Her Favorite Patient

Part 1
Dr. Harleen Quinzel smiled to herself as she opened his case file and gingerly adjusted her glasses. She had only been at Arkham for two years, but in that time she had contributed to the full recovery of eight (count them – eight!) high-risk patients, which had earned her the uncompromisable respect of her colleagues. Today she was proud to be the youngest (only twenty-five years old!) psychiatrist at Arkham to be assigned to such a special case. And the sociopath known only as The Joker was certainly a special case. Multiple homicides, torture, highly intelligent, theatrical, severe mutilation of the face - possibly self-inflicted, no apparent motive, no known identity. He definitely looked to be her most interesting case, if anything. She chided herself for her excitement.
She heard a knock at her office door. It opened and two armed guards escorted a tall, lanky man in a straight-jacket to the chair opposite her desk. His greasy, faded green locks fell in curls over eyes that stared at the floor. His stark, shadowed figure contrasted severely with the pastel violet walls, soft cushy chairs, and low gentle lights of her office.
“Thank you.” She smiled at the guards. “You can leave now.”
They shut the door behind them, but remained just outside.
She smiled at the man, and told him, “I like for my patients and I to get to know each other before we 'officially' begin our sessions, so I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and I've worked at Arkham for two years now. When I was a girl I wanted to be a model, but eventually realized I wasn't conventionally attractive enough for that to happen. I was disappointed at first, but came to realize I had the brains to do whatever else I wanted and that would be more rewarding anyway. I took a psychology class in college and loved it, and long story short, that's how I got here.”
He kept staring at his loafered feet.
She took a peppermint from the jar of candy on her desk. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Would you care for one?”
He shook his head no, but didn't look up.
“It says here in your file that you're a very intelligent man. So it looks like we have something in common. But I'd like to hear more about you in your words.”
He raised his head slowly, dingy curls falling back to reveal a startlingly handsome face. His cheeks were deeply scarred, but rather than detract from his good looks, they gave him a kind of intrigue. His sleepy brown eyes wandered over her round, girlish face and thin torso. The edges of his full lips curled into a slight smile that played against the mock grin carved into his cheeks.
She blushed at his gaze.
A nasal voice came from the scarred mouth. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. My name is Joker, and I kill people.”
Her blue eyes lingered on his shadowed brown eyes for a moment. Then she hastily adjusted her glasses and recrossed her legs.
“But that's not your real name, is it?”
“Maybe it is.”
“Well, suppose your parents really did name you 'Joker'. You must also have a last name.”
He shook his head. “Huh-uh. Just Joker.”
“So if we were to take a look at your birth certificate, it would read 'Joker'?”
His smile broadened. “Nope.”
“Uh-huh.” She jotted on her notepad: Does not appear to indulge an alternate reality. Enjoys head games. “So Mister, ah, Joker, I asked you to tell me a bit about yourself and you said you kill people. Surely this isn't your only defining trait?”
He smirked. “Well, Miz Doctor Harleen Quinzel, it does seem the most pertinent.”
She frowned. Something about his smirk was unsettling, yet vaguely familiar. “Well, I already know that from your file. I was hoping you'd tell me something not in your file, something unique about yourself.”
He raised a brow. “What, grown man in an emo clown get-up not unique enough for you?”
“It's in your file.”
He rolled his eyes mockingly, but the unsettling smirk lingered. “Ugh, fine, you win. My favorite food is sushi, and when I'm not slitting throats I like to take long, soothing strolls in the cemetery.”
She took more notes. “Okay. You're not ready to open up yet. That's fine. But I already know something personal about you.”
“Yeah?”
She smiled at him. “You've got a good sense of humor.”
“Good thing that shrink school gave you such insight.” He winked at her and clicked his mouth.
She put her chin in her hand and leaned forward on her elbow. “I happen to enjoy sarcasm, Mister Joker, so feel free to indulge yourself.”
Their eyes met again for a moment. He was still wearing the smirk. She felt her heart start to pound and quickly looked away.
He narrowed his eyes in thought. Then he said, “Let me ask you something, Dr. Harleen Quinzel.”
“You can call me Harleen.”
“Harleen,” he spoke her name like a caress. “Your goal is to get into my head, to pick me apart like roadkill because I'm 'abnormal'. But everyone knows that most shrinks are crazier than their patients. So I can't help but wonder, what's your baggage, toots?”
She blinked several times and readjusted her glasses. “I don't know what you mean.”
He nodded toward her notepad. “What have you been writing about me?”
“It's just a few notes for my own reference.”
“Come on, Doc.” His voice became husky. “Indulge me.”
She uncrossed her legs and cleared her throat. “Okay. Sarcastic sense of humor. Does not appear to indulge an alternate reality. Enjoys head games.”
“Uh-huh. And yet you, Doctor, are the one sitting behind a desk, attempting to dice up my brain.” He gave her that irritating smirk again.
She crossed her arms. “But of the two of us, I'm the one who isn't a threat to society.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah, so that's the dividing factor. I kill people, but you don't, so that gives you the right to fix me, even if you've got a whole trunk full of your own neuroses.”
“I never said I had neuroses.” Her voice was flat, but her cheeks paled.
He leaned forward and raised a brow. “Sweetie, everyone is fucked up. The question is, do you fuck other people?” He paused and let the corners of his mouth slowly twist into the smirk again. “Or do you wait around for them to fuck you?”
All color drained from Harleen's face.
The Joker leaned back in his chair, a triumphant smile spreading through his scars.
She stared at him, her lips parted.
“Tell you what. I'll make you a deal, Harleen. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours.”
Her heart raced. She could feel sweat beginning to form on her brow. Her fingers shook. She hadn't felt this nervous since she was a little girl. She wanted to tear her eyes away from his face - the green curls that framed a cruel, lacerated smile, carved across deceptively handsome features – but couldn't. The room was suddenly cold.
“Excuse me?” she muttered.
“I'll tell you everything you want to know about me. But for every chunk of my head I gouge out and hand over, I want a piece of your puzzle.”
She continued staring at him.
“Don't worry – I'm good for my word.”
She crossed her legs and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Then she looked at her watch and cleared her throat.
“I'm sorry, Mister Joker, but that's all the time we have for today.”
She got up and knocked on the door, signaling the guards to come back in. He stood as they entered and took their places on either side of him.
He looked into her eyes and smiled at her with a strange sincerity. “I really enjoyed our session today, Harleen. Thank you for your company.”
She averted her eyes and nodded.
He glanced over his shoulder at her, still smiling as the guards led him from her office. When he was finally out of sight, she looked down at her hands. They were clenching her skirt.