I'd like to take a moment to respond to Rain The Revenant: Personally I'm relieved when I get positive feedback, especially in such depth. Harley, Harley, Harley… I'm glad you think she's in IC because I can tell you, it's difficult to write her in this situation. I think I've got away with it so far because I've been trying to think her thoughts (how crazy did I just sound?). I'm especially excited (and worried) about writing her first session with the Joker as Dr. Quinzel, super doctor. As for Bruce? I wanted to put across that he's still somewhat new to this game; he's making mistakes the Batman from comic verse would never make now. But that's because he's young; sure he's been through a million and one things to shape him into a vigilante who kicks ass but he doesn't have the same experience that we're all familiar with. By informing Harley of his 'debt' to Batman, he's underestimating her, but he's also telling the truth. Think back to the Dark Knight; Batman kicked the Joker's ass at that fundraiser, he can use that to his advantage to explain to Harley how she's being so provided for. Harley doesn't really question it because she knows from experience how well connected and informed her own Batman is; having a millionaire playboy at his every whim probably seems more plausible than the fact that the Batman she's stuck with now doesn't have a teenage sidekick. Thanks for reviewing :D.
Thank you to everyone else who reviewed also; it really means a lot.
I've been a bit lazy about writing this because I've been waiting all week for the TRC 200 scanlations to come out; what can I say? I have little bit of an addiction. Things are finally moving along and I can start to write something that has something resembling a plot. I have to warn you that I found some of this quite monotonous while writing it; mostly because I was debating whether to have the Joker appear now, or later. ;).
The Laughing Clown
02.
The reports are mostly news reports or written statements, but somehow Batman has managed to add in a few police reports as well as some private information from Arkham. Harley thinks that there's probably a Jim Gordon on this Earth too and that she'll probably meet him on her first week at Arkham; she can already picture the conversation. 'Are you sure about this? He is a dangerous man! Please, I really think- blah, blah, blah.' With her nose scrunched up in distaste, she puts the police reports to the side to read last. She's sitting on the floor with most of the file spread out in front of her; she hasn't removed the images provided yet because she's a little nervous. From what she's read so far, she's not sure how she'll react to this Joker. A Chelsea Grin isn't something she expected, especially not the mentions of make-up. Holding her breath, she pulls out the few images gingerly, then deflates when she sees them. They're grainy at best, but she gets the gist of them. The scars and the make up combined are horrifying, of course, but all Harley sees is a man. A man with some unfortunate scars wearing make-up trying to stir up a little trouble. Sure, he's handsome. Harley can tell, even from the photos, that her Joker probably looked similar to this man when he was younger.
With a disappointed frown, she picks up the reports and hopes that reading in more detail about his misadventures will make him more interesting; more than a man. More like- well, more like him, she thinks with a resigned sigh. She reads on in silence and finds herself smiling slightly at what this young Joker has accomplished. Definitely not as impressive or as talented as her own, but she thinks that over time he could be something truly terrifying. A legend in his own right. It's these thoughts that make her freeze, and she lets out a choked breath. She can't be thinking like that; she's here to figure this man out, report her findings and leave. She can't be thinking wistfully about his future criminal career and especially not hoping to see him in action. But she does smile a little, picking up another report, and mumbles quietly to herself. "I wonder what he's like in person."
The rest of the reports are mostly repetitions of what she has already read and so she finds herself trying to figure out an approach plan. She isn't exactly sure what he's capable of, so she knows to go in guarded, ready for anything. But she also knows that this man is not unlike her own Joker in terms of humor and temper. A smile should suffice; cheerful demure and kindness at first. Perhaps he will underestimate her or perhaps he will see right through her, whatever happens she knows she has to be ready for it.
She makes a mental to note to avoid plays on her name. She can't be Harley Quinn this time; mostly, though, she is scared that if she hears him say her name she will slip up. Doubts lingering at the forefront of her mind, she lies back onto her floor and tries to push them far enough to the back to give herself something reminiscent of confidence so that she doesn't make a complete fool out of herself (more so than usual).
Monday strolls into her life a bit like a raging a bull; she finds herself up at 5am trudging around her apartment drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee until she is awake enough to make herself look presentable for work. There is paper all over her floor but she doesn't care; she walks over them, hiking up a stocking as she goes, toast hanging from her teeth. With both stockings successfully on and her toast half eaten, lying on the kitchen counter, she tucks her blouse into her pencil skirt before zipping it up. She hasn't put on a lot of makeup – foundation, mascara and lipstick is all she has accompanied by a light blusher to make her look at least somewhat alive.
By half past six she is brushing her hair and placing a headband around her wrist; if need be, she can pull it back later on. With a last check of her appearance, Harley grabs her keys, car keys and her handbag then rushes out of her apartment and down to her car, her stomach doing little flips.
