THREE

An odd wind blows through Harley's semi-furnished apartment. Pictures fall off their shelves and doors slam. One folder lying on the lime bedspread flies open rapidly and its contents flutter all about the room.

Blonde hair impairs her vision as Harley tries to collect all the loose files. She feels around the wood floor until her hand comes to a small document. Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she meets his face. The mug shot could very well be even more frightening than the real thing. Coal eyes and a toothy smile; in an instant Harley swears the picture winks at her. She drops the Polaroid in shock and quickly shoves it underneath the bed.

"I guess I'm not as scary as I thought." Joker smiles welcomingly when Harley enters the room with Hank the new guy following.

Harley makes a point to keep his eye contact, but finds it increasingly difficult with each step towards him. She doesn't speak, only sits, and waits for him to start the conversation.

"Had some pea soup last night." She nods. "What'd you have for dinner, Jane?"

"That's not my name."

"Got you to talk, though." He raises his eyebrows briefly before letting them fall again.

She sighs and asks, "How long do you usually last in these?"

"What? Our little sessions?" He shrugs. "Depends on how much I enjoy them."

"Ah… and are you enjoying yourself now?"

He shrugs again. "Depends on how you view enjoyment."

She looks down at the table and nods to his vagueness. Without focusing on him anymore, she pulls out a blank sheet of paper and a pen from her clipboard. After drawing several dashes and a noose, she tells him to give her a letter.

"W," he guesses.

"W?"

"Does the letter offend you, Kate?"

Harley smiles genuinely. "You won't be able to guess it," she tells him while sketching a head under the noose.

"It's still fun to try. U." She scrawls a capital U over the third dash out of eight and indicates for him to keep going with her free hand. "E." Seventh letter. "M." She draws a line extending from the head. "P." One arm. "T." Sixth. "C." The other arm. "I." One leg. "R." Eighth. "A." Second. "G." Fourth. He's got it now. "L. H." Harley looks at the complete word. "Laughter," Joker says. "Any particular reason you chose that word?"

Harley keeps her eyes on the paper. "I hear you like to laugh."

"Like my mother always told me, laugh even if something's not funny. And you know what? Now everything's funny." He laughs to prove a point. "You should try it, Megan. You look like you need a little but a fun in your life."

"It's not Megan." Harley finds herself feeling a tinge of offense. "And you don't know me."

"So you know me, Silvia? What, with all your years of training."

"Not Silvia. And no, I don't know you at all. But I'm getting there."

"Everybody is so certain that I'm a very complicated person." Joker stretches his tongue out to his scars. Just to feel the textured surface. "I must of spent years dealing with childhood traumas and an abusive father. I must've lost someone incredibly harrowingly. I must have some sort of mental disability that forces me to be the way that I am." His black eyes lock into Harley's brilliant blue eyes. "I'm not a complicated person, Doctor. I just know what my calling is in life. You –" he gestures to her, as if he could be referring to anyone else. "You understand that I'm not crazy. Yet you're still convinced that I'm complicated. I'm not. I just follow a philosophy."

Harley pauses. Then smiles a very small smile to herself. "So then I do know you?"

Joker laughs. He laughs a very ha! ha! belly laugh. He laughs until his teeth ache. And after minutes of laughing, he begins to consider the reality of the question. "Well," he smiles towards her again, "you certainly know me better than any of the other loons that have come in here."

"Oh really?" Harley isn't persuaded.

"You had me at, 'I'm going to stop you on all your medication.'" Harley can't help but let out a laugh. "Trust me, laughing isn't a crime. Even though these people treat it like one."

"Trust isn't black and white, Mister Joker."

He wonders briefly if she had come up with that one all by herself. "Wanna know how I got these scars?"

Harley tries hard to keep herself from laughing again. "I'd rather not. I prefer to use my imagination."