Chapter 8

For the next couple of days, whenever Harley wasn't having a therapy session, she tried her best to avoid bumping into Patrick again. She did so by seeking out Joan Leland at lunch and coffee breaks. Joan found the whole thing hilarious, but at the same time she understood Harley, who had told her about the date. Joan agreed that Patrick didn't seem like the type of guy who understood women.

The days couldn't pass by any slower to Harley. During therapy sessions, she wished she was sitting across from the Joker and not some rapist with a dissociative identity disorder. (She had therapy with him on Wednesdays.) She also found it hard to sleep at night, as her mind kept on drifting back to the Joker.

Finally Thursday came and despite the fact that she hadn't gotten a decent amount of sleep, Harley was suddenly filled with an energy reminiscent of that of a child's on Christmas morning. The excitement was taking over.

She headed over to the examination room about ten minutes before the session was due. On the way, she met the orderly with the bald head and broad shoulders again. He acknowledged her with a nod. "Dr. Quinzel, I just brought the Joker to the examination room. He's waiting for ya."

"Thank you," she said and looked down at his name tag; D. Hartley. "Mr. Hartley." He only nodded again before they passed each other by. She reached the door five minutes ahead of schedule. She looked down at her watch. It seemed as if every second was a whole minute. So what if I'm early? she questioned herself. He doesn't know the exact time anyway, there's no clock in there. She simply couldn't wait any longer and so she unlocked the door and walked in.

He was there, slumping in his chair, hands cuffed, face painted. The paint wasn't very well applied though, but she figured he usually had a mirror to help him out with that. There was no way anyone was letting a mirror near him in here. There was no telling what he would do with the glass shards of a smashed mirror. It probably wasn't anything pleasant.

Harley smiled and took her seat. "Good afternoon Mr. J. How are you?" It was the way she greeted all of her patients: asking how they were feeling. There was a different answer each time and this time, his answer had her close to blushing again.

"Good, now that you're here, doctor." She looked down and bit her lip, trying to hide her smile.

"It's nice to see you too, Mr. J," she answered and looked up again. She placed her notepad on the table and grabbed her pen, placing the tip on the paper. This time, she would remember to take notes. "Now, why don't you tell me about your week? What have you been up to since our last meeting?"

"Missing you." She had barely finished her question before he gave her his answer. She looked up from behind her glasses with her lips parted in sheer surprise as a result. Did he really mean that?

"That's… that's nice to hear," she said. "I'm glad that we're getting along." Great Harley, keep it professional, she commended herself. But the Joker was not interested in keeping things professional.

"Aw, come now, doc; don't tell me you didn't miss me too." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. He was not making it easy for her.

"Fine," she gave in. "I missed you too." She only said it to satisfy him, but she couldn't deny that she was telling the truth. She only hoped that he didn't notice her hidden sincerity. She was about to go on, but she was cut off by him.

"I've been thinking about something…" He looked down at his cuffed hands and interlaced his fingers, placing them on the table and leaned in closer. Harley could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

"Uh-huh," she said. "About what?"

He looked up. His eyes found hers. He held the gaze for a few seconds. "Your name."

My name?

"My name?" she voiced the question out loud with a quizzical look.

"Mm-hmm. It's pretty and all as it is, but… I had an alteration in mind." Her heart kept on pounding. Where is he going with this?

"Okay," she let out. "And, uh… what would that alteration be?"

"Your friends call you Harley, right? At least that's what I hear."

"Yes," she confirmed, wondering who he'd heard it from. He shrugged.

"Well, if you'd stick with the name Harley and then change your last name to Quinn…" He trailed off and then stared at her, making her figure the rest out. He knew she was smart. At least, she certainly wasn't stupid, given the right kind of encouraging.

"Harley Quinn…" she mused, "Harlequin?" she asked and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards as confirmation.

"Now you got it."

She had never thought of it before. But then again, clowns had never really interested her that much. In fact, as a child, she'd been pretty scared of clowns. It was after she'd seen a bunch of them up close at the circus as a four-year-old that the fear had taken root in her. Now she was okay with them, though, but she was still not a fan. But when she saw the Joker, she didn't see a clown. Frankly, she didn't know quite yet what she saw when she looked at him. There was so much to unravel. So much to find out. Harley looked at him with a tilted head, eyes absentmindedly wandering down to the scars. "See anything you like?" His voice startled her slightly and she stopped being lost in thought. She looked back into his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked without raising her eyebrows, adjusting her glasses whilst pushing her hair behind her ear in an innocent, timid way.

"You were looking at my scars, weren't you, doc?" he said with a smirk. She figured there was no use in denying it. He was more than capable of telling when someone was lying to him. Her gaze turned downward and she felt a slight pang of guilt.

"Yes, I'm sorry. That was impolite." She looked back up from behind her spectacles, a little bit scared of what he'd do. His answer surprised her.

"Oh, there's no need to apologize." Reassured by his words, she dared to raise her head up fully again. Knowing she was listening, he went on. "I bet you were wondering what I'd look like without 'em. Hmm? 'Cause I didn't always look like this, you know," he added and gestured to his face. Harley immediately shook her head in response.

"Of course not," she said and then paused before approaching the subject carefully. "We, uh… We've never really discussed how you came to have them. Would you like to tell me?"

She could tell by the look on his face that she had crossed a line here. But it wasn't like his expression intimidated her. He didn't seem offended by it, but rather intrigued by her curiousness. He remained calm as he answered her. "Wouldn't you rather keep on guessing?" he questioned. "Where's the fun in knowing everything? Giving away all the secrets and details? 'Cause if you don't, it's a hell of a lot easier to make a name for yourself. You can choose to be whoever you want." He was right in that. Without the details and facts, there were endless possibilities. Literally anything could have happened to make him this way and even though she really wanted to know what exactly had happened, she had a hunch he would never give that away. He didn't want her to know about his former life. He didn't want her to see him as anyone else but who he was here and now.

"I think you have a point," she said after a while. "But it's still not an excuse for committing crimes." He frowned. That wasn't something he wanted to hear and she instantly regretted having said it. "I guess you could say that what's normal to the spider is chaos to the fly." She shrugged. "And if I'm not wrong, chaos is kind of your thing. It's simply what you do. It's in your nature." He didn't say a word, so she went on. "So… I might not be able to change you, but I will still try to help you the best I can."

They didn't have anything more to say to each other after that. Harley was starting to think that he truly was a lost cause. The medication he'd been given didn't seem to be working and he wouldn't let go of his views regarding the world. To him, there was no meaning in life. It was all just a big joke. And somehow, Harley was starting to believe that her whole life had been just that. What if she had wasted her time being a miss goody two shoes? What if she had missed out on all the fun life had to offer? No, she told herself. I've spent my time well. I've had a good life. But what of her life to come? Would she be stuck in this nuthouse for the next thirty years? Every day she met with murderers and psychos and what did she gain from that? She stopped herself right there. That's it. I'm getting a hobby.

A/N: Boy, did I work fast on this chapter! Actually, I don't come up with everything all at once. I started writing this fic about a year ago. You know, some bits here and there, so it feels good to know where I'm going with this and I also think it's good that I'm able to change/alter things I wrote a year ago to make it better, since I've improved since then. Things are heating up now and I am very excited to give you the next chapter! It's going to be one of my personal favourites I think. :)