Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“We’ve got the Joker here, Doctor,” one of the guards spoke abruptly, stopping short at the open door of her office.

“That’s great,” Harleen acknowledged absently as she stood, her eyes still fixed on the file sprawled over her desk. “He can have a seat over there,” she motioned to a chair with one hand and took off her readers with the other, pinching the bridge of her nose to soothe her tired eyes. Harleen turned her back on the scene to reach for a notebook and took a breath to collect herself. It was no secret that the Joker case fascinated her. She'd pulled out all the stops to convince the board to let her lead the analysis. Harleen had played this moment out in her mind a hundred times; meeting the Joker, getting the most intimate perspective on Gotham's most wanted...she was already kicking around titles for the book deal.

Steeling herself for the fateful encounter, Harleen turned to get a good look at the patient. Irritatingly, now that the moment was finally here she found herself distracted by the continued presence of the officers who leaned their weight down on the Joker's shoulders to keep him seated. “You two can go now,” Harleen bristled.

“Sorry, ma’am,” one of them replied stoically, “Dr. Arkham’s orders.”

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, agitated that he would have the gall to interfere with this career-making case. “Listen boys,” Harleen approached the guards, equal parts coquettish and venomous, “I can’t have any dialogue with the patient unless I can guarantee confidentiality. Besides,” she noted, her tone dropping off with indignant incredulity as she bent to take in the sight of the Joker’s slumped frame and unfocused gaze, “I’m gonna have a hard enough time with this one as it is. He’s been sedated, hasn’t he?”

The guard shifted nervously, “Dr. Arkham said—”

“Why don’t you go get that self-righteous prick and tell him to come say it to me?” Harleen hissed as she stood to her full height and stared the officer down.

He looked nervously at his partner who scoffed a little but nodded. Once the first guard had left the room, Harleen turned her attention to the remaining officer. “How about a little privacy?” He tensed at her suggestion but Harleen quickly plied, “Oh come on, we both know he’s too doped to do any harm. I probably won’t even get anything out of him in this state.” Sensing that the guard was still hesitant, Harleen sugared her voice a little, drew close to him and whispered, “Please? I’ll owe you a favor.”

She watched his eyes run over her tight frame and didn't miss the way he swallowed hard before bargaining, “The door stays unlocked.”

“Perfect,” Harleen acquiesced, “I’ll call you right away if there’s any change in his behavior.”

The guard reluctantly made his way to the hallway. Before crossing the threshold, he looked back and asked, “You’re sure?”

“I’m tougher than I look,” she winked as she edged him through the door. She held him in her hypnotizing gaze until she brought the door to a close behind her.

Shaking off the unpleasantness of her deft dispatch of the goon squad, Harleen looked back at the Joker and felt the hairs on her arms stand at attention. She hadn’t lied to the guard, if she was up against a tranquilizer haze this would likely be a fruitless session. All the same, she was thrilled by her proximity to the Joker and itched to begin what she already considered to be her most important work to date.

Harleen approached the Joker cautiously, dragging a chair from its spot in front of her desk to sit directly in front of him. She placed her notebook in her lap and turned to a fresh page. Looking up, Harleen started a little as she found the Joker’s eyes staring raptly back into hers. She'd read about how he'd displayed impressive tolerance to anti-psychotics before—perhaps he was exercising his peculiar talent now. Composing herself, Harleen greeted softly, “There you are.” The salutation had no effect on the Joker's cold expression, but Harleen continued on, “My name is Harleen Quinzel, I’m a psychiatrist. I’m here to listen to anything you’d like to talk about.”

The Joker could almost feel the heat that radiated from her small body as she tried to restrain her excitement. It exhausted him. Her abject complacency and the transparency of her intention was vulgar to the point of absurdity, but the Joker couldn’t deny that something about her determination was…interesting. It occurred to him that the young doctor might be a promising candidate for his patented brand of corruption. And inside these four walls, he was practically consumed with the desire to play. "Do you feel safe with me, doc?” he tested suddenly.

“I—,” she blinked, startled at the jarring sound of his gruff voice and the directness of the Joker's question.

He moved with the fluid precision of a snake as he leapt up and wrested Harleen out of her chair by her collar. It all happened so quickly, she didn’t even drop her notebook until he’d pinned her back to the door and jammed the lock with the pen he’d pulled from her loose bun. “Don’t ever hesitate with me, Harleen. And certainly don’t ever feel safe. Take my word for it—you’re not.” His steely hand bore down cruelly over her windpipe as he assessed the length of her body through the corner of his eye with an air of boredom.

In the silence of his calculating gaze, Harleen heard the muffled panic of the guards stationed outside her office as they struggled with the jammed lock. She fought to pry the Joker’s hand away by tugging at his wrist and gasped air in short, rapid breaths as his palm shifted over her throat enough to allow it.

“I wonder what it’s like to be you,” he mused. Bringing his hard body intimidatingly close to hers, he swept Harleen’s heavy bangs roughly away from her terrified eyes as he gripped her scalp and craned her neck so she could meet his gaze. “Do you think you have power over me, doc?” He waited for her response but quickly lost patience and shook her as he growled, “ANSWER ME!”

“No!” She sighed meekly.

“No,” he agreed darkly, “you don’t.” He released his hold on her tender scalp and ran the pad of his thumb over Harleen’s trembling pout, “And how could you? Such a fragile thing. Even so…” His hand wandered over her collarbone and down over the midline of her torso. “I don’t have power over you either,” he stretched his palm to lay flat on her belly, his fingertips brushing the contour of her hip bone. “True power isn’t something you can take,” now the warmth of his strong hand moved over the plane of her thigh, “it has to be given.”

Harleen felt sick, how could she have been so stupid? Why did she ever allow herself to imagine that she had any sort of control with a personality like the Joker? A dark part of her wondered if she had let this happen, if a more primal version of herself had been aching for this brush with danger enough to manipulate her own mind in order to arrange it. She fought to drown out the sneering voice at the base of her skull that laughed at her naivety and focused as hard as she could on the present situation. Harleen heard the guards starting on the small, wire-reinforced window but feared they wouldn’t get to her in time to keep the Joker from making his point. As she let herself imagine what that could mean, she broke away from the madman’s stare, shading her eyes to block out her fear and shame.

