This chapter wasn't an easy one to write. Yes, it is the session. The one you were expecting about three chapters ago. Harley's POV was an obvious choice, and this session is something of a turning point for her as a character. The lines where the Joker tells Harls his story are taken almost exactly from Mad Love. (You'll recognize the lines. I didn't write em. Not mine, etc. Plz don't sue, original writers!)
It took me about five edits to get it to this state and I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's not going to get much better, so here it is.
Disclaaaaimerrrrr... I don't own Batman, Mad Love, scenes therein or those lines I mentioned! Don't sue plz, kthx!
Harley arrived in the session room a few minutes early, not wanting a repeat of last time. Whatever had happened, it had troubled Charlie and Dr. Arkham had given her a strange look later that afternoon, as if he hadn't expected her to still be breathing. She took off her glasses and set them down on the desk.
The past few days had been spent in a flurry of Joker-related research. The files and newspaper clippings that filled her office and, increasingly, her study at home, were no longer enough to satisfy her fascination. It worried her, slightly, but she explained away her growing obsession with the Joker as a normal interest in a patient. Harley was, after all, a fairly single-minded woman. When something interested her, she pursued it to the exclusion of nearly everything else. This was clearly just an extension of that same sort of passion. The Joker was currently her only patient, it was natural that she think about him often.
Still, the mosaic of Joker pictures adorning her bedroom wall was probably going a bit far.
When the heavy door swung open, Harley's face lit up.
"Hiya, doc!" The Joker smiled cheerfully at her. "How's tricks?"
Harley barely noticed the guards, who led her patient into the room and added their own greetings. "Good afternoon, Joker!" she beamed. "I hope your weekend went well."
He stared at her for a second before starting to laugh. His guards, attempting to bind him to the psychiatric couch, ducked his suddenly twisting limbs.
"Quit it!" Charlie yelled, grabbing a leg and tightening the leather restraints around his ankle.
Harley winced as the guard pulled the straps: he was fastening them tight enough to pinch at the Joker's skin. Despite the pain it must be causing him, he continued to laugh.
"Good luck, Dr. Quinzel," Denny said as he fastened a restraint with a complete lack of sympathy for the patient. "He's likely as not to just keep laughing."
"I didn't mean to say something funny," Harley said, mostly to herself. "I honestly wanted to know."
Denny shrugged. "Yeah, well… one day's pretty much like any other for the inmates, you know? It's not all that much fun, either. See you in an hour, Dr. Quinzel."
She took at seat and watched the Joker with fascination. She wondered, in a bemused sort of way, how he managed to breathe.
His laughter abruptly subsided to giggles, and he grinned at her. "You honestly wanted to know?" he teased.
"What?" Harley shrugged a shoulder. "I can't ask how your weekend went?"
"Why, Doc, I didn't know you cared!"
She attempted a smile. "Well, I am your doctor. I'm supposed to care about your welfare."
The Joker chuckled. "You know, you're probably the only shrink in this place who still believes that."
Harley was slightly taken aback. "And does that trouble you?"
He shrugged, grimacing as the movement caused the heavy leather straps to cut into his flesh. He muttered a few curses, frowning mightily as he shifted in his seat in an effort to relieve the discomfort.
Harley frowned, disturbingly upset to see him so uncomfortable. Her forehead furrowed in concern. "Are you alright?"
The Joker gave a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, I'll survive," he lamented. "One has to expect this sort of thing when one is a prisoner, after all."
"It must be terrible," Harley said softly.
The Joker rolled his eyes. "Well, being bound to a piece of furniture doesn't exactly increase its ergonomic qualities, sweets."
"I meant – never mind." She shook her head slightly. "Well, um, should we get started? Is there anything else you want to know?"
He smiled widely at her. "Listen, Doc, we know each other pretty well now, don't you think?"
Excitement surged through her. Was he actually going to tell her something about himself? Right now? Harley fought the urge to squeal. She hadn't been this happy since… actually, had she ever been this happy?
