitted. "Nothing noteworthy, at least. We spent an hour talking but we didn't say anything much."
Something seemed to occur to Joan, and she gave her young intern a sharp look. "You didn't tell him anything about yourself, did you? That sort of information could be incredibly dangerous in the hands of the Joker."
"I was careful," Harley lied. "I won't tell him anything he can use." Inwardly, she groaned. Stupid stupid stupid stupid… How did he talk me into that?
"Hmm." Joan reread the notes for the fourth time. "Well, Harley, I do have to say that I'm astonished. He's never acted in quite this way before. This is something very new, incredibly valuable information."
Harley beamed at the praise. "Would it be possible to have another session with him?"
"I basically insist," Joan said, slipping the notes back into the file and leaning back in her chair. "We have to assume that he's lying about opening up after establishing some sort of bond with you. In all likelihood, he's fishing for information to help him hurt you in some way, but you're an intelligent woman and as long as you're wary of that, I'd be very interested to see where this takes us." She leaned forward again. "Harley, there's the slight possibility that, once he's discovered you're not going to tell him anything, he will get aggressive. I need for you to be prepared for that sort of thing."
Harley nodded. "I will be, Joan."
She left the older woman's office feeling pensive. Aggressive? The Joker? Despite all she had read and all she knew about him, it was somehow difficult to reconcile his violence with the cheerful, friendly man she had spoken with that afternoon.
Don't be a fool, Harley. You know what he's like. Don't fall for it.
With a sigh, Harley stepped out into the cool evening air. Her first session had gone well; it would do her good to set work aside and relax for the evening. Without thinking about the Joker.
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It was because she hadn't dated in high school, Harley told herself.
She had spent the evening channel-surfing with a bowl of microwave popcorn beside her. It was this sort of relaxed night in that she had indulged in on the rare occasions that she gave herself a full evening off from her activities, be they schoolwork, research, or training at the gym. She usually enjoyed it: time to sit back, perhaps with some friends or perhaps alone, and forget the world with a movie and some snacks.
Tonight was different, however. Every time she got into a movie or TV show her mind drifted back to the Joker. At first, she told herself that she was just finding it difficult to let go of work and enjoy some "me time", but as the night progressed she realised that she wasn't thinking about the Joker's file or analysing how he had behaved. She was thinking about his easy laughter, his tall thin frame, his intense gaze. The notes she still had tucked away in her bag. The rose that she had dried and kept in an empty crystal vase in her study (telling herself that it was only because the flower was so pretty and nothing to do with who it was from…).
It had to be her lack of dating experience. Why else would the Joker's attention be affecting her like this? She wasn't really the dating sort... It certainly wasn't for lack of offers, mind, but she was always busy. Gym practice, school, then university and med school… The only real relationship she had had – save for a summer fling in her freshman year – was with another student in her criminal psychiatry class. The relationship had lasted two years, and they had parted on good terms.
She thought back on it fondly: she and Marvon had been passionate about the same subjects, and their relationship had been filled with friendly competition. Each was always trying to do better than the other… they had studied together, worked on the same experiments, proofread one another's thesis. But it couldn't last… each wanted an internship at a different asylum. Knowing a long-distance relationship wouldn't work, they had downgraded to a close friendship over a year previous.
Harley tried once again to concentrate on the movie she was watching. It was Gremlins 2, one of her personal favourites, but tonight she just couldn't get into it properly. With a sigh she turned it off, tossing the remote aside. Screw it.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose where her glasses had sat most of the day. A hot shower might relax her nerves and ease the knots that were building in her shoulders. Then… hell, there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on a book. May as well just try to get some sleep. Hopefully in the morning this silliness would have dissipated, and she could concentrate properly again.
The shower was bliss. Harley stood in the hot spray, turning slightly as rivulets of water ran down her back. It felt so good to be warm, wet and naked. How long since she'd lingered in the shower? Too long…
She could have spent an hour in there – hell, she could have spent two. As it was, she had no idea how long she had spent in the hot, steamy shower. It was a meditative experience and did wonders to clear her mind. When she finally opened her eyes and roused herself from her reverie, her skin was wrinkled and puckered and she could barely see through the steam that clouded up her bathroom.
Harley giggled quietly to herself as she towelled off. That had been so relaxing. She really should indulge in that sort of thing more often.
She slipped between her sheets without bothering to pull on her pyjamas, and sank instantly into a dreamless slumber.