Day 10

Unfortunately, sleep is still a hopeless dream for me, as a chug down my fourth cup of coffee shamefully. Glad to say I am fully alert, maybe a little too alert, I realize, as I nearly fly down each hallway. Mr. J's quick to point it out. "Feelin a little zippy today, Doc?"

I laugh, a little too quickly and a little too hard. He gives me an odd look, but smiles. "Maybe. . I should lay off the coffee. ." I say, pushing the mug a little farther away. I eye it as if it was a vile substance.

"It isn't always the caffiene's fault, Harl." He giggles when he sees my perplexed expression.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Maybe that's just you, Doc! Your personality!" He raises an eyebrow, turning his head waiting for an affirmative. "Well? What do you think? Is it?"

"I mean. . Maybe." I'm not quite sure how to answer his theories about myself because its not like I have much fun out on my own. Out of this session room- I'm not very positive who I am. So how can I be sure in it? "I really don't know, to be honest with you. I don't have many people to share my personality with."

"Sure you do!" He leans forward with a cocky grin. "I'm plenty enough!"

The Joker's statement is true, he is. But that doesn't make it any more easier to figure who I am. Because the person we create together only is me for an hour a day. That's not really a true person than. . . Is it. "I'll leave it up to you to figure me out then."

"Ooohh, that's not really a challenge." The Joker has this amazing spark to him that never goes away. The exciting flame that is found in nearly all of his qualities. From his monstrous grin, that I find to be oddly beautiful; his dark eyes some say to look demonic, but I find them to be almost cherubic. The thick green that is always gelled to perfection, never a hair out of place. And finally his famous, recognizable-anywhere laugh. Even his small chuckles and giggles are simply exciting. All of his energy completely moves me, it's a force I have yet to define.

"Joker. . ." I find myself saying.

His proud grin transforms to a adorable one so quickly I have to blink to focus. This sudden expression leaves fluttering deep within the pits of my stomach. "Yes, Doc?" His eyes are wide, waiting. So innocent looking. . .

"You're. . ." The whispered words "so stunning" float through the air, as I realize I'm not even paying attention and rather talking to myself than him. I wish I could fly out after them and catch the words before they reach him, as if it was a text message.

"'Scuse me, my dear, but what was that?"

I blink confused, as if I haven't finished my sentence yet. "What?"

"You said something, what was it?"

"Um. . Nevermind." I can feel my face get hot, as if maybe he saw the words on my lips. The capillaries in my cheeks dilate, flushing the deep red substance to my skin. Even thinking about it feels forbidden, as if my thoughts are just as open to read as a book. Mr. J's smile peaks when he sees my change of color.

"Come now, Harley. Tell your 'Mistah J' what you said, hmm?" No getting out of this one. How could I with that voice anyway? It was so rhythmic, like a song that you just lose yourself in. Each note carries you a little farther into the clouds.

"I. . . I was just saying. ." I reach a hand up to the back of my neck out of nervousy. I wasn't ready to jump off of cloud 9 quite yet.

Joker smiles. "Go on." His forehead creases when his eyebrows lift lightly in a small but cute gesture of patience, creating small shadows in his pale skin.

"I think you're just. . . Ya know, attractive." Immediately I bite my lip and I feel the flesh of my face and neck grow to what feels like a hundred degrees. You said it. You said it, you said it, you said it, you said it. And you can't take it back.

Not to my surprise, he laughs, and I'm bracing for the rejection to cut me deep. After a few more chuckles, he calms down. Oh no, here it comes. "Are you making a move, Harley?" My heart skips about three beats and I'm not sure if its going slump into my stomach and deteriorate in the acids, or melt from over-heating first. "I was wondering when you would! It was about time you roll the dice!"

This hits me harder than. Well just about anything I've been hit with. "Ya-. .ya were?"

"Come on, Harley. You think I didn't know?" He laughs. "I mean we were playin this game since the day you first saw me!"

I can feel my color slowly balance out as I realize he welcomes it. Heck, he actually stated the fact we've been flirting for quite some time, which I silently have been ignoring. So, what does this mean. . . "I didn't know what you'd say. ."

"Well, first I must ask- did you really blow that guard off last night? Or did you cave and go on the terrible date anyway?"

