Whilst action-wise, not a lot happens in this chapter, a couple of crucial things happen. Firstly, you see that Harley is perilously close to breaking point. Secondly, you get hints that the Joker is in the middle of planning his escape from Arkham Asylum and Thirdly, Harley sees something she likes in a shop window...
Chapter Six, Pressure
Sitting in mute horror, Harleen was not expecting her pager to go off. The sudden beeping caused her to give a quick squeal of shock before she realised it was just the little machine at her hip going off, and that it was nothing trying to kill or injure her. Heart pounding, she breathlessly reached down and pulled the device from her hip.
H, uve got a call at admin
"What now?" She groused, before replacing the device and getting to her feet. Casting one last look at the mess she'd created on the table, Harleen left the room quickly.
"What is it?" Harleen demanded Patricia, the receptionist irritably, "It better be good!"
Patricia had worked with Harleen long enough to know the poor girl was upset about something, and didn't mean to take her temper out on her.
"It's the police." She replied, holding out the phone, "I dunno what they want. Probably about the guy in your apartment?"
Wondering how many people knew about that, Harleen frowned and accepted the phone.
"Hello, Harleen here."
"Miss Quinzel, its Superintendant Virsky," the voice on the other end was deep and growly sounding, making Harleen think of a big, smart bear. A bear that carried a gun and drove a police car… Harleen shook herself, irritated by her wondering mind. "Commissioner Gordon wanted to speak with you personally, but he had to attend a meeting with the mayor. Do you mind talking to me instead?"
"Um, not at all." Harleen wished she could take the call somewhere private, but it was against protocol for interns. "What can I do for you?"
"Something has…come up." Virsky said evasively, "We're going to need your apartment for a little longer."
Harleen clenched the phone angrily, gritting her teeth in order to stop herself from using some very bad language. This was exactly what she didn't need, not after today.
"What came up exactly?" She demanded coldly, wishing she could throttle someone. Her violent longing was unusual, as Harleen wasn't normally aggressive at all. However, she wasn't under normal circumstances.
Virsky picked up on Harleen's anger. His next words were wary.
"Technically, under Gotham law, we were supposed to obtain a warrant when we enter someone's home…Either that or the written permission of the person themselves. Since we did neither, the DA is demanding our investigation be delayed whilst we go through the appropriate legal channels."
Harleen didn't even know where to begin with that statement. It took her a few moments to find her tongue, amidst her anger and frustration.
"This is ridiculous!" She hissed, "You know I have no problem with a police presence in my apartment, so long as I'm not displaced for too long!"
"Yes, that may be, but the current DA isn't quite as understanding of the situation…" Virsky sounded disgruntled and rightfully so. The new DA replacing Harvey Dent was a woman by the name of Gertrude Dennison. She was unwelcome in her position, due to the fact that she strongly disapproved of Harvey's previous treatment of the Police Department; she thought Gordon and his subordinates were all a bunch of 'loose cannons' and needed 'a strict guiding hand'.
"Well, let me talk to her." Harleen growled. "I'll explain everything to her."
"I tried that too," Virsky said, sounding impatient now. "She said that she still expected Gordon to obtain a warrant from her…I don't think she's going to be very fast with it either."
"So I'm stuck in the hotel for longer?" Harleen asked, suddenly realising it might not be so bad. Sure all her stuff was at her apartment, but the hotel was closer to work and in all honesty, it was a lot nicer then her home.
"Yeah, I'm afraid so." Virsky seemed like he was genuinely sorry. "And don't worry; we'll continue to pay for accommodation and food…"
"Okay, sure." Harleen looked up at the clock and realised that if she was going to get everything she wanted to done today, she needed to move fast. "Anything else?"
"No, I just wanted-"
"Okay, bye then." Harleen hung up quickly and turned to pass the phone back to Patricia. "Hey, Trish, I'm gonna head home…can you do me a few favours for me first though?"
"That's why I'm here." Patricia grinned. She was a good receptionist, although the staff at Arkham didn't use her abilities as often as they could have. "Whatcha need?"
"Umm," Harleen quickly ran through a list in her head, "Okay, first things first…We have all patient files on disk right?"
