The Laughing Clown
There's finally a Dark Knight section, huh? I'm wondering if I should move this there?
I feel like this chapter is part filler and part of the plot. Alfred banter tucked nice and tightly in here as well as the Joker irritating Harley and vice versa. There's very little from the Joker's point of view on Harley – yet. I've got something in the works for that .
If you're wondering, the man Harley's talking about in her dream (other than the Joker) is Lewis, from the Harley Quinn series .
Huge thanks to those who reviewed and those who show support my favouriting and/or adding this to your alerts!
The Laughing Clown
04.
The restraint is alight with a soothing mixture of candles and dim overhead lights. The atmosphere is relaxed and Harley has no problems feeling at ease as soon as she and Bruce take their seats. "This is quite a place." She states, observing the extravagantly decorated interior with it's pretty little gold furnishings. She smiles a little as she looks around, taking it all in, her head making sarcastic remarks that this her first time dining in such a fancy place legally.
Bruce nods, signaling for a waiter to approach them, a charming smile lighting his face. "One of my favorite places, actually. One of the few places in Gotham where you can enjoy yourself and not worry about who's there and if you'll be on the front page of the gossip magazines the next day."
"Water, please." She says the waiter, smirking at Bruce. "Really? And here I thought you enjoyed all that attention."
The waiter turns to Bruce, who laughs a little at Harley. "I'll have a water too," he says, tapping his fingers against the menu. "Do I really come off as that arrogant?" he whispers to her, leaning forward.
Harley smiles, picking up her own menu, leaning forward too, shielding her face with the menu. "Only whenever you speak on national television."
Bruce bites his lip, leaning back in his chair, his hand clutching his shirt in a gesture of mock pain. "That hurt." He jokes, opening his menu. His eyes scan the contents quickly, so quick that Harley wonders if he's even read the menu before he snaps it closed again. "I always eat the chicken." He explains pushing the menu to the side.
"Ah," she mumbles, frowning at the menu, "I have no idea what any of this is… so I guess I'll have the chicken too." Bruce nods knowingly and motions with his hand for their waiter to approach and when he does, he orders for them both even going as far to order two glasses of champagne for them. "Bold, Mr. Wayne." Harley states, giving a secret sort of smile as the waiter takes off.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he smirks, "I have been called worse, after all," he jokes, picking up his glass of water. "So tell me, Dr. Quinzel, how goes your job at Arkham?"
She has to hold herself back from saying 'Call me Harley!', instead opting for a tired smile. "Call me Harleen," she says and she has to stop herself from wincing as the words leave her mouth, "and it's… as to be expected."
"Tough, huh?"
Harley nods, tapping the side of her glass of water. "That's one way of putting it."
Bruce narrows his eyes and leans forward, interested. "He must be something else if you're saying that after one session.." he teases.
"I don't want to break patient confidentiality, but do you really expect anything else?"
Leaning back, a faraway look on his face, Bruce shakes his head. "Not really." His voice sounds a little sad to Harley and maybe even a little angry. "I know what that monsters capable of," he states, offering a weak smile to Harley.
Harley's mouth settles into a tiny frown. "Did he- that is…" she stops, hoping he'll catch on.
And he does. Bruce nods, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his fists. "He killed a good friend of mine," he explains, "her name was Rachel."
Harley reaches to place a hand over his, but as she moves a two glasses of champagne are placed in front of both herself and Bruce. She coughs, sitting straight against her seat, while Bruce pulls himself from his thoughts. Taking a sip (a gulp) of her drink, she decided to change the subject. "So, you're in charge of Wayne Enterprises?" she asks and at his nod, she smirks, tracing the rim of the champagne glass. "I suppose you have people doing your work for you while you sit back and watch and take blond doctors out to dinner."
Bruce blinks, then laughs. It's a warm laugh that Harley likes. "You got it in one." He agrees, taking a sip of his own drink. "My friend, Lucius Fox takes care of everything. I trust him to keep the company in check."
Dinner passes quickly after hours of just talking, Harley finds herself being dropped off in front of her apartment complex and promising Bruce to keep in contact. The stairwell journey to her apartment seems to take seconds and as she walks into her temporary residence, she smiles. "That was nice." She sighs tiredly, falling onto her couch. "Wish he woulda considered that I got work in the mornin'." She grumbles with a smile, yawning loudly. "Bed now, Harl." She orders herself, dragging herself to her feet and trudging into the bedroom.
