Session 18 (Joker's P.O.V.)

The putrid substance before me, a sad attempt to replace real food, quickly decreases to room temperature as it stay untouched. I'm sure even Stonegate does a better job than Arkham. Next time I decide to skip out, I may pay the cooks a visit. The so called "professionals" behind the glass refuse to leave until I have made at least a gesture to swallow this down. The joke is on them, I can play this game too. "I'd be much more willing to if I had someone to share it with!" I gesture my fork, the stale "food" beginning to ooze to the plate below. "Care to join?"

I receive a tired sigh, muffled from behind the translucent wall. "I will ask you one more time, patient 4479, please. Take at least a few bites. It is mandatory to make sure our patients have a healthy diet, if one at all."

Ignoring the white coats, I break off the middle prongs of my plastic utensil, giggling to myself. One of the doctors quickly reacts, jerking forward to send in the guards. The pieces fall to my lap, and I swipe them off. I see the troubled doctor retreat much more calmly, but still on alert, as I raise the fork and dance it around. "It's Batsy!"

A disappointed shake of the head and a nod is what I'm left with, as the doctors leave. The guards trudge in to dispose of my meal and bring me to the session room to wait for my appointment. My appointment with a woman who is so niave and trusting that she is already wrapped around my, The Joker's, finger. A whisper of a chortle leaves me, setting the guards on edge quite fast.

Their hold on me grows tighter, as if the knowing my pale skin is promised with purple gives them a sort of comfort. It only strengthens the laughter that shakes me, creating a more troublesome attempt to strain me. A firm hand shoves me through the opening of the doors. "Get in there, clown, and stay quiet!"

"Only if you promise me some females!" The door slams behind me and I'm left alone again. But I can see their expressions as if I painted them on myself. Annoyed, and agitated, but fake looks of control as they hide the slight fear that trails their spine, yet they would never admit of it's being there. I hear the faintest of clicks that progress with each ticking second. The fear is now erased from their minds, I know. Because Harley's here.

"Hiya, Mistah J! Miss me?"

Hands folded, shoulders straight, I turn my head to watch her take her seat, my smile not fading. "But of course, Harls." She replaces her mug with a new one, tossing the empty mug from her lips with it's last sip. "I assume you missed me."

"Why is that?" Her head tilts in a way I can't place is annoying or pleasant. . .

"Because you didn't sleep last night," I say, eyeing her second coffee. "Why is that?"

Harley attempted to cover up the faint purple hammocks that compliment her blues, they remind me of the bruising of a beautiful black eye. But even she can't deny the foggy look in her eye as she flutters her lids to stay awake. "U-uhh. . ." Harley stammers, dumbfounded. "It's just coffee, Mistah J."

"I can smell the extra sugar, Harls." I can't help but laugh at her being caught. "What was getting at you last night?"

"I. . . -"

"Go on, Harley." I scooch to the edge of my seat, clucking my tongue with impatience. I give her a sweet smile to encourage her to spill her thoughts although I can already guess what they are. She sighs and continues.

"I can't. . . I can't stop thinking about you." Her eyes waver from side to side as she studies the table in front of us, as if it held the answers to my own reactions. The quivering is brought to my own face as she trembles with the fear of my rejection. "It's childish, I know. . . But. . ." She searches for my face again. "I can't."

"Aww, Harley. Why were you so nervous to tell me that?"

She smiles a bit more comfortably now. "Well, you are my favorite patient, Mistah J."

"Isn't that the dream," I joke. "I've always wanted to be a favorite patient." Harley sighs and looks at me with sad kitten eyes. "Harley, can I tell you a secret?"

"You can tell me anything!"

"Good." I smile and lean forward to touch her hand. A spark in her eyes lights at the recognition of my skin against hers. "Do you mind coming closer to me. . .? I would feel much more comfortable. . ." I sway a worried glance to the door.

"Oh. . Of course," she whispers. She leaves her chair and crouches by my side. I can sense a bit of debate on how close she dares to be next to me. I know she wants to be closer. That's why her face wavers more near and then far, very subtle, but still I notice.

"Harley. . ." I whisper. "I have to tell you . . -"

Harley's, much smaller lips, have smothered me with the glossy texture that coats them, tasting of strawberries. She has waited too long for this, she will take her time, I'm sure of it. The way she's looked at me since day one. Dressed to see me. Talked to me, even. I could hear it in that sweet little Brooklyn voice of hers. She wanted this clown to herself. A small hand rifles through my hair, as I feel it's usual hold start to loosen. Someone better get me a comb after this.

