Chapter 5: Silent Films

Television.

Multicolour. Technicolour. Black and white. Colourless. Pixels waltzing. Voices mute. Static screens. Electric stars. Erotic dancing. Wordless comedy. Thoughtless drama. False reality. And the six o'clock news every night.

His favourite shows, eyes wide, with the volume off.

***

"Come in." Dr. Arkham sighed dismally from inside his office, and quietly nervous Juniper Stoltz stopped nibbling her nails and stepped inside, closing the tall mahogany door as gently as she could. She never liked coming into Dr. Arkham's office much, as the decoration was so intimidating that it honestly set the scene far too accurately for when she'd meet the wrinkly old douchebag himself. It was very much like stereotypical villains' offices from the movies: blood red carpets, mahogany furniture that was more black than brown, and abstractly shaped ornaments that lined the bookshelves behind his desks; no light ever came in through the windows as the blinds he had fitted for them were never open. She hoped that after she'd finally got him to assign her to Joker's case, she would never be here again, yet here she was.

As June approached the chair opposite his desk, she caught a glimpse of him quickly putting away a whisky bottle and hiding the glass in his drawer, but he cleared his throat to act as if nothing had happened. Folding his hands together, he didn't even try to smile as he saw the girl walk through his door. The fact that she had the gall to come into his office with her hair frayed with reckless abandon like that was insulting- hadn't the girl any sense of professionalism? 'Natural' hair he'd heard her call it- but damn him if he knew what she meant by it. She'd probably never even brushed it.

For the first time in a while, he decidedly commented on it, "Miss, um... Miss Stoltz, it seems you have yet to fix your hair."

Self consciously, she raised her hands to it and patted her curls gently. "What do you mean? What's wrong with it?"

"Hair like... that is not acceptable for a workplace like this."

She frowned. "Hair like what?"

"Hair like... like..." He struggled to find a subtle way to say it- big, disheveled, frizzy- and instead made a wild gesture with his hands around his head as if to mimic its shape. "Like this."

"Sir, it's... it's my natural hair."

"Indeed." He raised an unamused brow and rolled his eyes, completely conscious of the fact that she could see it. Asshole.

After a moment of thought, she finally found her voice again. "Dr. Arkham, I don't want to come off as rude or... or unprofessional, and I apologise."

"Just..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just tie it up."

June didn't reply, but looked at him to let him know that she'd listened. A please would've been nice, of course, but she didn't really expect that of him. Eventually, June sat down in the chair and sighed dejectedly, letting go of her hair as she stopped fussing with it. This wasn't the first time he'd ridiculed her for it, and it wouldn't be the last, she knew that for certain. There wasn't even technically any rules for staff on how to present themselves besides wearing the uniform, making sure makeup and other products are sanitary, and no unnaturally coloured hair, so it wasn't even like she was breaking any rules. She liked her hair and was proud of it. In fact, it looked just like Mama's did when she was her age.

Crossing her legs one over the other, she continued with what she wanted to say. "Anyway, I came here because I've got a request."

He snorted, "A request?"

"It's about J--" She cleared her throat and immediately corrected herself. "Patient 4479."

Dr. Arkham resisted a smirk. "A request from patient 4479? How charming. Room service, is it?" He cruelly joked, one that he laughed at but she didn't. She just kept her head held high and dug her nails into her knees to try and relax herself. It was unbelievable how much this man could infuriate her. "I've already spoken to the guards about that television over the weekend. Patient 4479 should be granted the opportunity today, anything to keep the bastard under wraps- so what else does it want, Miss Stoltz? A puppy? Aren't you bait enough?" This time he really laughed, a villainous cackle that shook June to her very core. And the fact that he called the Joker an it...

"It's about his treatment." She said slowly, and his smile dropped. It was as if he was genuinely surprised at the fact that she was trying. "I know I've already asked about the TV and I'm very grateful that you allowed him at least that, but this is something that I've discussed with the patient and surprisingly, he agreed to."

"And that is?"

"Art therapy."

He didn't say a word until he looked up from the desk and at the girl sat in front of him, brown eyes awaiting a response. He would laugh, if it was funny. But the joke here wasn't funny, just plain ridiculous: the girl wanted the cuckoo clown to paint pictures in the name of 'progress'.

And so he asked, "You... want it to... paint?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"And you think it'll help it?"

"Yes."

"As a part of its treatment?"

"His treatment, yes."

Dr. Arkham blinked. Oh God, she was serious.

"Miss Stoltz, things like this require time and money, both things that are very, very precious. You think that getting a homicidal maniac to paint- even hold a paintbrush is a good idea?"

