Fic: Two Truths and a Lie
Alright. Here I am. Finally posting the fanfic that I've been working on (and off) for the past year. It's epically long so I'll post it in chapters and see how far that gets me. Plus I'm editing, cutting, rewriting, etc as I go, so this way I can just share the final draft with...well, whoever actually bothers to read my journal. It's really not that exciting over here, so I don't mind that I don;t have many readers. Eventually I'll find a comm to post my chapters on, but for now this little corner of the interwebs is good enough for me.
Title: Two Truths and a Lie ch. 1/? (tentative--if anyone can think of something better let me know)
Pairing: Joker/Harley (post-Dark Knight...that's right, it's been sitting in my notebook untouched for that long)
Rating: I'm going to say NC-17 because it will get much more intense and explicit as it progresses, despite this chapter being fairly tame.
Warning: For this chapter, mention of mental disorder(s) and general psychological fuckery. Not sure if that's even worth a warning label.
Summary: Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a newbie psychologist at Arkham Asylum, is assigned the Joker as her first patient. focus on the development of their relationship and how he helps her realize who she really is. Takes place shortly after The Dark Knight.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Joker, Harley Quinn, or any other Batman characters for that matter. That honour belongs to DC Comics.
Word Count: 1,436
“Dr. Quinzel? Your 2:30 is here.”
“Send him in.” Dr. Harleen Quinzel pulled her shoulder length blonde hair back into a loose ponytail and closed the file she had been perusing. She looked up at the door in time to watch the newest addition to Arkham Asylum shuffle into the office and sit in the chair directly opposite her desk.
“Joker,” she breathed.
“Hello, doc-tor.” He enunciated every syllable carefully, slurring slightly as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. Harleen shivered. His voice sounded like a mixture of nails on a chalkboard and a car driving over broken glass. So coarse, yet somewhat alluring.
Stop it, she chided herself. We have a job to do. She cleared her throat. “I thought we’d start with a simple exercise to help me get to know you better. I’ll ask you a series of questions, and if you don’t have an answer, you can pass. Understand?”
He grinned widely but remained silent. Harleen took that as her cue to begin.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, pass.” When she frowned at him, he shrugged. “How should I know?”
Harleen sighed. “Fine. How ‘bout your age?”
“Pass.”
“Birthdate?” she tried again.
“Pass.” Harleen frowned again, and the Joker exhaled loudly. “Fine, fine. It, ah, it depends on my mood.”
“Are you going to answer my questions properly?”
“Only if you ask the right questions,” he smacked his lips together and smirked.
“Would you please be serious? I’d like to make this as painless as possible for both of us.”
“Oh, I’m always serious, Harleen. Can I call you Harleen? Har-leen Quin-zel...” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “Do you have paper?” he asked suddenly. “And, uh, a pen?”
Harleen acquiesces, and the Joker grabbed both items eagerly before getting out of the chair and sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Harleen asked, but he waved her away. She sighed.
“I’ll continue with my questions then.” She paused. “Sexual orientation?”
He looked up from his work and stared hard at her for a moment before returning his attention to the notepad. “That’s not on your sheet.”
“Well, maybe I’m just curious,” Harleen replied boldly.
“Ah. Ha. Well then, seeing as we’re being so deliciously honest with each other, I suppose I’ll, uh, give you an answer.” He paused and glanced up at her. “Uh, pass.”
There was an awkward silence, and then he began to laugh. Harleen smiled in spite of herself. Of course. Suddenly the timer went off and she looked at the clock. Where had that half hour gone?
“Time’s up,” she said reluctantly. She watched unabashedly as he stood up, leaving the pad of paper on the floor as he brushed off his Arkham-issued linen pants and sauntered towards the door. As the orderly strapped him back into his straitjacket, the Joker turned back to Harley and grinned.
“See you tomorrow, Doc.” Then he tipped an imaginary hat and disappeared from view. After she was sure he was gone, Harleen got up from her desk and retrieved the pad of paper from the floor. She flipped to the page he had been working on and gasped in surprise.
.......................................................................
