Strange and hypnotic
Your shadow's in view
Vibrating and constant
Piece by piece, stone by stone
Your darkness comes through
Darkness Comes Through / VG Lucas
"Dr. Harleen Quinzel overseeing the treatment of Patient 4479, AKA John Doe, AKA The Joker, AKA Mr. J for treatment purposes." I smiled at the man who nodded through my speech.
"You seem chipper today. Are you having a good day, Mr. J?"
"Always am when I get to see my best gal pal." he grinned.
I pressed my lips together into an unwilling smile. "That's terrible. I thought you were meant to be funny?"
He rolled his eyes. "Only to people with taste, and as we discussed yesterday, you have none."
"So your defense is that comedy is subjective?"
"My defense is that I cannot be beholden to people with bad taste." he eyed me. "And I can already tell you do, just by your perfume."
I blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"
"You should be." He nodded. "You smell like an old woman's handbag. It's irritating my sinuses."
"Chanel No.5 is irritating your sinuses?"
"Okay, so it's an expensive headache? Is that your point?" He deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes.
"So, what do you want to talk about today?"
"Can I have some options?"
"Sure, we can go with your rather crude assertion yesterday. Sexual preferences, or familial relationships."
He wiggled his eyebrows at me, "Well, who doesn't wanna talk about sex?"
"Plenty of people?"
"I was being facetious."
"You know what facetious means?" I said without thinking, shrewdly narrowing my eyes at him with a small smile, before realizing that perhaps I should work to maintain a more strictly professional tone, since this case would be so much more broadly observed, internally I sighed, hating that outside forces would ever be a cause to hinder my work. I began considering whether or not I should reach out to Dr. Arkham, and request that we have these video sessions discontinued, immediately.
I understood the reasoning behind them, but I wanted to be able to speak freely, without having my words dissected by people who had never met the patient, regardless of if the sessions remained entirely locked away at Arkham, they would forever be there, offering themselves up for criticism and ridicule. No, I needed to stop these tapes from being recorded altogether. Of course, I would frame it differently to the Doctor, perhaps leaning into The Jokers' own tapes as proof that this medium is entirely inappropriate for the patient.
"Uh, yeah." The clown rolled his eyes, unaware of my inner thoughts as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You're so condescending."
"No, I'm not."
"Yeah, you are." He grinned at me, "You always think you're the smartest person in the room. Don't worry Doc, I like it. Keeps me on my toes." He giggled mischievously, causing a small smile to take its place on my lips, even as I shook my head in disapproval.
"So, sex. How many sexual partners have you had in the last calendar year?"
"Aw, you can't ask that, I'm a gentleman Doc and a gentleman never kisses and tells!" He giggled.
"I don't need names, but I would appreciate numbers."
He considered. "I've been busy."
"So-"
"So none." He quirked an eyebrow at me.
I nodded, writing that down, as he continued to stare at me with curious eyes. "Does that make you nervous?"
My eyes flashed up at the nearly whispered sentence, upon meeting my eyes he shrugged, lifting his hands uselessly and shaking his head before he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially "A violent criminal like me, all alone- all- heh- pent-up?"
I rolled my eyes at him, and his dramatics, feeling mildly irritated that he was attempting to scare me. "No. I have read your file. You haven't committed any sex crimes."
"That you know of," he sing-songed, before biting his lip and side-eying me.
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, no," he shook his head, "Can't rape the willing, after all." A smirk hung like a nice coat from the side of his mouth.
"Excuse me?" Pure shock colored my tone, before indignation caused my blood to rush to my face, coloring me bright red from hairline to chest.
His smile was roguish, "Oh, come on, Doc, that's the real reason you wanted this case, huh? You like bad boys, don't you?" His tongue found the pink scar on the right side of his mouth, flashing out to wet the damaged skin. Despite my anger at his brashness and his seeming intent to purposefully disrespect me at every opportunity was wearing on me already, and despite my quickly budding fascination with the man, I felt the need to draw a hard line in the sand.
"Mr. J." My tone was sinister. "I will not sit here and be disrespected, by you or anyone else, It is not in my job description to be sexually harassed, or harassed in general. I have been not only fair with you, but incredibly generous with you, and yet you feel the need to say embarrassing and demeaning things to me, unnecessarily, and unprovoked." I stood, looking down at him, his eyes narrowing slightly but otherwise his face remaining the same. "Since you have decided to be lewd and lascivious I will end this session early, to give you the opportunity to relieve those urges."
