Author's Note – Here's the latest chapter! Sorry it's been a longer than planned! It's Harley and Joker only, so I hope you like it!

A Darker Shade of Love

Chapter 6

Insanity is freedom from a mind damaged beyond repair

The gun shot pierced through the darkness, rendering the room silent. Blood blossomed and stained the chest of his orange shirt. All the fight left Hester's body in an instant. The cannibal's weight slacked, threatening to crush her. Harleen pushed back against him. This time she found no resistance.

The man who'd just tried to kill her was dead, and she was alive. A small glimmer of victory.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Harleen's relief was short lived. The laugh was unmistakable. Her savior, Hester's killer, was none other than the Joker. He'd killed someone, a fellow inmate no less, in order to save her. Crazy! Though she didn't yet know what his intentions were. Did he intend to kill her too?

Fear tickled its cold fingers at the back of her neck. She wasn't going to wait, pinned under Hester, to find out. Hastily, she nudged the body off herself. In her movements she felt the wet, stickiness of blood on her skin. She shuddered, wiping her hands on her once-pristine coat.

Hester landed beside her with a small thud. Black, beady eyes stared coldly at her. She'd never forget them; never forget them as they glared at her hungrily. Reaching a hand forward she closed those eyes.

At the sound of his approaching footsteps, she scrambled to her feet. Her doctor's coat was stained with blood; hers and Hester's. The thought sent a fresh wave of dizzying nausea through her, and it made her knees go weak. She reached for the wall in effort to steady herself.

She had the new arrival to contend with.

Even in the blacked-out room she could make out the vivid green hair. The intermittent flashes of lighting outside unveiled the gun wrapped in ivory fingers. His painted, red smile was wide and fixed.

She noted that the gun wasn't pointed at her. He let it hang casually at his side. Harlem didn't feel any less uneasy. She knew Joker didn't need a gun to be dangerous. He didn't need to possess a weapon to be considered a threat. He was resourceful; his files detailed the many ways in which he'd killed his victims. They weren't always clean or quick. He'd been known to use whatever supplies were close at hand. Sometimes the results were messy.

A pen, used like it was a dagger, lay embedded in a dead man's throat. She'd seen pictures of men who'd fell victim to his chemically-laced grenades. A psychopath, with an advanced knowledge of chemistry, didn't make for light, bedtime reading. Harleen attempted to banish the memories of the gruesome photographs contained in his ever-growing file.

"You're a fighter. I like that."

She supposed he meant it as a compliment. Glass crunched under his feet as he moved ever closer. In a beat she darted behind the desk she'd sat at mere hours before. The cheap, flimsy, fold-out table wasn't much but it made her feel marginally safer.

"And smart too!" He moved casually toward the door and flicked on the lights. "Ah! That's better!"

After spending so long being suspended in darkness, the harsh, fluorescent lights blinded her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brightness, waiting for the blurry feeling of disorientation to dispel.

Slowly she lowered her arm. He stood in front of her. The Joker in all his glory. Green hair, crazy eyes, and an exaggerated, glowing, metallic smile. He was the stuff of nightmares. The terror Gotham tried not to think about. She was all alone with him. Her heart hammered in her ears. Her fear only rose higher as he moved toward the desk.

"Think you dropped these." He set her glasses on the wooden space between them.

"Thank you," she muttered. He watched quietly as she put them on. Her hand shook with the simple, everyday task and his smile widened. He was basking in her horror, and she felt sick her stomach.

"You don't look so good, Doc." He cocked his head. "You look a little green."

"I've lost some blood," Harleen tried to keep the anxiety from her voice.

"You should probably see a doctor."

"Yes!" She was quick to seize the opportunity, hoping to appeal to his slight hint of concern. "I probably should."

"Yes, then that's settled! But, first thing's first!" In a swift motion he pulled an upturned chair from its haphazard place on the floor. He set it down in front of the desk, sitting down, and crossing his legs casually at the ankles. She remained rooted to the spot. "Please, sit. I've worked hard to get us this little meeting."

Alarm swirled within her. What did he mean? Was the riot of his doing? A crazy notion, or maybe, it was the truth.

"Sit!" he barked.

