Harley Quinn & The Joker One-Shots - Book 1

Behind Closed Doors In Arkham Asylum

—
A different kind of session.
—

Harleen kept an unfaltering stern gaze at his graciously unreadable orbs, which had seemingly remained unbothered even as her eyes didn't blink at the least. The deep purple pen made contact with her lips, as she bit on the cap that already had bite marks from her previous dazes, as unknowingly she'd go home wondering why all her caps were numerously filled with nips and pricks.

Then he had noticed a light grin in her red lips flirtatiously wrapped around the black pen's cover. The same stupid grin she made every time she hid something behind her back for him. She grew rosy, noticing a raise of his eyebrow and a lick of his lips in response to her hidden smirk.

"What'd you get this time... doll face?"

Her blue orbs twinkled at his pet names for her, which he had most recently referred to her as minx, harlequin, pooh, and pumpkin'. He watched her grow flushed, tucking a strand of blonde locks behind her ear, looking beneath her, and back at him.

She giggled foolishly and bit her lip, reaching behind her back to grab the soft rubber material squish in the grasp of her hand.
"I got you a whoopie cushion. Yaknow, to get back at the guards, or the Bat..." Harley smiled enlightened, until a thought grieved it the other way around.
"I.. I see what they do to you Mistah J. An'... an' it makes me real sad."

He returned a crooked smile, seeing Harley lower her head and bite her lip, her eyes looking back at him for his approval.

"So thoughtful of you, Harley-girl."
Her heart fluttered at another pet-name of his.

"Well, Mistah J, it's just so that... So that you can remember me."
Lowering her eyes, he took notice of her quickly paced eyelashes fluttering, their thick black embodiment perfectly silhouetting her crystal blue eyes. She returned her sight to him, watching his smudged red grin spread maliciously, his head nodding at her commentary.

"Oh, Harley... I'd remember you without it." He spoke lowly in a husky, raspy voice.

Harleen blushed, feeling her chest grow heavy. His mesmerizing eyes searched in the cosmo of hers, and all of a sudden she had felt her glasses growing foggy. A touch of bubblegum pink sat on top of her pale cheeks, the rosiness appearing even darker in the current lighting.

His face was etched with bliss, despite the madness and lunacy he was truly hiding within. The weight of his reputation had initially

"Do...do you have a favorite weapon?" Harleen tried to distract her reddening cheeks and continue reading the questions she had written for the session. She was everything but prepared, as the questions didn't apply to his sense of talk. He didn't reply with simple answers. They required to be unknotted, untangled. They were riddles that were never to be solved. She had written responses of his on her paper, but they were simply unsolvable puzzles that were centered around a main subject. A joke. Something was always be killed within his stories. His talk was a suicidal song, it made psychiatrists question their own sanity - which is the reason many had committed already.

Every day she walked in the room to begin their session, the other psychiatrists passed her a concerned grin, their eyebrows furrowed. They knew what fate she awaited. It happened to all who attempted to help him.