Her posture straightened as she quipped, "I've had a discussion with him. He's... agreed to be calm and cooperative towards his treatment." Of course, she couldn't mention the deal the two had made, the TV in exchange for cooperation- it'd most likely get her fired. "I've told him to give art therapy a try. If he likes it, then I've suggested he have one art session per week and if you want, I'll sit in on those sessions so nobody else has to sacrifice their time to do it. I genuinely think it's a good idea, Dr. Arkham. It's worth a try, at least."

"A try?"

"Yes."

He took the time to think, bony fingers reaching up to scratch his chin. Why was it, every time that this girl came to his office, begging like a dog, he was always faced with a stupidly damnable decision that was most likely for complete naught? Was there even point in trying anymore? Arguing with her, was there any meaning to it? Surely, the clown... it... it would kill her, wouldn't it...? The perfect crime.

Dr. Arkham defeatedly tossed his hands into the air and shook his head, sighing. "Alright, alright. It can... he can have the art therapy."

Relieved, June smiled, shoulders dropping as she relaxed for what felt like the first time in days. "Thank you, sir, thank you. You really don't know how much this mea--"

"I'll schedule a session for tomorrow." He was trying to rush her out as he stood, glaring her down. "You best deliver on your promises, Miss Stoltz." His voice was tight, as if he were about to suffocate on his own threat, and June found herself feeling awfully belittled, but she didn't let it get to her. If she did that, she'd lose.

Her mouth turned dry as she swallowed."I-I, um, I will, I will." She slowly rose to her feet and tried to think if there was any other way she could get on his good side, but the way that he pointed at the door seemed to say otherwise. She faked another smile as she turned towards the door, before saying once more, "Thank you, Dr. Arkham."

"Is there anything else you want, now?" He sighed. "Another request from the clown?"

June nibbled her lip and tried to be as polite as possible while she smiled, "Yes, actually."

His eyes flared. "What?"

"Apples that aren't rotten."

With a hearty nod and a shy slip through the door, June left Dr. Arkham stunned as she left, finally letting go of the breath she didn't even realise she was holding, hands pressed over her chest as it shook with apprehension and the sudden relief that it was over. See, she did like to think that at times she was fearless and stubborn, she stood her ground with the greatest bravery and never let go of whatever she was determined to hold onto; but there were certain things that opposed her, like Dr. Arkham, who made her feel so tiny and insignificant to the point where she believed that she was worth nothing. There weren't many things that scared June, and neither did Dr. Arkham, but she wasn't stupid in knowing that he held all the cards in the deck. One wrong move and she'd be out of a job she'd sacrificed too much to get.

Self-consciously, she twirled her fingers in the ends of her hair, pulling frizzed curls back to look at them, as if stretching them would straighten them out. Was it really as bad as he said it was?

She shook her head to herself and in habit, straightened out her clothes. No. He was wrong.

After mustering up to courage to finally leave, June turned the corner and made her way to the interviewing room for her session with the Joker. The one thing that did scare her, however, was not the Joker himself- but how she wasn't afraid of him. And it wasn't because he was human, a patient, or just a man, but he was her hobby, her muse, a ripe mind to rifle through and pluck. A walking library of unparalleled knowledge.

Only when she got to the interviewing room, the guard outside- Just Kenny!- caught her approaching the door, and then crossed his arms and shook his head at her like he was signalling her to leave.

June's expression folded confusedly as she asked calmly, "What's the matter? Can't I go in?"

"'Fraid not, Doctor." Just Kenny's head still shook slowly.

"I've got a patient interview this morning." She explained, eyes shifting around nervously. She felt like she was being set up.

Just Kenny's head still shook like he was a bobblehead toy. "He ain't in his cell."

June froze up in shock and eyes narrowed, she stepped closer to him. "W-what?"

Just Kenny suddenly began spluttering when he saw her worry. "Oh, uh, I, uh, I mean- he hasn't escaped, God, no," And June sighed in relief. "What I mean is, he ain't here."

She still awkwardly glanced at him, "Well... where is he then?"

"Last I heard, the rec room."

"The rec room?" She asked (mainly herself) but then remembered that he wanted that damn television, didn't he? As she thought about it, her brows raised, impressed how Dr. Arkham actually managed to supply her patient with what he needed as soon as possible. "Could you possibly show me where it is? I've never been there before."

He didn't look surprised as he checked his watch, looked at her, and then nodded, motioning her to follow him while he trudged along the corridors- as if escorting her was a chore. It didn't take that long, in fact, it was closer than she thought, and they stopped down a white corridor that lead to a set of double-doors fitted with barred windows so she could see inside. Stood outside was a guard with a clipboard, and as June went to peak through the windows, he cleared his throat loudly.