"Yeah," Patricia nodded quickly, already typing quick commands into her computer, "You want a copy of the Joker's file on disk I take it?"
"Yeah…How'd you know I'm the new therapist for the Joker?"
Patricia pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"Well, no one ever seems to have a use for me up here, so I start to learn a few useful skills with my computer…I discovered it's not very hard to hack into the Arkham system…Promise you won't tell?"
"Of course not," Harleen giggled, "So long as you help me out of course."
"Of course." Patricia repeated, inserting a disk into her computer, "Holy cow though, the Joker's file is huge! This disk is maximum memory, and it only just holds the entire file!"
"Yeah, you should've seen the paper version." Harleen said, still giggling. She liked Patricia; the girl was only a little older then her and had the ability to make Harleen feel like she was a normal twenty-three year old girl, as oppose to an intern psychoanalyst who was being tormented by a psychopathic clown.
"Mmm," Patricia mused before leaning back in her chair and ejecting the disk. She handed it over to Harleen with a flourish. "What else you need?"
"I need you to look at Vahns' system; I want to see if he's really paying me for the overtime I'm working."
"Okay…" Patricia's fingers flew over the keys like a blur, "Right, here we are…Yeah, he's paying ya, but not much…Want me to fix that?"
"Yeah, but don't go crazy," Harleen said, before flinching. "Mm, no pun intended…Just don't go overboard, or he'll notice something."
"Sure thing." Patricia yawned and looked back up at Harleen. "Anything else?"
"No, I think that's it," Harleen replied, weighing the disk in her hand, "I'll let you know if that changes though."
Once back at the hotel, Harleen quickly changed out of her work outfit before running down to a computer shop. Wincing at how big a chunk it was taking out of her pay-check, she bought herself a laptop and returned to the hotel.
"Okay," she muttered to herself, "A weapon…I need a weapon against him…'
She put the disk into the laptop and started going through the file. It was not as hard as it had been in the Archives as Patricia had taken the time to alphabetize everything. Still, the material contained in the Joker's file made for a terrifying and stomach-turning read. As the hours went by, Harleen grew increasingly upset and agonized. None of it seemed to offer her any way of combating the Joker and to make matters worse, she could feel the toll all of the information was taking on her.
"No more!" She moaned eventually, pushing the laptop away. "It's no use…he's unbeatable!"
Miserably, she got up and shambled into the kitchen. She knew she was doing the wrong thing, but Harleen couldn't help going into the kitchenette mini-fridge and pulling out the three small bottles of whiskey in there. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she downed all of them. The resulting buzz was more then enough to send her reeling.
"Oh crap…" She mumbled, shaking her head as if that would rid her of the drunkenness, "Not good…"
She stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. Harleen figured she could sleep the rest of the buzz off, but halfway down the hall, she noticed the bathroom door was open and the room appeared to have flooded; the water had overflowed and was currently soaking into the hallway carpet.
"Wha?" Harleen's mouth didn't quite form the entire word 'what'. "…The hell?"
She walked into the room, feet splashing in the water. To her horror, the sink had been plugged and then left to run on full hot water. As she stumbled over to turn the faucets off, she noticed that there was something on the mirror. Harleen moved closer to look at it.
A big, crimson smile. Thankfully, it wasn't written in blood this time, but Harleen's own lipstick; she could see the tube lying discarded at the bottom of the sink.
Harleen gave a frustrated, enraged screech.
"Not again!" She howled insanely, clenching her fists and glaring at the mirror, "He isn't even supposed to know I'm here!"
Temper getting the best of her, Harleen savagely turned the water off and pulled the plug out. Holding the small, hard piece of rubber in her hand, an idea struck her. Snarling, she threw it as hard as possible at the mirror. To her intense gratification, the glass shattered.
"Ha!" She shouted at the cracked, warped mirror, "Hahaha! Who's laughing now?!"
With that, she turned on her heel to leave. However, Harleen had forgotten that the floor was wet, and therefore slippery. Before she even took a single step, her feet slid out from beneath her and she crashed to the ground, hitting her head on the hard, tiled floor.