The next day, the Joker entered Harleen’s office and once again sat cross-legged on the floor. Harleen smiled inwardly, and moving the chair to one side, sat down on the floor across from him. She held up the notepad form the previous session.
“Tell me about this.”
“A name is a powerful thing, Doc-tor. It’s almost as good as killing you, which of course is not the most convenient option at the moment.”
“Excuse me?”
He sighed. “In their last moments, people show you who they really are. But obviously I’m not going to kill you, so a name is the next best thing,” he explained, as if speaking to a child. “’Know thine enemy’ and all that.”
“You consider me your enemy?”
“No, I consider Arkham my enemy. You being part of Arkham.”
“Fair enough,” Harleen conceded. “So, are you planning on killing me in the near future?
“Uh, pass.”
Harleen laughed. “Yes, I think we’ve pretty much ascertained that my attempt at a simple Q&A was a complete failure. But I still need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. So tell me about this ‘Harley Quinn’. Where’d you come up with it?”
“It’s your name. You tell me.”
“No it isn’t.”
“But it will be.” He smacked his lips together and grinned at her. “See, somewhere deep down in there-” he gestured at her chest “-you don’t want to be here any more than I do. You want to get out, but you’re afraid.”
“I believe it’s my job to analyze you, not the other way around.” Harleen shifted uncomfortably on the floor.
“You’re afraid of losing sta-bility, see-curity,” he continued, ignoring her remark. “See, these people, this city, it’s all just one giant puzzle. All the pieces have a place, but some of them look so similar that you get fed up and try to just squish them in wherever they might fit, instead of where they actually do.” He pressed his thumb into the edge of the desk to demonstrate. “Sometimes you just have to make it work. And that’s what all these people are doing. Fitting in as best they can to make it work, because they’re afraid of the consequences if they don’t.”
“And what about you? You’ve obviously stopped pretending,” Harleen said. The Joker smacked his lips together and extended his index finger towards her.
“I was, ah, getting to that,” He replied. “See, sometimes when you buy these puzzles, at a garage sale or a second-hand store, or somewhere else not quite legitimate, you find pieces from other puzzles inside. And try as you might, you just can’t fit them into the original puzzle. That’s what we are. You, me, the, ah, Bat-Man, we were all thrown into the wrong box. And you know what we all have in common? We’re all trying to fix things.”
Harleen leaned forward in her seat. “Fix things how?”
“Well there’s you, doc-tor, who’s just trying to make all the pieces fit into the puzzle. Even the ones that didn’t even belong to this box in the first place. And the Bat-Man, he, ah-ha, he thinks he can dress up as a flying rodent and help keep the peace for all the little people who are just trying to make it work. He makes sure they never have to understand, to see past their given roles.”
“And what about you?” she asked cautiously.
The Joker laughed. “Me? I’m just trying to show Gotham its true face. Reshuffle the little puzzle pieces and show them that the established order is a sham. Dump those stupid water lilies on the floor and let the pieces put themselves back together. And you could be doing the same, Harley-doll. All you need is someone to pry you out and show you that there is more to life than playing by the rules.”
“What is it you want from me?” Harleen demanded. “You want me to tell you that you’re right? That I hate my life and I need to get out? That anarchy, chaos, freedom, everything you stand for, is all I’ve ever wanted?” she took off her glasses and put her head in her hands. “Oh God, this is so unprofessional of me. It’s all one big joke, isn’t it?” She glanced up and stared hard at him. “They sent you to test me. To mess with the new girl’s head and see if she could take it.”
The Joker leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. “Harley. Doll. Reality. Is one. Big. Joke.” He leaned back again. “Never touch the stuff myself, you understand. I find it gets in the way of the hallucinations.”
Harleen opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the timer going off.
“I guess...our time is up,” she said instead. They stood up off the floor simultaneously and he nodded to her. “Same time tomorrow, then?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and shuffled out the door. Harleen watched him leave before sitting back down and collecting her papers.
“Hey.” Dr. Pamela Isley, Harleen’s best friend, stood in the doorway. She worked as a botanist in the greenhouse and research laboratories across the street. “Are we still on for lunch?”