“Look at me doc,” is voice was menacingly soft, “you have to look at me.” His fingers traced the hem of Harleen’s skirt, then pushed the fabric up slowly along the valley of her thighs. “What do you say, huh? You want to give me a little power?” He ran his longest digit along the heat of her cleft and found her silky panties soaked. A malicious chuckle rolled deep in his throat. Of course she was wet for him. It was farcical.

Harleen knew she should beg him to stop, but she couldn’t deny how the physical thrill of his explorations electrified her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the only word she managed was, “Please…”

Piercing her with his cold gaze, the Joker probed through a snarl, “‘Please,’ what? You call the shots doc, just tell me what you want me to do…”

The sound of breaking glass tore Harleen from her reverie as her head strained in the direction of the noise. The Joker’s hand left the warmth between her legs and was back at her jaw within a heartbeat, forcing her to meet his gaze one last time. “You think about it, ok?” he sneered as a team of guards began pulling him back. He held on to Harleen until she surprised both him and herself by giving the slightest of nods.

The Joker broke into a wide grin as a hail of batons rained down over his head and shoulders. He howled with laughter as the posse dragged him backwards, landing fresh blows on his exposed ribs and belly.

“Are you alright, doctor?” One of the guards asked, striding up to Harleen’s paralyzed frame.

“I’m fine,” she responded absently, too shocked to be embarrassed at the guard's knowing concern. Sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear, she watched the Joker writhing under the melee.

“I need you to step aside, ma’am,” the guard commanded as he positioned a battering ram toward the door handle.

“Oh,” she breathed as she stepped aside, still transfixed by the scene in her office. She heard the door splintering open at her side and felt the rush of air as even more men entered the room to detain the Joker and drag him back to his cell.

As they pulled him to his feet, he shot a twisted, bloodstained smile at Harleen, “Keep thinking, doc.”

Chapter Text

Harleen did her best to maintain her composure as she made the trek from her office to the solitary confinement wing. It had been three weeks since her last encounter with the Joker. Three weeks for the bruising around her neck to fade, three weeks for the maintenance crew to pick up all the little shards of glass and splintered wood in her office, three weeks of restless nights tainted with dark dreams.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. The Joker hadn’t said a word to anyone since the beating he took for touching her, but after three weeks of silence, his first and only request was a follow-up consultation. She laughed when she received the information, a discordant, horrified sound. She’d even considered refusing. But somewhere, deep inside her, a brave, foolish voice protested this instinct—refused to be cowed. She would meet with the Joker again if for no other reason than to prove to herself that she could. There would be more precautions this time of course, but Harleen still felt the tiny hairs on her arms prickle at the thought of his icy stare, his wicked laugh, his hands…all the cruel and beautiful things he could do with his hands.

As she gained clearance to the solitary unit, Harleen met with the guards stationed outside the Joker’s cell. “Doctor,” one of them greeted curtly, “he’s been restrained. There’s a chair in there for you to use. We’ll be right by the door the whole time.” He removed a large brass ring of keys from his belt and turned the tumblers in the heavy lock before holding the door open for her.

“Thanks,” she nodded as she stepped over the threshold and let her eyes adjust to the dim room. She saw him, strapped tightly to his bed at nearly every joint. His face and bare torso were still covered in cuts and bruises but he was healing nicely. “Hello, Joker,” Harleen breathed.

He lifted his head enough to look over his chest and grinned, “What’s up, doc?”

Harleen cocked her head over her shoulder. “You can shut the door,” she signaled.

“You sure, ma’am?” the guard responded, concerned. She answered him with a nod.

Not a second after the door was sealed, the room filled with the Joker’s slow, dry laugh. “They’ve got me tied down this time, doc. Did you put them up to this? Is this how you want me?”

She ignored him as she crossed the narrow room to settle into the plain metal chair in the corner and collect her notes.

“Oh, the silent treatment,” the Joker mused, “are you still mad about last time? About what I did to you? You know I’m usually pretty intuitive so I’m sorry if I played too rough, but I kinda got the idea that you enjoyed it.” The shadows in the room weren’t dark enough to hide the blush that rose to the apples of Harleen’s cheeks from the Joker’s sharp eyes. “Are you still afraid of me?” his growing smile glinted harshly in the darkness, “C’mon, doc. Or am I the only one who has to answer questions?”

“I’m terrified,” Harleen cut him off softly, “you terrify me.”

“So you do answer questions, huh?” he sneered.

She wasn’t supposed to. Her training had been very specific about remaining neutral and focusing only on the patient. And yet, that brave, foolish voice in her gut goaded her to take the bait if it meant finding out more about the Joker. “Sure,” she nodded despite the dread of what she knew he’d ask next.

A satisfied grin pulled the corners of his mouth up sinisterly as he glared at her. “So tell me, doc…” he flexed his hands restlessly as he leaned his head back and wondered, “…did you think about what you’d like me to do to you? That is where we left things, isn’t it?” He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel her nervous energy grow with her shame in the silence. “You have, haven’t you?” his voice was low now, almost a growl, “I bet you’ve got it all planned out by now. Whadya say, doc? Why don’t you untie me and tell me just how you want it? Unless you want me to play the boss…something tells me you need a firm hand—”

“Oh, save it,” Harleen bristled defensively, betraying the accuracy of his predictions. She started to gather her things, half-way convinced that she was actually going to leave, “I’m not here to babysit you when you get bored. You’re not the first con to make a hobby of trying to get me hot."

“No,” he chuckled, “but I must be the first to succeed because I do get you hot, doc. Don’t you remember?”

“Shut up,” she seethed, slamming her books down into her briefcase on the seat of the chair.

“Doc,” he mocked a frown, his voice dripping with honey, “you can’t leave now, I think we’re really getting somewhere. Why don’t you come sit on my lap and tell me about it?”