I laugh. "Course I didn't go!" I'm not second guessing my words anymore, they're all falling out again. "You would have been the talk of the night anyway. I'm sure he wouldn't have liked that."

He chortles a bit. "And why might I be brought up, Harls? Mind telling me why that'd be the case?"

I can clearly see he is just asking me this for fun. He enjoys seeing me struggle with my words as my emotions toy with my head. It's entertaining, I'm sure. Plus, I mean he's the Joker, it can only be 10 times more better hearing women talk about you when your the Clown Prince of Crime. "Cause I'm not interested in anything else. ." I want to bite my tongue, slap my mind for saying this. But no matter the clamp I hold, the blood that may ooze, I say it anyway. My most recent deepest fear. "Or anyone else."

(Would be) Session 15

I'm not ashamed, I like the guy. Mr. J is completely and utterly dreamy. Our sessions together have been wonderful. My notes becoming seldom, I think Joan is starting to catch on. . . But it's all worth it.

Things are just as normal as they usually are, and dont get me wrong, I love our sessions, but I'm gunna change the game a bit. Today I want it all to change. I want him to know I like more than just how he looks. I like him. It's coming out all today, I just know it.

I pack up a few things, my folders, pictures, etc. and head for the door. My phone has other plans. This has to stop happening. One day I will be late for work. "Hello?"

"Harley? It's Joan. . . Have you read the paper yet? Did anyone call you?"

My heart flutters nervously. "No. . ."

"You might want to check it." I hang up, I don't waste a minute searching for any kind of farewells. My mail is in my hands before I even set the phone down. Tossing bills behind me carelessly, I stop when the Gotham paper is in my view.

Joker escapes Arkham once again. "No! No, no, no, no, no, no!" A dusky photo of my Clown Prince is centered underneath the headline. A sad groan leaves my lips and I throw the paper a crossed the counter. It slides until it hits the floor on the other side. Guilty, as if the picture was a small piece of the real Joker, I flee to his side to pick it back up. "Sorry. ." I whisper.

I rip the page from the rest of the articles, heading to my room to tac it up. Only his glowing eyes and mischievous grin appear from the darkness of the photograph. It's enough to slightly comfort me. "Where are you. . . ?" I hear myself say.

I return to my kitchen, not bothering to pick up the bills that decorate my floor. Some are crinkled after being thoughtlessly stepped on. Oh well. I do take the time to search through the rest of my mail that lay in a disorganized pile on the granite. Trash. Trash. Trash. Trash. Trash. Tr- Jack White. Who on earth is this guy? I tear through the paper, almost angrily. This time I am left with a playing card. A Jack. What does that mean? Ugh, freak. I am just about to rip the card in half, but catch sight of the brand name. It's the same the Joker uses. I decide against my better judgement, to keep the card. Maybe my puddin' will enjoy it in our next session. Puddin'? I wonder if he'll like that. . . A distressful sigh whisps from between my lips, worrying about my Mr. J. The roads must be packed with the Gotham police. Poor thing. He just wants a little fun before being dragged back to that horrid place. . .

I do want him back though. He needs to come back. Where I know he will be taken care of. Where I can make sure he's taken care of. I giggle to myself, remembering my scolding to the guards. How flustered they were.

Another dreadful ring. What the hell is it, now?! To my surprise, it's Joan once again. "I'm guessing you saw?"

"Yes." I'm not in the mood to talk.

"Listen, since Joker is unavailable at this time, would you consider setting up a session with another patient until he is brought back? It will only improve you." I honestly have the urge to slap her, which bewilders me, it's not very often I get any sudden violent urges. If at all. "I know you are very in depth within your evaluation with the Joker, but maybe it will give you something new? It will certainly add to your pay check." I roll my eyes and strangle the phone. She's mocking me. But, no just will not come out of my mouth. Just when I think denial is taking place, my tongue betrays me, somehow forming the word "no" until it is morphed into an irritated "yes."

"Great! I will see you at noon, Harleen."

I growl, chucking the phone acrossed the room. How dare she replace Mr. J with someone else.

I escape to my room once more before leaving to Arkham Asylum. Not to check my hair, but to check on him one last time before leaving him alone. "Be safe out there, puddin'." The Joker? Safe? HA. "Well, ya know what I mean."