"Owww…" She moaned, sprawled out on the floor. There were black spots eating away at her vision and everything spun sickeningly. "I guess you are…"
Then, she passed out. It was then that the nightmares of clowns began.
Harleen woke to a blinding headache and a hangover. She wasn't a stranger to the latter, but the first was quite an obstacle. It took her a further ten minutes to gather the strength to force herself up off the floor.
"God…" She whimpered, crawling over to the toilet. She threw up weakly into it, leaning back once she was done. "Owwwww."
She tried not to cry as she felt the sore spot where she'd hit her head. It was tender, but the skin wasn't broken. The headache was the real problem, and Harleen knew what she had to do. With a groan, she painfully got to her feet and limped out of the bathroom (being careful not to slip this time).
Once back at her kitchenette, she rummaged in the counter drawers to find some painkillers. Ignoring the recommended dosage on the box, she quickly swallowed three with a glass of water. Almost immediately, she felt the effects. The headache lessened a little and the hangover seemed to lose some its momentum.
"These are pretty good." She muttered, not noticing she was speaking to herself. "What brand are they?"
Curious, she flipped the box over. Produced by Wayne Enterprises. Well how 'bout that. Looked like Brucie boy had his claws in everything these days.
"Hey Harleen," Patricia greeted her, before looking up. "Wow, looks like someone had a rough night."
"Something like that." Harleen rasped, knowing that her bruised face (she wondered how she'd managed to give herself a black eye from simply falling over) and unironed clothing didn't give off the air of stability. "Fell over actually…Can't believe how clumsy I can be sometimes."
"Yeah…" Patricia still seemed taken-aback by Harleen's appearance, especially considering how perfect and neat she normally looked. "Um, so you're going to go see the Joker again, huh?"
"That's the plan, Jan." Harleen giggled before walking onwards. She ignored Patricia's mutter that her name wasn't Jan.
"Only room one is open today Harleen," Vahns said, not looking up from the report in front of him, "Construction has taken over the others."
"Yes sir!" Harleen said cheerfully, playing with a soft, foam ball with a corporate logo on it. She'd found the toy sitting on her desk, part of an advertising campaign aimed at Arkham staff. Vahns frowned and glanced at her.
"You look like crap." He said bluntly. "You shouldn't have come into work."
"Oh, don't be silly!" She scoffed in response, "I just slipped over on my bathroom floor. Hardly enough to miss work over."
"Were you drinking?" Vahns wrinkled his nose. Harleen giggled and shook her head.
"Nope. I was going to, but well, I didn't think it was a good idea. So, I went to pour the stuff down the bathroom sink, but that was when I slipped over and everything splashed on me."
It should have been disturbing how easily and naturally the lie came. However, Harleen was too tired and too disturbed herself to really care at this point. All she wanted was to get into the room with the Joker and begin today's insanity. It was a masochistic want for sure, but Harleen really couldn't help it. She loathed the Joker, but was entranced by him equally.
"You should be more careful," Vahns swallowed her story hook, line and sinker. "You could have cut yourself badly on the glass."
Harleen nodded and suddenly noticed that there was another ball on her mentor's desk. He saw her staring at the toy and passed it to her.
"Here, have it," he said nonchalantly, "Blasted thing was getting in the way."
Smiling widely, Harleen took the ball and stuck it in her pocket. Then, she walked out of the room.
"Harley, you're looking a little, uh, frazzled this morning." The Joker smirked. "I hope it wasn't caused by anything I might have done."
Harleen smiled, despite the pain she felt at hearing the spite and muted anger in the Joker's voice. It was obvious he still had the events of yesterday in mind.
"Nope." She replied, forcing herself to be cheerful, "But I did manage to fall over afterwards…Thus the bruised face. Nice black eye I have, hey?"
The Joker seemed perplexed by Harleen's sunniness. That was according to plan though. It had occurred to Harleen as she'd driven to work that morning that that was the secret: being cheerful. There was no use fighting or being miserable, the Joker expected that. What he didn't expect however, was for someone to regard his behaviour with the same unshakable, maniacal sense of amusement that he himself possessed.