“You want to know what I really think?” Harleen’s tone darkened dangerously as she turned to face the Joker, but he nodded emphatically. She looked past his smile to the malice in his eyes and reminded herself that whatever fantasies she may have had, she was still talking to a criminal. An emotionless monster who would never be able to offer her any real affection. Forcing herself to turn away again, she walked slowly to the door as she remarked, “…I think you’re just fucking with me.”

“When I fuck with you, you’ll know it.” His tone was suddenly stern, “That’s a promise, Harley.”

Her entire body froze. Harley. Is that what he’d called her? She felt her breath hitch. The sound of his voice bouncing off the sterile walls and the cold prickle on the back of her neck as she felt him study her reaction incinerated all rational thought from Harleen’s mind. Her feelings for him roused a wild side of her that she hadn’t tapped into since her college days in Brooklyn. Now she recognized the reckless little voice that had brought her back within the Joker’s reach as he named her. Harley. That was what she’d called herself then—what he was calling her now. Slowly, she turned her head to look back over her shoulder. “Did you just call me—"

“Harley,” he finished for her, seeing that he’d struck a nerve, “And I gotta say…I just love revving you up.”

“No one’s called me that in a long time,” she whispered, his magnetism bringing her back to his bedside.

“Oh, I bet you were a wild one,” he continued to cast his spell, “I can always tell.”

“You don’t know the half,” she responded before she could stop herself. Surprised, she felt her cheeks go pink again.

His wicked sneer stretched until it seemed to split his face in two. “Well my schedule’s clear, doc. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Feeling herself come down, Harleen blinked to clear her head before stuttering, “I don’t…that wouldn’t be—"

“Now, now,” the Joker shushed authoritatively, "you can’t go changing the rules now, doc. You said you answer questions, so talk to me. I want to know about Harley.”

Had she said that? God, she had. He’d been playing her from the beginning, she could see that now. And yet…something still gnawed at the back of her mind, something that swelled, something that giggled. “So…” she began timidly though her tone evened as she continued, “I tell you about Harley and you’ll talk to me about the Joker?”

“That’s right, kiddo,” he charmed sinisterly as he watched her warm to the idea, “you’ve got to pay to play.”

Feeling bolder, Harleen flexed a little as she teased, “Sure…why do I get the feeling that everything on your end will be some bullshit half-truth just to keep me talking, huh? A little weekly story-time, that’s all this is for you.”

“Doc,” his tone dropped again as his gaze went cold. Harleen hadn’t realized that she’d moved so close to him until she felt his cruel fingers clamp around her wrist. “Don’t insult me.” He didn’t loosen his tight grip until she nodded her apology. “I won’t offer again. You really wanna do this?”

“Yes,” she breathed her reply, electrified by the contact of his skin on hers.

“Good,” he sneered, relaxing his hand though his fingertips refused to fully release her, “so…what do you want to know?”

She looked into him, hypnotized. Could it really be this easy? Half testing and half hopeful, she ventured in a tone she prayed was convincingly confident, “Tell me about the first time you killed someone.”

He filled the room with a gale of hollow laughter, “You don’t waste any time, huh?” His smile fading slightly, the Joker accepted, “Alright…” His grin twitched into a subtle snarl, “…but you have to tell me about the first time you got fucked.”

“That’s what you want to hear?” Harleen scoffed incredulously, giddy at the absurdity of the situation. “The impenetrable Joker brought low by co-ed confessions!”

The Joker’s hand moved with frightening speed as he used his thumb to push her middle finger back to the edge of its breaking point. “I thought I told you not to insult me, Harley,” he growled as he watched her face go white with shock and pain. “Do you remember me saying that?”

“Yes!” she gasped, real fear chilling all levity from her features.

“It’s not about sex, doc,” he explained disdainfully as he released her, “I’m not trying to get it up. I want to know what it took to get you on your back. Why you made yourself vulnerable. I want to know why you gave up your power. And it has to be the first time…it’s always the hardest. Messy. Painful. That’s why you asked about my first kill, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” she conceded, something like shame coloring her cheeks. “So who goes first?”

“That’ll be you this time, doc,” the Joker spoke in a flat tone as he laid his head back on the thin pillow. “I want every detail. But after you hear what I have to say…you might not be in the mood.”

“I see,” Harleen blanched a little, the Joker’s chilly warning triggering some ancient panic in her gut. “Well, where should I start?”

The Joker closed his eyes, preparing to fill the empty canvas of his mind with Harleen’s words. “How old were you?”

“Twenty,” she responded, “almost twenty one.”

“Pretty far along,” he commented dubiously.

“I never really had much in common with boys my age,” she explained.

“So it was an older man,” the Joker grinned knowingly, “lemme guess, a professor?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. The Joker regarded her with a self-satisfied smirk but waited for her to continue. “He taught psychology.”

The Joker couldn’t contain his laughter, “Harley, that is so tragic!” She turned from him so he wouldn’t see how deeply his cruelty cut her. Harleen reached for the metal chair and dragged it closer to the side of the bed. “Don’t tell me,” the Joker teased relentlessly, “you were trying to boost your grade?”

“No,” she silenced him matter-of-factly, “no my grades were fine. I just…I think it was the way he talked to me. Like he could really see me.” The Joker still had trouble hiding his bemusement, but Harleen sensed that his curiosity was peaked. “We used to review cases in class, he would really listen when I had something to say, you know? Sometimes class would end and I’d stay behind, we’d just keep talking. It wasn’t anything more than that for a long time.”

“What changed?” The Joker asked dryly.

“He was having problems with his wife.” Harleen watched as the Joker leaned his head back again with an eye-roll but she continued, “He came in one day looking terrible…I think she’d kicked him out. He asked me to stay behind that day, there wasn’t any pretense. We both knew it was inappropriate but he was my friend at this point,” she paused, flushing with embarrassment to remember what a child she’d been. “I was worried about him.” The Joker watched her face intently as she spoke but he saw no signs of deception. “Anyway, we went to his office and he kissed me for the first time. He smelled like gin and his face was so rough. I was a little scared of him. I tried to ask him to slow down, he just kissed me harder.” Harleen cleared her throat as she tried to put herself back in the moment, “I was wearing this dress with buttons down the front. He put his hand up my skirt—I’d never been touched like that before. I started crying.”

