Bad Thing - Chapter 9
Author's Notes:
We are very, extremely, sincerely sorry for the long wait on the rest of this story! Most of it is already written, thanks ENTIRELY to Gladrial, just needing detail and polish. Thank you so much, from the bottom of our fangirl hearts, for enjoying this and letting us know! This is a story close to our souls and we cannot wait to share the rest with y'all!
Risque has put together a soundtrack for this fic on Spotify, though it frustratingly leaves out the song that inspired the title, which is the hard to locate "I've Done A Bad Thing" by Ellen Reid. Consider that the real first track!
---
August had started with a heatwave. A dumb, stupid heatwave that reminded Harleen of a time early in high school where she'd rode with some friends to a lake outside the city, eight teenagers packed in an ancient van with no air conditioning. Somewhere in the middle of Nowhere, Gotham County, the engine decided that life wasn't worth living and, since it was a time before everybody had a cell phone, they were stranded on a lonely stretch of road, with the sun beating down on them, and not even a brief breeze to bring respite. Most of them had also already been drinking, getting a headstart on the drinking they were going to do at the lake, which led to Harleen and her friend Amber taking turns holding each other's hair while they puked into the roadside weeds.
"...And that's why I'll never drink lemonade and vodka ever again," Harleen concluded, flicking the ash from her cigarette off the side of the balcony. "Or get in a van that's old enough to have grandchildren."
Miss Murton laughed, coughing out a cloud of cigarette smoke as she did.
Millie, Harleen reminded herself as the older woman had insisted she stop addressing her so formally. She patted her back, concerned, but Millie brushed her off, insisting she was fine.
"Just reminds me of my own youth, is all. I'm always tickled by how, at the heart, nothing ever changes."
-at the hands of the notorious Joker. Upon hearing his name, Harley suddenly became acutely aware of the televised news broadcast playing softly in the background, through the open sliding door.
"Turn it up," Harley asked, as she knew still had the remote and Harley was busy leaning her head to see the screen, her attention now focused fully on the shaky footage of wreckage and smoke.
Miss Murton grabbed the remote and raised the sound, the announcer's General American accent droning over an aerial shot of the scene, the view of twisted metal and firemen scaling rubble.
At least thirty-one dead in the wake of last night's attack on the subway. Many more in critical condition following the forced derailing.
"Horrible," Millie offered sadly. "I used to think that it was impossible for anyone to be truly evil. But him-"
Harley declined to respond. She'd never gone into detail about her job with Millie. Patient confidentiality notwithstanding, Leland had warned her not to let loose even the most mundane details of her job early on, particularly with such a high profile case. She could see why. Arkham Asylum was constantly hounded for information from the media and bribes worked exceedingly well, not just with general staff, but also for the doctors. Of course, aside from the obvious security risk idly chatting about her career would be, there was the real possibility that it would lead to morbid curiosity or straight-up avoidance.
Better to let someone really get to know you first, Leland had advised. Harley had taken it to heart. She didn't really want to get in a mental health debate with someone Miss Murton's age anyway, imagining she'd be very set in her ways.
Thankfully, Commissioner Gordon has confirmed that the clown prince of crime is currently in custody and awaiting his return to Arkham Asylum.
That certainly hadn't taken as long as Harley thought it would. After all the trouble he'd put her through to only be out a few days? ...Still he had indicated it was for a specific purpose. She realized uneasily that this must have been it.
"Make sure to lock the door behind him this time," her companion muttered bitterly behind another cigarette. "Honestly, why is it so hard to keep him in there?"
In this specific incident, Harley knew exactly why. She inhaled sharply, feeling that familiar pang of guilt trying to creep in. The one that he had argued out of her not a few nights ago. Exhaling, she decided this was a prime incident to bring up in their next session.
---
Dr. Quinzel waited patiently in the therapy room. Normally, she'd have some anxiety about seeing her patient once again, but it seemed strangely absent this time. Perhaps because it'd only been a week since she'd last seen him. Or perhaps because this was all becoming rather commonplace. A thought that, she knew, should fill her with concern, but somehow it didn't. This all felt...strangely natural.