His eyebrow quirked at my words, reading the double meaning loud and clear. You heard me. Go fuck yourself.
"Unfortunately, I am booked for the rest of the week, so you'll have to entertain yourself until Monday. Perhaps then you'll be feeling more cooperative."
"Wait-"
I knocked on the door.
"Wait!"
The orderlies entered the room, "Mr. J is ready to return to his cell now, he is feeling particularly restless today."
I turned to look at him, staring icily into the fire in his eyes. "Goodbye, Mr. J."
As the orderlies walked him by her, his eyes remained on me as they removed him from the room, despite the fact that he had not spoken since the door to the room opened.
The door closed behind him, and I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. "Fuck." I breathed, as I stepped over in front of the camera, turning it off.
Being 'busy' for the next week was a spur-of-the-moment idea. I was angry. I hate the way he feels the need to identify and press every single one of my buttons.
Though, I knew better now than to bring up sex again, at least.
Well, at least I have plenty of time this week for paperwork. With him being my only patient, until his trial, I would be spending the next three days catching up on my backlog of paperwork. Also scheduling his physical, though I would schedule it for Monday, before our session, I wanted him to spend as much time as possible, thinking about his actions, and considering whether or not he wanted to be my enemy.
I laughed, covering my eyes. It's just a shame that my punishment for J is also a punishment for me.
J felt like a petulant child. Sent to his room for cursing at the dinner table. It was humiliating. Demeaning. And frankly emasculating coming from such a pretty little blonde. Part of him wanted to be progressive and claim that her gender did not have any part in the stinging his pride was experiencing, but sadly that would be a lie.
Not to say that he didn't respect women, of course, he respected them as much as he did anyone else, which admittedly wasn't much. Though he had never met a girl like her before.
She looked good today, though. Her skin was clear and pretty. Big blue eyes stared back at him with so much fire and ice, fighting a holy war within her for control of her immortal soul. He wondered which would win.
Her righteous anger at his gentle jab was stunning on her, changing even her posture. Her eyes could play the saintly maid very well, J imagined most everyone would fall for something like that, dismiss the cracks in that facade as stress, as her not feeling like herself, rather than her little small pieces of herself show.
But Sadly those cracks were still hairline fractures, so thin and nearly invisible across her surface that J was unable to see the full picture yet. He felt like an archeologist, unearthing a lost temple devoted to the love of some beast whose name is lost to time. Carefully sweeping away the dust so carelessly covering a relic lost to the elements around it, revealing its true power and beauty to the world once again.
Closing his eyes, and relaxing into the concrete, of the wall he leaned on in his cell, J nearly tensed when he realized he heard voices. Faintly. Quietly. Far away. It was the orderlies.
Concentrating now, pushing his head back against the concrete behind him, he focused on the words, and slowly, broken sentences began to form.
"... Piece of...-ce tits too!..."
Leaning forward to the glass wall, J flipped open the slot to his door, holding it open with his silicone cup, before leaning back, and listening again.
"Fuck, man, the things I would do to her."
"As if you'd ever get a chance with her, wearing her designer clothes like she's some kind of celebrity, " a deeper voice groaned. "It's pathetic."
"I hear she was blonde before- can't you just see it? I bet she was a real frat bunny," there first man laughed.
"You know what they say about narrows whores-"
"Fuck 'em all you want, but always double-bag?"
J realized with a start and no small amount of disgust that the orderlies in question were discussing his doctor. His eye twitched suddenly, angry at the disrespect he heard from the orderlies. A small smile formed at the thought. J had all but offered to fuck her during therapy today, their second-ever conversation, and yet he found himself quietly offended on her behalf when others commented on her sexual history.
"Okay, the other thing they say about them."
"Best fuck of your life?" the other guy laughed
"Why are they so good at it though?"
Silence.
"You would be too if you did it for a living." The second man laughed.
J stopped listening, confident that he would hear nothing of any use from the assholes in the hall.
Standing again, J began to pace the room, hoping to clear the restlessness from his anxious limbs, feeling ever more like the caged animal he had always been.