“Oh yeah?” the Joker prodded under a cocked eyebrow.

“Yeah.” She met his eyes and glared into him, daring him to make fun of her. “I don’t know if it was the fear or the excitement. Both I guess. Once he felt my tears he backed off—I think it freaked him out. We both kind of stood there, he was embarrassed…I was on fire.” The Joker went still as he sensed the real weight of the story coming into focus. “I left after that—I went straight to my dorm, locked the door and touched myself the way he touched me. I came so hard I was shaking, I mean I broke a sweat. Then I just sat there crying and laughing. Hysteric. The next day I waited outside his office for five hours.” The Joker’s eyebrows raised but this time, he didn’t mock her. In truth, he was a little impressed at this first expression of imbalance.

Harleen went on, “When he finally came around and saw me, he looked so nervous. He relaxed when I told him I wasn’t upset and I wasn’t going to say anything. He sat down in his big leather chair—I followed him, sat in his lap. He tried to tell me it was a mistake and that I should go, but I grabbed his cock and the fight went out of him. There’s not much else to say after that.”

The Joker furrowed his brow, “You mean nothing happened?”

“I mean I was kind of disappointed.” Harleen was surprised at how easy it was to pour herself out to the Joker. It wasn’t that he made her feel comfortable…no, she wanted him to hear. She was trying to impress him! Realizing this, she stared into him boldly and went on, "He pawed at my breasts for a little while then laid me down on the desk to get my shorts off. He didn’t try to ease in or anything he just pushed against me until I gave way. It hurt at first, there was a little blood, but it didn’t take long to get used to. I think…” The Joker’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the way Harleen’s face twisted subtly with disgust. “…I think he was trying to make love to me. He was very…measured. Before I knew what was happening he made this horrible face and pulled out. He came in his own hands—he said something like he didn’t want to put me at risk. I sat on the edge of the desk for a while confused.”

“Confused?” the Joker encouraged.

“Yeah,” she pouted breathily. “I went into that office,” Harleen paused to find the words, “I wanted to fuck. He was just so soft, nothing like the day before. I got dressed and sort of excused myself. We didn’t talk outside of class after that.”

The Joker’s lips twitched into a slight half-smile and a thrill ran through Harleen’s body. She felt a naughty tint creep into her voice as she divulged the end of the story. “Later that night, I walked downtown, I heard a shitty band playing in some dive and went in. The drummer offered me some coke after the show. We did a few lines. He ate me out on the bathroom sink and bent me over the toilet.” Feeling like she was finally gaining a little ground, Harleen did a little studying of her own. A quick assessment of the shadows below the Joker’s waist confirmed her suspicions. He may not have been trying to get it up, but the swell of hot flesh under his hip assured Harleen that he was stimulated nonetheless. “He wasn’t soft. When he fucked me, I felt that fire again. I saw the blood running down my legs and it made me giddy. I couldn’t stop laughing. He put his hand around my throat to keep me quiet.”

The Joker was beside himself with delight—he loved being surprised. His Harley wasn’t the dull little prude he’d made her out to be after all. “That just wound you up even tighter, huh?”

“I came just before I passed out.” They were both grinning widely now. “He must have turned me around, I felt him slap me across the face. When I came to, he stuffed his cock down my throat and gagged me until my eyes watered. My makeup was a mess.” Harleen’s eyes fluttered shut as she relished the memory. “But when he came I swallowed every last drop.” Harleen heard the Joker’s low growl and opened her eyes to find him gazing at her, fascinated. “Nothing happened after that. I mean, he made out with me for a little while until someone started pounding on the door, but that’s all.”

“That’s it?"

“That’s it, I took a cab back to campus and that’s how the night ended.” She ran her tongue over the point of her canine subtly as she tried to force her features back into the mask of the objective physician. “Your turn.”

Chapter Text

Harleen was obsessed. Since she’d taken the risk of revealing her secret self to the Joker, he’d actually begun to reciprocate, albeit cryptically. He was true to his word as he’d promised, sparing no detail when prompted to recount past actions. The trouble was, the Joker’s stories never quite aligned. Even when Harleen tried asking about the same events in different ways, the Joker would respond from completely singular perspectives, shifting the origin but consistently arriving at the same conclusion. Her professional instincts told her he wasn’t actively trying to deceive her, there were real grains of truth in each of his retellings. At the very least, Harleen was convinced that the Joker did not believe he was lying. If anything, he was only finding new ways to play the game.

Despite this revelatory progress however, Harleen despaired at the increasing suspicion that the Joker was losing interest in their little sessions. It had been wonderful at first, the Joker’s willingness to participate stemming from flattery as much as it did from boredom. He was particularly responsive when he sensed how his words and presence triggered real fear in Harleen’s heart. Once she realized this, she tried to exploit her own weakness to her advantage, making no secret of her terror and disgust as she allowed the Joker to lead her deeper into the twisted maze of his mind. Unfortunately, the more time she spent losing herself in his head, the harder it was for her to separate her investment in him as a patient from her fascination with him on a personal level. He haunted her, following her into her dreams until she woke breathlessly, swearing she could taste the ghost of his sweat on her lips. She couldn’t tell if it scared her anymore.

Neither could the Joker. His consultation requests grew more and more infrequent as Harleen’s infatuation bloomed. His responses to her prodding grew chillier, sometimes edged with naked agitation. Now, Harleen found herself walking into the Joker’s cell unprompted, lucky to get even one-word answers to her carefully framed questions. A heavy feeling weighed in her guts that she couldn’t quite distinguish between frustration and heartbreak. How could he lead her on like this? Wasn’t he the one who’d suggested these childish exchanges? Harleen had held up her end of the deal, she felt like the Joker knew her better than anyone else in her life at this point. Could it be that even her deepest, most guarded secrets were insufficient currency to the Joker now?