She saw crazed danger burning in his eyes and wordlessly settled into her own chair. She was almost glad to get off her feet. Her shoulder hurt, and though her the wound on her neck had stopped bleeding, she felt weak.

Harleen pushed aside thoughts of her injury and discomfort, focusing on Joker. He was enjoying this, in amongst the riot and the darkness, he seemed so at ease. The situation in this room was absurd. It looked like an impromptus therapy session. Though he still had the gun in his possession.

"You're a difficult woman to arrange a meeting with Dr. Quinzel?"

"Meaning?"

"I invited you to come see me." He answered simply, as if it was obvious. There was a trace of irritation in his voice.

She opened her mouth to explain. As if it was as easy as waltzing into a secure wing, and demanding to speak with him. She was an intern; there were procedures and rules to follow. Not to mention Leland to win over. But he knew all that; that wasn't what she wanted to go over.

"The roses?"

"So you do remember." His eyes brightened with his ever-present smile. "And you kept it a secret. I was happy to know you like to keep secrets."

"But how?" Harleen sat up a little straighter, wanting to know how he got out to deliver the roses. Was it that easy for him to wander around the asylum. He'd gained access to her office. And he'd made his way here tonight. The thought was both terrifying and intriguing. "How did you get through all the security?"

"Ah ah ah." He wagged his finger. The trickster wasn't telling. "A good magician never reveals all of his secrets."

"But…." Before she could finish, he cut her off.

"Focus on the important things. Time is precious." He looked up at the ceiling, straining to hear what was going on outside the infirmary walls. "They'll be coming soon enough."

Harleen listened hard; the alarms weren't ringing any longer. The shouts, and the struggling, had diminished to a rumbling echo.

"Stay with me, Doctor. A lot of planning went into this," Joker showed his hand, and waited for Harleen's attention to center on him again.

"You planned this? Caused this?" She chanced the questions. She didn't expect him to admit to it. His reply surprised her.

"I may have had a little to do with it." He was being modest, and it was clear that modesty didn't sit well with him. His smile burst with the punchline. "And by a little, I mean a lot."

"Why?" Harleen digested the bitter information. "Why did you want to see me?" She looked at him again.

"I felt a connection."

"I see."

"Do you? Did you?"

He moved closer to her. It was no more than an inch but it was enough to make Harleen feel on edge once again. Her heart drummed almost painfully. Her eyes kept falling to the gun resting in his lap.

"Did I what?" she ventured trying to keep up with his wandering mind.

"Did you feel a connection?"

"I…," She was at a loss. She didn't want to enrage him. She was really trying not to look at the weapon. If he thought she was focused on the weapon rather than him he may close down, or get the urge to fire the gun.

But it wasn't just that. He was talking. Joker was conversing with her so openly. She was engaging with the Joker, the cagey, cunning patient few managed to get more than a handful of words from.

She was playing a dangerous game. But she didn't want to stop.

"Are you afraid of me, Doctor?"

"Yes!" Then, on second thought, in effort to maintain a shred of professionalism, she added, "a little."

"That's smart!" He smiled that smile again. He seemed to like what he'd heard; she guessed it was the right answer. It was honest. Direct. Spoken with conviction. She could still die tonight. She sat across the table, in front of a ticking time bomb. She figured he would see through any lies she attempted to supply. The truth was her best, and safest option. At least for now.

"I saved your life," he reminded her after a beat.

"Why?" That was what she didn't understand, but she wanted to. By all the reports she'd read, Joker seemed to be the perfect example of a sociopath. He cared for no one, he was devoid of empathy. He killed and destroyed everything in his path, and he didn't care.

"Does it matter?" He threw the question out there with a mere shrug of his shoulders. It was evident he hadn't given it a moment's thought.

"Yes! Yes, it matters!" Another human being was dead. It might not matter to the Joker; he probably considered Hester, and maybe Harleen, as collateral damage. That was part of the world that existed for him. He might not possess a conscience, but she did.

"The cannibal used to eat my food."

"That's it? That's why you killed him?" Harleen asked incredulously.

Joker shrugged, "well, that, and you were the more favorable choice to survive. You're far prettier."