"You here to see a patient?" He grunted, blue eyes piercing her.

June nodded. "Yeah, um, patient 4479."

His brows furrowed closely to his eyes. "Who?"

"U-um..." Her stomach tightened and she fumbled with the straps on her bag, her patient's name caught just in her throat, just seconds away from leaving her lips. She hated saying it, because each time she did, she got a funny look. "The, um, the Joker."

He laughed, fake and half-assed."Nice joke, sister, real sweet. Now c'mon, I ain't paid to be listening to your jokes. Who you here to see?"

So again, she repeated, "The Joker."

The two were quiet as he looked her slight form up and down, judging her completely. "You... you ain't kidding, are you?"

Impatiently sighing, she shook her head.

"Ain't you a little young to be--"

"Maybe I am. Can I go in, please?"

He scoffed as he looked down at the list on the clipboard. "A'right, a'right, sheesh." He checked off a box and asked, "Name?"

"Dr. Stoltz."

As he wrote down the name, he smirked. "So's the story true?"

"What story?" She asked.

"That you and Colter are... y'know..." Like an immature boy, he made a circle with one hand and stuck his finger through it.

June groaned in disgust, "Oh my- God, no. No. Jesus Christ, is he really telling people that?" She demanded, suddenly feeling sick.

He shrugged, still smirking and God, she'd slap it off of his goddamn face if she could. "Just rumours."

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, not even wanting to give him the time of day as he unlocked the door for her and held it open, her closed form stepping inside as if him touching her would hurt her. Repulsive, she thought to herself as he left.

Brown eyes flitting over the room laid out before her, she felt like she'd stepped into a world she shouldn't be in. The truth was, she'd never been in the recreational room before, as she never had to be. The other patients she'd had before the Joker were very calm, usually rather mundane people, and thus didn't have to be bribed with activities in the rec room as a reward for good behaviour, they just took their meds and went to sleep, lived simply and calm until they were deemed sane enough to go home or to be transferred to Blackgate. Somehow, she'd imagined the rec room to be a lot worse than it actually seemed to be.

Wide windows against the grey walls let in all the light Gotham had to offer, rain hammering down on the glass that served as white noise to occupy the dozen or so inmates in there who all remained quietly chattering among themselves- one of them, to themselves- as they entertained themselves with the different activities that were on offer to them. Two inmates she recognised- Edward Nigma and Thomas Elliot- were sat in total silence whilst playing chess, Edward consciously eyeing the bandaged man in paranoia that he was cheating, hand scratching his chin obsessively. In the far right of the room, a man she knew as Arnold Whesker (or was it the Ventriloquist? The aliases confused her) was sat with a shorter man who wore an old and beaten hat, reading a book on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland while the former made do with a torn sock puppet on his arm. She spotted Jonathan Crane, an old acquaintance of hers in the hospital, now turned patient, scribbling on a piece of paper whilst chewing the end of his pencil, and only for a moment was she curious of what he was writing. It was so sad to see someone so bright and intelligent be reduced to something less than a man.

As June spied around the room at the other patients she didn't recognise, she noticed a torn and yellowed sofa in the left of the room sat before an old fat television set fitted to the wall, boxed in a cage so that it couldn't be tampered with by patients. And sat on the sofa, hunched forward with his back to her, was none other than the exact man- patient- she was looking for.

Joker, she mouthed the name to herself, as if the name brought a peculiar kind of comfort and familiarity to her worried and tired mind. The numbers 4479 had already become an old memory and she wondered, how could she let herself get this sick and wrapped up?

For a few minutes, she cautiously watched him from a distance as she stepped closer, seeing how he sat in the middle of the sofa with his legs spread, elbows leaning forward on his knees as he gazed up at the TV like it was the entrance to heaven, mouth agape and eyes wide. The colours of the TV flashed in his eyes like fireworks, and she knew that wherever he was, in his head, his mind, was not physically in the real world anymore. She felt that what she was doing was strangely voyeuristic- biting the corner of her lip- gaining absolute pleasure just from watching the most innocent of acts take place, acts that to him, was complete and total indulgence. It was private. His thing, to say. Her stomach then spontaneously knotted up for a second and she could almost feel her knees give into the feeling of reverence, feeling something akin to jealousy and pining at the way he was looking at the screen, like it was the only idol of worship he believed in, his nihilistic beliefs gone, fluttering into the wind. She'd never seen him at so much peace before. So calm. Vaguely human.