The Joker's expression quickly regained its confidence though. He smirked again.
"It suits you Harley."
Harleen winced at that one. For some reason, the Joker's spite and anger was really getting to her today.
"That's mean of you, Mr. J"
The Joker grinned and more genuinely this time.
"Revenge for me naming you Harley? That's, uh, that's hardly professional. But then, neither is coming to work smelling of booze."
Harleen grimaced, realising she really did smell of whiskey, despite the generous dose of deodorant and perfume she'd given herself.
"Well, it was a stressful night." She muttered. "And no, it's not revenge. I just figure it's only fair that if you get to make up some ridiculous name for me, then I should do the same. Besides, your alias is a misnomer. 'The Joker'. You're actually not very funny."
The Joker tutted.
"Some people just don't get the joke. Don't lie though, you do."
"Tell me," Harleen suddenly forgot her intention to approach everything comically, "How'd you know what hotel I'd been placed in?"
The Joker laughed.
"Gordon doesn't change. He, uh, has been using the same hotel for people like you for months. It's pretty easy to, hmm, track you down anyway."
Harleen grimaced and made a mental note to alert Gordon to that fact. The Joker scratched his scars lightly before giving her a cunning look.
"I have a question for you." He said, looking very sneaky suddenly. "Why is it you don't like the name 'Harley Quinn'?"
Harleen didn't really want to go along this path, but she saw no other choice. Not if she was going to repair the damage she'd done last night.
"I'm afraid of clowns."
The Joker's brows shot up and he leant back and held his hands up, gesturing to himself questioningly. Harleen made a face and nodded.
"I know, it's…odd." She said, "But then, that's my mother for you…she thought making my name as close as possible to 'harlequin' was funny and cute. I wanted to change it, but somehow, I just didn't have it in me. I guess no matter her inadvertent cruelty, I couldn't bring myself to take that little joke away from my mother."
The Joker listened attentively, surprising Harleen. His expression was thoughtful and to her further astonishment, a little wistful.
"I bet your mother would get my joke then," he said, his smile abruptly looking strange on his face, "Not like mine. My mother was a bitch. She used to tell me I was an accident, and a bad one at that."
Harleen said, nothing, mouth falling open in shock. The Joker laughed at her face.
"You're meant to be my, uh…therapist right?" He asked good-humouredly, "Shouldn't you be writing this down or something?"
"Depends," Harleen narrowed her eyes, "Are you actually opening up to me, or just telling one of the many lies that just come into your head impulsively?"
The Joker gave her an annoyed sort of frown.
"I forgot you had access to my file now."
"Mmm," Harleen squirmed in her seat, not liking the feeling that she'd irritated the Joker. She put it down to fearing what he would do in his anger. "But anyway, I have another question…"
"Really?" The Joker drawled, regaining a little of his indifferent sarcasm, "And that would be?"
"Well…" Harleen licked her lips, not liking how she was diving into this blind. "Carla Bertrepp."
There was no mistaking the sudden anger that flared into life in the Joker's eyes. His smile didn't slip from his face however, making Harleen wonder just how suicidal she was to provoke such a vicious man.
"What about her?"
Harleen supposed she should at least be encouraged by the fact that he didn't try to deny his knowledge of her.
"You said I was like her."
"You are." The Joker said, regarding Harleen in the manner of one predator warily eyeing another. It was a disorienting experience for Harleen. "She didn't like what she was, like you."
"You killed her."
"Did I?" The Joker snorted derisively and shook his head as if annoyed by Harleen's statement. "What's your point to this anyway? Afraid I'm going to kill you too?"
Harleen couldn't deny it. She nodded slowly, saying nothing. The Joker suddenly started laughing, amused by something in her expression.
"I thought you were smart Harley," he giggled, "But, uh, apparently not. Here's a little info for ya Doc: I like to play with my toys, not smash 'em. Unless I can do both at the same time. But hey, you're not Batsy, so I wouldn't stress over it."
Thoroughly creeped out, Harleen shrunk back in her seat.
"I can't come every day." she said quietly, not raising her voice above the Joker's. Somehow though, he heard her anyway though, he fell abruptly silent.