The tailor's shop was tasteful. Simple in its sophistication, black drapery, all-white furniture, clean and clear lighting. You would never guess that in the basement beneath there was a successful speak-easy, run by the owner of the Tailor shop- My friend Oswald.
But today I was not here to see Oswald, I was here to see his employee, who was also my friend, Jervis Tetch.
The same Jervis Tetch who had designed most of my nice dresses, Of course, I still have my vintage Chanel pieces from college, and I thrift when I can, but there is no denying that a large portion of my wardrobe.
Jervis was a strange sort of man, who had to be seen to be believed. Some people, when seeing us together for the first time assume we must be related, because of our matching large blue eyes, but the resemblance stops there, his naturally golden blonde hair, excessively thin and long-limbed build, and towering stature stealing any chance of us sharing DNA.
I batted the bell on the counter impatiently, still not hearing footsteps from the back despite the antique bell that rang as I opened the door.
I wandered behind the front desk, opening the door to the back and announcing myself as I continued forward.
"Jervis! You called me?" I shouted, still afraid to venture much further behind into the back.
"STOP" His voice echoed through the room, "No further, please, Just a minute!" I could hear frantic rustling from around the corner, and I stopped dead, not wanting to invade the man's privacy.
For a moment longer the rustling continued before he stepped around the corner with a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry! I was so consumed, I didn't realize the time" Jervis said, squinting sympathetically.
I shook my head in mock frustration, squinting back at him. "What am I gonna do with you?"
He smiled, "Once you see what I made for you, you'll sing praises to my name, hallelujah, you know,"
"And for what would I need a new dress for, Jervis?" I sighed, "You should sell it. You know, if you spent more of your time selling your clothes instead of gifting them, you would be the biggest designer in the damn city. You've got the passion and the talent."
"Yes, but I prefer only to see beautiful people wearing my clothes, and selling them is not a risk I can take in that regard. I will admit, I also love being so exclusive." he laughed, "Besides,"
His eyebrow quirked, as he continued "Do you really think Pam wouldn't tell me about your hot date to Chez Vous, this Friday?"
That snake.
I sighed, "She shouldn't have told you about that,"
"She only did it because someone never would have."
I looked away, pulling a face at the reminder of my track record with my friends. Sighing, I reached into my purse, pulling out the Newports, almost pulling one out before stopping- and looking at Jervis. "Is there anywhere in this building we can smoke?"
"We?"
"Where I can smoke then, you asshole."
He laughed, leading me into his office. "Smoke out the window, please. I don't want your nasty habit yellowing my fabrics."
I thought this was more than fair and opened the window, grimacing at the chill in the air only beginning to form in the evening. I lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply, feeling the nicotine already helping to soothe my frayed nerves.
Jervis walked with purpose to a white garment bag lying over his chair, with a small amount of flare, he unzipped the bag, revealing what looked like black water at first, but as I studied, I realized the dress wasn't black, but midnight blue so dark it looked black, but the way it glistened in the light reminded me of a lake, in the dead of night. I could tell already that the dress would float like water over my body, the neckline was alarmingly romantic, and the fabric looked heavy in its luxuriousness. It looked like something worn on TV. I hated it. It was too flashy, too luxurious. Too expensive, too much. And it looked heavy and uncomfortable.
I blinked at the dress, nodding. It was ethereal, beautiful was not a word fit for this dress, yet still sophisticated enough to fit my more public persona perfectly. "Jervis- this is perfect-" Perfect for the date. I corrected internally.
"I know, I know, I am an artist," he said with a smile, leaning in to give me a one-arm hug while avoiding the cigarette smoke.
"Thank you," I returned his smile. "You're too nice to me, you know?"
"I do" he nodded, closing his eyes and tilting his head to accept the praise.
Finishing my cigarette, I closed the window, shivering, as I turned back to Jervis, before wandering around the room, allowing a discarded rack filled with clothing of all types to draw my eye, shuffling through the odd items, snorting as I withdrew a garish unitard covered in varying sizes of green sequins, in a tastefully subtle shade of Day-Glo orange.
"Jeeze, Jervis, have you gotten an all-inclusive contract with the Circus?"
"Oh, Hush."
