One Bad Day

Trying

Harley's POV

I couldn't stop reading Mistah J's file. It was absolutely fascinating. It answered all the questions I had tried in vain to get when I was his therapist. I had been right about him. He wasn't insane. It was like he always insisted, his life was the product of one bad day. It was his inconsistencys that led every one of his therapists to label him as insane.

However, that was just fine by Mistah J. I already knew, insane people don't get sent to prison. He never tried to prove his sanity, but why would he? So he could go to prison? He came and went at Arkham as he pleased. He had it so sewn up that it was like a second home to him. He had any comfort and luxury he wanted there. Rules didn't apply to the Joker.

I remember asking him once why he hadn't tried to escape. He just smiled at me and said that he had no pressing meetings to attend. For some reason he didn't mind being at Arkham. It's like when he was there, he was on vacation. And he was usually a model patient. He took the meds they pushed and never once spit them out.

I think he didn't mind taking them because he knew he would be unaffected by them. If they did affect him it was just to give him a high. He seemed to enjoy that. On those days strange things happened at Arkham. Once a traveling carnival appeared and gave the Arkham patients a show. Once on April fool's day cake and ice cream magically appeared.

But now I know the significance of April fool's day. It was his one bad day. Aside from that, it was the Jokers birthday. Jack Napier's own birthday followed less than two weeks later, on the 13th. On the outside he let these birthdays go unnoticed. I'm not sure if anyone else even knows about these dates.

The file says Mistah J is 46 years old. But he didn't look a day over 25. I had no idea that he was old enough to be my father. He seemed so youthful. I find the answer why in his file. The experimental drug, PH760-9, had in essence, preserved him. He hasn't aged physically in twenty years.

Another thing the drug did to him was give him an incredible endurance to pain. Mistah J can take a gunshot wound to the shoulder and stay up for three days to plot out the intricate murder of whoever shot him. I've seen him dragged into Arkham having been beaten so badly that he should have been taken to a hospital. Mistah J says that the only wounds that can kill him is a severe trauma to the head or heart. The rest were nothing more than flesh wounds.

I was so enamored with his file that I didn't hear the door open behind me. "Interesting reading, isn't it doc?"

I whip my head around and see him standing with his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes. "Mistah J, why didn't you tell me any of this."

"Because it was of no relevance at the time," he says and seems errily calm.

"Of no relevance? This changes... everything," I motion at the scattered file on the floor.

"My dear, the words on those pages change absolutely nothing. Don't get caught up in the psychological assessments. You know me Harley, you've seen me. You've seen exactly what kind of man I am." He slowly walks over to the bed and sits down looking at me. "It says in there that I've killed over two thousand people. There's not a single crime that isn't listed on my rap sheet. I'm a murderer Harley. And most of the time I enjoyed it. I'm not the kind of man you should want to start a family with."

"But you're the only man I would ever want to have a family with."

"I don't think you're looking at this logically. Do you think I would let you accompany me on business with my child inside of you? And do you not think that the absence of you would make people question why? Kinda hard to hide a pregnancy. And the moment someone figures it out they will use that against me. Surely even a monster such as myself would naturally from some sort of... attachment to the unborn fruit of his loins. Then suddenly every gangster in Gotham will come for you. And I'll have to kill them. You know when the bodies start piling up that it lures out bats. He'll take me to Arkham, where I'll have to kill even more people to get out. I don't think you realize the amount of trouble I'm gonna go to just to keep you safe, not to mention our little... accident." He's still maintaining his calm. Honestly, I don't think I've ever talked to this side of him before. His voice was...normal.

"Would you do that for me?" I ask softly.

He stares at his hands with a sigh, "Yes," he softly nods. "I just want you to understand that I've gone too far in my life to try to turn it around and be...better. I can't change Harley. A baby won't change anything about who I am and what I've done. You're having the child of a criminal. A gangster. A murderer. Arsonist. Thief. Liar. Rapist." He looks at me very seriously when I show surprise over the word rapist. He nods again. "You heard me right Harley. Maybe you should ask Frost about that one," he says strangely. "Are you sure this is what you want? Do you want to put a child in all this? I mean, it is insane to even consider it. You see my own wife wouldn't consider it, and frankly, I was an angel then."

"I'm not her. I won't leave you," I say with tears in my eyes.

He just looks at me, "But you should. But I'm afraid I can't let you. I'm a selfish son of a bitch. I want you."

"And our baby?"

He let's out another sigh sounding so defeated, "I'm trying Harley... I don't know what else to say."

But that was enough for me. He was willing to try. That's all that matters. I knew he would come to love the baby. He may wish he couldn't love, but I've never believed that. I know he's capable. He hates to show it, and always denies it, but I've seen it. I saw it the night our baby was concieved. It was in his eyes. He's never looked at me that way since, but he couldn't hide it from me that night. I saw the true soul of the Joker. He did have one, no matter how hard he fought to hide it. a