Chapter 4:

I should request a transfer, was Harleen's first reluctant thought when she woke up the following day. It would be the right thing to do. I can't let my . . . interest in his case impede on my ability to treat him.

But despite her better thinking, she knew she couldn't go talk to Bradley about switching the Joker to someone else. Part of it was impatience; she didn't go to such lengths to just go and give up. Part of it was pride; she could just imagine the looks on Bradley and everyone's face when she admitted she couldn't handle the Joker. But mostly, it was interest. She craved to know what else he would tell her. Despite his attempt at disgusting and escaping her, (she had enough brains to know what his little blood soliloquy was, at least) Harleen was still preoccupied enough with the Joker to want to know more.

Even Pamela Isley noticed. Secretly one of Harleen's favorite patients, in the past Harleen usually enjoyed their sessions the most. She was an amusing and entertaining break in Harleen's crazy filled day. She usually privately chuckled at all of her boy-related chatter and childish-like mood swings. But even she couldn't distract Harleen.

"There something on your mind, Harley-girl?" Pamela Isley asked one day.

"What? Oh, no. Of course not. We are here to talk about you," Harleen replied, not even bothering to correct her.

"Yes there is." Pamela Isley grinned. "Is it a boy?"

Harleen started to say something to change the subject, but something in her eyes must have alerted Pamela Isley.

"Yay! Harley's got a boyfriend! Yay, yay, yay," she grinned at Harleen.

"I –" Harleen shook her head. "Miss Isley, I must insist –"

"I don't like it when you call me that. 'Miss Isley,'" she mocked.

"Why not? What about it bothers you?"

"Nothing. I'd just prefer – Pammy. Like we're girlfriends. How does that sound?" she grinned mischievously at Harleen.

"That's not appropriate," Harleen began with a stern tone.

"Back to the boyfriend," Pam interrupted, changing tactics quickly. "What's he like? Do I know him? Is he handsome?"

Harleen shook her head.

"Is it the Joker?"

Harleen's attention was caught, though she tried not to show it. "Why would you say something like that?" she asked attempting to be casual.

Pam shrugged. "Rumors get around. Even for girls on male lockdown," her eyes burned angrily for a moment. "He's not very nice, Harley-girl," she said disapprovingly, her normal expression back. "But I guess he's kind of cute. In a weird, scarred, clown kind of way. You should go for it."

"Dating patients isn't acceptable," Harleen protested, attempting to close the subject then and there.

"Still. If it's true love," Pam laughed so hard she brought tears to her own eyes. Harleen felt a blush creep up her neck and fidgeted uncomfortably. "All I'm saying is – some things are worth breaking the rules for. I would've killed everyone for my babies," she says rather sadly to Harleen. "But I didn't get the chance. You've still got your chance, Harley-girl," Pam leaned forward, her eyes quite serious.

She then leaned back and laughed. "That's all assuming you're in love with a clown, right? Anyway, back to me. My dream last night was –"

Harleen tried to focus on Pam's open mouth and ordinary prattle but her head was elsewhere. A chance to do what?

"Why? Why do you do it all?" Harleen asked immediately into one of her sessions with the Joker. "You kill people and torture them with no remorse. You steal money and throw it away. You chase around a giant Bat but you don't kill him. Why?" She asked a little desperately.

"Well, Doc, that's a little forward of you," he licked his lips and cackled at his own joke. "You haven't even asked about my childhood yet."

"I don't want to hear another made-up story about a childhood you've written like a horror story," Harleen said frankly. "I've got a file full of fake stories about abusive fathers, alcoholic mothers, foster homes, and cruel orphanages," Harleen shook her folder with emphasis. The Joker looked just the teensiest bit taken a back. "My favorite, by the way, was the one with the dead father and horrible stepmother and stepsisters," Harleen added. "Cinderella?

"Look, I just want the truth. Please, Mr. J. Tell me why."

"Why not?" he shrugged as well as he could in a strait jacket.

"That's –"

"Don't interrupt me," he slid in. His voice and demeanor suddenly changed dramatically as his tone went icy and his face became cold. He licked his scarred lips preemptively.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to do exactly what you wanted? Because I don't wonder. I do. I spend my days thinking the impossible and doing it. They call me a freak. But I just act as I am. They're the freaks," he spat, "for ignoring themselves, for hiding it up. I let my inner self," he paused, "come out and bare its ugly teeth because I'm not afraid of it.

"Why do you wear that nonsense?" he asked, indicating to Harleen's apparel. She pulled her white doctor's coat closer to her body. "Because they tell you to. If you wanted to go around wearing nothing but a little pair of pink undies, why shouldn't you? Who thinks it is their place to tell you what to do?

"I act outside of any kind of government. Any kind of social or political "rules". I am my government. My only rule? Do as you please!" Instead of getting louder, his voice got creepily softer as he became more animated.

"The Bat . . . He's a man stuck between both worlds. His inner-person, his true self, is out at night every time he puts on the cowl and beat thugs to shreds. But he has to hide that, because of them.

"I steal because it pleases me. I torture because it delights me. And I kill because it thrills me. They say it's bad and that I shouldn't do it. But what do they know? Have you ever killed anyone, Doc? Felt the pleasure of a twisted knife or a quick bullet tearing through flesh like it's bread and butter? It's like an aphrodisiac, being the last thing a person experiences as their life slips before you. They say it feels bad. But I do it because it feels oh so good."

Harleen sat with her mouth open like an idiot, feeling as though she was physically slapped. Part of her was thrilled that the Joker opened up to her like that. But most of her was simply thrown for a loop trying to dissect what he said and why her immediate thought wasn't a dismissive "crazy".

"I'm trying to take control of a city so that I can help everyone be free," he added in a private whisper. Harleen felt her eyes lock with his. "All I want is for the freaks to be freaks, out in the open. Better than being locked in a jail cell for being who they are. Why should I have to hide who I am?" he added. His dark eyes flashed and Harleen stared, transfixed.

She suddenly remembered her place, that she was in Arkham Asylum, working, not on a date, and this was her patient for God's sake.

"I've . . . I've got to . . ." she stammered horribly. She collected her papers, nearly dropped them, and left red-faced and trembling. But not before she heard him call out,

"See you soon. Harley."

The next day, she was summoned to Bradley's office. With several of Gotham's police force present, he informed her that the Joker had escaped from Arkham.