Even so, things had been extremely tense the last time they saw one another. It had ended okay eventually, but there had been a point when she thought he really was done with her. So why then wasn't she the slightest bit scared?
She closed her eyes and briefly analyzed herself. Her behavior. His behavior. Their interactions. The answer lay there somewhere. He was done with her because she wasn't living up to his expectations. He should have killed her, but he didn't.
It was far from the first time it crossed her mind. He could have done it in the car. She remembered how angry he had been. He'd let her go instead. Why? She recalled other incidents when she'd irritated him on some level. Questioning him on the way to their date. She'd disappointed him that day too, on the rooftops. Times she said or did things that he found asinine.
All in all, very minor infractions, if infractions at all. But, she reminded herself, logic didn't matter where he was concerned. They were infractions to him. And it didn't matter how minor, he'd killed for far less, for seemingly no reason at all. She couldn't analyze him in the same framework as other people.
He'd had every opportunity. She'd allowed herself to be as vulnerable as a person can be around another. She should, by all accounts, be very dead…but she wasn't.
She went back to the night in question, when she'd disappointed him the most. He hadn't killed her. He'd approached her at home and actively sought her out for some form of understanding instead. She imagined he would have gone ahead with it, if she hadn't reciprocated.
She smiled to herself. He was seeking connection in the only way he knew how and she'd successfully risen to the occasion. Perhaps if others had made more of an effort...but then, a large part of her was selfishly glad no one had.
"Morning, Dr. Quinzel," Jeremy greeted her as he and Sean escorted her patient inside. "You look like you're in a good mood."
"It's going to be a good day," she replied, regarding the Joker. He had come in calmly without any of his normal quips. Instead he wore an expression of someone torn between surprise and self-satisfaction.
"Well, well. Look who's still here," Joker commented, after security had put the pitifully futile restraints on him and left.
"I'm your doctor," Harley replied, glancing above the brim of her glasses toward him, as she fingered through his most recent file. "Where else would I be?"
"That was entirely up to you," he reminded her. "All part of our bargain."
She cringed inwardly, but was certain it didn't show. She'd become rather good at hiding her inner thoughts, given the recent twists and turns of her life. She knew no one could hear them in here. Not unless she made the very stupid choice to record their session, something she could not afford at this point. Still, hearing the word 'bargain' between them, within these walls, was unsettling.
"As I recall," Harley said, putting his file down on the desk in front of her. "That was something you had come up with."
"Ah, so you helped me have my little romp out of the kindness of your heart then? If memory serves, you didn't seem too enthusiastic at the time."
This was off the topic she wanted to focus on, but part of her was glad he'd brought it up. After all, it was precisely what she had been thinking about before he'd entered. Therapy was meant to air thoughts that were uncomfortable to confront. In this case, uncomfortable for her...but still. Doing so with this would keep them from being bogged down by it later.
She tapped a pen rhythmically against the surface of the desk, considering her response. "Maybe I don't know what I want," she offered carefully.
Once the words had left her lips, she felt an unexpected weight lift off her shoulders. She'd had a plan. A plan that she'd been relentlessly pursuing, despite feelings she didn't want to admit to. Feelings that ultimately none of it was going to make her happy.
"Oh, but I think you do." He leaned in conspiratorially as much as his restraints would allow. "I have to admit, I was looking forward to following your career, but this is better. Much, much better. I was dreading whoever they were going to dump me on next. They wouldn't have been half as fun as you."
Harley laughed. "Well, while we're confessing things, it might have occurred to me that anything I could choose to do wouldn't be half as exciting as what we've been doing lately."
"Darling, you haven't seen anything yet," he promised with a wink. "Speaking of, what are the chances of you opening the door for me again, as it were?"
She let the pen drop from her hand. It landed absently on the floor as she stared at him, slack-jawed with a half-smile.
"What?" he continued innocently. "We could have one of our little sleepovers. You like those!"
"You just got here!" she exclaimed with disbelief.
"I wasn't suggesting it be today. I haven't even seen the old gang yet."
Harley shook her head absently. "Unbelievable," she said to herself, a giggle betraying her.
