He lay face down on his bunk, pressing the side of his head against the cold cinderblock. After days of disorientation had come the seizures. It was a weekend day; he knew that much from the lack of staff and quietness of the facility. It was the perfect time for him to begin having seizures, especially since no one seemed to be able to get in touch with his doctor.
He lay there sweating after having another one. He'd had three, or so he'd been told by the orderlies and guard who had hoisted him back onto his bunk. He'd stared at them, a feeling of helplessness igniting into a rage he could not express due to his weakened state. The orderlies had scurried away leaving him with the guard who looked at him piteously.
The guy had never done anything to Joker, but that didn't stop the images of him tearing out the guard's throat with his teeth and laughing while the man's blood spilled across the dirty concrete floor.
"They're getting Doctor Smith." The guard told him while he lay there sweating.
Joker rolled over into his current position and waited for the guard to leave. Rolling his head against the cool wall, he dug his fingers around the side of the thin mattress and into the hole he'd torn into it months earlier. From it, he withdrew a plastic zip-closure bag containing pills of various size, shape and color.
He opened the bag and sat up, picking pills from it and placing them in the palm of his hand. He hadn't been in his 'stash' for a while now as the medication Harley had been giving him made him feel fine.
At least it had until this week.
He frowned as he rolled the pills over in his palm with his finger, reading the letters and symbols pressed into or printed upon them. He put them away and sat back against the wall and waited for the doctor.
Smith was a small Asian guy with thin black hair and too many teeth. He liked Henry Smith if only because the man having that name was hilarious. He'd been Joker's doctor when he'd first been brought to Arkham, and the first doctor who'd dropped him like a hot iron poker. He saw the man in the hallways on occasion and flashed him smiles and waved at him, Smith always shrunk back and headed in the other direction.
The lock buzzed and the guard entered with Smith and an orderly in tow. A second guard entered behind them and the door was closed. Joker was beginning to think they hadn't brought enough guys.
He started laughing, rolling his head back on his shoulders as peals shook his body. He looked up to see Smith and the orderly staring at him, horrified. What was it about his laughing that always seemed to scare people? He burst out another sharp laugh and calmed himself down, clearing his throat.
Smith approached him cautiously and pulled a tongue depressor and a pen light from his pocket. Joker obediently opened his mouth and Smith carefully extended his hand toward his face. Smith probed around in his mouth for a few minutes, rolling his tongue around with the piece of wood. From the look on his face, Smith was not enjoying the experience.
"Tongue lacerations on the right side." He said to no one in particular. Smith always talked to himself. He examined Jokers eyes with the light and then stood back looking at him.
"You had a seizure." He said, seemingly surprised. Joker supposed he couldn't blame them. He'd never faked a seizure before, but he wasn't beyond anything as far as the staff, or he was concerned.
"What are you doing different?" Smith asked. Joker arched an eyebrow.
"Well, I started lifting 520 last week." He said in all seriousness and then chuckled to himself. Smith was not amused.
"I will contact Doctor Quinzel and tell her what has happened." Smith replied. He motioned for the orderly to hand him a plastic cup which contained his medication and some water. Joker sat forward, eager to accept them. One of the guards grunted and Joker eyes him darkly and sat back.
"In the meantime, I'm not giving you anything more than your medication as prescribed by Doctor Quinzel." Smith said and the cups were handed off to Joker.
Joker put the pills in his hand and held it over his mouth as he mimed taking them. Then he drank the water and handed the cups back and watched quietly as they left the room.
Once they were gone, he opened his hand and stared at the pills in it. He pulled out his 'stash' and compared the medication. Though remarkable in their similarity, he had not been given the same medication.
In his hand was a mix of vitamins, pain medication and dietary supplements.
As prescribed by Doctor Harley.
He squeezed his eyes closed and felt white-hot rage tear through him and he hurled the pills across the room. They made soft plinking noises as they hit the wall and floor and rolled around.
"I was one of your schemers, but now I care about you. Funny that."
Funny indeed. He laughed without mirth as he grabbed the plastic bag and walked over to the toilet and flushed its contents. He stomped on the pills he'd thrown and sat heavily back on the bunk.
She had seemed so sincere, and perhaps she had been. Visiting him twice a day in his room and touching his hand and smiling at him while she gave him placebos.
He pulled at his hair and then stood and paced around the cell. His mind was racing and he tried to grasp at the thoughts which made sense. Harley was making him crazy, on purpose. She wanted him to go on the stand next week and act like a complete lunatic so she could keep him here at Arkham.
She had been manipulating him, had dug into his past and fed him lies to return him to his "maddened" state.
Now it was his turn.
Joker exited the stairwell onto the fourth floor and checked the hallway before stepping into it. The guards downstairs had proven to be easier to get past than he'd anticipated, something he would file away for future reference.
