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43. Foolish Games

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Disclaimer: So I watched the Golden Globes last night and Heath won for best supporting actor. Call me crazy, but I wanted to cry—whenever I watch the Dark Knight, I always find it so hard to remember that it is Heath Ledger playing the role and not really a man who calls himself the Joker. It was so sad to me to realize that Heath has passed on, especially when Chris Nolan accepted the award for him. It was a bittersweet moment—sad but beautiful. But, without further ado, I give you the 43rd chapter!! Thank you all for keeping with the story!!! This is definitely the most dedicated I've been to writing a story and aside from the fact I am blatantly in love with the Joker, your consistent reading and reviewing makes me even more excited to write more!! I owe you all!!!!!! My love to all of you!!

All I could hear was the constant pounding of my heart inside my chest. I was pretty sure if my heart could beat any harder, it would escape through the scars on my chest and fall onto the floor in front of me as I walked down the hall. I had never been so brutally nervous to engage in a session with anyone in my entire life. I was pretty sure, as I walked down that hallway, that I would be less nervous standing entirely naked in front of Bruce Wayne, covered in peanut butter or something bizarre like that.

A small grin crossed my face at the horrible thought. It made me a little less nervous. I kept thinking about it until I reached the therapy session room. I paused outside of the door for a moment to gather my thoughts. I took my naked self covered in peanut butter along with Bruce behind and locked us behind a steel bank vault door. My trembling hand reached for my ID badge. It was going to be a 50/50 toss—either the Joker was inside, sitting there ready for me, or he was yet to come. I took in a long deep breath, swiped my badge and grabbed the door as it unlocked for me. I glided inside, making sure not to look at anything or anyone who may be in the room.

I slid quickly into the chair and forced myself to look up. To my dismay, the chair was empty. My heart quickened its rhythm as I realized I now had even longer to wait. I wished he had been sitting there, waiting for me. Maybe he didn't want me as his therapist—maybe he wouldn't show up to therapy today.

I began tapping my pen—a horrible habit I had formed. It was too late now to stop the habit—especially now that I was about to re-meet the Joker, the man who changed my life; the man who had a way of getting into my head like no one else I'd ever known. I had fallen so deeply in love with him that in that very moment, I wasn't sure I could be his therapist. This was impossible—absolutely hopeless. I was kidding myself if I could objectively provide therapy to the man I was in love with—a man who didn't even remember who I was after having spent the better part of more than a year with me. We had shared nearly everything together—and I was so sure he was close to loving me too.

I looked down at the Joker's psychiatric chart. My hand reached up to my neck and clutched onto the jade pendant he had given me so long ago. As soon as my hand grazed its smooth surface, the door buzzed. My heart jumped into my throat and the butterflies overwhelmed my stomach with their presence.

"You can take a seat in that chair over there—I'm sure you know the routine by now," the security guard, Rick, instructed the Joker as he shuffled over to the chair across the table from me.

"Dr. DiMarco, just page me when the session is over in an hour, is it?" Rick told me.

"I can walk him back my self when the session is over with—that is what I usually do with my other patients," I responded with a small smile.

"Fair enough. If he tries to take advantage of the situation, I won't be far," Rick replied, forcing a smile as his eyes grazed past me and landed on the Joker, who sat in the seat now across from me—a grin on his lips. "You hear me? Be nice to Dr. DiMarco—she's one of the best in this asylum," Rick said to the Joker finally.

"That's enough, Rick—thank you," I said quickly, catching his bright eyes with a smile. He returned my smile, nodded his head and left. The door locked into place behind him.

There we were—the two of us—alone. This once familiar setting—just he and I alone together—felt so alien to me now. I glanced down at his chart and forced myself to finally make eye contact—the first thing any good therapist does for effective communication. His expression caught me off guard. His face was painting, oddly enough, as it always was. I suppose they let him have his clown make up in his room—or he just snuck it with him. Anyway, his red painted lips were curled into a grin of satisfaction. I couldn't understand why that was. His dark chestnut brown eyes stared intently at me from behind that black paint.