Carefully approaching him, she made sure her heels didn't click too loud as to not break his concentration, nearing the sofa until she was close enough to sit down on the very end to his left, giving him the space he needed. She descended ever so slowly, placing her bag down next to her feet and crossing her legs one over the other, fingers entwined with her own as she simply watched, waited, not saying a single word to him. He was watching some movie she'd never seen before- a romance, to her utmost surprise- set in Paris, vibrant tones of sunset pinks and vivd blues flashing from the screen and onto his painted face, the pasted white turning a hue of orange, mint, cream, yellow. Everything was set out perfectly, enough to entrance and keep him quiet, only the sound wasn't on. Perhaps it was a silent film, she thought, until she saw the actors' mouths move and no sounds coming out. In the corner of the screen she saw the tiny little mute symbol.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then the Joker spoke over her, voice smooth and even dreamy. He didn't look at her, only watched the TV, tongue dragging across his red lips and the insides of his scars. "Hi, Junie." His black eyes were glued to the screen, mesmerised.

"Hi, Joker." She pushed forward an unnecessarily high-pitched tone to give the illusion of a 'good morning' and not that she'd already been pissed off twice today. He didn't answer her and she exhaled contently, puckering her lips as she awkwardly waited for something to happen. Maybe he'd stop watching when the commercial breaks came on- and then five minutes later, he didn't. Apparently he had no qualms in quietly watching an advertised toothbrush demonstration or a campaign to support LexCorp. He just sat there as if the world around him didn't exist.

After waiting long enough, June cleared her throat, thumbs pressed together shyly. "Um... are you... okay?"

"I'm fine," was all he said, words mumbled so they strung together in one breath.

Eventually, the movie came back on, and after only two minutes of watching the characters talk with no sound, she felt like she was going crazy. How was he not currently itching and yelling for the guards to turn it up? Neck craning around, she started to look for a remote or any kind of indication that would help her find it, but saw nothing. "Why isn't the volume on?" She finally asked her patient, looking at him with curiosity that even he could see from the corner of his eye.

"The guards. They, uh, turned it off."

"Oh." Unbelievable. Even when he got the TV, they still wouldn't let him enjoy it. Getting up to stand, she gripped the arm of the sofa, fingers digging into the tattered cloth, and the Joker could feel her little fist squash the space between them. "Let me ask for the remote so--"

Before she even got to her feet, he thoughtlessly pressed a hand to her right knee and pushed her back down, the sudden pressure eliciting an inward gasp from her parted lips- his bare hand, long fingers hooking under her knee cap, the only thing separating his palm and her naked leg being the thin nylon tights that she wore, not even thick enough to withstand a tear whenever she caught her nail while pulling them up. Her eyes closed as she fell back down, lashes against her freckled cheeks, everything in slow and muted motion, just like the television set. He'd never seen anything so alive and in such a fantasy light- eyes flitting back to the TV as he still pushed her down, the actress on screen whipping her golden hair, walking down the streets of Paris, and his Junie, lithe and blurry, dark curls falling like feathers around her shoulders as she finally hit the seat of the sofa with a whispering sigh. What took two seconds to happen in reality lasted an hour in their heads.

And as soon as her dark eyes opened, he let go, warmth gone, the prospect of him even touching her a mere memory, a fever dream, something that might've happened, but might not've. Yet when June was sat there, she looked at him with glassy eyes, confused, curious, distant and yet the closest she'd ever felt to someone she shouldn't. He wasn't supposed to touch her. Both of them knew that. But when June would usually get up and leave immediately to tell someone, or say something to him about it, she didn't, and she had no idea whether it was out of the fear she knew she didn't feel or... or...

Joker spoke, again, slowly and quietly, gaze trapping hers. "I asked them to turn it off."

June's mouth parted into a tiny 'o' shape as she said that single syllable, the one noise caught in the bottom of her throat like it was trying to strangle her. She couldn't even conjure up a question as to why he'd want the volume off, and as she tried to ignore and pretend like his hand had never been near her, she tried making her question the only thing on her mind. Professional, she reminded herself forcefully. Professional. Professional. Professional. Even when the volume on that damned TV set was off she still couldn't hear herself think- his eyes were there, looking at her. Like the eyes of Medusa.

"I asked them to turn the volume off," The Joker said, settling back into the sofa as he propped his right leg over his left, holding his ankle as he tried to wonder why the hell she wasn't talking. His tongue prodded around the insides of his scars for a moment before he said, "The, uh, the sounds... irritate me. S'like static noise."