She couldn't speak, she felt sick and disgusted. He had no regard for human life. His eyes remained dark and fixed.

"You don't trust me." Judging by the shadow forming across his pale face that seemed to sting a little.

"Should I?" She motioned to the gun, settled in his lap.

"Ah. The gun." He set it down on the table and pushed it in her direction. "Take it if it makes you feel better."

Harleen didn't think twice; she reached forward and picked up the gun. "You're not afraid I'll shoot you?"

"Do it!" Joker pulled up from his seat, standing square in front of her. Making himself a big, easy target. "Though it would be immensely unfair as I saved your life."

"You're a killer!"

"So put me down!" His voice rose for the first time that night. His gaze was fixed and determined. Dark. Wild. Challenging.

Not for the first time that night, Harleen hesitated. He was a killer. She wasn't. She didn't have it in her to kill someone who'd saved her. Try as she might to tell herself he was a murder; he'd saved her life. That meant something to her.

"You don't have it in you."

"So, I've been told." She thought of how she'd failed to use the gun against Hester. But while she lay pinned beneath the ravenous cannibal, fighting to survive, she'd felt a furious determination burning beneath her skin. She'd never felt that way before; it was alien, instinctive, powerful. If she'd managed to get up from under Hester, if the Joker hadn't entered on to the scene, she wasn't completely convinced she wouldn't have killed Hester with her bare hands.

Hester had pushed her to the brink; she'd wanted to push back.

Harleen pushed the unwelcomed, frightening thoughts down into a murky depth of her mind that she didn't want to acknowledge. Certainly not now, not in front of the Joker, and his beaming, critical eyes.

"You're wrong," she challenged. She wanted to wipe that smug certainty from his face; another urge that sprang up from a dark, unchartered place.

"Am I?" He was still standing, arms spread wide, in front of her. "Or are you fooling yourself? Lying to yourself? You're a little girl, lost in the big, bad world of men and monsters." His voice was low, his smile wide and mocking.

"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know the first thing about me."

"You'd be surprised. You're not the first wide-eyed, idealistic doctor to have ever walked through those gates." Joker cocked his head, his crimson smile darkened with a mischievous tint. "You know, Doc, life gets a whole lot more fun when you stop trying to make everyone else happy. When you stop trying to do the right thing, when everyone around you is bending the rules, and getting ahead of you. When you stop worrying about what the others think. When you stop caring and start living.

"I used to be like you, Dr. Quinzel. Follow the rules, work hard, blah blah blah. I thought all the work and effort would pay off. That I'd be recognized. Rewarded. Didn't happen. People chew you up and spit you out. You know, I had a real blast when I stopped giving a damn. When I started focusing on me and what I wanted."

Harleen lifted the gun and cocked it. She'd heard enough. She wasn't like him. Not one bit.

"That's not nice, Doc," Joker laughed at her threat. He still didn't want to take her seriously.

"Maybe I'll call your bluff," she said, and cursed that her voice didn't sound stronger.

"You don't have it in you to fire that thing," he repeated.

"You sure about that?" Despite the thundering of her heart, she kept the gun trained on him. Her hands were shaking and he was still grinning.

"Do it! I've seen you when your survival instinct kicks up a notch. It was a hoot."

He was mocking her and she hated it. She was stronger than most gave her credit for. She squeezed the trigger and blasted a whole through the plastic chair he'd been sitting on minutes ago. The chair fell back on to the hard floor with a thump.

Smoke billowed around the ugly yellow hole of the plastic chair. A shadow of doubt, and maybe awe, crossed his pale face, and Harleen felt her own smile tickled at her frown. A swell of satisfaction passed through her as she realized she'd shocked him.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Joker smacked his hands together. "I like you more and more with every ticking second. Whew Doc! You got my heart going a little." He pressed his hand to his chest. His eyes shone with amusement. He was enjoying this. Toying with her. Pushing her, until she pushed back.

"Still think I don't have it in me, Mr. J?"

"To take a life?" He shook his head firmly, decisively. "No, but I think I was right. You're going to be a whole lot of fun."

Harleen's reply was lost on her lips as she heard the sounds of voices on the other side of the door. The guards were here.

"And things were just getting interesting," Joker muttered.

To be continued….