"Are you ready to admit that you lied?" asked Harleen at their next session in the same room.
"About what?" Jack asked.
"About loving me," retorted Harleen.
Jack chuckled. "Do you always get this annoyed when you think guys love you?" he asked.
"Just admit that you don't," snapped Harleen.
"Why is it so important for you to hear that?" he asked.
"Because the very idea that you want me to think that you do is incredibly insulting to me," she snapped.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you must think I'm a total idiot to believe it!" snapped Harleen. "I don't think you're capable of actually loving anyone, first of all, and second of all, your whole game from the beginning has been to get a shrink on your side to help you get outta here! And isn't this a handy way to do that, by getting her to think you actually care about her so she'll be willing to help you! You actually think I'm stupid enough to believe that you don't have ulterior motives in this?!"
"I don't think you're stupid," said Jack. "So I wouldn't be playing a game that I'd expect a stupid person to fall for, because it would be pointless with you."
Harleen glared at him. "Well, I am stupid," she muttered. "I'm stupid for letting your stupid game get to me. I should be laughing at you – this joke is more pathetic than anything else. The very idea that someone like you could love me is completely ridiculous."
"How's that?" he asked. "I admit it's never happened before, but I've never met a gal like you before."
"I told you, I don't fall for that 'you're the only one who can save me' trick," snapped Harleen.
"I don't think you can save me," replied Jack. "And you're right, maybe I don't know much about love, but I don't think saving people is what love's about. It's about accepting people, just as they are, with all their scars and flaws. And I've got about a million of those!" he chuckled.
"Exactly," said Harleen, nodding. "Any woman who would love you would have to be crazy, which I am most definitely not. I'm a sane, sensible human being, and a psychiatrist."
"Yes, you know better than to love someone like me," said Jack, nodding. "But we actually weren't talking about you loving me – we were talking about me loving you. I don't see why that would be so crazy. You're a bright, attractive, caring young woman who I have a lotta fun with. It's only natural that I'd develop feelings for you."
"You don't have feelings!" snapped Harleen. "You can't, to do the things you do!"
"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked. "Some monster who doesn't feel anything, who goes through life numb to emotions of any kind? I thought you were a talented shrink, Doc – you should know how rare true psychos like that are. And I like to think I'm a little more complex than that."
"Well, you're not," she snapped.
"Am I not?" he asked. "Or does that thought just comfort you because you're too scared to consider the possibility that I might actually love you?"
"Why would I be scared of that?" she demanded.
"Because if you ever wanted to return the feeling, you could get in a helluva lotta trouble," he replied. "And you're afraid of that. You're afraid that you might start to develop feelings that you can't control, feelings that could sabotage your career more than you already have. I think you've always been afraid of doing anything wrong, which is why you're so superior and judgmental today. You resent people who had the courage to do what you never could, and did the wrong thing for once."
"You know nothing about me!" shrieked Harleen. "I know what it's like to live with a criminal record, but unlike you, I'm ashamed of it! I know I did a bad thing, and I deserve to be punished for it! I deserve to be shunned and excluded, because that's what all criminals deserve!"
Tears had risen to her eyes, and she felt the hot anger gradually cool to the familiar feelings of shame and regret. She wiped her eyes hastily, not wanting to cry in front of Jack.
To her surprise, he handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. "Thank you," she muttered, taking it and wiping her eyes.
"Look, I'm…sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you…"
"You didn't," she muttered, handing the handkerchief back to him. "You don't have that power over me. I upset myself. Because I disappointed myself, and I have to live with that disappointment forever."
"Can I ask…what you did?" he asked, slowly.
"I got drunk at a party in college and shoplifted stuff from the mall," she whispered.
He suddenly burst out laughing. "It's not funny!" she snapped.
"Yeah, it is!" he chuckled. "Jesus, you're self-flagellating over that? Some dumb college prank?"
"It wasn't a dumb college prank!" she roared. "And even if it was, it got me a criminal record, so I don't see anything funny about it!"
"You don't?" he repeated. "You sure?"
She shook her head. "Well, here's something funny," he said. "In the eyes of society, a hardened killer like me and a dumb college kid like you are equal. We're both given the label of criminal. We're both shunned and despised, even though what we've done is in no way equal. But we're both stuck with that criminal label forever. It's something that will never be wiped away, no matter how guilty we feel and how remorseful we are. So I don't waste my time feeling guilty about the stuff I've done. That doesn't do any good, and it doesn't make me happy. And I like being a happy guy."
Harleen felt him take her hand, and she turned to look at him. "You listen to me," he murmured, his green eyes serious for once. "Don't let them make you feel guilty about it. Society, your peers, that little voice in your head, don't let them beat you down with that label. Because they'll never let you forget it, so the best thing to do is to embrace it. To live your life freely and openly, with no regrets, and no sense of shame. Even if that life is a criminal one. It's better than living in a cage of self-loathing that society made for you. We can't control other people, but we can control ourselves. And we can choose to be happy, no matter what they say."
Harleen gazed into his deep, green eyes, feeling electricity shooting through her body, and an irresistible impulse seized her. She suddenly shoved her mouth onto his, and her body exploded in sparks of pleasure, each stronger than the last as his mouth responded eagerly to hers.