Where is Joan? She isn't waiting for me, as usual. She normally isn't a very busy woman. I catch Rick walking towards me. "Heya, Rick. Ya seen Joan?"

"Uh. . . " He looks uncomfortable. "Yeah. Dan's talkin' to her right now."

"Oh?"

His face contorts defensively. "Hey, I got nothin' to do with it." He begins walking away.

"To do with what?" But he has already left. A stressful sigh leaves me.

The elevator takes me down to the rogues to visit the Joker's empty cell. It lacks nearly all character with his absence. Each detail merely just a regular addition to any old room. None of his energy has clung to any of the walls, he has left behind nothing. This very atmosphere is empty. "You alright there, miss?"

"Huh?" I spin to see myself peering into the eyes of Mr. Crane.

"I see his lack of presence seems to trouble you." He puzzles. "Why is that, doctor?"

"I guess you'd have to ask Riddler that," I say with a shrug. Scarecrow laughs.

"Ah, I understand now. You're a humorous one too."

Scarecrow is getting at something and I get the gist of it, but his certainty loses me. "Whaddya mean?"

He points a long, bony finger to the cell away from his. "The clown."

"Yes, he's missing. So?"

"So it bothers you. But not because of your pay, correct?" He smiles. "No. Because of the fear you have of losing this prankster. Not as a patient, but as a whole."

I want to object, defend myself. But for what? He's right. And I am left speechless and vulnerable. "Dr. Quinzel!" A hand grasps my shoulder. It's Joan. "Are you ready for your next patient?"

I glance back at Johnathon and he has slunk back into his corner, picking at a thin layer of dirt under his nails. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Good," Joan says, leading me down the hallway, towards the middle from the entrance. "Watch out, this redhead has a temper."

...

"Hiya Poison Oakey! The name's Harley-"

"Ivy. Posion Ivy!"

I shrug. "Sorry."

"Harley Quinn. I've heard your name here and there."

"Have you?" The thought of the Joker talking about me to other patients, showing me off as if I was his girl, it sends chills down my spine. The good kind. "Has Mistah J said anything about me?" Ivy lifts an eyebrow. "The Joker!"

"Oh wait. You're that crazy new doctor of his, aren't you? They say you've gone soft for him. Pity."

A giddy squeal leaves me. "Has he said anything? Has he?"

"Maybe. I tend to tune him out." She sighs. "It's a shame a girl like you was duped so easy. You seemed so smart."

"But my puddin' cares for me, really!" How do they not see it? He's such a lovin' guy!

"Uh-huh, right. A guy like him? Sure." Her sarcasm stings. Maybe it's time to switch the subject.

"Sooo, what are you in here for? Stealin' roses?" A laugh evolves into a sudden gasp, as I realize now. That's where he got it from!

"What?"

"Mistah J. . . Gave me a rose. ."

An angry glare flashes onto her face, like a thorny flower. "Where is it? It's mine! That lousy clown took it from me! Stole my baby right from me! I must have it back!"

"Sheesh, it's just a piece of garden," I say. "You could just plant another one."

Ivy's pale green face quickly paints itself to match her hair. "Just a piece of garden? Plant another one?" She shrieks, throwing her mint green arms in the air.

Guards, who take longer to notice than you'd think, come in. Each of Ivy's arms is being held back by a strong burly hand. "Cool it, red." I am unfamiliar to this guard. He smiles. "Sorry, Dr. Quinzel. We'll get her out of here."

...

Every turn I make on this stretch home, I peak in every direction except the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of purple or green. "Where are you!?"

I fumble with the radio, hoping maybe a news report will be on and broadcasting something about the Joker's whereabouts. "-I'm Jack Ryder, have a good evening folks. Keep those doors locked." Crap! I just missed it! This is more than frustrating. I have so much hope bubbling up, I just want to roll down the window and yell out to my puddin'. No. . . I'm not that crazy for him. Not yet, I don't think.

The knob on my radio is probably just as tired as I am, and I give up, landing on a familiar voice. My throat tightens as a I hear a classic, it's lyrics taking a minute to really register.

You may be right,
I may be crazy.
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for!

I picture Mr. J strapped in his chair, singing the tune. Maybe even whistling it, as he does so often. . .