She attempted to subdue her glee – after all, he might just be toying with her – but she couldn't help a wide smile stretching across her face. "I think so," she told him. "Um, what do you think?"
He pursed his lips slightly in thought. "Well, I'd like to think I could trust you…"
"Of course you can trust me, Joker," Harley said with a reassuring smile. "I'm your doctor."
"I've had lots of doctors." He arched a green brow. "Do you trust me, Dr. Harley Quinn?"
"Yes," she answered without thinking. I shouldn't! she told herself, biting the inside of her lip. I shouldn't trust him. I mustn't.But…
He was watching her with large, doubtful eyes. "You trust me?"
She nodded. "I do."
He shifted again, and winced as the edge of a leather strap cut into the white skin of his wrist. He growled at the back of his throat, glaring at the strap as if it had personally offended him. Harley couldn't keep from staring at the small drops of blood that beaded on his skin, the bright red a vibrant contrast.
He was looking at her. Harley tore her eyes away from his wrist to meet his eyes.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
He made a sort of mewling, whimpering sound and gave her a pathetic look. "Would you loosen these for me?" he asked plaintively. "Come on," he said when she hesitated, "you said you trusted me."
"I do, but…" She sighed. She gave the Joker a long, steady look, gauging his honesty. He seemed genuine… and the look of pain on his face was something that she just couldn't cope with. "Alright," she said, getting to her feet. "Just… don't make me regret this."
Harley knelt beside the psychiatric couch and reached forward. Her hands trembled slightly as she tugged at the wide leather restraints. She imagined she could hear him breathing, and when she unintentionally brushed his skin with a finger it sent a thrill through her that made her blush bright red.
The restraint slipped open and the Joker lifted his hand, flexing his fingers and examining the small cut on the top of his wrist. He caught her eye, and offered her the hand with a smile.
"Want to kiss it better?"
Harley couldn't resist the grin that curved her lips. The chance to touch him again overpowered her common sense. She took his hand in hers and deftly bestowed a kiss to the hurt. The warmth of his skin surprised her; he was so pale, she had always half-imagined his skin would be cold. But of course not, why would it?
He was smirking at her, barely able to contain his delight at something.
"What?"
"You have something on your lip."
Instinctively she licked her lips, tasting copper. She realised with a shock that it was his blood. The look he was giving her now was really strange, and she ducked her head. She was still holding his hand, and tried to lower it back towards the restraints, but he snatched it away with a violence that reminded Harley just what he was capable of.
He turned docile immediately, fixing her with yet another sorrowful look. "Can't you leave them off?" he asked, his voice soft and imploring. "I won't hurt you, I promise."
Harley relented. "Well, alright." She stood, walking backwards to her chair and watching as he dextrously unfastened the rest of his restraints.
The Joker swung his legs around to the side of the couch, twisting his wrists and ankles around to restore his circulation. Being in a room with him unrestrained was exhilarating, and Harley felt her breath come a little faster as he stood and stretched.
The Joker fixed her with a broad grin and plopped back down onto the couch. "What's wrong, Doc?" he asked with cheerful concern. "Scaaared?"
Harley risked a smile. "Not at all, Joker," she said, unsure herself whether what she was feeling was fear or excitement.
He didn't seem to mind. He lay back down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and resting his hands on his stomach. He looked so relaxed, so content just to be, that Harley found herself smiling at him almost dreamily.
He looked up at her and grinned again, and she blushed.
"Got your notebook with you, Doc?"
Harley's eyebrows shot up. "You're actually going to talk to me?"
The Joker pouted. "You mean you doubted me?" He clutched a hand to his chest, the other flung dramatically above his head. "I am wounded."
Harley giggled, jumping to her feet. She positively skipped over to the desk to retrieve her notepad, realising only as she returned that she had turned her back on the Joker. She smiled wryly to herself: Joan would be absolutely horrified if she knew.
