Story: Wicked Re-Loaded

*Set Before Joker and Harley's Relationship Begins

Acting The Part

Harleen cleared her throat, shifting through papers on her desk, tapping her foot nervously.

The noise of her shoe tapping against the floor was enough to make Joker want to jump across her desk and strangle her.

So he started tapping his own foot, out of impatience.

She looked up at him with a raised brow.

"I can't concentrate on my work when you're tapping your foot like that." She states gently but sternly and he huffs.

"Your work, for the next thirty minutes, is to listen to my problems. Not look through," he reaches out to her desk and grabs a file on some rapist with a "mommy" fetish. "irrelevant bullshit. Anytime I'm in a room with you, I want your full attention." He growls a little and she licks her lips and nods.

"You're right. I'm sorry for wasting some of our time." She stacks the files and put them neatly on the corner of her desk, propping open her notebook and clicking her pen, her full attention on Mister Joker.

He smiled very slowly at her obedience.

"I was just pullin' your leg. I ain't got no problems, currently." He chuckles and the smile on her face fades.

"That's . . . okay. We don't have to talk about your problems." She shrugs, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. "We can talk about anything. Like your successes, how exactly you plan and scheme and—" she stopped, seeing him looking at her with an amused curiosity.

"Ya know, Doc, If you're gonna be curious for your own benefit instead of writing my words and stories down for the greater good of trying to cure me—"

"—I–I'm not trying to find out anything About you out of my own curiosity." She shakes her head quickly.

"Then I suggest you start acting the part you're trying to perform."

"I don't understand what you're getting at."

"You're my doctor. That's the part you need to act. Not the nosy groupie that you try desperately to keep at bay, instead."

"I'm not a groupie of yours, Mister Joker."

"Then why do you care how I set up my schemes?" He laughs.

"Mister Joker, I just need something from you. You don't talk, barely, and I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need help with. I need something from you, because me and all your other doctors barely have anything about your own personal thoughts, in your notes. And if I have to listen to your life story, or talk about things that I know would interest you—like getting away from Batman or the GCPD or being a successful business man, boasting about yourself, etcetera—then so be it."

"I'll give you something about myself," he licks his lips. "If you give me something."

"Anything to get you to talk." She sighs.

"A key to my cell."

" . . . And our session is done for today." She slams the notebook shut and throws the pen on the desk, about to get up.

He grabs her hand though with a sharp smile.

"Kidding." He pats her cheek and she takes deep breaths and he sits back down, lacing his fingers together. "I'll talk." He raises his brows. "If you talk back instead of taking notes."

"Then what's the point of the session? I'm here to track your progress Through taking notes. It's so I can go back eventually and see if you've changed your mind set about certain aspects of your life. It's what I do as a Doctor."

He claps slowly at her statement and she furrows her brows.

"Good to see you actually putting on a convincing performance." He praises her, and she feels anger simmer in her, but she humors him.

"Decided to get my shit together and act the part." She smiles fakely.

"Good for you, Doctor Harleen Quinzel." His eyes burn into her and she feels a sudden tension fall over them as she starts to tap her foot nervously again.