She gets lost six times. On the sixth time, she calls the number she has for Bruce Wayne and apologies eight times for waking him up and has him direct her via phone to Arkham. The phone call ends with Harley agreeing to meet him for dinner that night and as she leaves her car she feels a little bit guilty. For all the wrong reasons.
Arkham Asylum sits in the narrows looking just as much the silent prison that the Arkham she's been locked up, looks. She recoils a little after parking her car and stepping through the doors of the mad house; she feels sick and nervous and enthralled all at once and it's a mixture she thinks she should be used to by now. Forcing herself to stand straighter, force a professional smile and walk towards a tall, bulky man passing by. "Excuse me?" she asks, gently grasping the mans arm. The man halts, looking down at the petite woman in surprise; Harley loosens her grip, forgetting her own strength. "Could you take me to Dr. Arkham's office?"
The man, Stephen his name tag reads, narrows his eyes at her. "Uh, sure thing Ms…?"
Harley smiles, letting go of him completely. "Quinzel. Doctor Harleen Quinzel." She surprises herself at how convincing she is.
Stephen's eyes widen the tinniest bit before they narrow again, looking her up and down. "Of course, Dr. Quinzel. The whole staff has been waiting on you."
There's a certain cynicism in his voice laced with doubt; he's underestimating her and Harley smirks at his back as he leads through the halls. She's not surprised; she herself probably would be expecting some old cynical woman with a mono-brow and a frown that never lifts. When he finally stops outside Arkham's office, he casts her a look then shakes his head, knocking the door and opening it, peeking his head through. "Dr. Quinzel here to see you, sir." Harley hears a gruff 'send her in!' before Stephen steps back so she can walk in.
"Thank you, Stephen." She smirks, walking by him, closing the door behind her. Arkham looks up from his desk and offers her a tired smile, and in return she offers a wide smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She doesn't wait for him to offer a seat, instead walking right over and sitting down, folding one leg over the other. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Arkham."
The old doctor nods, folding up pieces of paper hurriedly. "Likewise, Dr. Quinzel. Forgive my, well, disorganization, I've been busy with running this place after taking it back from Crane after he-" he stops and shakes his head, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry."
"Don't be silly," Harley smiles sympathetically, "I understand completely. It should be me saying sorry for giving you all the extra paperwork." She teases and, god, she can't believe how easy it is to fall into this.
Arkham chuckles a genuine little laugh that Harley can tell has been first in weeks. "Don't worry about it. Your reputation aside, I'm just glad to have a fresh face around here." He sets his paper down, clasping his hands together. "However, business calls."
Harley smiles secretly at the double meaning of his words and nods. "Of course."
His face is suddenly serious and Harley thinks she prefers him with a smile. "The Joker is of course, located in the high security wing. Naturally we are eager to have you to start right away working with him, but I thought it best it wait until this afternoon. Give you some to get briefed and prepared for him."
She glances at the clock and nods. "I understand. However I would like to go into our sessions with an unbiased frame of mind." She states. She leans forward a little. "I know how much nurses like to gossip and how orderlies like to tell their tales; I find both very bothersome and unprofessional, especially in terms of the patients self-confidence."
Arkham gives her a wry smile. "You don't have to worry about this ones self-confidence, trust me."
Harley doesn't think she has to worry; instead she lets her smile turn into the tinniest of smirks and stands up. "Then I'd like to be briefed right away."
The old Doctor shuffles his papers into a brown folder and hands it to her. "I'll arrange a session for two-thirty to last an hour." He informs her, rising to his feet. "Good luck, Dr. Quinzel."
Taking the folder, she begins walking towards the door, and turns around as her hand rests on the handle. "You too, Dr. Arkham."
Her morning is dull as she reads through the reports and footnotes given to her. She had read most of them last night, and the ones she hadn't all read the same. 'Is unsure of his own past; is a constant state of confusion over the facts and thus reinventing himself.' 'Is insufferable and prone to mind games; likely bi-polar due to sudden fits of rage and bursts of hysterical laughter.' 'Patient is highly unstable, rehabilitation is near almost impossible.'
"I coulda' told ya all that without even meetin' the guy." Harley mutters to herself, taking a sip of her coffee. She reads of his tell-tale stories of how he got his scars and Harley thinks that either he did it to himself, or some mobster didn't like his humor.
She glances at her watch and it reads one-forty. Groaning, she rests her head on her hands, looking around the office given to her. It's a lot bigger than the one she had as an intern, she notices. "Cheapskates." She grumbles, tapping the side of her mug idly. "Jeez Louise this place could bore a hyena to death." The minute the words leave her mouth, she feels a little stab in her heart as she thinks about her own babies. "All in the past, Harl." She reminds herself, and then frowns. "And gotta stop talking to myself before they realize they've let a loon shrink the bigger loon."