Breathless, she pulls away, shocked by her own actions. I simply just smile in return as she collects herself. She is still only a nose touch away. As she realizes this, she quickly stands up, composing herself, and takes a step back. "I'm sorry. . . "

"Well, you must be feeling more awake!" I cackle. She smiles, and fixes a piece of her bangs that has fallen to her face. "I think you would look much better-" I reach out an arm and whip the elastic from her hair before she has time to react. Her hair falls around her face. "-like this!" Her hair is unexpectedly wavy. She hurried back to her seat, checking the time.

"What were you going to tell me, Mistah J?"

"I have seemed to forgotten. Nevermind it, toots." I looks towards the door. "Looks like our time is up."

Suddenly, Harley shoots from her chair. "Wait!" She shouts out the door. "Hold on, just a minute! We aren't done yet, just one more sec!"

I give her an odd look. "Uh. . . What are you up to, Harls?"

"The rose. Ivy wants it back. Can you give it to me during our next session?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, toots." I finish strapping myself in, my grin I can feel grow larger. I peer up at her. "I don't know where it is."

Harley tosses her head frantically at the door, making sure they aren't coming in quite yet. She quickly runs to my side, and pushes her lips against mine one last time. "Please. . . "

Again, it grows larger. "Sorry, Harl, I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's gone."

Ivy's Second Session (Harley's .)

My mind is foggy with the lipped event that occurred between my patient and I. I was dumb for it, of course, but I would kiss him a third time, given the chance. Those famous ruby lips, unstretch themselves to fit against my own pink pucker. It was a perfect meet. Through out my life, never has a kiss left me so. . .dazed. I feel drunk. To sober up my mind a bit, I snap myself back to where I am.

Currently I am sitting inside me and Ivy's session room, waiting for her arrival. Well. Poison Ivy. Or Pam. Or Pamela. Or patient 35..- whatever her number is. Too many names to remember in this place! I tap my fingers to a tune that sounds so familiar. . . But I have yet to place it.

That kiss. . . Ugh, I knew a girl could dream. But wow. I know what I'm gunna be dreamin' tonight! . . .If I sleep, that is.

The door buzzes and in comes Red, looking. . . - happy? "Hello," I greet her, as professional as I can muster. The guards strap her in, wearing gloves, as touching Ivy, as I read, is very deadly. They quickly retreat after she is strained. They give me a polite nod and leave us be. "Okay, what's goin' on, Red? Why do ya look so happy?"

"I know your secret," she threatens. She leans in. "I know what you did." Ivy's bright green eyes dazzle with knowledge, but I am left confused. Her poisonous lips curl into a devious smile.

"What. . . ? What are you talkin' about?"

She laughs. "Think real hard, doctor."

Of course there are plenty of things I'm considering at the moment. Many things I have tried to keep on the "down-low." But what could she possibly know? I haven't gotten caught yet. And she even said that her and Joker don't talk to each other. Or, rather she doesn't respond to anything he says to her. "Ya got me. What is it?"

Her peach tinted lips unseal as she laughs at me. "Harley, is it?"

"Yup!"

Ivy has a look of wonder as her smile grows more devious. "Have you heard of my kiss of death Harley? You must have, you have seemed to adopt it for yourself. You see, . . . I know you kissed the Joker. And I also know that soon enough I will not be the only one to know. You'll be the talk of the town very shortly. I can see the headline now 'Daffy Doc Kisses Psycho.' You'll be famous, my darling."

My skin crawls as it drops to freezing temperature. I can do nothing but stare at her in disbelief as I choke on the limited air I feel I am supplied with. How does she know!? "I- I. . . Please don't tell. . . Please."

"Oh, I won't need to. Guess you never saw the video cameras, did you?" She smiles. "That's a shame. I do have to thank you in advance for livening this place up, though. Aside from these crazies, this is the most drama Arkham has seen in years, or will see anyway."

My hands are sweating so much that I can't grip the chair anymore. My head is spinning. Joan. . . Does she know? Does everyone know? . . . Will I see J again? "Please, Red. Where are those tapes?! I need ya help! I can't let this get out! I'll neveh see him again!"

Ivy chuckles. "Oh, Harley, don't be so dramatic. He breaks out more than anyone else here, I'm sure you'd see him again." My expression pleads with her. I am begging. "Alright, alright, I'll help you. I know where they keep the tapes. I also know they only check them ever so rarely, unless of course, they feel something is up. And in your case, that clown is the most manipulative man any doctor has ever known. So they might check your tapes a little more frequently than others to make sure you're still sane." She checks her pale green nails nonchalantly. Her eyes revert to her shackles and scoffs in disgust. "I'll make you a little deal, darling. I'll destroy the evidence of you and that psycho- if-"

I clasp my hands together. "I will do anythin', Red. Anything! Just say the word, and you got it!"

"You get me that rose back from that clown."