"No, I'm serious, I may borrow this-" I said fluffing the matching tutu. I continued looking as I heard him chuckle behind me.
Then my fingers hit it.
I was examining the deep red matte dancing dress that had been gathered at the hips, and pinned at various intervals with bright shining gems, appearing white on the dark material, The bodice of the dress was made with a similar material but a thin sheath of black fishnet like material cling to the red, and was also dotted with bright white gems. The low-cut chest piece was sexy, and the length of the dress only doubled that. It was. Trashy. It was sex. And I was in love with it. My fingers lovingly touched the material, and I lifted it carefully. This dress was diametrically opposed to the blue one. Where it was demure and sophisticated, maybe bringing to mind some hopeless love story- the red dress was direct. It was honest, and it was so soft beneath my fingers, not heavy or itchy in the slightest.
"How much for this one?" I asked without tearing my gaze from it.
"That one?" He eyed it, stepping forward, "Not your usual style, but I will admit you were one of my inspirations behind creating it."
"Oh?" I looked at him with a bit of a smile.
"Loud and angry, rough and rowdy women from the narrows," he said with a smile.
I laughed lightly, "Wow! Thank you so much,"
"It's a compliment. I've always admired the..." He seemed to be searching for the word, "Grit behind the women I've met since I've been in this city."
"A little advice, Jervis," I smirked. "Women don't like it when you refer to us like pound puppies. Anyway, you never answered me. How much for this one?"
He seemed genuinely confused. " You're serious? This one is…" he looked at it, seriously considering the dress, before looking at me. "You usually aren't so…"
"I'm usually not so what?" I asked his inability to finish the sentence beginning to feel like an insult, as though he was saying I was not attractive enough for the dress.
"Well, you usually aren't so forward." he shrugged, "You've always been very strict about not being too revealing. What happened to your 'image'?" He made finger quotes around the word.
I bit my lip.
"I could wear a mask?" I considered, caressing the fabric lovingly.
It was silent for a moment before I glanced up to see sad and thoughtful eyes on me.
"What?" I asked, suddenly defensive.
"Nothing" he smiled, looking away, before shaking his head as if clearing a thought. "Anyway, That has been sitting on that rack for years, if you want it, take it."
I smiled but was glad for the response, god knows I never would have been able to afford the dress otherwise. "One day you'll have to let me pay," I said, knowing that day would not come.
"Maybe, but you couldn't afford me if I did."
I was happy all over again that I had convinced Jack to allow me to meet him at the restaurant, removing his ability to control my way home.
Stepping out of my car I checked my reflection in the pane of glass opposite of me, the very plain makeup I wore today only enhanced the dress, leaving me looking like some mermaid who was granted her fondest wish.
It was ethereal, yet still sexy, and wearable. The restaurant in question was a coolly lit French affair, I had never been, but I had heard good things from Pam. At the entrance, Jack stood waiting for me, and I got to watch as his head lifted at the sound of my approach and his eyes shook in their sockets.
"You look. You look amazing." He stumbled through the compliment nervously before smiling and offering me his hand. "I know that this kind of place isn't your usual thing, but I figured maybe you would like to try it?" It didn't seem to have been intended to be a question, but it sounded like one anyway. He seemed very nervous, his outwardly charming but rather dim overconfident exterior cracking slightly.
I was not interested in trying French food, I was at least half certain it contained snails, and I was not interested in eating snails. Yet, I smiled. "Actually, I've always wanted to try French food."
His smile grew wider, and he squeezed my hand lightly, "You'll love it here, it's fantastic. The chef is a real hothead, though so we should try to stay on his good side-"
As sweet as he seemed it still didn't stop his voice from producing the most intensely mind-numbing boredom I have ever experienced. My eyes glazed over as he led me to our table, smiling and nodding the entire time. Staring through his eyes I remembered the Joker's words.
Does that make you nervous?
A violent criminal like me, all alone- all- heh- pent-up?
I adjusted in my seat, uncomfortable once again as I remembered his rasping voice. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the angry eyes pinned to my own as he was escorted from the room.
A salad was set in front of me, and I realized that Jack had ordered for us. I smiled up at him thankfully, though he would never guess the reason.