Quickly setting an alarm, she doesn't bother getting changed, instead falling onto the bed and falling asleep.
Bruce's penthouse is dimly lit when he enters and he half expects to be getting away with coming in so late. As he tip toes along towards his bedroom, Bruce thinks he can make it, until a voice freezes him in his tracks.
"I don't suppose giving your old butler a bloody ring on the telephone crossed your mind, Master Bruce?" a dry English voice asks from behind him.
Bruce coughs and turns around, flashing an apologetic grimace at Alfred. "Sorry Alfred, I just… Well…"
Alfred looks him up and down with a raised eyebrow, then rolls his eyes. "Having too much fun I should think. I should like to meet this miracle Doctor if she's curing madmen and giving you a social life you enjoy."
Shaking his head, Bruce opens his room door, throwing his jacket onto his bed, Alfred following him. "It's not like that Alfred; I wanted to keep an out on her, make sure she's fitting in and find out how she's doing."
Standing in the door way, Alfred gives a little amused smile to Bruce's back. "Of course you did, sir."
Bruce turns around sharply, frowning. "Alfred-" he starts, but Alfred can no longer resist the grin on his face, cutting him off.
"Master Bruce, you don't have to explain yourself to me. If kidding yourself on like that is the only way for to have a bloody good time instead of brooding like an old man, then so be it." he states, turning around to leave. He looks back just as he takes the first step. "But in future, I'd like a phonecall so I don't stay up half the bloody night waiting on you to saunter in from your escapades."
In her dreams, Harley is standing in a familiar warehouse surrounded by familiar furnishings and familiar men. The lights are purple and green and they light the space in a childish way that reminds Harley a little bit like a kids Halloween party.
She stands in this familiar place and she looks at the men around her; she knows them, one in particularly she feels a tiny little at her heart as he smiles at her. She wants to say to him 'sorry it was you!' but she can't make her mouth speak.
And then she hears screaming and soon after her heart stops beating. Her stomach bubbles and she can hear that laughter. Cackle upon high pitched cackle so terrifying to anyone who hears it.
Not Harley.
She can't see him, but she knows he's there not just by the laughter but by the men's winces. And then he speaks, voice filled with childlike glee but somehow still dripping with seductive venom.
"Don't just stand there Harl, daddy needs a hand."
The laughter that follows is indescribable and she feels a little like she's falling, or drowning, or both.
Harley wakes up, sweating her blues eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. Her alarm screaming at her in what seems like a loud wail and all she wants is to destroy the stupid thing. Frowning, she gets out of bed, mentally banishing her nightmare, or dream, or whatever, to the back of her mind as she gets ready for work. The last thing she needs is to bethinking of one Joker while treating another. "I'll end up from one Arkham to the next." She squeaks to herself as she reapplies make up, staring at her reflection with a lost little expression, her eyes glancing to the reflection of a box behind her. Inside, there's photographs that she hasn't bothered to put up yet, mostly because they're of her and various Gotham villains but, she reasons, she can always say she and her friends like to dress up.
When she arrives at Arkham, she is greeted by two orderlies who inform her that her afternoon session with the Joker has been switched to morning. As in, right now. Harley is a little overwhelmed but conceals it with a strained smile and nod, saying she will be them shortly, and hastily makes her way to her office. She dumps her bag on her table and pulls on her white coat, throwing her ID badge around her neck, and grabbing the Joker's files.
When she reads his name, her mind replays his laughter in her mind and she has to squeeze her eyes shut, just a little. "I am a strong independent woman." She whispers to herself, as she leaves her office, thankful the hall is empty, her voice sounding a little high pitched and more like her usual self rather than Harleen.
The walk to where her sessions are held is quick and by the time she steps inside the room and sees the Joker, Harley can feel the beginning of a headache and a bad mood. She frowns, eyes conflicted as she sits. "Good morning."
The Joker looks at her, eyes gleaming as he studies her. Harley knows by the grin he gives, the way his tongue swipes at the corner of his mouth, that he can tell she is not at her happiest. "Morning, Doc. Get out of the wrong side of the bed?"
