A dull, throbbing pain greeted Harley as she awoke, eyes blinking blearily up at the dismal ceiling. Her blanket was curled up into a ball at the foot of the bed and she shivered from the constant blasts of A/C that made her cell feel as if she was out in Gotham during late fall.
Harley sat up and crossed her legs as she tried to pinpoint the source of the pain. Of course, she was sore everywhere and her fractured bones ached like no other, but this was new. She smacked her lips and found they tasted sharp, metallic. Harley groaned at the discovery; she had bitten her tongue in her sleep. There was no doubt that nightmares were to blame. She was suddenly glad that she rarely remembered her dreams; Harley had a feeling they were not normal boogeyman scares.
She hopped onto the floor and dutifully made the bed out of habit. The Joker thrived on chaos, but he always appreciated her efforts to ensure that whatever grimy hideout they were forced to stay in was as clean as she could make it (and the part of her that was still Harleen was unflinchingly tidy). Once the blanket was pulled tight and the limp pillow fluffed to her liking, she stepped to the sink to wash the blood from her mouth.
The water ran clear after a few swishes; it was not a gaping wound but she had bitten down on her tongue hard enough to leave a small, aggravating fissure. Harley sighed and looked up to glare at the empty wall above the sink. No mirror, naturally. Savvy patients such as the Joker could smash them and use the shards of glass to cause all sorts of mischief. But Harley merely wanted to check her reflection.
She looked around the bare room, already bored, when a loud knock caused her to gasp. A brief flash of fear coursed through her, but was quickly replaced by suspicion. Harley cautiously padded to the small window near the front corner of the cell.
Was it him? Her mind raced with possibilities, but was hastily shut down when a much more friendly face greeted her through the perforated, bulletproof glass.
"Dr. Rainsford," Harley said flatly, "I'm flattered they sent you."
The elderly black man was the senior psychiatrist at Arkham, and one of Harley's favorites when she worked there. He always insisted they had coffee on Tuesdays and Thursdays to help each other with more difficult cases. Harley was first exposed to the Joker during these little conferences; Dr. Rainsford was his main psychiatrist until she took over.
"Hello Dr. Quinzel," he returned smoothly, his voice deep and calming. It could set even the most frenetic patients at ease; Harley had always been envious of that tiny advantage. Even so, she felt quite relieved at his presence and then agitated at her own response. She was one of the most notorious faces in Gotham; she shouldn't feel comforted by a man keeping her locked away!
Harley opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but was cut off by her old mentor.
"You are scheduled for your first assessment immediately following breakfast. We have not yet decided who best to treat you, so I will conduct it." He smiled a friendly smile full of straight, milky white teeth. "You will not be handcuffed during transportation because you have displayed no violent tendencies within these walls. However, privileges can and will be taken as we see fit. Welcome to Arkham Asylum as a patient, Doctor."
Harley's eyes narrowed slightly at the words, but the good doctor did not seem to be mocking her; he had a genuine, welcoming tone. However, she was used to being around those who could fake emotions and reactions well, so she bared her teeth in a feral grin. Harley was pleased to see his pupils widen noticeably and his head move back from the glass.
"And what a pleasure it is to be back," she purred, voice dripping with sarcasm. What a fucking nightmare, she thought silently. Harley could not wait to be free of the place.
Dr. Rainsford composed himself hurriedly and nodded to someone she could not see before stepping away. A full minute passed before the door was unlocked and pushed open, revealing a decent sized orderly.
"Hi," she chirped, suddenly excited at the prospect of breakfast. A sullen glare was all she received for her cooperation before they trudged down the hallway toward the mess hall.
Harley grew more and more wired with each step. Would J be there? Would he be happy to see her or would he ignore her? She brought her hand to her mouth to chew on her fingernails before remembering that the Joker hated the habit and always made a point to punish.
Her mind cleared at the thought. No, J would not be allowed anywhere near her. Arkham may have been a corrupt institution incapable of keeping super-criminals like the Joker locked away for very long, but there was no possibility that they would allow the two in each other's vicinity. She was both disappointed and relieved at the realization.
The orderly pushed open the double doors, Harley following curiously after him. She had never been inside any of the patient cafeterias, but was not surprised to find that it was as dull and dreary as every other room in the establishment. Long tables with benches bolted to the floor forced the patients to sit near each other. Harley was quite aware of how heavily the doctors encouraged communication.
Her eyes darted across each face, spotting familiars here and there but eventually confirming that she was not going to be exposed to his presence. Harley slipped into the food line and couldn't help but snicker at the plastic cutlery they provided. She had seen the Joker perform gruesome murders with far less. Arkham's hope to keep potential weapons out of inmate's hands was in vain.
She grabbed an aluminum plate (the lighter, the harder to bash in someone's head) and glanced down, seeing her face dimly reflected in its sheen. Harley's blue eyes had seemingly grown darker, the shadows more pronounced, and her face more angular. She had become a new woman in the past six months.
Peering closer at her reflection, Harley touched the cut across her forehead before gasping sharply.
The acrid taste of concrete mixed with old cigarette ashes filled her mouth and nose. Coughing and clutching her sides, Harley scrambled to her feet. Her head whipped from left to right as she attempted to get her bearings.
"Haaaarley," a throaty growl threatened before her lover's wiry body enveloped her. "You ruined the job, pet," the voice hissed, accompanied by a brutal squeeze that she felt was cracking her ribs.
She had no breath available to protest, so she focused instead on the surroundings. They were still on the roof, but Batman was nowhere in sight. She felt lips brush across her ear as J constricted around her like a snake.
All thoughts of Batman disappeared in the face of impending doom by strangulation. Just as her eyes began to glaze over, she was released.
