Bad Jokes (JokerxHarley Quinn)

i can't leave you be

You drive me so reckless
You'll kill us all
I can take the trouble—I'll take you on
-The Dead Weather, 60 Feet Tall

Around eleven thirty the next day, my cell phone rang. I in the middle of doing a quick write-up on a new patient I had been assigned (paranoid schizophrenic and would-be murderer, pretty normal stuff in Gotham and a rather transparent attempt by Stratford to keep me occupied while he hemmed and hawed) but I answered anyway, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear. "Hello?"

"Harley, sweetie!" Pam Isley's husky voice rolled over the line into my ear.

"Hey, Red," I said, feeling the tension in my shoulders relax just a little bit at the sound.

"You're getting to be a hard woman to reach. Don't tell me you haven't seen me on your missed calls list."

"Uh, yeah," I said, feeling suddenly sheepish. I'd had a few calls from her in the past days, but I'd never found the time to return them. "I've been busy."

"Don't tell me you've found a newer, cooler best friend," she teased.

I snorted. "Of course not. As if anyone could be cooler than you." I threw a little bit of playful sycophancy in my tone, and it worked—she laughed delightedly, and I smiled, pausing to try and organize my thoughts before continuing. "It's just... wow, Red, you aren't going to believe what's happened over the past week."

"Right back at you, which leads me to think that this won't be a good conversation to have over the phone. Are you free for lunch?"

"Umm—" I glanced at the clock. I was due to take lunch in three minutes, and things had been unusually slow for me ever since I was assigned to the Joker—the occasional easy patient, a boatload of boring paperwork that had been delegated to me, that was about all. They wouldn't notice or care if I took a few extra minutes. "Yeah, I am, actually."

"Can you meet me at Charlie's in fifteen?"

"No problem."

"Okay, see you there."

"Bye."

I hung up and tossed my cell phone into my purse, and began gathering my stuff. Promptly at eleven-thirty, I was in my car and heading out of the Narrows to Charlie's.

Charlie's was a little diner just over the bridge. It had the disadvantages of being dangerously close to the Narrows and looking like a glorified storage facility, but this was countered by the distinct advantages of making the best bacon burger you ever tasted and an unusually friendly staff for a city place. It marked the midpoint between mine and Pam's places of employment, and so we met there for lunch relatively often.

It took me a little more than fifteen minutes to reach the diner—traffic over the bridge always sucked—so when I walked inside, I saw that Pam was already there, sitting in the furthest booth from the door.

I walked over till I was just behind her and, affecting a deep voice, I asked, "Hey, hot stuff—is this seat taken?"

Her head turned and I caught the flash of annoyance crossing her face until she realized it was me, and then the irritation disappeared and she let out a cheerful laugh, springing up from the booth to hug me. I squeezed her back. "Hey, Red," I said with a grin. "Long time, no see."

"I know," she said. "Not my fault."

I slid into the booth opposite her and rested my chin on my palms, grinning despite the slight reproach in her tone. I always forgot how much I valued my best friend during the work-filled weeks when I didn't get to see her, but seeing her again always brought it back in a rush. In Gotham City, the value of a good friend could not be overstated.