Chapter 3: A Drop of Blood

Harleen had spent her last two years at Arkham falling under the radar by nearly everyone at the institution. She was quiet, kept to herself, and quite honestly thought most of the gossiping, sorry-excuses for doctors were beneath her notice. But all of a sudden, Harleen Quinzel was news.

"Guess who the new doctor on the Joker case is?"

"Can you believe that little piece of ass –"

"I heard that she –"

"Apparently, Harleen did a little extra-credit – "

"How the hell did she manage –"

"What is this place coming to if pretty little interns can -?"

"Hey, if she wants Zsasz next, she's going to have to do a lot more than sleep with me -"

"Shush, here she comes!"

Harleen walked through the halls off Arkham Asylum ignoring almost everyone. A few civilized companions congratulated her with slightly bewildered and doubtful eyes when the news got out that Harleen was on the Joker's case. But for the most part, everyone with either jealous or disgruntled and Harleen took it with a smile.

It didn't matter, now, what anyone thought of her. Even the few gossips who had actually guessed correctly about how she got selected for the Joker case didn't matter. Young intern or not, she had control of most likely the biggest case of her career. She knew that she would be the one to cure the Joker. And after that happened, no one would ever think of her as a piece of ass again.

The day of her first session with the Joker, Bradley waited for her outside his cell. Harleen attempted to pass him with a curt nod of her head, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Now, listen. Before you go in there, I want to warn you –"

"He's a dangerous criminal and I shouldn't forget that, blah blah –"
"Harleen! Listen," his grip on her arm turned viselike. "He's an expert manipulator. Don't forget that! You can't let him get under your guard."

"I know that –" Harleen started to protest.

"No. No, you don't. The last couple of doctors . . . He gets under your skin, Harleen. Don't feed into his games. Don't give him any information about yourself because he can take it and twist it as if he's the one with all the control."

"This isn't my first day," Harleen shook off his hand.

"This is not your typical patient. Don't forget that! He's escaped this institution twice already. And he's definitely not doing it this time," he insisted to her turned back.

"So that's it?" Harleen turned around with a mocking smile. "It's your precious ego that's really the worry here? Don't worry, Issac. I certainly wouldn't that to be ruined."

"Look," he said as his face flushed red. "You're very young. Maybe –"

"You didn't think I was so young the other day in your office," Harleen interrupted smoothly. She kept her face cold, but on the inside she was sweating.

Since when did I get so . . . Brazen, exactly?

His face turned from red to deep purple. But he said nothing as she passed by the two guards in front of the Joker's cell.

She listened with half an ear as they explained to her basic procedures of a level ten patient (He's tied up nice and tight. But if there's any funny business, don't be afraid to push the little red button underneath the table. You press that and we rush in, guns blazing) and attempted to mentally prepare herself.

Despite her demeanor with Bradley, she was very nervous to be alone in a room with the man responsible for more than dozens of murders. But as the door finally slid open to reveal the small 8x10 room, she did her best not to show it and strolled over to the available nailed down seat and desk.

She settled herself in silently. Her recorder was switched on, her pen was uncapped, and her legs were crossed.

"Good morning," she finally said without a trace if a tremor as she looked up for the first time. "My name is Dr. Quinzel."

Her eyes were first seized by the straightjacket. The taught fabric and stark whiteness of it belonged hereat Arkham. But next to his limp green hair, it somehow seemed out of place. Her eyes trailed up from his green hair to his mouth, which was shockingly red and scarred. His face still held the remains of the white garish makeup that was his namesake (he must be opting out of his showers, Harleen noted), though it was streaked and faded in most places. Finally, her eyes made it up to his.

His eyes were dark and unreadable. Deeply set in his face, they were mostly caught in shadow from his brow. He moved his head slightly forward, into the light, and Harleen saw the quick flash of intelligence in them.

He licked his lips slowly, still staring at her. "Nice to meet ya, Doc," he said finally.

"And what should I call you?" Harleen asked.

"Well, what's on my chart, Doc?" Joker asked, looking bored.

Harleen looked down and caught a glimpse of the basic information she hadn't bothered to look at. "John Doe."

"No," he said before she could even finish. "That I'm not."

"Well then, you tell me what to call you," she answered back.

He shrugged back coolly. "I know you people aren't allowed to call me 'Joker'. Might make me slip back into my old tendencies." He licked his lips again. "But I haven't gone by any other name for a very, long time." He turned his head from Harleen and stared at the wall.

Meanwhile, Harleen was fighting inwardly with herself. She had an idea, a crazy idea, but she was pretty sure it could work. But she also wasn't sure if it was crossing the line of distancing between psychotic patient and doctor. She deliberated for a moment and finally decided to try it.

"How about, Mr. J?" she asked casually. His head whipped around.

"What does the 'J' stand for?" He asked skeptically.

"Well. The obvious, of course." She narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if he'd take it and bite.

He grinned for the first time since she entered the room. "Well, then. Can't argue with that."

She smiled back, triumphant.

The next day Harleen went for her first run in months. Though her pace was fairly slow at first, it didn't take long for her stride to lengthen and her body to get back in the rhythm of running.