Not able to take my gaze from his, I shifted uneasily in my chair, licked my lips and then forced myself to look away from him. I took in a deep breath, preparing myself to say something—begin the session—but I was nervous no sound would emit itself from my vocals.

"This is a pleasant surprise. I really can't stand that…bastard Princeton," he spoke finally, breaking the silence. He caught me off guard. I quickly re-adjusted my sitting position and gazed back at him. My eyebrows raised.

"Is that so?" I asked finally, trying to gain control of myself, "Well, unfortunately, you're still Dr. Princeton's patient—he and I will be working with you together—you still meet with him Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays,"

Had no one bothered to even tell him the game plan? I was instantly furious with Dr. Princeton for neglecting to inform his patient of who he was receiving therapy from!

"Well then I'll be looking forward to Tuesday and Thursday," he responded, licking his lips and sitting back in his chair. He folded his arms across his chest. I still couldn't tell if he had his memory back. I felt that if he had, he would have been a bit friendlier towards me, but I didn't press the matter. I figured I would begin the session with the assumption things were no different than before I left.

"Excellent. Well, let's begin. It says here in your chart you were admitted here to Arkham after…robbing…a…museum," I cleared my throat. I couldn't believe that fact, still—how I hated Pixie!

"It also says that the new D.A. Tom Ferdinand visits every Friday—he's trying to get us to prove you're faking insanity so that he can throw you into County prison," I spoke as my eyes skimmed the text of his chart.

"Fridays are definitely not a day I tend to like—not compared to Tuesdays and Thursdays," he commented. My eyes darted back up to see him staring hard at me. The corners of his scared mouth were upturned into small smirk.

"Right—well tell me about that—tell me about Fridays and how they make you feel," I stated.

"Fridays, like you said, is when that scum from the D.A.'s office comes to talk to me. It's not something I care to talk about—he's not someone I care to talk to—much too boring. I'd much rather it be Harvey Dent!" he giggled at that last remark. When I didn't join in on his giggle fest, he stopped and watched me carefully. He thought hard to himself before he finally spoke again, careful to answer my question.

"Many people in this city think I'm crazy—and for all intensive purposes, I am crazy—but only crazy to those people who aren't able to see…see things the way I can," As he said this, he searched for my eyes with his. He licked his lips again, "See, being the only person in this city who thinks the way I do…well…it makes for some boring days and nights. How else am I to keep myself entertained?"

"So in order to relieve yourself of boredom, you feel it necessary to kill people and rob…museums?" I asked, barely able to squeak out 'museums'.

"Look, the new D.A. will never…quite…be able to see things the way they really are—therefore he and I will never quite see things…eye to eye—if you get it, just say yes," he explained.

"Yes," I answered him. I understood him completely.

"So, maybe to you and the D.A.'s office…and the rest of Gotham's sweet little innocent civilians…think I am crazy. I'll admit it—I'm crazy. But see, crazy is a funny word. See…people who are sane believe they are sane, which makes sense, right? But…people who are crazy…well, they believe they're sane too. In the end, it turns out the people who are sane who believe themselves to be crazy are really the sane ones," he licked his lips and raised his eyebrows. I nodded my head in approval. He pretty much nailed it on the head. He wasn't crazy—he was sane but said he was crazy because he could tell the difference between sanity and insanity.

"See, I've been insane—most people have experienced some kind of…moment…in their lives…that caused them to be 'insane'. It are the insane who cannot ever truly experience a moment that causes them to be sane—to put things together into a logical and fair explanation. I just happen to like chaos—to me, if things…involve…chaos…things tend to make sense to me—not because I am crazy or insane or sane or anything, but because it is what I find…interesting,"

I was staring hard at him with my mouth open in astonishment. I had forgotten how much I loved hearing him talk—how much I loved hearing about the way he thinks.

"So, to answer your question…about how I feel about Fridays, well, to be frank, I don't feel anything but chaos raging inside me—waiting to erupt into a madness that I don't even think Dr. Princeton could understand,"

"I…" I started to speak.