She clutched her notebook to her chest as her thoughts turned in circles, her brow furrowing as she made her way to the solitary confinement wing for what was probably another exercise in futility. There was only one guard stationed at the point of entry now, and he nodded at Harleen routinely as he opened the gate for her. He carried the magazine he’d been reading with him as he escorted her wordlessly down the hallway, only looking away from the page long enough to select the correct key for the Joker’s door. Harleen watched as the guard swung the heavy door open nonchalantly, pausing to make sure it stayed propped for Harleen to walk through before making his way back to his post. “Knock when you’re ready, doc,” he reminded over his shoulder as he flipped to the next page in his magazine.

It struck Harleen like a ton of bricks. The Joker wasn’t a threat anymore. Even on the outside, the memory of the clown prince’s reign of terror was growing dim. People went about their lives as usual, not thinking twice about walking into a bank with their families or taking public transit after dark. Now that she thought about it, Harleen felt like she was the only person in Gotham still jumping at shadows. The game had changed, and it suddenly became clear to her that she had to raise the stakes if she wanted to keep playing.

Drawing the door to a close behind her, Harleen crossed the room to sit in the chair at the Joker’s bedside. “Don’t think I’m in the mood today, doc,” he grumbled, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

“That’s alright, Jay,” she spoke softly, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging the corner of her mouth as she uttered the little nickname he seemed resigned to let her use, “I thought I’d try doing the talking today.”

“Another psycho-sexual tale of upper-middle class awakening?” he sneered, his eyes drifting shut as if to block out his ennui. “Not sure I’m in the mood for that either.”

“No…no more of that,” Harleen assured, “I think we’ve made about as much progress as we could have hoped for with that method, don’t you?” She watched one of his untidy eyebrows twitch up reflexively though the rest of his face remained placid. “As it happens, I have a new proposition for you.”

The Joker slowly opened his eyes and rolled his head to regard Harleen with a wary stare. The greater part of him refused to believe that she would willingly abandon the quid-pro-quo banter he knew she loved. But somewhere in his mind, he allowed himself to consider the very small probability the Harleen may have found a new way to entertain him. “Well,” he rumbled coolly, already prepared to be underwhelmed, “what did you have in mind?”

Harleen let herself look into the Joker’s cold, black eyes for a beat, then lowered her gaze submissively. “I’d like to share my analysis with you, Jay,” she began, “you don’t have to tell me if any of it is right, but I would like it if you could stop me whenever you hear something wrong.”

It took everything the Joker had not to burst into a peal of laughter as he heard what Harleen had to say. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction that she had actually come up with a decent way to pass the time. “This oughta be good,” the Joker drawled as he shifted his gaze back to the pitted stone above their heads. He waited a few breaths, testing Harleen’s patience before encouraging, “Well go ahead, doc, I’ll help you with your homework if that’s what you really want.”

Now it was Harleen’s turn to restrain herself. The Joker had taken the bait, now it was her responsibility to play it cool if she had any hope of keeping his attention. “Right,” she muttered as she opened her notebook to a dog-eared page. “Let’s see…patient displays violent, anti-social behavior that has persisted from a young age likely stemming from an early trauma—”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Joker cut her off impatiently, “let’s just skip the shop talk if it’s all the same to you. I know you’re dying to tell me what you really think.”

“Ok, Jay.” Harleen steeled herself. “Your big hang-up is that the people of the world aren’t afraid of the Joker anymore, you’re afraid of them.”

The Joker’s silence was insidious. After what seemed like ages, his low timbre filled the room. “Is that right…” he growled dangerously, wondering if his little Harley had the audacity to think she was making a fool of him.

“Yes,” she responded with quiet, clinical confidence. “You’re afraid that they’ll forget you and the message you fought so hard to force them to hear.”

The Joker was approaching his boiling point now. “So now you know all about the message I want to send, huh?” he seethed.

“You’re afraid,” Harleen reaffirmed, though she was unable to completely conceal her own fear as she added, “…and angry.”

The muscles in the Joker’s arms twitched restlessly under his restraints as potential energy surged through him, “Oh, you haven’t seen angry yet, pumpkin.”

Harleen drove in the final nail. “And you are absolutely incapable of tolerating anyone who challenges your logic.”

“And you think you’re challenging me, is that it, doll?” the Joker was through with being charitable. He let his head loll slowly over his shoulder, holding Harleen’s wide gaze as he unleashed his venom with a hiss, “You couldn’t get under my skin with a needle and a prayer, sweetheart. Here’s an analysis: you’re just another spoiled girl from the suburbs who only feels like she’s living authentically when she’s getting gang-banged at a gas station.” He watched deep red blood rise to her cheeks with her shame and allowed it to fuel him further, “You’re unsurprisingly accomplished but you hide behind those pretty blue eyes so your male superiors don’t feel threatened. That’s allowed you to make some pretty big strides, green as you are. But that really doesn’t count for much because, Harleen--you're not half as smart as you think you are.” The Joker saw her biting at the insides of her lip mistaking it at first for another childish display of embarrassment before recognizing it as euphoria. “What are you smiling about?” he snapped indignantly.

Harleen allowed the smile to spread across her mouth, dropping the angle of her gaze to reveal a glint of mischief, “You think my eyes are pretty?” Wrath froze in the Joker’s throat as he knotted his brows and waited to see if she was serious. She was. Deciding to be merciful and end his confusion, Harleen went on, “You know…I’m still waiting for you to tell me I’m wrong.”

The Joker’s hollow laugh started slow but quickly filled the room, clanging off the close walls like jagged glass. He couldn’t believe it, of all people, his pet shrink was the one that finally gave him something to smile about. “Harley, Harley, Harley…” he mused, the tone of his voice obscuring the line between delight and outrage, “maybe you are as smart as you think you are.” She knew it was the closest thing to a compliment she’d ever get. “You know, I’d pat you on the back, but…” he jerked his arms under the heavy leather straps to demonstrate his confinement.

Harleen let her eyes linger on the pale skin of the Joker’s wrists and the flexion of his fingers. She casually imagined what they’d look like if they were free of the restraints and was instantly transported back to that terrifying moment in her office—that bit of flesh between his thumb and forefinger crushing against her larynx until it made a sick popping sound, the cold uncertainty in the pit of her stomach as she wondered if he would actually kill her…and the fire between her thighs as the electricity of his nearness consumed her.