He continued speaking–about his career I thought– but couldn't invest enough energy to listen enough to check. I sat in front of him, entirely disassociated, feeling as though my head was full of cotton, or covered in cotton.
Using my peripheral vision, I watched the people coming and going, keeping my kind smile, and understanding eyes focused on him.
There, on my left, in the far corner was Bruce Wayne.
Coincidence? Internally I rolled my eyes, nosy asshole.
The crème de la crème of Gotham was out tonight, and perfectly placed like a sapphire in their jewelry, I played my part. I knew none of them would ever guess looking at me the circumstances I came from. I had their respect, after years of clawing for it, begging for it, fighting harder than I ever should have had to go receive it, I have it. They see me as someone to trust, one of them.
I had everything I had wanted for so long.
Not everything.
"-And, I know that you maybe didn't want to come out with me tonight, but I'm glad you decided to give me a chance." I heard Jack say, suddenly, a small smile playing over his lips as he averted his eyes.
A twinge of guilt ran through me, as I realized perhaps I was not as good at faking interest as I had thought.
"It's not so much that I didn't want to come out with you specifically, I just. Don't really... date. Anymore." I finished, stumbling to explain.
"Oh?" He seemed intrigued.
"Bad history, I guess? I don't trust my taste in men. It's profoundly bad." I laughed lightly, shaking my head.
He nodded emphatically, "Believe me, I understand that." His eyes widened, no doubt imagining his ex keying his car or throwing his belongings outside.
"So, yeah," I cleared my throat. "I'm just- I guess I'm not looking?" I looked at him with a slightly apologetic smile, which he returned in earnest.
"That's okay," he sipped his wine, before continuing. "I can wait."
"I don't exactly have a timeframe-"
"Okay." He smiled, meeting my eyes with his green ones, unconsciously I compared them, these deep pools of honeyed sage, versus the much darker, flatness of the others, as if he had a solid wall between his eyes and his mind. His cheeks were a rosy shade of pink, but it was clear he had no intention of backing down.
"Harley, I got plenty of time. And you're worth it."
I stared at him, his earnest face confusing to me, but I didn't open my mouth to voice the question lingering on my tongue.
"Why?"
Back in my apartment, I sat on my overly ornate couch still in my dress, staring at the Television's dark screen. Lighting a cigarette, I eyed the skin between my fingers, watching for the tell-tale yellowing of my dirty habit. I had avoided it so far, but my vanity still left me concerned that the imperfection would appear.
The evening had not been terrible really, if I was honest with myself, after dinner, Jack had taken me for a lovely walk through Gotham Park, and even bought me a small bag of cinnamon candied cashews from the man selling them at the entrance. Before I stepped back into my car at the restaurant, he had scooped his hands around my waist, and kissed me, very sweetly, before backing away with a blush and a smile.
He's always blushing and smiling. I thought tiredly, pulling another drag from the menthol between my lips.
My mind was sluggish and slow, as though the evening with Jack had sapped any energy I had, even just to think.
The good news was that there were paparazzi outside the restaurant when we left, which he profusely apologized for while I grimaced sympathetically, and told him I of course didn't blame him, all while mentally celebrating the photos that would sprinkle throughout newsstands around the city for the next few days. Knowing I was one step closer to the respectability I do so crave.
I sipped the drink I had in my hand as I tucked the cigarette in my other hand between my pursed lips, allowing it to hang limply while I exhaled, reaching for my security-certified laptop, and pulling up the feed from my patient's cell.
His eyes stayed trained on the ceiling above him as I watched, completely unmoving despite being awake, his arms behind his head as he lounged, as if without a care in the world. The softened tension from his muscles showed how young he was, more than likely my age, or only slightly older.
My eyes took him in, studying him in this private moment. Without the terseness he usually adorned himself with- with the unnatural way he moved, utterly absent from the deep, natural breaths he took in his twin-sized prison bed. Despite the scars peppering his face and arms being fully visible even over the shaking CCTV footage, his expression was entirely neutral, almost peaceful, though it was hard to use that word when describing the terrorist.
I took out my quickly developing file on the man, but stopped short with a sigh, before massaging my temples.
It felt pointless. Ignorant. Wasteful, even, to spend my valuable time on someone who not only couldn't be saved, but had no desire to change, or be better.
And yet.