"Ditching me Harley?" He demanded, lunging forward against his restraints suddenly. To Harleen's relief, they worked this time. "Tired of playing my game?"
Harleen didn't know how to reply, too intimidated and caught off guard to form words. Then, a smile of delight formed on the Joker's face. He leant back.
"That's not it." He said, "You, uh, you're starting to feel the pressure of keeping me here."
"No, I'm not." Harleen said quickly. Her words rung falsely though, and she knew it. A five year old could have heard the desperation in her voice.
"You are." The Joker gave a brief giggle. "You're starting to see you can't possibly keep this up, seeing me everyday and then having nightmares whilst you sleep…You know that you've only got three options."
"No…"
"One, keep going. But, uh, you know that'll drive you to end up a patient here yourself."
"That's not how-"
"Two, kill me. You'd like to. Gotham would thank you, reward your savagery. Batsy might even thank you, I don't know… You're afraid to kill me though…No, that's not it…You can't. You want to, but you, uh, can't. You're too attached…"
"What?" Harleen demanded, furious that the Joker would dare say that, "N-no! I'm not…I hate you!"
"Sure, everyone does." The Joker nodded amiably, "But truth is Harley darlin', and the truth's always good for talks like these, you love me just as much as you hate me, so that brings us to option number three."
Harleen, shaking from anger, guilt and the sensation of being overwhelmed, merely gave him a cold look.
"Option three…" The Joker paused, tilting his head, "You let the clown out of the box. You secretly like this option better then number two, even if you're not aware of it."
"You're so wrong that it's like you've made a bad joke!" Harleen spat, not noticing the pun she'd inadvertently created. "I hate you and the thought of letting you loose makes me sick!"
"Really?" The Joker laughed. "I don't think you actually know what you're saying Harley. You may not notice, but, uh, you're giving off all the signs of lying right now. You aren't making eye contact, you're being overly defensive and your voice changed pitch when you just tried to deny everything. Should I go on?"
"No, just shut up!" Harleen tried to snap, but her voice just lacked the necessary bite to enforce her command. She'd honestly been to tired and hung-over to deal with the Joker in the first place and now yelling at him had used what little strength she'd even had. "Just…Don't."
Giving a frustrated, weary moan, she slumped over the table. It was only with great self-control that she topped herself from repeatedly smacking her head against the metal surface as well.
The Joker looked at her as if surveying an interesting animal in a zoo. He seemed to make some decision then, because a small, almost smug smile worked its way onto his face. He slowly, warily reached out to pat Harleen on the head patronisingly, giving her plenty of time to shrink back from the gesture if she so chose. He found it interesting that she didn't choose to do so…
"Don't feel…bad." He told her, like he was trying to sound sympathetic. It wasn't the most effective ruse however as Harleen could hear the ever present insane trademark giggle beneath it all. "I don't…There's nothing you can do. I like to play with people, it's what I do Harley Darlin'…You can't hmm, compete with an expert. Just isn't done."
"I don't believe it." Harleen muttered. She was a little uneasy with the Joker's hand touching her head and hair, but she was too tired to move and she thought maybe if she at least pretended like she was cooperating with him, he'd go a little easier on her. "There has to be some way to beat you. Everyone has a weakness…It's just a matter of finding it and… and-"
"Exploiting it." The Joker finished, suddenly looking triumphant. "Harley…You don't, uh, happen to realise what you've just done, hmm?"
Harleen grimaced and sat up.
"Nothing."
"Oh no, no, no!" The Joker said empathetically, "You don't… You just undid anything you told me about being nothing like me. If you're so…Hmm, so good, then how do you know so instinctively everyone's got a point to be exploited?"
Harleen felt the sensation of realisation as a sickening blow to the stomach.
"I never th-thought about it!" She whispered, thinking back on how her whole life, she'd always been able to manipulate people according to their weaknesses. Her mother's weakness was the idea of her running away, so when Harleen's criminal activities had been revealed to her mother as a teenager, Harleen had merely hinted that she would leave home. As a result, she'd avoided being punished and her mother had always made sure she never wanted for material possessions.