"But you…you could understand it. In fact, you do understand it," he said finally. My heart skipped a beat. Did he remember me? Were all of our memories flooding though his brain as we spoke? I had to take advantage of this. I had to say something that maybe could prove my theory, but at the same time, catch me if I fell horribly.

"You used to say that to me," I said finally, catching his eyes with mine and then looking away.

He just laughed. I figured he didn't remember me. I quickly went to change the subject, but he beat me to it.

"So are you taking Christmas off or are you scheduled? It's suuuure going to get boring with no one to talk to!" he giggled finally. I hadn't checked. I had forgotten it was almost Christmas. It had literally been two years since we'd last spoken to each other—two years since that bittersweet night when I thought he was going to tell me he loved me, but then it turned horrible sour—when Pixie Dust erased his memory. I forced the memory from my mind.

"I haven't checked my schedule yet. I don't even know if the schedule is up yet for Christmas," I said finally, getting a bit off topic. I was getting tired of these foolish games already. I just wanted this to be over—for him to remember me, for him to hold me, kiss me; love me. I wanted things to go back to the way they were before that awful night two years ago.

"Well, Christmas surprises us all!" he exclaimed, nearly throwing his hands into the air. I forced a smile to my face.

"Right. Well sometimes Christmas surprises aren't what they seem," I replied, staring hard at him so that maybe he could remember. I was so helpless.

"You're absolutely…right, Giada. Sometimes surprises aren't what they seem. That is what makes me fun," he laughed, throwing himself back into the chair and then leaning forward towards me. He placed his hands down onto the table as he gazed into my eyes.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what else I needed to talk to him about. The session felt like it was turning into a conversation that we could have had at some earlier time before he was taken from me. I couldn't help but gaze into his eyes with intense longing in case he failed to see that my heart was bleeding before him. It was breaking my heart.

"So is there anything else you'd like to talk to me about Giada?" he asked suddenly, glancing down at the table and away from me.

"There is so much I do need to discuss with you, but I'm afraid it's escaping my mind at the moment," I said truthfully. There was no lying to him and I didn't want to come off any more vulnerable than I had already.

I watched him, accepting the silence, as he kept his eyes down, looking at the table. I began tapping my pen, out of habit unfortunately. It was such a bad habit I needed to stop. At the sixth tap, his eyes flew up to me, almost glaring at me with irritation. I dropped the pen immediately.

"Sorry, it's bad habit," I admitted shamelessly, and began ruffling through his chart, scanning the text for anything I could begin a conversation with.

"You look nervous," he said finally, licking his lips as he searched for my eyes with his.

"Nervous? Me? Not a chance," I laughed with nonchalance. I was getting better at lying to him, because he crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

"Well, do you wanna know—"

"How you got your scars? Not really," I shot back at him curtly. He narrowed his eyes at me suddenly, as though remembering a moment, a memory perhaps. He simply shook his head and averted his eyes back to the table.

"So," I began finally, catching a word in the text I figured I might as well get over with. It was the first session and I might as well get the worst over and done with all at once—the shock of us being alone for the first time in two years and my next question, "tell me about Pixie Dust," I said as I read her name carefully from the text, making it sound like I'd never heard of such a person before in my life.

His eyes flipped up to me finally as I sat there, waiting for him to answer my question. I had an all-business, game face on. I was ready for everything and anything he was about to tell me. He pursed his lips together and then licked them. A grin escaped from his mouth as he opened his mouth to speak.

"She's a plant scientist—a botanist, if you will," he explained finally, after a moment of suspense. I nodded my head as I took notes. When he didn't respond further, my head piqued and my eyes silently urged him to continue.

"And describe to me her relation to you," I spoke finally, peering over the rim of my glasses. I hated wearing them—they always seemed to obstruct my view of things—but my contacts were back ordered and I had no other option for today. Hopefully they would be ready at CVS after work.

I readjusted my thoughts back to the Joker. I had just asked him the question of the session, the question of my last two years. How fortunate I was that it coincided with what was in his chart. Now if only he would answer me so I could get these foolish games over with.