"That wasn't a no!" Joker declared triumphantly.
Harley pointed at the file in front of her assertively in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. "Getting back on track, we need to talk about the subway incident."
"Oh that." He rolled his head dismissively. "Last I heard, the death count has gone up to thirty-six. Hardly my record, but not bad."
"You're upset that more people didn't die as a result of your actions?"
"Oh, it could have been more," he replied, defensively. "Or it could have been none. See, that's the thing when playing with the Bat. You've got to have distractions in place. If you're single-minded, he will hone in relentlessly and you won't have a prayer."
"I don't understand," Harley admitted, wondering if it was better or worse that these massive acts of violence had a strategy behind them.
"Well, if I had planned, for example, to attack one subway train he would have sniffed that out. It's not like I was being subtle. I wanted his attention after all. So, he would have figured it out, stopped it, and dragged me away. A very short, anticlimactic game, wouldn't you agree?"
"So...what'd you do instead?"
"This time? Divide and conquer," he continued, smugly. "Instead of saying 'x marks the spot', I planted many an x. Unlike our resident riddle machine." He rolled his eyes heavily with disdain. "He literally wants to be caught. What kind of gimmick is that? 'Come catch me Batman.' 'Oh no. You caught me.'"
Harley snickered behind her hand, trying to compose herself.
"Feel free to laugh, my dear," the Joker encouraged. "He's truly a ridiculous man."
"I shouldn't encourage the mocking of another patient under our care," she stated, straightening her glasses.
Joker smirked at her with a tilt of the head. "He once had an underground game show. Do you know what he called it? The Riddle Factory."
She exploded in laughter despite herself. "Oh my god! That's so stupid."
"Agreed."
Blinking back tears, she suddenly regarded him with irritation. "You've gotten us off track again."
"My mind does tend to wander," he admitted apologetically. "Where were we?"
"Divide and conquer."
"Ah yes," he continued. "So I made it clear that my latest scheme would be taking place on the subway, but which station? Which train? Who could say? To make doubly sure, because the Bat is a crafty one, I redoubled my efforts. I actually had several explosives ready in different locations. Enough to keep the entire Bat-clan busy. By the time they had finished, they'd deactivated all but one. C'est la vie."
"A most engaging tale," she complimented. "But what happened wasn't really going to be my question."
"Apologies," he offered. "I appear to have jumped the gun."
"You were very insistent that this had to happen at a very specific time. Why?"
His eyes gleamed. "Oh, it was a very important anniversary. I couldn't possibly have missed it."
"Anniversary? For you and Batman?" she clarified, scribbling in her notebook.
"Who else would I go through so much effort for? To think he almost ruined it too," he finished sadly. "He appreciates the lengths I go to so little."
---
"I'm just saying that the physical health of the patients under our care should be just as, if not more, important than the mental care," Kirkwood stated pretentiously. "You can't care for the mind if the body is not healthy."
Harley hid the desire to roll her eyes yet again, struggling to look busy. Not that it ever worked. It was as though he was arguing not with her but at her, seeing as she never swapped words with him at this point. Why would he think that she, a psychiatrist, was a good candidate for this conversation?
This morning routine she was forced into was getting beyond tiresome. She was considering asking him to leave, point blank, even if it did open a can of worms at work she didn't want to deal with, when Jeremy suddenly walked in. Without a word, he pulled another chair up to her desk to join them, as though he had been expected.
"Thanks for inviting me," Jeremy said to her casually, setting down a coffee and bagel on her desk.
She stared at him awkwardly for a moment, before replying with a confused, "...You're welcome?"
"Not a bad way to start the day," he replied quickly, seemingly oblivious to the perplexed faces Kirkwood and she were throwing at him. "I never make time for breakfast."
Kirkwood wasn't just confused, Harley realized. He was annoyed. Really annoyed. Her eyes flashed quickly between him and back to Jeremy who was giving her a look with intent.
"Not a morning person then?" Harley asked him nonchalantly, suddenly acting as though she had expected him all along.
Jeremy's posture relaxed upon her understanding and hers followed suit. Kirkwood's only seemed to tighten all the more as a result.