"Mhm." The Joker suddenly sounded bored. "Well, I'm sure you'd, uh, love to think over that some more, but I have far more interesting things in mind."
"Yeah, I bet." Harleen muttered. Inwardly, she was a little perplexed by the ease in which she was conversing with the Joker. The sudden paranoid thought that maybe, he was just playing with her again and was getting ready to turn on her occurred. Suddenly nervous, Harleen narrowed her eyes and stared at the Joker closely. He raised his brows in response.
"Something on my face?" He asked, mock-anxiously. Harleen bit back a giggle. He smirked at her laughter and that was when it struck Harleen.
This whole thing was wrong. She shouldn't be chumming it up with the Joker! She should have been sticking to very strict pre-approved psychological guidelines for dealing with psychopaths. She should have been scared of this man!
Well, that last one maybe she was. The others though… Harleen knew what she was doing was frighteningly close to inappropriate fraternization, but she knew then, in a sudden realisation that struck her devastatingly, that she just didn't have it in her to care anymore.
"I don't think I should stay any longer." She said bluntly, figuring that no matter her fascination with the Joker, she should at least try to fight the urge to behave like this. "You haven't got anything productive to say, do you? I'm meant to be your therapist, so if that's the case…You're wasting my time."
The Joker tutted and gave her an ironic look.
"You always come to me. Technically, you waste my time. However, since time seems to, uh, seems to be about the only thing I have… I forgive you."
Harleen honestly couldn't comprehend how this man could have the balls to mock her incessantly when she, as he claimed, was supposed to be his ticket out of Arkham. Honestly, if she were him (which oddly enough, didn't seem like to outlandish a prospect at present, given her mindset), she would have at least been nice to her possible escape route.
'But hey, this is the Joker we're talking about… Does he even know the definition of 'nice'?'
"Who says I don't have anything productive to talk about?" The Joker demanded, managing to pull of a fairly realistic injured expression, "Maybe I just, uh, was working up to it?"
"Yeah right." Harleen was irritated by his behaviour, but she couldn't help but grin at the same time. He was a little funny, she guessed. But maybe that was just the hangover talking. "You and I both know you're not interested in therapy… The only reason you're not in Gotham County Penitentiary with all the other murderers is because the poor guards there don't have the training to deal with crazies like you."
"I'm not crazy." The Joker suddenly looked angry, but not in a directed sort of way. He just appeared like he was irate, but knew he had nowhere or no one to direct his anger at. There was something strange in his expression too, like he wasn't quite all there. "I'm not… It's not my fault. I'm not crazy…"
Harleen felt a shiver go down her spine as she regarded the man before her. This was all real, she was sure of it. There was genuine hurt and misery in the Joker's face, it grabbed her heart and twisted it. For a split second, she had to battle the bizarre urge to touch his face. Then, she regained control of herself and what struck her as a bright idea came to the front of her mind.
"I used to be very good at gymnastics," She said without any preamble, "My teacher had been a street performer at one point…She taught me something cool. Want to see?"
Interest suddenly flickered in the Joker's eyes; he tilted his head and watched her closely. Harleen felt a stab of nervousness at his attention, but managed to prevent her hands from shaking as she reached into her pockets and produced the balls that'd been passed around the staff. Sticking her tongue out in concentration, she began to juggle. It'd been awhile since she'd done this sort of thing, but the basic skills were still intact.
Harleen kept it up for a few minutes, all too aware that the Joker's expression gave away nothing but a sort of clinical interest in her ability. Eventually, she missed one of the balls and they all came down, bouncing off her head and shoulders in the process. That at least prompted a response from the Joker; he grinned in amusement at Harleen's embarrassment.
"Do it again."
Surprised, Harleen shrugged and ducked down beneath the table to pick up the balls. Whilst her attention was diverted, the Joker quickly leant forward and grabbed the pen Harleen had left on the table as well as a paperclip that'd been holding a small pile of papers in her clipboard together. By the time Harleen sat up again, he'd managed to conceal the paperclip in his hair behind his ear and the pen up the sleeve oh his shirt.
"I changed my mind." He said abruptly, "You can go."