Harleen stood and dropped the papers on her desk. “Yeah. Umm....yeah.”
Pamela frowned. “Are you alright?”
“Of course,” Harleen replied quickly. “Let’s go.”
.......................................................................
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Title: Two Truths and a Lie ch. 1/? (tentative--if anyone can think of something better let me know)
Pairing: Joker/Harley (post-Dark Knight...that's right, it's been sitting in my notebook untouched for that long)
Rating: I'm going to say NC-17 because it will get much more intense and explicit as it progresses, despite this chapter being fairly tame.
Warning: For this chapter, mention of mental disorder(s) and general psychological fuckery. Not sure if that's even worth a warning label.
Summary: Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a newbie psychologist at Arkham Asylum, is assigned the Joker as her first patient. focus on the development of their relationship and how he helps her realize who she really is. Takes place shortly after The Dark Knight.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Joker, Harley Quinn, or any other Batman characters for that matter. That honour belongs to DC Comics.
Word Count: 1,436
“Dr. Quinzel? Your 2:30 is here.”
“Send him in.” Dr. Harleen Quinzel pulled her shoulder length blonde hair back into a loose ponytail and closed the file she had been perusing. She looked up at the door in time to watch the newest addition to Arkham Asylum shuffle into the office and sit in the chair directly opposite her desk.
“Joker,” she breathed.
“Hello, doc-tor.” He enunciated every syllable carefully, slurring slightly as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. Harleen shivered. His voice sounded like a mixture of nails on a chalkboard and a car driving over broken glass. So coarse, yet somewhat alluring.
Stop it, she chided herself. We have a job to do. She cleared her throat. “I thought we’d start with a simple exercise to help me get to know you better. I’ll ask you a series of questions, and if you don’t have an answer, you can pass. Understand?”
He grinned widely but remained silent. Harleen took that as her cue to begin.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, pass.” When she frowned at him, he shrugged. “How should I know?”
Harleen sighed. “Fine. How ‘bout your age?”
“Pass.”
“Birthdate?” she tried again.
“Pass.” Harleen frowned again, and the Joker exhaled loudly. “Fine, fine. It, ah, it depends on my mood.”
“Are you going to answer my questions properly?”
“Only if you ask the right questions,” he smacked his lips together and smirked.
“Would you please be serious? I’d like to make this as painless as possible for both of us.”
“Oh, I’m always serious, Harleen. Can I call you Harleen? Har-leen Quin-zel...” he trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “Do you have paper?” he asked suddenly. “And, uh, a pen?”
Harleen acquiesces, and the Joker grabbed both items eagerly before getting out of the chair and sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Can I ask what you’re doing?” Harleen asked, but he waved her away. She sighed.
“I’ll continue with my questions then.” She paused. “Sexual orientation?”
He looked up from his work and stared hard at her for a moment before returning his attention to the notepad. “That’s not on your sheet.”
“Well, maybe I’m just curious,” Harleen replied boldly.
“Ah. Ha. Well then, seeing as we’re being so deliciously honest with each other, I suppose I’ll, uh, give you an answer.” He paused and glanced up at her. “Uh, pass.”
There was an awkward silence, and then he began to laugh. Harleen smiled in spite of herself. Of course. Suddenly the timer went off and she looked at the clock. Where had that half hour gone?
“Time’s up,” she said reluctantly. She watched unabashedly as he stood up, leaving the pad of paper on the floor as he brushed off his Arkham-issued linen pants and sauntered towards the door. As the orderly strapped him back into his straitjacket, the Joker turned back to Harley and grinned.
“See you tomorrow, Doc.” Then he tipped an imaginary hat and disappeared from view. After she was sure he was gone, Harleen got up from her desk and retrieved the pad of paper from the floor. She flipped to the page he had been working on and gasped in surprise.
.......................................................................
The next day, the Joker entered Harleen’s office and once again sat cross-legged on the floor. Harleen smiled inwardly, and moving the chair to one side, sat down on the floor across from him. She held up the notepad form the previous session.
“Tell me about this.”
“A name is a powerful thing, Doc-tor. It’s almost as good as killing you, which of course is not the most convenient option at the moment.”