"Not really," Jeremy admitted, taking a bite out of his bagel. "How about you?"
"I suppose life has forced me to become one, but I don't think I come by it naturally," Harley answered. "But I didn't have a lot of choice in college. Between classes and gym practice and meets-" she finished with a shrug.
"You did gymnastics in college?" he asked, sounding somewhat impressed.
"Yes. I actually got a scholarship through it." She didn't try to hide the sound of self-satisfaction in her voice, still rightfully proud of herself after all the grueling practice and sickeningly early mornings.
"No shit," Jeremy commented. "Well, show us what you can do!"
Harley chuckled, enjoying the attention. "I'd say I'm rusty, but I've actually gotten back in the swing of things lately. Just the same, I don't think here's the place and I'm not dressed right anyway."
"I'm a morning person," Kirkwood offered, which had nearly startled Harley, having momentarily forgotten he was there.
He must have realized as much, because he suddenly excused himself, claiming he needed to get to his wing of the building and started with his day. Both Harley and Jeremy wished him a good day and waited for the door to close behind him.
Jeremy instantly turned to Harley with a look of sincerity. "I'm so sorry. If I've overstepped my bounds, just say so. It's just...I've seen him bothering you a lot...or at least it seems like he's bothering you...and I just thought maybe it'd help if I-" He gestured around helplessly. "I don't know."
"Are you kidding?" Harley exclaimed. "You're my hero! He's been driving me absolutely up the wall! Thank you. A million times thank you. If you can see he's bothering me, why can't he?"
"He's just trying to wear you down. You don't have to put up with it, you know."
"I know," she sighed helplessly. "It's just...he hasn't really done anything. What am I supposed to do? Complain to HR that he won't stop exchanging pleasantries?"
"Well, if it helps," he offered. "I don't mind doing this more, if you'd like."
"Jeremy, you don't have to do that. I would never ask someone else to be subjected to him on a daily basis too."
"Have to? Who said anything about 'have to'?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "I'm still hoping to get a cartwheel out of you or something."
Harley laughed at that, good and loud. "We'll see," she offered simply, grateful not to have to face these awkward mornings alone anymore.
---
It felt surreal being there once more already, Harley mused as she entered the cemetery for the second time in four months. She'd barely been working at Arkham more than a year and here she was again for a work related death.
She silently walked with a small group of co-workers to the gravesite of the guard the Joker had killed during his latest escapade. Everyone was respectfully quiet, making it easy for her to get lost in thought. An image of a chalkboard declaring 'Zero Days Since Our Last Workplace Incident' came to mind and she stifled a chuckle.
All thoughts of levity quickly abated as she found herself face-to-face with an open casket. This wasn't the result of an unfortunate workplace accident. It had been cold-blooded murder.
The cold-face looking back at her as she paid her respects wasn't one she was familiar with from day-to-day. She only ever saw him once, but it was a face she'd never forget. The face of someone trying to comfort and reassure her, before he'd been brutally stabbed to death.
Stabbed to death with her knife. The knife she'd smuggled into Arkham. The knife she'd willingly given to a notorious killer and set loose.
She couldn't help feeling like this face, albeit dead, was staring at her knowingly, even through shut eyes. She was overcome with this feeling that it would continue to do so, even six feet beneath the earth. Even from the comfort of her home. Cold, dead eyes piercing her apartment walls.
Next thing she knew, Harley found herself seated in a folding chair. Several concerned faces watched her intently, though she managed to focus on Joan kneeling in front of her first.
"Take it easy," Joan suggested softly.
"Did-Did I faint?" Harley asked.
"No," her mentor assured her. "Well...perhaps nearly. Jeremy here made sure to catch you before you hit the ground though."
Harley looked up to see Jeremy smiling at her warmly. They both took a seat on either side of her as the service began, but she couldn't focus on the words. Even sitting between two people that obviously cared for her, she felt so alone.
She hadn't wanted to come. Knew it would only make things worse for her, but could see little way out of it. She'd been the last person to see him alive after all. All it served to do was make her feel completely guilt-ridden...which granted, why shouldn't she? Bad enough that she was responsible, but then she had to go and have a spell right there in front of everyone, making herself the center of attention during an event where she absolutely should not be.