. . . Damn.

...

What am I going to do!? I think to myself, subcontiously turning up Billy Joel a little louder. It leaves me with a comfort that is close to the same feeling that Mr. J's presence is with me. Puddin' doesn't have the rose anymore. . . He said he lost it. If I buy a new one, she'll know. I know she'll know. . .

Devastated, defeated, and clueless, I am left with no solution but to let Ivy down. Ultimately resulting in me getting canned. This is it. . . The moment I've been dreading all along. To finally be exposed to my boss, to my family, to the media. Everyone will know I was the doctor who failed. I was the doctor who fell in love with her patient.

The most dreaded man in Gotham.

My spotless apartment leaves me disgusted and enraged. This isn't me. I open up my suitcase, and thoughtlessly dump it's contents onto the floor, kicking papers around as I walk through it. What's the point. Most of my notes consist of doodles of me and the Joker with hearts. And what is valid for observation is going to be tossed along with my name tag anyhow. I yell curses at Jack White for ever cleaning the place up.

I laugh at myself. I'm laughing hysterically, crying even. And I'm not sure why. It's just all a joke.

My bed isn't even comfortable to me. The covers are swallowing me whole, as I seep into the darkness that engulfs my vision. No more Ivy. . . No more Joker. . .

...

I peel my eyes open to complete darkness. I can't breathe. . . I. . .- I can't breathe. I struggle to obtain air that is growing thin. Where am I? Is this what death feels like? I flail my arms up, a cooler air touches my skin and suddenly I am flooded with air. I suck it down selfishly until I am calm. I push myself from the mattress, realizing now that I need to sleep with covers away from my face- depressed or not. I scan my bedside table to read that it is twenty past 2AM. Groaning, I stumble out of bed and find the light switch.

Fuzzy socks pad my feet into the kitchen to get a bowl of ice cream. The TV sounds like a good idea for a while, but I can't focus after fifteen minutes. My mind is offended by thoughts of Joker's disappointed face shaking side to side, tsking at me from behind glass as I am being kicked out the door. "Should've been more careful, toots." Ivy also sighs her disapproval. "Such a waste. . ."

Angry, I slam my bowl down onto the coffe table, the spoon twirling around the inside of the rim. "This can't happen!" I hold my head in my hands and think of everything and nothing at the same time. "This is too much. . ."

A faint flutter of paper sounds and suddenly I hear a "pat" as something touches the floor. My head jerks up with notice, as I search the living room for an explanation. A white fold of paper is sitting in front of the island that separates my kitchen and living room. "If this is that damn Jack guy. . ." I unfold the note.

Be my flower girl- Jack White.

"Whatever, cree-" Mercy meets me before I'm allowed to finish. Because Jack White has left me with the winning prize. The answer to all my problems.

I rip the tape from the stem that holds it to the front door, being careful not to damage it's delicate thorns. I place it against my nose and inhale, and it smells just as I had hoped. Like victory.

Session 19 (Joker's P.O.V.)

I am a perfect example of "white heat"! I laugh to myself, as the anger swells like a spider bite. I love how characteristic I am, I mean heck, I can even crack a joke when I'm pissed and still laugh! What a card, right? I thought so.

I feel the pulsating rage thump through my brow, as it casts thick shadows upon my vision. "Come again?" My voice catches in a sinister growl that makes him flinch, but he thinks he's protected. He stands his grounds.

"Sorry, Joker. The deal is off. You promised me payment- and you haven't delivered. Mo didn't give me my share this week. I'm done risking my ass for you." He folds his arms in front of his chest. He thinks it makes him seem firm and confident. But really I can see it's so I won't notice the slight quiver that courses through both arms when they are left dangling.

Furious, I slam the glass in front of us. "You will do as I say. You will get your money. I will deal with the boys later, until then you do as I tell you or so help me-"

"You'll what? You're locked up in here, bozo. Nothin' you can do."

I love how he lies to himself out loud to comfort the thought that is really swimming through that teensy brain of his. That I do escape. That I can do it without him just as easy. And when I do. . . I giggle. "You know just as well as I do, that this is a mere resting place until I'm ready to go." He takes a step back as I speak, sending chuckles his way. "And when I'm out, how's about you and me go for a coffee, eh?"

The guard shutters and clears his throat. "Alright, alright, fine."

"Now go get me my damn paper. I have one last letter to write."

After fumbling to find the words to apologize to me for his disobey, Rick quickly flees to perform his next task.

...

Stumbling through the doors of the Recreation room, I am greeted with the usual image. Ivy has planted herself onto the couch, watching some fruity show about tending to your flowers or what have you (typical, I know.) Jervis is playing some card game with Eddy, as he enlightens Hatter in a riddle or two, growing bored when Jervis simply ignores them. I shuffle over to the television to switch the current educational bore to a more comic classic, my personal favorite, the Looney Tunes.