“Excuse me?”
He sighed. “In their last moments, people show you who they really are. But obviously I’m not going to kill you, so a name is the next best thing,” he explained, as if speaking to a child. “’Know thine enemy’ and all that.”
“You consider me your enemy?”
“No, I consider Arkham my enemy. You being part of Arkham.”
“Fair enough,” Harleen conceded. “So, are you planning on killing me in the near future?
“Uh, pass.”
Harleen laughed. “Yes, I think we’ve pretty much ascertained that my attempt at a simple Q&A was a complete failure. But I still need to know what’s going on in that head of yours. So tell me about this ‘Harley Quinn’. Where’d you come up with it?”
“It’s your name. You tell me.”
“No it isn’t.”
“But it will be.” He smacked his lips together and grinned at her. “See, somewhere deep down in there-” he gestured at her chest “-you don’t want to be here any more than I do. You want to get out, but you’re afraid.”
“I believe it’s my job to analyze you, not the other way around.” Harleen shifted uncomfortably on the floor.
“You’re afraid of losing sta-bility, see-curity,” he continued, ignoring her remark. “See, these people, this city, it’s all just one giant puzzle. All the pieces have a place, but some of them look so similar that you get fed up and try to just squish them in wherever they might fit, instead of where they actually do.” He pressed his thumb into the edge of the desk to demonstrate. “Sometimes you just have to make it work. And that’s what all these people are doing. Fitting in as best they can to make it work, because they’re afraid of the consequences if they don’t.”
“And what about you? You’ve obviously stopped pretending,” Harleen said. The Joker smacked his lips together and extended his index finger towards her.
“I was, ah, getting to that,” He replied. “See, sometimes when you buy these puzzles, at a garage sale or a second-hand store, or somewhere else not quite legitimate, you find pieces from other puzzles inside. And try as you might, you just can’t fit them into the original puzzle. That’s what we are. You, me, the, ah, Bat-Man, we were all thrown into the wrong box. And you know what we all have in common? We’re all trying to fix things.”
Harleen leaned forward in her seat. “Fix things how?”
“Well there’s you, doc-tor, who’s just trying to make all the pieces fit into the puzzle. Even the ones that didn’t even belong to this box in the first place. And the Bat-Man, he, ah-ha, he thinks he can dress up as a flying rodent and help keep the peace for all the little people who are just trying to make it work. He makes sure they never have to understand, to see past their given roles.”
“And what about you?” she asked cautiously.
The Joker laughed. “Me? I’m just trying to show Gotham its true face. Reshuffle the little puzzle pieces and show them that the established order is a sham. Dump those stupid water lilies on the floor and let the pieces put themselves back together. And you could be doing the same, Harley-doll. All you need is someone to pry you out and show you that there is more to life than playing by the rules.”
“What is it you want from me?” Harleen demanded. “You want me to tell you that you’re right? That I hate my life and I need to get out? That anarchy, chaos, freedom, everything you stand for, is all I’ve ever wanted?” she took off her glasses and put her head in her hands. “Oh God, this is so unprofessional of me. It’s all one big joke, isn’t it?” She glanced up and stared hard at him. “They sent you to test me. To mess with the new girl’s head and see if she could take it.”
The Joker leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. “Harley. Doll. Reality. Is one. Big. Joke.” He leaned back again. “Never touch the stuff myself, you understand. I find it gets in the way of the hallucinations.”
Harleen opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the timer going off.
“I guess...our time is up,” she said instead. They stood up off the floor simultaneously and he nodded to her. “Same time tomorrow, then?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and shuffled out the door. Harleen watched him leave before sitting back down and collecting her papers.
“Hey.” Dr. Pamela Isley, Harleen’s best friend, stood in the doorway. She worked as a botanist in the greenhouse and research laboratories across the street. “Are we still on for lunch?”
Harleen stood and dropped the papers on her desk. “Yeah. Umm....yeah.”
Pamela frowned. “Are you alright?”
“Of course,” Harleen replied quickly. “Let’s go.”
.......................................................................
END OF CHAPTER ONE