He drew her shaking body closer as her hands came up to cup his face, never breaking the kiss, the intensity increasing on both sides. She felt his hand reach for the button on her blouse, and she drew away suddenly as the spell was broken. "N…no," she whispered. "We can't…"
"Why not?" he murmured. "Because it'd be wrong?"
"It…it would be wrong," she stammered. "This is…this is all wrong…oh my God, how could I let this happen?" she demanded, standing up suddenly. "How could I be so dumb as to play right into your hands?! God, I'm lucky the camera is broken, or I'd be fired instantly! And I'd deserve to be too, for being so stupid! Just like when I got drunk, I let my guard down for one instant, and I just let these stupid impulses seize me, and then I suffer horrible consequences, like the idiot I am!"
"I've never been called a horrible consequence before, and I can't say I like it," commented Jack. "I ain't that bad a kisser, am I?"
"Just…please…shut up!" stammered Harleen, sitting back down and burying her face in her hands. "Stupid, Harley, stupid, stupid, stupid!" she muttered, slamming her palm into her face over and over again.
"You call yourself Harley?" he asked.
"Yeah, when I do something stupid, I do," said Harleen. "I like to think of Harley as the careless, reckless, idiotic part of myself. She's the one I blame for these stupid impulses. It's not a split personality or anything – it's just a way of dealing with acting like an idiot without completely hating myself. I can always hate Harley who made me do it. It's not mature, and it's not a healthy coping strategy, but it's the only one I've got."
"I think I'd like to meet this Harley," he chuckled, grinning. "She sounds like a fun gal."
"She's a clown," snapped Harleen, glaring at him. "Harley Quinzel, get it? A stupid, idiotic, impulsive clown."
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "No, thank you," she whispered, as he offered her his handkerchief again.
"Well, I've always liked clowns," said Jack. "And I guess…you like me a little too, huh?"
"No, I don't like you!" snapped Harleen. "You're a criminal, and my patient! I'd be a complete idiot to like you, firstly because you're an awful human being, and secondly because we could never actually be together!"
"Well, I did break the camera," said Jack. "So we could theoretically be together right now."
Harleen glared at him. "What kind of person do you think I am?" she demanded. "You think I want to make this whole situation worse by actually sleeping with you, my patient and a criminal?"
"Well, you're a criminal too," he replied. "So some would say we deserve each other. And I think there's something bad at the heart of you, kid. Something wicked and naughty that you've tried to repress all your life, something that festers under the lie of telling yourself you're a good person. But you ain't, not deep down inside. You're a bad, bad girl, I could see that from the moment I met you. And I wanna see more."
"If you think I'm going to sacrifice everything I've worked for, my job and my credentials, for a brief liaison with you, a criminal, then you are sorely mistaken," she retorted.
He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think you'll sacrifice 'em for me. You'll sacrifice 'em for yourself, for your own sake, because you're sick of being unhappy. You're sick of the judgments and the guilt and the fear, and of living your life in a prison. One day soon, you're gonna break out of it, and I'll be waiting. Not as your reason for doing it, but as your reward. You'll get to be with someone who understands you at last, and I do, Harley," he said, touching her face gently. "I tried to be good once too, a long time ago, so long ago that I barely remember it. But I do remember it – I remember what it felt like to be ashamed and fearful and small. To wake up every day hating yourself and your life, wondering why the world is incapable of making you happy. But the world can't do that – the world doesn't give you anything. You have to take your own happiness outta it. And I think we can, together."
"I think…this is another one of your charming acts, Mr. Napier," she whispered.
"Do you?" he asked. He kissed her tenderly, and she couldn't doubt the sincerity behind it. "Like you said, I'm not that charming," he added, drawing away with a grin. "Not charming enough to fake that, anyway."
"I'm…not helping you escape from here, whatever happens," she whispered. "I'm not falling for that game."
"Why would I wanna escape?" he murmured. "You're in here, so I wanna stay here forever. I love you."
She gazed into his green eyes. "Say it again," she whispered.
"I love you," he murmured. "I love you," he repeated, enveloping her mouth again. "You believe me now, don't you?" he whispered, drawing away at last.
"Uh huh," she murmured, tears in her eyes again. "Maybe I'm an idiot, but I do."
"You're not an idiot," he whispered. "You're perfect, Harley Quinn. Utterly perfect."
She let out a sob of relief and melted into his arms. He pulled her off the chair and she climbed into his lap, their mouths locked together. "We don't have to rush into this," murmured Jack. "If you're not ready…"
"Well, I can feel you're ready," she murmured, grinning. "And we might as well take advantage of the opportunity you gave us by breaking that camera. I think you deserve to be punished for that, Mr. Napier."
"I think you can call me Jack now," he murmured. "Can't you, Harley Quinn?"
"Maybe not," she said. "Jack Napier is my patient, and a criminal, and I'd be crazy to want to be with him. And I'm not crazy. Not yet, anyway," she added with a smile. She kissed him. "When you were a kid, and you wanted to be a clown, what did you want to call yourself?" she asked.
He chuckled. "It's silly. But I was gonna be the Joker."
"Joker," she repeated, grinning. "I like it. I like it a lot," she added, bringing her mouth back down to his as he pressed her down on the therapy couch.
If this was a game, she was glad to lose it. But she was past caring if it was - it felt real, but more importantly, for the first time in recent memory, Harleen Quinzel felt happy again.