Turn out the lights,
Don't try to save me.
You may be wrong,
For all I know you may be right.

I giggle at the thought of Mr. J singing to me. If any of 'em, this one is perfect.

Remember how I found you there?
Alone, in your electric chair?
I told you dirty jokes until you smiled. (That sounds like you puddin'. . . )
You were lonely for a man,
I said take me as I am.
Cause you might enjoy some madness for a while.

I place my thumb on the dial. Not knowing whether to shut if off or turn it up. . .

I think of all the years you tried to find someone to satisfy you.
I might be as crazy as you say,
If I'm crazy then it's true,
That it's all because of you,
And you wouldn't want me any other way.

I find my way to my driveway and shut it off before it has the chance to finish the song. "I'm going crazy. I know I am," I look up at my small apartment with it's cluttered floors awaiting me. Ugh, I still have those dang bills to pick up. "But I can't afford to go crazy. . ."

I trudge up the steps and clang open the door. . . Is this some kind of joke. . . Where is all the crap!? "Oh my God, someone broke in. . . " I am about to run through the house in horror to see what was stolen. The bills that were on the floor are no longer there. My floors have been licked clean of my belongings. "Who the hell-"

My heart skips a beat and I run to my bedroom to look upon the photo of my clown. I know you did this puddin'. I can't help but smile like a child struck with puppy love. He was here. . .

But. . . The photo of my prince is now gone. Tac and everything. "Puddin'? Why would you take that. . . " I sulk, scuffing out of my room and out towards my kitchen, that is now spotless. A foggy pile is ahead, stacked on top of my countertop. My fingers graze the edge as I peek closer. The bills. But. . .

I look around to see any other of my things that may have found a new home around here. Nothing looks out of the ordinary in the living room. . . I run down the hall and into my office. Which also remains untouched. Nothing in my cabinets, no missing books- not that I would have missed them. Hm. This is odd. What are you up to Mr. J?

I make my way back to my fridge to grab a drink, swish some ideas around, get my juices flowing. Taking a sip I shut the door and I know. It's right there in front of me.

"You're welcome- Jack White."

...

Ivy is an exciting patient, it was great to see her so angry that day. And I am still allowed to see her despite this. Although she may have somethin' to pick with with Mr. J, I still like her.

I sip my coffee in my office, skimming through the important pieces of her file. I giggle, seeing a picture of a victim of hers. Dead eyes, blank face, and a green painted kiss on the cheek. Clever.

"Dr. Quinzel?" A voice says through a speaker.

"Yes?"

"You are needed on the first floor- it's urgent!"

"A-alright. I'll be right down." Dashing through the door, I scurry to the elevator. I'm out and rushing into the first floor as fast as these blessed heels will allow. Probably another breakout.

A man rushes past me towards the entrance. "-They've got him!" I hear him say.

Him? Mr. J?!- I'm flying past these people now, screw the heels. Some are shoved, even elbowed, I don't care. All I can see are pointy black ears, and I will get to them. Oh, I will get to them.

The last person is knocked back nearly a foot, causing an even bigger commotion, I don't even spare a breath on an apology. Because all my breath is being sucked in, as I gasp at my bloody angel, being dragged in by this monster. I fight back tears that threaten to break me, as the black gloved hand drops him, falling into my trembling arms. I see a tear fall; quickly it dampens his battered shoulder. A clumsy, disoriented smile is on his face, his teeth speckled with blood. My left hand, shakily cradles his green mess of matted hair. It's surprisingly soft to the touch, considering it has been permanently dyed by a vat of chemicals. I cringe when my skin quickly moistens as I stroke an area at an attempt of comfort, my flesh red with his blood.

He did this. The so called "hero" of Gotham. That flying rat! My loving comfort is rooted with a new feeling of disgust and raw anger, spreading throughout my body with this overgrowth of hostility. Like a bad mold. My face, wet with tears lifts to his dark, expressionless gaze. And I have nothing but hate for this man.

Mr. J groans and I feel him being pulled from underneath my protective arms. A doctor has him by both of his shoulders, dragging him away. His incoherent smile blankly stares at me, his eyes unmatched. He is unaware of his circumstances. I need to be there. When he comes to, I need to be the person he sees. "Nooooooooooooo!" I yell, arms reaching out, trying to snatch one of his legs and pull him back before he's gone, but I am incapable.