"But-" Harleen started to protest, feeling put-out by the Joker's indifference.
"Have you forgotten, uh, what I am?" The Joker snapped, "What I'm capable of…You're still at that hotel, aren't you? I would guess it'd take an intruder…a minute and a half at most to break that, uh, door down."
Harleen felt her heart sink. Whatever progress she'd thought she'd been making suddenly seemed pointless. Miserably, she put the balls back in her pocket and picked her clipboard up. She gave the Joker one last look, wondering what she'd done wrong. Gaining no further information, she shook her head in disappointment and left the room.
As the Joker was lead back to his cell, he had to struggle not to lose control in laughing fit. Honestly, the look on Quinn's face when he told her to leave! If he'd thought she was amusing normally, seeing the hurt and confusion mingled on her face nearly sent him into hysterics.
The Joker waited patiently in his cell as his guard undid his handcuffs and quickly backed out of the room, the electronic door locking behind him. Only then did he allow himself a grin. Today had proved to be a very good day, far better then he'd expected.
Poor little Harley was so gullible! She saw so much as a hint of sadness on his face, and she absorbed it all with the pity of a child. It was so pathetically easy to make her believe his stories of an unloving mother, of his anguish resulting from his insanity… If it weren't for the fact that she was going to prove extremely useful in the near future, the Joker was sure he would have sent Harley packing by now. He had no use for therapists, especially interns like her. He knew perfectly well from conversations he'd overheard that Harley had not made it to her current position purely on her ability… Apparently, she'd both backstabbed and slept with colleagues to make it to Arkham.
And that was her saving grace in the Joker's opinion. If it weren't for the potential to exploit her cut-throat side and twist her mind, making her into his greatest joke yet… Well, he would have found someone else to serve his purpose.
Pretending to be bored, the Joker yawned and walked to the metal bed fused to his cell wall. It was uncomfortable, only a thin, foam mattress and matching pillow. There was no blanket. There wasn't a need for it; Arkham was kept at the perfectly comfortable temperature of 68 degrees Fahrenheit, meaning that extra warmth wasn't needed. Besides, blankets were security risks; patients had hung themselves with such items in the past.
Lying back on the bed, the Joker subtly eyed the camera in the corner. Technically, it was against the law for the Asylum to have cameras in the cells of patients who were not under suicide watch. However, the Joker happened to know this camera was special. He'd seen the bat symbol engraved in tiny detail next to the de. Arkham probably knew it was there, but did nothing as the device was concealed. If the Joker complained about it, they could simply claim they'd had no clue of its presence.
The camera was disguised in a roof panel in the corner, just outside the room light's reach. It was a commendable attempt at concealment, considering the limited options there were for hiding something in a room like this. The Joker however, was paranoid by nature; it was instinct for him to look for things like cameras.
Normally, he would have revealed his knowledge of the device from day one, taunting Batman incessantly through the device until it was removed. Not this time however.
The thing was, pretty much from the moment he was placed in Arkham Asylum, the Joker knew he could escape. It wouldn't be easy perhaps (but then, when had anything been easy?), but it was certainly possible. To do so though, he needed Batsy to think he had no idea the camera was there. That way, when it came time to leave Arkham, everything would come as a complete surprise…
The only problem right now though was the pen and paperclip. The Joker needed to remove them from his hair and sleeve, but he quite obviously didn't want Batsy to see him doing so.
After a moment's consideration, the solution to his problem came. Grinning to himself, the Joker rolled over onto his stomach so that as long as he didn't move his arms around to much, the camera shouldn't be able to see his hands. From that point, it was a simple matter to firstly let the pen slide from his sleeve and then pretends to push his hair back so that the paperclip fell neatly into hand.
Pleased by his own genius, the Joker began to go over his plan for escape.
Harleen didn't really feel like going back to her hotel after work. Partly because she was afraid that the Joker would carry through with his threat to attack her, but also because she knew that she'd only sit there brooding on her failure today.
"You look down." Patricia appeared, carrying her keys. It was the end of both their shifts.