The Joker stepped away from her, doubling over and clutching his shoulder. Harley coughed hard and long, wilting under his glare.
"You've gotten worse!" She defended, gesturing toward his wound. It was true. During all of the months they had been together, her J had come home with multiple bullet wounds, knife slashes, and chemical burns. This was nothing.
Harley realized that was the wrong thing to say a second too late. He was upon her again and bringing a closed fist down hard on her shoulder. She screamed in excruciating pain, trying hard not to fall to her knees. This was no "love tap" like his frequent swats that still left her bruised. J had put all he had into this one.
A shadow tore the Joker away from her unexpectedly with a deep grunt of exertion and then she was being lifted up, up, up…
A haze of images flickered through her brain, the inside of a helicopter and the veins of Gotham seen from high above. She laid silently on the floor of the vehicle, watching the night fly past. Soon, the foreboding buildings of Arkham loomed over as she was gently lifted up and then set onto the ground.
She looked up at Batman in horror, "go get him!" Harley shrieked. The thought of being left alone in the asylum while her partner, her maker carried on without her was too much to bear.
The hero did not glance down at her, but merely kept the same stony posture until flashlights and voices greeted them in the distance. He disappeared into the helicopter, hovering for a few seconds before flying over the surrounding wood.
Harley laughed at the absurdity of the situation and watched as the pinpricks of light grew larger and larger.
"It's her," came the whispers and excited murmurings. Harley grimaced at the Arkham uniforms and her new fate. She had to end up back here! The irony of it all was the worst. Harley knew she was doomed to at least a few months of needling into her villainous relationship and debut.
The distant sound of a helicopter made her sit up rigidly. "J," she breathed, ignoring the smattering of talk that came from her future captors. Harley squinted at the darkness and smiled serenely when lights emerged over the trees.
After a hasty landing, J's unconscious form was set down a little roughly beside her. A series of nods and a little exchange took place between the head orderly and Batman before he turned to go off to improve Gotham once more.
Harley kept a hand on the Joker's chest and her eyes on his arch nemesis. They locked gazes and she inclined her head slightly, expressing thanks that he had brought him back. The Batman merely stared dispassionately before he climbed inside the sleek, black machine.
The last thing he heard before the roar of the helicopter blocked everything else was her soft laugh that curiously drew goosebumps to his skin.
A dull, throbbing pain greeted Harley as she awoke for the second time that day. Only it was a knot on her head and not her tongue that was the culprit. She sighed and sat up in the infirmary bed, a plump nurse staring at her furiously.
"What?" Harley snapped, attempting to raise her hand to rub at her eyes. But of course she was handcuffed to the bed. No surprise there.
The matronly woman humphed and proceeded to bustle about the room checking machines. "Watch your tone, please," she warned in a firm voice, obviously experienced with unruly inmates.
Harley ignored her for a few minutes before the curiosity began to burn deep in her belly. "What happened? Why am I in here?" She asked in a softer voice. Maybe that would get her some answers; she could play nice to satisfy a greater good.
The nurse glanced toward the door, always a good sign. "You dropped like a rock in the breakfast hall, dear. They thought you fainted."
Her eyes gleamed a little and her voice rose excitedly, "but then you started to scream…"
Harley's eyes widened and the memory filled her mind once more. Random details like the sound of Bat's cape flapping on the roof and the exact shade of black J's eyes were when they finally lolled open on Arkham grounds stood out the most.
The nurse looked at her expectantly, as if she would have an explanation for the fit. "That's certainly strange," Harley said carefully. She wondered what sort of impact this episode would have on her treatment.
"You were screaming so much," the woman said in a rush, drawing closer to her bed, "I could hear you from the infirmary office, you were telling him to stop."
Harley felt a sudden wave of nausea roll over her. There was no doubt she had been crying for J to let go, a subconscious reaction to the memory of being nearly strangled. This was not going to be good. If they were against letting the Joker near her before, they were certainly opposed to it now. They may even send him to another facility. Harley gulped and swayed slightly. What had she done?
"That is quite enough."
The nurse froze and turned her head slowly. "I-I apologize Dr. Rainsford," she stammered.
Harley glared at her, ignoring the new figure in the room, until she inched out of the doorway with a meek nod.
"She had no right to tell you that under such informal circumstances," the doctor said furiously, shutting the door and shaking his head. He pressed his fingers to his temples in a gesture that Harley had seen him do a million times. It was a nearly universal symbol of frustration.
"I came to see how you were doing and to share some good news," he explained, taking a seat in a chair near the IV, "but I understand if this new revelation has upset you. It was going to be addressed during your first session."
Harley studied him warily, her thoughts a jumble from the day's events. She wasn't sure if she could take anymore surprises, but she figured that it would be best to get them all out of the way.
"Shoot, Doc."
He hesitated and then nodded, lips turning up at the edges. "I've found the perfect fit for you, Harleen. She just landed an hour ago from a renowned practice in New Mexico. I believe you two will make progress." He emphasized the word with obvious reverence. Progress was a sort of mystical goal that all workers in psychology strove for.
Harley felt herself smiling slightly, if only to please him. "Great," she said, leaning back down to rest her head on the pillow. "How lovely, can't wait."
Dr. Rainsford felt their conversation drawing to a close, so he stood up, straightening his tie. "We will help you, Harleen," he assured in a booming voice.
"But are you so sure about helping him?" Harley questioned quietly, eyes focusing just enough to see a slightly unnerved expression flash across his face.
He shook his head. "Harleen, your incident this morning did not go unnoticed by the other patients. Particularly the one most involved." His face darkened and he shook his head again, faster as if to clear away a memory. "He was being walked to a separate eating chamber when the commotion first started," the doctor avoided her gaze, "and he heard you."