She sat on her office chair, lowering it slightly so that her eyes were a little more level with the Joker's own. She waited silently as he stared at the ceiling, apparently collecting his thoughts. She touched her pen to paper as he started to speak.
The Joker sighed softly. "You know, my father used to beat me up pretty badly."
Harley's head shot up and she stared at him in horror. Her chest tightened painfully as he spoke, and she struggled to keep from tearing up.
"Any time I got out of line, WHAM!" Harley ducked instinctively as the Joker punched the air in emphasis. He kept talking, his voice coming faster and faster, laden with an unfamiliar melancholic tone. "Sometimes I'd be just sitting there, doing nothing! POW! Ol' Pop tended to favour the grape, ya see…"
Harley clenched her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She couldn't keep the emotion from her face, and didn't try; all her attention was focused on the Joker. "U-uh huh…"
"The only time I remember seeing my ol' dad really happy was when he took me to the circus when I was a kid." The memory recalled a smile to his face, and he stood, pacing about as he navigated the choppy seas of Nostalgia. "Ah, I still remember the clowns, running around, dropping their pants…" He chuckled.
Harley, remembering that she was a psychiatrist, began jotting down notes. The return to a lighter tone was a relief, so much so that she barely noticed that her patient was walking about the room.
He was getting really into his story now, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Harley found herself smiling again as she watched the Joker re-enact his anecdote.
"My pop laughed so hard, I thought he'd bust a gut!" He laughed at the memory, his voice speeding up again in his eagerness. "So the very next night, I came running up to him with his best pair of pants around my ankles. 'Hey, dad! Look at meee!'"
He stopped in front of Harley and dropped his pants, and she, now truly lifted up out of her maudlin mood, started laughing in delight at his antics.
"…and then I took this huge pratfall, and ripped the crotch right out of his pants!"
He burst out laughing, and she laughed with him, until her ribs hurt and tears started forming at the corners of her eyes.
The Joker spoke. "And then he broke my nose," he said whimsically, pulling Harley up short.
She stared at the man standing a foot away from her with his pants around his ankles, feeling as if she had just run into a brick wall. The tears in her eyes began to trickle down her cheeks.
The Joker didn't seem to notice. He pulled up his pants and waved a hand dismissively as he sat back down on the psychiatric couch.
"That's the downside of comedy, toots," he said, swinging his legs up and putting his arms behind his head. "Some people just don't get the joke." He sighed.
"Like your dad?" Harley said, sniffling and wiping her eyes with a tissue.
"Yeah." The Joker's visage darkened suddenly. "And Batman."
Harley watched him and considered this, trying to ignore the emotions that had settled on her chest. Was this really a primary cause of the Joker's enmity with Batman? He did seem an unemotional sort of person, unlikely to find fun in much of anything. She made a mental note to talk to the Dark Knight the next time he brought someone in.
She scribbled down some of what the Joker had told her, trying – and failing – to distance herself from it emotionally. He hadn't spoken again; he seemed to be ruminating on something. From the twisted, hate-filled expression on his face, it was probably something about Batman.
Mentioning the man on whom the Joker placed blame for his disfigurement was generally considered a bad idea, but Harley would do anything at this point to change the subject to something less dismal. Her chest was aching.
"So, uh… Perhaps you'd like to talk about the Batman?"
The silence stretched, the tension tangible.
"Batman?" The Joker's voice rose dangerously. "BATMAN?!"
This may have been a mistake.
The Joker stood and stalked about the room, ranting loudly and gesticulating wildly. Harley jumped to her feet, terrified that someone would hear and take alarm. She instinctively wanted to quiet him: if someone burst in now, and saw him free...
"Joker… JOKER!"
She jumped over the couch, stumbling on her high-heels, and grabbed at his arm. His head snapped around, and for a fraction of a second she saw a look of pure fury before his features softened.
"Sorry, Doc," he said mildly. "Sometimes I get carried away. You know how it is."