“What’s on your mind, doc?” the Joker purred knowingly as he studied her still frame.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Harleen whispered meekly, “I know I’m a joke to you,”--this elicited a quiet giggle--but I must be pretty small time laughs compared to what you’re used to.” She couldn’t believe what she was saying…what she was thinking… She felt like she was shaking from the inside out and prayed her tone was even enough to mask her apprehension. Chancing a look back into the Joker’s eyes, she felt a flicker of bravery spur her on…the Joker’s curiosity was sparked. She stood and approached the bed, knowing full well the damage he could inflict now that she was within his reach despite the straps that kept him prone. Harleen lowered herself beside the Joker and spread her fingers over the rough blanket that draped over his ribs. She watched his wide grin stretch quizzically over his face and wanted so badly to reach out and feel his fingers on her skin again but she maintained her chilly facade. "Maybe it’s time for you to go pick on someone your own size.”

The Joker would have laughed if he hadn’t been so mesmerized by the sensation of Harleen’s quiet and complete submission. His mind was already spinning as he let himself consider the implications. “Are you talking about springing me, doc?” he growled seductively, watching the rise and fall of Harleen’s breast as her breathing became steadier.

“I think I am,” she breathed as if admitting it to herself, “…want me to?”

“Yeah,” he smoldered, “I’d like that, Harley.”

She gazed into him, captivated as always by the sound of her name in his mouth. She stood up and smoothed her skirt, her round ass just inches out of the reach of the Joker’s outstretched fingertips. “I’ll see what I can do, puddin’,” she teased dreamily as she turned to face him again.

“Harley,” the Joker tasted her name again, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were getting sweet on me.”

“You know, I have always had a weakness for men with a sense of humor,” she smiled as she turned away from him to knock on the door and hail the guard. “I’ll be back next week, Jay. Don’t forget about me, ok?”

“Babydoll,” his twisted smile bared his yellowed canines, “right now, you’re all I can think about.”

Chapter Text

It was Harleen’s idea, she just needed a little guidance with the execution. That suited the Joker, until now, his biggest hurdle had been finding someone to work with on the outside. Now that he had the good doctor in his pocket, the details seemed to fill themselves in. Of course the best way out of Arkham was in a body bag, the pair were in agreement on that. The trick was finding a way out of the bag.

Tricks were the Joker’s specialty. Tricks and chemistry. There was a particular recipe he’d had some success with before, a cocktail from hell that slowed the heart and lungs to a crawl, dropped the body temperature and otherwise turned out all the lights for a few hours until someone—preferably a blonde as he’d noted in spidery script on the torn edge of paper Harleen had given him to transcribe the formula—came along with a hearty dose of adrenaline. He’d moved his hand just slightly when she’d accepted the list from him so that his fingertips traced the curve of her palm. The Joker knew Harleen was already hopelessly bound to him, but watching her dazed doe eyes drink in the movement of his skin on hers reminded him it never hurt to hedge his bets.

It was easy enough for Harleen to find everything she needed. Most of the ingredients were stacked neatly in the cleaning bin under her bathroom sink. She wasn’t too proud to lift some of the more obscure items from the cabinet of sample prescriptions in her office at Arkham. She methodically mixed them all into a small aluminum flask on her kitchen counter, the pad of her pointer finger running down the list three times as she read the ingredients aloud, making sure she didn’t forget anything. It wasn’t until she was tightening the flask’s round metal cap that she felt the first pang of doubt tug at a place behind her navel. What the fuck was she doing?

Harleen Frances Quinzel, forensic psychiatrist and all-around rational adult woman was slipping a flask of poison in her purse to take to Gotham’s most wanted criminal. It wasn’t that she thought this action would make the Joker fall in love with her, she had no real hope of that. But something about her talks with the Joker…he had reconnected her to a missing piece of herself she didn’t know she could reach anymore. The Joker was the only one who seemed able to summon the wild Harley of her youth, and he’d made it clear that he had no intention of continuing that practice from the confines of a cell. Harleen wanted to know how much farther the Joker could take her. Though she had no guarantee that he would continue to help her once he had his freedom, Harleen decided she’d let the whole god damned world burn down if it meant she would find out.

Watching him drink the stuff was hard. The Joker made Harleen promise to stay with him until she was sure the poison worked…and not to scream. Sweat beaded on his face moments after the draught passed his lips, what little color there was in his cheeks draining in tandem with the dregs in the flask. He allowed himself a low-pitched, growling groan through gritted teeth as he felt every system in his body battle against the drug until the breath was choked out of his throat. The Joker’s sight blurred, but he had time to see the sheer terror in Harleen’s face as she looked on helplessly, both hands pressed against her mouth. She’d never looked more beautiful. He tried to laugh but only managed a sinister sigh as his consciousness faded out completely.

Harleen waited a full ten minutes in the dark, her eyes never moving from the Joker’s too-still chest. When she finally mustered the courage to approach him, she took his wrist between her fingers and waited. And waited. Waited longer than any other physician would have in response to an emergency. His pulse came eventually, weak as it was, but it was there, assuaging her fear enough to carry on with the plan. She was to leave the Joker behind as she would at the end of any normal session, long enough for the toxicologist on staff to clock out for the evening. When the guards came to deliver the Joker’s evening meal, they’d find him. Protocol was clear in those situations: clean him up, lay him out in the morgue on site and leave him for autopsy first thing in the morning. It went off without a hitch of course, state run institutions were reliable to a fault in that way.

After the most anxious one hundred and twenty seven minutes and four seconds of her life, Harleen finally slinked down to the morgue. The Joker was the only organic thing in the room, the rest was all cold steel and polished white ceramic tile. Harleen approached him where he lay on the small table in the center of the room and drew the sheet that draped over his naked frame down to expose his head and shoulders. His pale skin was so cool it frightened her, her heart pounding as she fought to block out the suspicion that she’d come too late. Still, Harleen couldn’t help but take a moment to enjoy the rare opportunity to marvel at the Joker’s placid frame. She ran her gentle fingertips over his brow and down the line of his strong jaw before stroking his slightly parted lips with the pad of her thumb. The shiny, gnarled tissue at the corners of his scarred mouth drew her attention, reminding her of something reptilian.