I lift my body from my knees to my feet, arranging myself to face the bat. His expression is that of shock, as my rage slowly feeds on every emotion left inside. "You did this. Get out! Leave!"

...

I am standing in front of the door, acting on anything. Small hope urges me to keep trying at the doorknob, but it stays locked despite my efforts. "Dr. Quinzel, please!" Another fellow associate from medical is saying. He tugs at my arm. "Try to contain yourself!"

"I just want in. I have to see him, let me see him."

His expression is perplexed and concerned. "Harleen, I am not authorized to do that. You are just going to have to wait. He will be cared for and brought back to his cell to rest. In the meantime, I advise you to stay busy." He pauses and lifts a brow. "Somewhere else."

"Fine." I am in no form to speak to either of these jerks. They better take good care of my puddin'.

The Actual 15th Session

I am more than ready to see my puddin', extra bandages in my bag, and had even snuck in a couple squirting flowers and whoopee cushions, which make him giggle like a child. He still has a sad plea in his eyes that remind me of a fallen angel. The poor thing. He opens his mouth to peep something small, but withdraws back into his seat. "What is it, Mistah J? You can tell me." I reach a hand to his, which are shockingly smooth despite his brawling.

"I know, kiddo, I know. You're quite the listener, aren't you?" I smile and nod.

"Go ahead." He covers a small glare I find in his face. He doesn't like my pushing. But even so, he gives me a smile anyway.

"Harley, poo bear, I'd like to just say, you've been the highlight of this horrid place. I appreciate your struggles. They don't go unnoticed." He nods to the squirting flower that is pinned through his Arkham clothing as a joking replacement of his original one. Warmth pinches at my flesh as I try to seem unphased by his words. Oh, who am I kidding? I think we're past that.

"Oh! That reminds me, Mistah J!" I pull out the Jack playing card from my pocket and slide it across the table. "Thought you might like this!" He picks up the card, examining it closely.

"I believe I was missing this from my own deck. Thanks toots!" He tucks it away under his clothing.

As much as I try to block it out, Billy Joel remains in my head. Every verse is a joke, and I'm the punch line, as I stare at my clown longingly. I think to myself if Mr. J likes Billy Joel. . . Hmmm. . .

"So, I heard you were given someone else?" A grudging tone bites through his words. I will bring it up another time. . .

"It wasn't my idea, Mistah J, but she doesn't seem so bad. Just a little crazy, but," I giggle. "Who didn't see that coming?"

"She?" The Joker lifts an unpleasant eyebrow.

"Yeah, Red and I got off to a bad start but-"

Mr. J gasps dramatically. "Ivy!? Noooo, not the plant lady!"

"What's wrong with Red?" I don't understand the dispute between these two, but I actually like Ivy. She has character and class. I don't want her and puddin' killin' each other.

The Joker cackles. "A million things and counting." He grimaces.

I shrug. "Well, we have another session in a few days. . ." I pause. "You don't mind, do you puddin'. . . ?"

He lifts a hand, gesturing as he speaks, but before words come out, the hand abruptly drops. "What was that pooh?"

"You don't mind, do you?" I ask again. He smiles and stands up so fast, I flinch a little in my seat. His energy is cautioning, as it lingers closer with each step. The corners of his mouth upturn into a sidistic, yet adorable grin. The characteristic shadows that make the Joker become darker expand until they are casting not only on him, but me as well; the darkness swallows us whole. His strong, pale hand grabs hold of my chin.

"Get up."

"S-sure thing, Mistah J." I feel stupid for stuttering, but how I could I not? He was as intimidating as hell. . . But oh, was it just as attractive. Seeing as how he is not wearing his usual purple gloves, I try my best to not allow my face to flush. It doesn't work, as I feel my skin burn against his own. His grip forces me up, still a bit short even standing up to him, he has to peer down.

He then laughs, sending rattles through his fingers and shaking my own face with his in a similar movement. The laughter isn't the laugh I'm used to, it's the one I hear on T.V., not the cute giggles I hear in our sessions. His dark eyes find my own as the laughter dies. "No, Harley. Your puddin' doesn't mind."