She stared at him, feeling like a kite that, battling the fierce winds of a hurricane, has been suddenly thrust into calm, dead air and dropped to the ground.
"Yeah," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I know how it is." Worn and severely disoriented by his rapid mood-swings, she released his arm and led the way back to the couch.
The Joker sat, patting the seat next to him. Emotionally exhausted, she let him pull her down beside him.
"What's wrong, Harley?" he asked, sympathy plain in his voice. "You look tired."
"Oh… nothing," she said glumly. "Just… tired."
They sat together quietly for a minute or two. He seemed quite content in her presence, and swivelled around so that he could lie against the back of the couch and watch her. She simply sat, chin in her hands. Her notepad was on the floor near her chair, but she couldn't bring herself to pick it up just yet. Fragments of his account rose unbidden in her mind…
"WHAM! Sometimes I'd just be sitting there, doing nothing!"
She shivered.
The Joker prodded her with a toe. "Our time's nearly up, you know."
Harley glanced up at the clock that hung above the door. So it was. She wasn't sure whether the hour had felt very long, or incredibly short.
She got to her feet with a sigh and stretched. She looked down at the Joker, who seemed unfairly relaxed. "Could we put your restraints back on?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Alright. Don't want the guards knowing you've let me wander around the room, eh?" He chuckled to himself.
The Joker tied his own restraints, pulling them as tight as the guards had done nearly an hour earlier. He grunted slightly as he tightened the one around his left wrist, and Harley turned her face away.
"Your turn, Doc," he said, lying back.
"What?"
He nodded towards his right wrist, one eyebrow raised.
Harley sighed, dropping to her knees at his side and pulling the leather binds tight.
"Tighter."
"I can't pull it any tighter," she complained.
The Joker growled. "You have to pull it tighter, or they'll know. Do it!"
She took the length of leather in both hands and pulled as hard as she could. The restraint tightened around the Joker's wrist, starting it bleeding again. She bit her lip as she fastened the ties, feeling guilty.
"That's better," the Joker said, giving her a smile. "Cheer up, Doc."
There was a heavy knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Charlie's face. His eyes widened, and suddenly Harley realised exactly how close she was sitting to her patient.
"Uh… Dr. Quinzel?"
She stood and gave the guard the brightest smile she could muster. "Hi, Charlie. Come on in." She crossed to her chair and bent to pick up her notepad. "You arrived just in time: the Joker was just telling me how painful the restraints were getting." She gave Charlie a slightly reproachful look. "You really shouldn't tie them so tightly, you know. You could cut off his circulation."
Charlie opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
"We'll try not to," said Denny, giving his companion a sharp shove.
Harley turned her back and busied herself at her desk as the guards freed her patient. She looked over her shoulder in time to catch his eye as they lead him out the door, and gave him a little wave.
Whoever thought psychiatry could be so tiring?
She didn't consider herself much of an emotional person. She had passion, sure: passion for her work, for success. Never before had she been so involved with her patient's emotions. Never before had her own emotions gotten the better of her in such a way. Probably she should find it frightening, but instead she just felt sad.
The Joker's words kept echoing around in her mind. She tried not to think.
Harley spent the evening in her office, the dark Gotham night swallowing her in its shadows as she tried to formulate an appropriate report for her files. Nothing worked. When she finally gave up and went home, she went straight to her bedroom, shedding items of clothing as she went. She collapsed on her bed, clad only in her underwear, and stared unfocused at the Joker montage on her wall.
A minute later, she started to cry.
--Sniffle-- One of the reasons that that took me so long was the angsty!Harley. Get into an angsty character's head and you end up feeling just as worn out as she does. --wahhhh, poor Mistah J!--
I'm actually rather content with the changes in their relationship in this chapter. The balance of power is shifting ;) Still, there are a couple of minor issues I'm not happy with... --Grumble-- Curse you, Kite Metaphor! Why won't you be elegant?! ARGH!