It occurred to Harleen that it still wasn’t too late to back out. She could simply let the Joker die. Sure, a simple toxicology report would implicate her at the very least as an accomplice to his death, but she’d be far away by then. Somewhere hot, she thought. And hell, they probably wouldn’t look too hard to try and find her. Killing the Joker? For all she knew, they’d put up a statue of her in Gotham City Hall for that.

The thought left Harleen’s mind just as quickly as it had come. Why should she be a hero? Locking up the Joker hadn’t actually solved anything. Gotham had cured one symptom, but not its underlying disease. After all her sessions with the Joker, Harleen saw the truth in that now more than ever. And besides—she was Harley again, and if Harley was in for a penny, she was in for a fucking pound.

“This might sting a little, Jay,” Harleen whispered as she removed the syringe taped to her thigh, still chilly from being kept in the small fridge in her office. Pulling the sheet a little lower, she positioned the long needle over the Joker’s broad chest. A giddy jolt of fear and something like relief pulled her full lips into a half-smile. She brought the needle down full-force and flooded his heart with adrenaline.

The Joker’s eyes snapped open as he gasped in air. He sat up abruptly and flung his arms out defensively, knocking Harleen backwards. As she careened into a wall of drawers and fell to her knees, the Joker got to his feet and paced the room in wide strides, slamming his fists into any nearby object as his senses returned. The motion of Harleen trying to regain her footing drew his attention and he froze as he took in the sight of her. She was still on her hands and knees fumbling for purchase on the wall of drawers to pull herself up, but the Joker had more than enough time to appreciate the perfect shape of her firm ass and the tease of dark nylon bands that circled her thighs as they were exposed by the slit in her skirt when she shifted.

Every cell in his body was awake and alive with primal lust. He usually thought of sex as a tiresome distraction, but the drug that screamed its way through his body blurred out everything except the sight of Harleen’s submissive pose, the sound of her pained breath as she flexed her tender joints, and the thought of tasting the blood he could see dripping over her lower lip…it was more than enough reason to make an exception. He walked deliberately toward her, pushing all obstacles out of his path as he locked eyes with her.

“Jay?” Harleen sighed weakly through a hopeful smile. Her delight was tinged with fear as she saw the crazed intensity behind his scowl. She also couldn’t help but notice that he was preceded by his massive cock, stiff with adrenaline laced blood. “Are you ok?” she quivered as she tried to regain her balance.

Taking hold of her shoulders and slamming her back against the cold steel, the Joker growled into her, “You’re the doctor…you tell me.” He crashed his lips against hers as his hands darted up from her shoulders and into her hair, loosing her blonde locks from her tidy bun. Her soft breasts pressed into his broad chest as she gasped breathlessly in surprise. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down until he drew blood—the metallic taste of her kiss was maddening. Gripping her hair by the roots, the Joker spun Harleen around in front of him, herding her toward the slab. When he felt her thighs make contact with the edge of the steel table, he forced her head down on the slick surface, crushing her cheek.

As Harleen winced in pain, the Joker’s hands flew to her wrists and crossed them behind her back until he could maintain the submissive hold with one hand. Slowing himself down, he used his free hand to stroke along the back of her thigh and push the hem of her restrictive skirt over her hips. “There’s something I’ve been dying to do, doc. I want to ask you your favorite question…” he steadied his shaft and moved the soft fabric of her panties aside with the swollen head of his cock.

“Jay?” Harleen panted nervously, her heart racing with fear as she felt him trace the cleft of her soaked pussy with the tip of his dick.

Without warning, he plowed his full length inside her with one fluid movement, “…how does that make you feel?”

She couldn’t scream, there wasn’t any air in her lungs. Tiny little bombs detonated throughout her nervous system as her brain registered only pain. Finding her voice, she cried out as the Joker reeled his hips forward again, his girth threatening to tear her apart. The tight walls of her cunt strained to accommodate him, her knees buckled as the strength ran out of her legs, her arms felt like they were about to snap, and yet, her moans gave way to a peal of laughter. She was finally his, he was inside her, filling her, and she felt whole.

Releasing his hold on Harleen’s wrists, the Joker gripped her hips and flipped her harshly onto her back, knocking the breath out of her again. He watched the swell of her breast hungrily as she arched her aching spine and drew in a pained breath. His hand flew to the neckline of her thin blouse and ripped it open, exposing the delicate black lace of her bra. The Joker crushed his palm against her ribcage and ran it roughly over her breast and the cool, pale skin of her throat. He kept his hand between her collarbones and smirked as he felt her breathing return to a steady pace. “Harley, Harley, Harley…” he mused as his grip tightened around her neck. He laughed in a low growl as he watched her gaze up openly at him despite the fact that he was bearing down on her windpipe. He entered her savagely, his chuckle expanding into a howl of laughter as he felt her try to scream.

His laugh was cut short as Harleen’s hand darted up to form a chokehold of her own. His features twisted with rage and he thrusted against her cruelly to punish her audacity. Though she winced as the pain electrified her body, a slow smile softened her features as she grew accustomed to the force of the Joker moving inside her. Harleen’s hand relaxed and moved lustfully through his coarse hair. The Joker slapped her hand away but allowed his mouth to twist back into a dark grin as he doubled his pace. No matter how brutally he handled her, she actually seemed to be enjoying herself. His curiosity and sense of play incensed, he decided to see how far she would let him go.

Drawing himself out of her, he pulled Harleen up by the neck in his iron grip, her feet kicking weakly as they dangled above the tile floor. Her fingers pried fruitlessly at his hand and wrist, survival suddenly overriding her dark desires. The Joker assessed her sternly, the line of his mouth hard between the scars of his macabre grin. He watched the movements of her face intently, her piercing blue eyes first pleading, then defiant and finally narrowed with rage. The corner of the Joker’s mouth twitched up into an amused half-smile as Harleen’s feeble attempts to escape became more violent, the flailing of her legs becoming more controlled as her instincts changed course from protest to defense. One well-timed kick actually struck home on the Joker’s kneecap. He buckled slightly, but his hold on her only tightened.