At least Kirkwood wasn't here. He'd probably spend the remainder of the service mooning over her.
The casket closed with a dull thud and she felt herself jump slightly at the sound. She moved mechanically, following the crowd of people as they made to leave. Maybe she could blend in with them unnoticed and those dead eyes would lose sight of her.
---
It hadn't taken long before he'd convinced her to escort him out of the asylum once more. She'd agreed, but with the stipulation that it'd be done quickly and quietly this time. He didn't argue. She supposed she could have done so just as easily the first time around, avoiding bloodshed, if she'd just had gone through with it without a fuss.
What had followed was a rather lengthy stint of him coming in and out of her apartment at will, often staying the night and even conducting business over the phone in full earshot of her. One day, she'd come home with takeout and dessert to find him engaged in what she could only consider a kidnapping craft project, discarded letters cut from magazines and being glued to construction paper, the whole cliche topped off with a lunchbox of fingers in the fridge.
"See, Harl? The guy was already dead, it's not time sensitive. Plenty of time to eat and watch the movie, I can finish this after. Just push the box of Fred Fingers to the side and the cheesecake will fit." Both the Fred Fingers and cheesecake were gone by the next morning.
Though she wasn't aware of it at first, eventually a hat here, some socks there, and there was enough of Joker's laundry mixed with hers to fit in the top drawer. Which Harley emptied the moment she thought of it, feeling slightly drunk and giddy with the thought. Two of his purple trench coats, though different fabrics and shades of his signature purple, hung in the coat closet. One of his jester headed canes sat beneath, leaning against her vacuum.
Seeing his handguns casually out on a table or in a shoulder holster slung over the back of a chair was normal now and loose ammo cartridges were scattered around the apartment. Erring on the side of caution, she didn't move them, though she suspected it was less "strategic placement in case of attack" and more him emptying his pockets wherever he pleased. Appropriately, the Joker's belongings were home to a seemingly endless assortment of pill bottles, knives, and colorful "props" that she, as a rule, always considered dangerous.
They had meandering talks about everything and nothing, enjoying the constant stream of comedy that he played on the television. Relaxing on the couch, his head in her lap, her fingers brushing through his tousled curls as the smoke from their cigarettes curled around and up. She often snuggled against his chest in bed, her petite form enveloped by his long arms and his hands petting the back of her neck. At times, Harley had watched him sleep, marveling in the rare stillness of a face so often in motion.
She had to admit, she hadn't been this happy in years. It was so nice to have someone to come home to, even if it was sporadic.
And she noticed those eyes she had been so scared of following her home...they were strangely absent whenever he was around.
Harley brushed her teeth vigorously, taking note of his own purple toothbrush looking up at her. She shook her head in disbelief at the turn of events that had brought her here. It was such an innocuous thing, a toothbrush, but it was his and it was next to hers, something she doubted anyone else could ever claim.
The thought put a bounce in her step. She placed her own toothbrush in the holder next to his and skipped out of the bathroom to her bedroom.
"Well, someone's in a good mood tonight," he commented, looking up from his phone as she hopped into bed next to him.
"Why shouldn't I be?" She asked, melting into the sheets beneath her. "Life is good."
"Is it, cupcake?" He looked down at her suggestively, giving Harley that fluttery drop feeling in her stomach. "I know something that would make it even better."
Giving a blowjob was like riding a bike, Harley thought, falling quickly into the familiar movements with her tongue and lips. The Joker's cock was thick and long enough that she could only get a few inches after the head into her mouth at once, though he didn't seem to mind, petting and stroking her hair while murmuring words of affection and encouragement. She swirled her tongue around the soft skin near the slit, her left hand cupping and fondling his balls gently. Her right wrapped around the exposed length of shaft she couldn't fit in, her own fair complexion seeming like a deep tan next to his ever so lightly pink-tinged alabaster and tiny pulsing blue veins.
Though Harley was no stranger to giving head, she was surprised with how much more into it she was than with previous men, actually working herself up even with all her concentration on his pleasure.
And his were the only eyes she could see.