"I am." Harleen sighed and shrugged on her coat. She'd changed out of her scrubs and was feeling a little better dressed in a pair of black jeans and her favourite red blouse. "I don't know how or why, but I think I really messed up with the Joker today…"
"I don't know why you took his case." Patricia said, leading the way out into the staff parking lot. Her car was similar to Harleen's: small, but clean and efficient. "Ever since you had your first session with him, you've been so different."
"Really?" Harleen blinked, a little perplexed by that. "How so?"
"I don't know… Not as happy." Patricia paused, biting her bottom lip. "Maybe it's none of my business to say anything…"
"No, go on."
"Well, there's just something not right about you these past few days." Patricia said quickly, as if trying to get it all out of the way. "You constantly look like you're running on nothing, you're so twitchy and I swear to god, I feel like you're on the edge of a cliff or something…"
Harleen didn't say anything, not sure how to react. She knew she should probably deny everything, but she knew perfectly well that what Patricia said was right.
"Well, the Joker is hard work." She muttered eventually. "It just takes it out of you…Plus he's been sending people to mess with me at home…"
"I found out how he's doing that." Patricia said suddenly. "He's been speaking with his lawyer, giving certain coded instructions."
Harleen scowled. It was so bizarre to realise that the Joker had a lawyer. She'd wondered what purpose it would serve as there was no chance of the Joker ever being acquitted or released. Now she knew the lawyer was there to serve the Joker's purposes outside of the confines of Arkham.
There was a long silence. Harleen stood awkwardly in the middle of the lot, shivering in the cold. Patricia regarded her uneasily before sighing abruptly.
"Look, do you want to go get dinner or something?" She asked wearily, "I hate seeing you so… I just don't like the idea of you being alone tonight."
"Why? Afraid I might do something stupid?" Harleen asked ironically. She climbed into the front passenger seat of Patricia's car nevertheless. "Where are we going for dinner?"
"I don't know." Patricia replied honestly, pulling out onto the highway into the main part of Gotham, "I didn't think of going out until just now. Why don't we just go downtown and walk around until we see something we like?"
"Hey, this looks nice." Patricia called out, "You like Italian right? Harleen?"
Puzzled by the lack of response, Patricia turned around. To her surprise, Harleen was paying no attention, standing further down the sidewalk, staring up into a shop window. Patricia walked down, frowning.
"Hey, are you alright?" She asked.
"Isn't it pretty?" Harleen asked in return, ignoring her friend's question. "I think it is…"
Patricia looked up and saw that the shop was Madame Mystery's Costume Boutique. The place was famous for being the place that all of Gotham's elite and wealthy went to whenever there was a costume party. It also provided for stage actors and actresses.
The costume that Harleen was so interested in was positioned on a mannequin in the front window. Looking at it, Patricia saw it was similar to a jester's costume. Red and black fabric divided into opposite portions with a pattern of diamonds on the legs. The costume was completed by the belled cap and ruffled neck and sleeves. It was a nice enough costume, Patricia thought, but it didn't quite seem enough to validate the look of mindless adoration that Harleen had on her face.
"So pretty." Harleen breathed, pressing her hands up against the window as if she wanted to melt through it and touch the harlequin costume.
"And so expensive." Patricia said, trying to jerk Harleen out of her strange trance. "It's a thousand dollars Harl'."
Adding to Patricia's alarm was the fact that Harleen did not respond to her addressing her by a name she normally hated. Harleen merely gave her a sad, puppy dog look and went back to admiring the costume.
"It has a lifetime guarantee!" She almost squealed in delight, "And it comes with those cute little red and black shoes!"
"Are you insane?" Patricia demanded, "When would you wear it? Even if you would…It's a thousand dollars! No stupid costume is worth that amount. Besides, Gotham already has its share of costumed weirdos… You should know, you're treating the Joker for God's sakes!"
Finally. Harleen blinked and looked away.
"I guess you're right." She said, sounding sad. "Not worth it… So, you said that Italian place looked good?"
Hmm, poor Harley seems to be losing the plot just a little...I wonder how much longer she can go on evil grin By the way, the three 'options' the Joker gave Harley are going to prove to be important.
Anyway, love ya darlings!
TTFN from vampassassin