She lets her mind wander to her real home, and feels a bit guilty that she really didn't give Holly any indication as to where she was. "Eh, she's a smart broad." She mutters, twirling a strand of her hair. She glances at the clock again. Two-thirteen. Sitting up, she folds everything back into the folder and stands up, adjusting her skirt and blouse, and running a hand through her hair to fix out any kinks. "Not long now." She breathes, walking over to the small window. "I wonder if this place is as easy to break out of as my Arkham." She wonders quietly, placing a hand against the glass. She stands there for what feels like seconds, but when a knock causes her to blink, she realizes it's longer. Taking a deep breath she walks to the door, picking up her pen as she goes, folder clutched to her chest. She smiles at the two orderlies outside when she opens the door. "Lead the way."
They walk in silence and Harley feels an electric chill in the air as they enter the high security wing. It's in complete silence, not a sound from any of the cells as they pas by and Harley feels completely uncomfortable because this does feel natural at all to her. They turn a corner by the cells and stop outside a clear-plastic door conveniently labeled "Treatment – Therapy Room." Harley can see two other orderlies strapping down what she supposes is the Joker. She looks back to where the cells are located with a frown, clutching her pen tightly. An arm touching her should causes her to snap her head back round to her present company. "You can go in now, Dr. Quinzel."
Harley nods, smiling weakly as she walks by him, waiting for the orderly inside the cell to leave before stepping in. The room is in silence; the Joker, he has his head lying downwards towards his chest and she can't see his face, but she can hear him breathing shallowly. He's restrained in a straight jacket; feet are locked to the ground, ankles bound to his chair, even around his waist is a metal restraint. She hesitates for a second before stepping forward, one step at a time, towards her seat. There's nothing between them but empty space; it's new to her, but she can adapt. Another step and she's closer and she swallows a shaky breath as she takes her seat, taking in what she can see up close.
His hair is a faded green colour, and she can tell that he's been missing shower days by the way it clings to his scalp and neck in thin little clumps. He's pale (but not white), she can see that from she can see of his neck.
Blinking once, she places the folder on her lap, hands resting on top. "Those are impressive restraints." She says, eyeing him. "Whatever did you do to earn them?"
She thinks she sees his mouth a little and a little laugh escapes the man in front of her, and he raises his head a little to peer at her through his greasy faded hair. "It's uh, quite a story." He heaves, grinning.
"Oh, I'm sure it is."
He lifts his head fully now, grinning at her. Harley's heart stops for a fraction of a second when she sees how wide that smile really is. She makes sure it doesn't show on her face. "Hell-oh doctor." He purrs, voice raspy. "They didn't tell me there was some new meat in our humble abode."
Harley raises a delicate eyebrow. "Perhaps they thought you might enjoy a little surprise."
The Joker laughs – really laughs, a loud roar of amusement and malice and it sends a shiver up Harley's spine. "Oh, I'm sure they did doctor." He grins at her, tongue flicking out to the corner of his mouth, "because they always put my best interests first to put me in a good mood."
Harley detects the sarcasm and understands exactly and smirks. "I'm Dr. Quinzel."
"Doc-tor Quin-zel." He repeats, stressing the syllables. "I'm The Joker," he says, "but you – you already know that, don't you doctor?"
Harley surveys him with a cool expression, smirk in place. "I'd be with the wrong patient if I didn't."
"Oooh! A sense of humor, I like that." There's a dark undertone in his voice as he says it, his eyes are glinting maliciously, calculating her and observing. "Tell me Doctor Quin-zel, what's a beauti-ful woman like yourself doing in a humorless place like this?"
"Not giving into flattery served by make-up wearing criminals." She states, voice cold. Harley almost has herself convinced and is finding more confidence as the minutes pass. You can do this, Harl. Don't mess up like last time.
The Joker just grins at her wider. "Oh I think I'll like you, Doctor."
Harley feels the same guilt from this morning in her chest; her face is still set in the same expression. "Then I'll assume your co-operation with me."
"Oh, you can assume all you like," he smirks, "assumptions are what let me blow up half of Gotham." His glint dangerously at her and forces herself to speak, to take the upper hand here.
"I was under the impression that was the incompetence of the police force and you're cunningness in taking advantage of that. But I digress; I'm here to talk about your mental health, not your exploits."
The Joker clicks his tongue and lets out a dramatic sigh. "Oh you doctor types are all the same. So narrow minded."
Harley suppresses a grin. You have no idea, she thinks with confidence. "Shall we dive right in then?" she asks, her eyes meeting the Joker's.
"I think we shall." He purrs in return.