The hallway was empty and Joker quietly padded down the tiled floor in his bare feet, keeping cautious eyes and ears on his surroundings. The air was fresher up here, and crisp from well-working ventilation. He took a few breaths, enjoying the clean air and thinking that in a matter of days, he would be breathing fresh air again.
He stopped at what appeared to be a reception desk when he spied a vase of roses. Red ones, someone had an admirer. He plucked the card from the arrangement and saw that it was 'Margie.' He tossed the card aside and pulled a single rose from the arrangement.
He continued down the hall, plucking the thorns from the stem and dropping them carelessly as he went. He'd ventured to the administrative offices on an information finding mission, but decided that the rose would be an effective tool for screwing with Harley. He hadn't decided just how he was going to announce that he'd been in her office, but the flower was as good as anything else.
He read the name plates to the left of each door as he passed by. As he reached the one proclaiming "Doctor Harleen Quinzel," he paused and glanced at his feet and the dim light which bathed his toes from beneath the door.
Someone was home. He smiled and grasped the doorknob and slowly turned it, pushing the door open with his side with ease.
He was greeted by the sound of breaking glass and a terrified look on the face of his psychiatrist. She backed against a small table and bumped into the coffeemaker and knocked everything over beside it.
He quietly closed the door behind him as he approached her, smiling. She blinked and her eyes darted around the room as she scooted along the table and then against the wall. He chuckled and tilted his head as he stopped in front of her. He bent close to her and her mouth moved wordlessly. He smelled alcohol strong on her breath.
"This is for you." He said pleasantly as he raised the rose by the stem and brushed her nose and cheek with it.
She stared at it dumbly and then raised a hand slowly to accept it. Her eyes seemed to gloss over and her knees buckled and she fell slightly forward as she slid down the wall.
She had fainted!
Joker laughed at this as he caught her beneath her arms and hoisted her up, dragging her across the small office to her desk where he deposited her in her chair. Her head lolled about and he playfully slapped her cheeks and pulled her hair, giggling as he did.
"Harley, Harley-girl, wake up." He giggled and her eyes opened slightly and then widened as she gasped and pushed herself against the back of her chair. She made a small strangled cry as he grabbed the arms of her chair and rolled it side to side across the floor.
He let go and the chair rolled an inch or two as he stepped back and sat on her desk, the cheap furniture groaning under his not-considerable weight. He looked at her as she scrambled to sit up in her chair. She definitely did not look like psychiatrist Harley. She wasn't wearing her glasses so he supposed she had contacts in. Her hair, normally tied back in a tight bun, was up in two pigtails and she wore glossy pink lipstick and smoky eye-shadow. She wore jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt bearing the phrase "I see you've met the 'Twins'"
"You come to work drunk often?" He asked eyeing the phrase on her shirt before looking at her frightened expression. Her brows knitted in confusion.
"What?" She balked. He burst out laughing and she tried to stand but he shoved her back into her chair.
"You're wasted." He chuckled and she looked at him angrily.
"No I'm not!" She said a little too loud, like a drunken girl would.
"Uh, I'm not arguing the point with you." He said, glancing about the office.
It was a standard appointed office which everyone dreamed of upon completing a post-graduate program and entering their profession with a door, window, bookshelf and everything. Her framed diplomas from Gotham University and licenses and accreditations hung on one wall while the others remained bare. The bookshelf held the usual tomes of the psychiatric professions as well as some journals … and her purse.
The mother load.
A woman's purse contained pieces of her entire existence. You could tell more about a woman from digging through her purse than you could from a year of mundane dates and meaningless conversation.
He leapt from the desk and before she could protest, had hold of her purse and his back to her.
"Hey! What are you; that's mine!" She yelled trying to reach around him to grab the bag. He deftly unzipped the bag and dumped its contents onto the desk. Harley gasped in disbelief behind him and then dropped to her knees, scurrying to pick up what had rolled onto the floor.
Joker carelessly tossed her purse aside and slipped into her chair and pulled up to the desk and began rifling through the objects. He tossed her Arkham badge over her head and onto the floor and she grabbed after it.
He picked up a couple of pens and tossed them as well, sifting through the collection and discarded objects that didn't interest him as he went. A bottle of Midol, chewing gum, emery board, cough lozenge wrappers, dental floss, fingernail clippers, $1.85 in loose change, Hello! Five condoms, three of them flavored. He picked them up and leered over at Harley who was picking up scattered coins.
"Now what is this, hmm? Harley gone wild?" He chuckled and she looked up and nearly choked as he waved the prophylactics at her. She flushed deep red.
He noted the flavors and then threw them at her and returned his attention to the desk. He picked up the pack of 'Misty' cigarettes and extracted one of the lollypop thin sticks. He frowned at the 'girl cigarette' but put the filter in his mouth and lit it with one of her cheap plastic gas station lighters, of which she had two.