She used to run a route around Gotham University when she was enrolled there as a student. Her mind often needed a break from studying and her body was used to the physical exertion after the years of serious gymnastics. But Arkham kept her busy enough where she didn't have the time to perform any sort of regular exercise, except her weekly gym visits where she donned her leotard and gloves for strictly gymnastics related exercise.

But that day, a run seemed like the only possible thing she could do to clear her mind. She had been up half the night with thoughts swirling around her head about the Joker and their first session. As she stretched before she began, she mentally put the Joker and his intriguing case into a different compartment in her brain. Now her only focus would be the brightly lit path in front of her.

After about half a mile through the giant stretch of woods a couple miles outside of Gotham, Harleen thought she heard footsteps behind her.

It's probably just a rabbit or something, she told herself.

Still, she refused to look behind her to check. Her heart began to beat faster and faster despite her constant pace. She passed by tree after tree, ignoring the concerned look of the occasional passerby after they caught sight of her red face and crazed eyes.

She knew that it was very unlikely something was following her. Still, Harleen felt as if she was being watched by some unknown source. You're just being paranoid, her inner psychologist told her. That's what happens when you store away disturbing thoughts instead of addressing them. Harleen privately agreed. But that didn't stop her from being terrified of the phantom behind her.

Eventually, Harleen decided the only way to avoid the brain-induced paranoia was to irrationally sprint. Her body protested as her pace increased so much that every tree was a green blur. Soon her whole body was nearly giving out with heaves. Just as she realized she was either going to pass out or collapse, her left foot caught on a stray root in her path. Her whole body went down, hard, and all she could do for several minutes was to lie there, gasping for air.

After she was finally able to inhale without sounding like a water bound fish, Harleen assessed her condition mentally, decided there were no broken bones, and looked at her body for the first time. With mild surprise, Harleen discovered that all she had suffered despite her hard fall was a scraped knee.

She stared at the torn skin with vague interest as a single drop of blood leaked out. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and caught it with her finger just before it could touch the dirt-encrusted ground.

She stared at the garnet red pool - oddly fascinated - and felt almost disappointment as it slid to the ground. With a slight jump and no warning, her mind was brought back to her eerie session with the Joker.

"So, what would you like to talk about?" Harleen asked.

"Don't you usually ask the questions?" Joker asked indifferently.

"You've probably been to just as many of these sessions as I have," Harleen answered honestly. Was it her, or was that a smirk on his face? "So I figured you could pick the conversation topic."

After nearly a minute of silence, Harleen frowned slightly.

"Well, how do you sleep?" Nothing. "Do you eat well?" Silence. "Do you have any particular memories on your mind, today?"

He laughed unnervingly and Harleen stopped. "Are those off a list?"

Harleen felt her face redden. As a matter of fact, they had been.

"You need some new material," Joker suggested.

"Do you enjoy being here, Mr. J?" Harleen asked impatiently. This wasn't going as well as she had hoped.

He shrugged.

"What do you enjoy?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes. You can be completely honest with me," Harleen told him, leaning forward a little on her seat.

"Blood. That's what I love," Joke leaned forward despite his constraints, his face alight with excitement. "I love how it just . . . flows out of a body. It's like trying to keep water in your hands, no matter how tight you hold it some always manages to just," he paused, "rush out.

"I love the different shades. My favorite is the dark, dark shade when it drips from one of your vital organs," he licked his lips and grinned at her. "It's like there's a little bit of black mixed in with all that red. First, it'll trickle out, just a teeny bit. And then all of a sudden, unexpectedly, it'll pour out of a body like its dying to get out of there. People have more blood than you could ever imagine. I enjoy it – watching it leave a body." He sat back and grinned expectantly at her.

"Is that why you kill people?" Harleen asked calmly, though her insides were squirming.

He shrugged, back to his former indifferent face. "Perhaps. I think there are a lot of reasons I kill people, Doc."

"Do you regret any of them? Any of the deaths you've caused?"

"One," the Joker's face darkened and his grin nearly disappeared.

"Who?" Harleen asked, not expecting him to answer her.

"A conversation for another day, Doc," the Joker said with his manic smile.

"What?"

He nodded to something behind her. One of the guards had a head in the room. Harleen hadn't even heard the door open.

"Harle- I mean Dr. Quinzel. You were paged. You're needed in one of your patient's rooms."

"Um. Yes. I'll be there in one minute." Harleen nodded at him pointedly.

"So that's it for today, Mr. J," she said turning back towards the Joker. "I'll be back soon. Do you have any concerns before I leave?" Harleen asked out of routine, shutting off her recorder and placing her pen and notepad full of notes in her bag.

"'Harle'? Is that short for Harleen?" he asked innocently.

Harleen's head jerked up.

"It's an interesting name," he said thoughtfully, almost to himself. "Rearrange the letters . . . And you could be Harley Quinn. Like Har –"

"Harlequin." She nodded, her stomach like ice. "The clown-like doll thing. I've heard that one before." She stuttered over the word 'clown'.

"Interesting," was all he said. "That's . . . Very interesting." He grinned at her, his lips almost pulling back from his teeth. Harleen got out of that room as fast as she could, trying not to show how badly her hands were shaking.

Back in the present, she stared down at the drop of the blood on the ground in horror. She suddenly realized how bad her reaction to his session had been. And how bad her reaction was now.

I'm letting him affect me, she thought with dread. He's . . . He's changing my thoughts.