Harley clutches her pen, opening up her notes. "Shall we get started then?"
The Joker smirks, and Harley thinks if he weren't restrained that he would recline quite casually back in his seat. "Sure, uh, thing."
"Why do you call yourself the Joker?"
"I think of myself as a, uhm, a funny kind of guy, you know? I like a good laugh."
Harley notes it down. "At other peoples expenses."
"Isn't that how all good comedians do it?"
"Most comedians don't kill thousands of people."
The Joker narrows his eyes, a deadly little smile on his face. "I'm not most comedians, doc. I like to act outside of the box, cause a little mayhem and hysteria. Really get my audiences blood pumping."
"Or spilling." She mutters under breath.
"What was that?" his smile is gone now and he stares at her with his eyes squinted as if it will help him hear it again, only louder.
Harley looks up, ignoring him. "Do you feel your real name is too mundane for your chosen lifestyle?"
His eyes narrows more, not missing her aversion, but he nods nonetheless, "Yea, that's it. My real name didn't, ah, suit."
Nodding, Harley looks at her notes, scribbling away, before placing her pen down. She looks him in the eye for a second, before speaking again. "Why make-up?"
"I ask women that all the time." He drawls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head dramatically. "Although I do like a woman with, ah, red lips." He grins, licking his lips, looking at Harley suggestively. He bites his lip suddenly, leaning his head forward. "You haven't asked about my red lips, doc."
Harley glances up at him. "They aren't red, right now."
He does a face that Harley supposed must be a pout. "You don't wanna know about these scars?"
"Right now I want to know why you wear make up." She insists.
The Joker's face drops into a nasty little smirk dripping with venom. "Why do you think I wear make up, Doctor Quinzel?" his voice is dark and the way he says her name makes her mind flashback to time where she's standing in a red and black suit asking why he's doing something or another, and he, god, he looks at her with that same smirk.
"Why do you think, Harley?"
"The Batman." She says and to her it sounds like there's two of her saying it in stereo.
The Joker clicks his tongue. "The Batman," he says, "is what keeps this happy little Joker smiling at night."
Harley stops writing, and stands. The door to the room opens and the orderlies come in, but Harley just stands there as they approach.
"Time already?" Joker drawls.
She doesn't answer, leaving in silence. She wants to laugh and cry all at once. Even in this world, all he thinks about is Batman. "Some things ain't ever gonna change." She sighs to herself as she walks to her office, long ago given up on feeling jealous.
That afternoon as she sits in her office, typing up notes, Arkham knocks on her door and steps in with a sheepish smile. "Can I have a moment?" he asks. In the background, Harley has a small TV with the News relaying information quietly in the background.
"Sure." She mumbles, not bothering with professionalism. "Have a seat."
Arkham doesn't notice the slip, and takes a seat across from her. "I wanted to talk to you, well, about the prospect of taking on another patient." He says, clasping his hands together. "Having you here, the staff have noticed a subtle change in the Joker's behavior as of late."
Harley glances up from her computer screen, frowning. "As much as I want to take credit, I hardly think my care is having an affect so quickly." She sighs. "Perhaps Batman is visiting him at night." She drawls.
Chuckling, Arkham shakes his head. "Don't be so modest!" he laughs. "Now, I was hoping you would agree to taking on another patient or two?"
In the background, Harley hears the news as though its louder than Arkham.
"Just in, Gotham City Police have revealed that they now the identity of the terrorist known as Riddler. According to Commissioner James Gordon, his identity is that of Edward Nygma and is asking anyone with any other information regarding the Riddler to step forward."
Her lips twitch into a little smile. "Which patients did you have in mind, Dr. Arkham?"
Arkham peels his eyes away from the TV, coughing. "Oh, yes.. Ah, Jonathon Crane."
"Crane." She repeats to herself. Scarecrow, she thinks with a delighted giggle, the irony not missing her. Poor old Arkham, she thinks, biting back a snort, one nutty Doc treating the other! Coughing and putting on a serious face, she nods. "If you think it's best…" she murmurs, then nods, smiling brightly.. "I'll take him on."