I couldn't deny that I found myself fascinated by the man.
I couldn't deny that something about him, whether it was the way he moved or spoke or some secret in his eyes, I found myself looking forward to our next meeting.
The sun rose against my will, as I continued studying the clown, carrying my drinking into the day. By the time I finally fell into bed Saturday night, I felt no closer to understanding than when I started.
Sunday morning was no easier. I was sure Pam's fists left permanent dents along my door, and I wondered more than once why I didn't get a noise complaint as she cycled through the five stages of grief because I was treating Joker.
"You said you didn't even want the case and now after he's permanently disfigured a doctor you think it's a good idea?"
"Pam, please-" I said for the millionth time, massaging my temples with my fingers from my seat as she continued to pace and scream.
"Don't you 'Pam Please' me! Are you suicidal, or somethin'?!"
She paused, turning to look at me. Slowly, I uncovered my eyes, looking up at her from my seat with profoundly tired eyes, and sipping my drink as she continued to wait, her pinched mouth growing more pinched as I reached for the bottle.
She met my eyes for a long moment. I looked away.
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because it's my job."
"You could have said no."
"I'm not a quitter."
"Quitting can be good. Healthy even."
"Not to me."
"Ride or die isn't meant for your career, Harley," Pam said shrewdly.
I laughed, tossing back my drink.
"I'm serious." She said, knocking the glass out of my hand.
"Goddamn it Harley, he could kill you!"
I rolled my eyes, opening my mouth to speak until she cut me off with a particularly venomous tone.
"Don't you dare open your mouth about car accidents or lightning strikes either. The difference is that you're seeking out the lightning strike Harley. And when you fucking explode it shouldn't come as a fucking surprise."
I rolled my eyes but smirked at the fact that she knew me well enough to know my responses so well.
"Pam." I stood, pulling her into a hug, which she accepted, and hugged back hard.
I pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes.
"I understand that you're worried. And I not only understand and respect that fear, but I am appreciative of it, I know it comes from a place of love and I love that you care." I smiled, before stepping back.
"But, Pam. I need you to understand. I can take care of myself. I don't need you looking after me. When it comes to my new patient, I am perfectly safe, and I need you to trust me when I say that."
Pam's eyes were still full of worry, her lips pinched into a constipated frown.
"Pam," I repeated.
"Fine." She finally said, lowering her head into her hands. "I will try, I will really try to trust you, but you make it so hard Harley. Why are you always so reckless?"
I considered my actions. Why would I be considered reckless? For seeing patients so soon after the incident at all? Or only seeing the Joker so soon?
I shook my head. "I don't know," I said honestly. "It's never been my intent." My eyebrows crumpled, wrinkling into an anxious furrow.
"Intent?" She giggled, breaking the tension in the room. "Are you using therapist speak on me?"
I smiled and rolled my eyes, "Oh, Pam, are two syllables too much for you now?"
She slapped my arm. "God, you're so mean." She laughed, and I rolled my eyes.
"Anyway, since you're here, do you wanna go out? It's the perfect night for it, and I need to relax." I flexed my shoulders, leaning back.
Pam considered, before nodding, "Is the red dress I wore to that wedding still here?"
I nodded as I snickered, remembering her ex-fiancés wedding which we attended (uninvited) the previous year.
"Perfect, I'll wear that and while we get ready you can call Jack." She grinned evilly.
I shook my head. "No way, I just want some good clean fun tonight, no boyfriends or dates, just dancing," I begged.
She laughed. "Either you can call him or I will." She pranced back to my bathroom, and I heard the shower start.
Fan-fucking-tastic I groaned internally.
Guess Jack is getting that second date sooner than he thought.
AN: Hi! So I made a new Tumblr, pretty much specifically to have a place to tie back to this account. I may post story-related items on the page, so if you're interested, the name is okayigetitifuckedup. I won't promise a massive amount of content on the account, but I am working on something fairly large for this story in particular, so I would recommend just keeping an eye on the notes, I will mention when things get posted. Also, I would like to thank everyone for reviewing/commenting, you guys are my main motivation, outside of my own vanity. Thank you so much to everyone who has read even one chapter of this story. The idea of anyone enjoying my words enough to read them is still a mental trip to me even now, so thank you.