She had three tubes of lipstick, and he opened each and lined them up on the desk, looking at the colors. The glossy pink she now wore was to the left while the middle was a light red and the right a dark red. He picked up the dark red, her usual shade, and smelled the waxy aroma. He glanced down at her to make sure she was watching him and picked up the tiny cosmetic mirror and carefully applied the lipstick to his own lips. He didn't apply it as thickly as he did his own make-up, just enough to get the point across.
He swept aside her mascara and eyeliner and picked up a pair of panties and dangled it by his index finger before shooting them at her like a rubber band. He crushed out the spent cigarette on the cosmetic mirror and lit another as he tossed aside the clamshell birth control case and opened her wallet.
He pulled out her driver's license and read the information and looked at the picture. She photographed well. He glanced at her and then back at it.
"Your middle name is Francis." He said casually. "Hmm, Harleen Francis Quinzel, Harley Fran Quinn. Nah." He said shaking his head. "Your birthday is coming up."
He looked at her and she was in tears. He blinked at her and set her license down and slipped out of the chair, sitting beside her on the floor.
"Now, now don't do that" he said wiping a tear as she tried to move away from him. "You went digging through my life behind my back; at least you get to watch me."
He slid an arm heavily around her shoulders and reached up and grabbed her wallet and flipped it open so that the cheap plastic liner containing photographs was visible. She took the wallet gingerly and turned through the photos.
"My nieces" she turned the pages "and nephews." She looked at him and he nodded for her to continue. "My sisters and brother, my parents" her voice broke and she wiped her face.
He reached up and pulled down another ID on a lanyard and flipped it over in his hand, holding it beside her face to compare the image with her. It read 'Gotham Academy of Gymnastics and Dance. Staff. Harleen Quinzel.'
"Is this where you were today?" He asked, anger brimming in his voice as he thought of the hell he'd been experiencing. She nodded wordlessly and he laughed.
"So, what you teach gymnastics?" She nodded and he laughed harder.
Who was this woman? This little blue-eyed floozy who ran around with flavored condoms and panties in her purse while she taught little girls to dance and screwed with the heads of dangerous madmen? He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes.
"Oh, I am sorry Harley. Sooo sorry, I had you all wrong. I don't know what flavor you are, but it isn't Vanilla." He giggled and she tried to pull away from him. He grabbed her and pulled her hard against him, putting his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled like perfume, sweat and alcohol. She cried out and tried to pull away again, but he held tight and buried his face deeper, her pigtail tickling his skin.
"I had a bad day" he said. "I found out someone was playing doctor with me, but not playing by the rules. You could get fired if I told them what you did."
She started shaking and whimpering and he slid a hand over the back of her head and stroked it.
"Shhh" he said as he stroked her soft hair and breathed in her scent. He sat back and gently took her hands into his, rubbing her skin with his thumbs. He looked at her pink nails and rolled her hands over and stroked her palms.
"You ever hear the phrase 'grab the brass ring?'" He asked looking at her face, her eyes were bloodshot. She nodded a small whimper escaping between her pink lips.
"You know what it means? Where it came from?" He asked and she looked confused.
"It means to strive for greatness." She said and he chuckled and shook his head.
"No, no, that's what it has come to mean. It was a game, Harley. A carousel game" she frowned at him and he continued.
"You see, people liked riding carousels, they have fun animals and colored lights and organ music. Who doesn't love that? Animals of all kinds and people ride around and around together in a great big circle, kind of life. You get in a routine, a rut and you go around and around in your little circle day after day, year after year until the music stops and you die." He studied her face, she sniffed and wiped her nose, having stopped crying.
"But like all things, carousels got old, boring. No one likes to ride a representation of life, a boring one at that, when they experience it without having to pay a wooden nickel." He smirked at her. "Those are the little tokens you get when you buy rides at the old amusement parks. You have to pay to get something that is worthless, only redeemable for a ride around and around on a wooden horse."
"Someone got an idea to make carousels more interesting." He said, twirling one of her pigtails with his index finger and then brushing her chin with it. She flinched.
"So, he put this brass ring dispenser on a carousel ride. It's on an arm and when the ride starts, the dispenser lowers into place and only people riding on the outside can reach it. They reach out and grab these little rings. But, Harley, most of them are iron, worthless. There's only one brass ring in the dispenser. So the lucky guy or gal who gets it gets a prize from the guy running the ride."
"But what to do with all those iron rings? He hand an idea for that too. He put in a target for people to throw those rings at. You don't get anything for hitting the target" he said shaking his head.
"So, here are all these people, riding around, trying to grab these hard to get rings, all but one being worthless. Their efforts for grabbing an iron ring, unrewarded as they just throw it away. I think that guy completed the carousel metaphor of life. He made it perfect." Joker smiled and squeezed Harley.
"And it also means to live life to its fullest, Harley." He said releasing her. He stood and she watched him. "Are you doing that?"
He glanced at her and walked around the desk and bent to pick up the fallen rose. He walked back to her and handed it to her and stroked her head before striding out the door.
A/N: Thank you for all your reviews!