Laughing maniacally, the Joker suddenly tossed Harleen unceremoniously across the room, her body making a sick, dull sound as it made hard contact with the clean, white subway tiles of the wall. Her head spinning as her stomach turned, she somehow managed to stay on her feet by bracing her forearms on the polished bricks as she gasped in air.

He was at her back in an instant, a fistful of her hair in one hand, the other holding the fine blade of a scalpel to the pale skin of her throat. Harleen was paralyzed with mortal fear as he pinned her hips against the wall with his own and lowered his smiling lips to the point of her jaw just below her earlobe. His breath fell hotly on her skin as he whispered harshly, “I’ve got a proposition for you, doc…” He traced the blade playfully along the underside of her chin, the skin of his balls tightening at the sound of her stifled, panicked breath. “…Make one sound, and I’ll open up this vein on your pretty little neck…” The Joker moved his rigid cock between Harleen’s thighs and growled a low note despite himself when he found her warm slit still dripping for him. “…But keep your mouth shut and I promise not to hurt you too bad, ok? Do you trust me to be a man of my word, Harley?”

She didn’t speak, too afraid of the cold steel that pressed against her jugular. She simply lifted her heavy lashes and sought out the Joker’s icy gaze. Locking eyes with him, Harleen slowly rolled her hips, stroking her wetness along the length of his shaft until the head of his prick pressed eagerly against her void.

The Joker’s mouth stretched into a lupine sneer and he pushed himself back into Harleen’s greatest depths one blissfully agonizing inch at a time, testing the bounds of her obedience. He heard her breath hitch, but she remained silent as she continued to return his gaze under her pain-furrowed brow. Drawing his hips back suddenly, he slammed his cock cruelly back inside her aching cunt to the hilt. Harleen stifled the scream in her throat and felt the sting of the blade as the Joker made a thin, shallow cut with a twitch of his fingers, but she was able to hold her tongue. Pleased with her reaction, the Joker picked up speed until his hips pistoned against Harleen’s ruthlessly. He actually admired her resolve, amusement swelling in his chest as she stared into him bravely. He knew she hadn’t made the mistake of trusting him not to harm her, no… what he saw in her eyes was fanatical obsession, a willingness to do anything to please him even if it meant that her own life was forfeit. Hot blood raged through the veins of his dick at the thought of it.

Harleen used every ounce of will in her body to keep from crying out as the Joker pounded relentlessly inside her. In all her life, she had never felt close to anyone, never allowed herself to be vulnerable enough to love or be loved. But since the moment she’d felt the Joker’s rough hands on her flesh, she felt the doom of destiny closing in on her. He never bothered with the subterfuge of coercing her to open herself to him, he simply barged inside her head and rooted out her deepest fears and fantasies for himself. It drove her wild. And now here he was, his growling breaths setting flame to her heart, his cold eyes stripping all defenses from her, his unforgiving body claiming every inch of her, inside and out. For the first time, she was possessed.

The Joker was fascinated. The more the he moved inside her, the tighter Harleen’s body coiled around him. He could almost hear the hum of her nerves as they shrieked for release, but he knew she wouldn’t risk his fury by reaching her climax without his permission. She still looked straight into him, and he watched a single, crystalline tear spill over her long lower lashes and trail down her cheek. Without thinking, the Joker leaned the side of his head against hers and tasted the salty bead with the end of his tongue. The sensation spurring the approach of his own impending release, he discarded the blade and grabbed another fistful of Harleen’s soft blonde hair. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you Harley?” he hissed sinisterly. Though her neck was craned backward as the Joker tugged at her scalp, Harleen managed a nod. “Yeah, I can feel you losing your grip, doc,” he growled, still crashing his hips against the soft curve of her raw, reddened ass. “I want you to come for me, Harley…I want to hear you scream.”

She couldn’t help but oblige. Her core went rigid as the orgasm wracked her body, heat and light buzzing through her marrow from her tailbone to her fingertips. “Jay!” she called out against the hard tiles, her voice finally free to fill the wide room, “Oh, Mistah Jay…”

He roared with delight and pure, carnal power as she named him. The Joker rammed a final, sharp thrust inside Harleen’s quaking cunt and felt her drain his balls of every last drop.

He lingered behind her, willing strength back into his tired muscles, agonized by the strain of his fervor after being so near to death. He felt Harleen’s body relax and breathed in the scent of her tousled hair as her pitiful, sighing breaths grew longer and more controlled. Her skin blazed with an intoxicating warmth, but in this stillness, it only served to remind him of the chill in the sterile room that bit at his naked flesh. Pushing off from the wall, he left her. The Joker saw Harleen’s knees buckle from the corner of his eye, but he was too preoccupied with finding something to cover himself with to care. He’d already wasted too much time.

Harleen slid down the cold tile wall to a kneeling position. Now that the Joker had left her, she didn’t have the fire of his touch to mask the bolts of pain that arced wildly over her bruised, battered frame. She was in love with him, she had no doubt. Devoted. But at least part of her knew the Joker would never reciprocate her feelings. How could he? He was clinically incapable of love. She knew he’d been manipulating her from the day they met. Every insult, every injury, he knew exactly how much pressure to use on the sensitive trigger of her obsession to bind her to him. She’d allowed herself to fall for his tricks, and the reward for her compliance was her state in this moment—broken, bleeding and alone.

Harleen’s introspection was interrupted by the Joker’s approach. He was now clothed in as set of oversized scrubs, though his feet remained bare. He tossed a crisp white lab coat at her lap. “Put this on,” he said gruffly, “we need to get out of here.”

“We?” she echoed, absently sliding the sleeves of the coat over her arms as the harsh truth of the moment was blurred by her hopefulness, “you want me to come with you?”

“Harley,” the Joker mocked offense as he extended a hand to help her up, “what makes you think I’m finished with you, huh?” His yellowed teeth glinting through a predatory smile, he pulled her small body close to his hard chest, “I’ve got all kinds of plans for you, doll.”