But something has caught my eye. A sweet pair of legs, that belong to none other than my little Harley. Harley? What is she doing here? A seductive sneer has washed over her face, as she saunters over. Each step is a bit taunting, I must admit, but although I have thought of her as attractive, never have I really thought of her in such a way. It seems the tables have turned. "Hello, Joker." Wow. Even her voice is simply-. . .

Fake! Her clicking heels slowly turn into a sickly brown as they morph and mold themselves, stretching to the lengths of those legs and her full body until she is mush. A loud, irritating laugh erupts and I begin to realize, not only is he laughing, but they all are. "Don't you dare laugh at me!" But I scan the room to see I am unheard.

"You and clay otta get a room," the wooden puppet jokes. Having nothing to throw, I lunge at Wesker and his toy.

"Shut your mouth!"

The guards are now awake and startled by the feud, standing up from their posts. "I didn't say it! It was Scarface!" Arnold pleads as his feet dangle over the floor, my fist full with his shirt.

"Tell your doll to keep his mouth shut, or he won't have a jaw," I growl, tossing him into Clayface. The result is a bit messy, as Clayface isn't quick enough to dodge the Ventriloquist and his puppet. The rest of the rogues have grown silent, eyeing me as I willingly walk over to the guards with a satisfied grin. I am cuffed and escorted toward the doors. Before I am out of sight, I address the speechless villains. "To make myself quite clear, Miss Harleen is just another pawn on the board."

...

"Harley, I'm a bit disappointed. Considering our last session, I more than expected you to be in my lap." I don't know if it's just me, but it seems every time I see my little Harls, her blouse becomes more and more revealing. Come on Harley, you've got to stop this. I'm restricted to a cell in an asylum and a straight jacket. I'm debating on whether or not it's working until she struts over and sits herself down on my lap, where I have a more close up view.

"Whoops. . . Sorry, Mistah J," she teases.

Damn it, it's working. No. She isn't supposed to make me want her. It's supposed to be the other way around. Control. This broad does not have a single ounce of dominance, because it's all yours. Remember that and everything fall in place.

I slither my hand onto her thigh. You may be good at this game, toots, but I play it better. "Then again, not so sure that's a good place for you to be." She looks offended as I push her off, but it's quickly erased when she understands it's meaning.

"Mistah J!" She exclaims, blushing. I give her a wink, sending her back to her seat.

Again, my focuses have seem to drift to other matters, as she sits directly across from me. This only frustrates me, because this is never an issue, never an obstacle I have to overcome. It's always just is what it is. But Harley has done something to the process of things and I'm not quite sure what.

Angrily, I begin to force these thoughts out by replacing these fantasies of Harley with other ones. A violet speckled neck, sporting a crimson, wet, handmade grin. I giggle at the thought of my girl growing pale and begging.

"-Mistah J?"

Coming to, I see Harley looks a bit worried. Perhaps my facial expressions painted my thoughts. "Yes?"

"Did you know about. . . About the cameras?"

"Why of course I did, cupcake," I chuckle. Her brow furrows at my response, my little pumpkin pie grows red in the face. I see debate in her eyes as she questions whether or not she should speak up at my rash decisions to leave her "out of the loop," so to speak.

"What!? Mistah J, you just might get me canned!" Her tiny hands fly through the air.

"I just might," I giggle.

Harley darts from her chair, knocking it over. "Do you not care?! Do you not understand how important this is to me? How important you are to me!? I need-"

"Shut up, Harley! Sit down," I order. My tone is frosty and startles her, as tears well to her eyes. She fumbles, foolishly positioning the chair back behind her and trembles into it's hold. "If you know what's good for you, never talk to me like that again. In case you forgot who you're talking to, most of my past "Docs" are having trouble squeezing into the dirt. But I can make more fit." I begin to chuckle. "Oh, I can certainly pack more in." The tears swallow her cheeks and dump onto the table for more to roll.

"I'm s-sorry M-Mistah J. . ." she whispers.

"Cheer up, Harls. You haven't been fired yet!"

Harley's face is washed with smoky grey tears, creating raccoon-like rings under her eyes. She looks weak and vulnerable, because she is. It's pathetic, yet satisfying, almost beautiful. She looks tired with confusion and frightened with love for me. Smiling, I stand before her and embrace her into a hug. Her heart thumps faster for me, and I grin at my very control I have in just her everyday body function. I pull away to see she's, surprisingly, wearing a large grin, and I am left puzzled. Did I not just threaten this woman with death? "I love you, Puddin'."