He had a fair point, but June still queried, "But you can't hear what they're saying." She momentarily watched the clip that played on screen: the blonde and her French love interest strolling down a street in twilight. It was a little weird that he was watching romance, but the asylum wouldn't let him watch action or horror for obvious reasons.

Joker shrugged, turning his head to watch the movie now that she was. "You shouldn't have to know what they're saying. Then the movie is whatever you want it to be." He said. The blonde on screen was now crying, desperately clutching the arms of her lover. Forbidden love, June dreamily thought. A murderer, Joker liked to imagine. "Or... the, uh, actors, without their lines, are forced to act. Geddit?"

June hummed, nodding in interest. "Oh, I see. Like silent films?"

He broke out into a small, admittedly amused smile as he looked at her, somewhat comforted by the thought that she understood what he was saying. "Yeah," He said quietly. "Like silent films."

When June turned to speak to him, he immediately looked away, but it happened so fast that she didn't even notice, never even knew that he was watching her in the first place. A fascinated smile graced her pursed lips. "So... you like silent films, huh?"

He wordlessly nodded, pretending to focus on the movie. The blonde held onto her French lover as if she were about to die, and they embraced as if it were their last day on earth. Her blue eyes didn't stop crying as he held a stern and pensive stare, pale hands curling around her back as he squeezed her tightly. Joker could tell by the engagement ring on the character's finger that she was already promised to someone else, and this was why they were so pathetically hanging onto each other. With a grimace, he glanced at Junie, who drinking in the same thing as he was, only she looked enamoured while he felt disgusted. Romance was weird.

Still watching the film, however, he added, "Bu-t the, uh, the colours, they annoy me. I get a headache watching modern TV. All the, uh... all the scenes cut too fast and there's too many flashy colours."

June drawled quietly, "Yeah, I remember you telling me over lunch that day. How you wanted a TV set... and... and..."

Joker took a peek at her again when her voice suddenly stopped. Her brown eyes were wide, much like her mouth, as she watched the lovers onscreen move closer and closer, barely kissing, lips brushing against one another's as the man whispered something in French, je t'aime. The clown looked down to Junie's hands, folded anxiously in her lap, and when the onscreen couple finally kissed, her fingers knotted together, thighs tightening as her knuckles turned white, squeezing, squeezing, ever squeezing. He didn't smile, not at all, but was gratified in a way, to see her understand where he was coming from with all this. It was almost perfect. There was no deeper meaning to why he liked silent film or only black and white television, nothing deeper than the fact that he liked to watch the colourless pictures move along the screen without any sounds distracting him. That was it. In fact, he'd stopped telling doctors about it after Dr. Young found out, where she'd relentlessly interrogate him about it in the stupid belief that his fondness for silent pictures somehow reflected the troubled past that he'd made up to trick her. At least Junie, although ridiculously empathetic and cruelly naïve, could just shut up and appreciate it without asking stupid questions.

Joker leant in close to scare her and whispered in a giggled tone, "I, uh, still do want that TV set for my cell, by the way."

Swiftly turning to look at him with a tense yelp, June saw how he was laughing, harsh and mocking, which she initially took insult to but then felt herself crack a small smile of her own as she coyly chuckled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Beyond all the numbers, the 4479, the doctors reports and the names of medicines assigned to him, June easily forgot that behind the face paint and the scars lived a human, just a person, and while that person was completely insane and totally sadistic, he was still just human. He liked things. Silent film. He liked silent film. Hiding behind the façade of professionalism she fought to uphold, she hadn't really taken much thought to how he lived, how his mind worked mundanely, as though he were just a machine with cogs turning in place of a brain, as if he were not even a living, breathing, functioning person who just... was. It was her weakness. She could be so strong and resilient at times, but the amount of sympathy and empathy she felt to those who were mistreated like she was... it was staggering. In her line of work, it was a flaw. But to June, she felt it made her human. And sometimes that was all it took to separate the man from the monster: his ability to feel.

After his laughs had simmered down into soft breaths of silence, June shook her head of those thoughts, instead reminding herself to talk about it in her audio diary later. Then a thought struck her, and she had to ask, "So, um... this is gonna sound stupid..."

Slightly smirking, Joker urged her to carry on, "What is it?"

"What... what movies do you like, then?" She was sheepish about the whole thing, dipping her head down and avoiding eye contact. She laughed nervously.

His brows raised at her question- out of all the medical things and psychological garbage she'd asked him before, this question simply struck him as the most interesting. It was normal. When had anyone ever asked him a normal goddamn question?

"Uh..." He hummed in thought, unsure of how to really answer. "I, uh, I don't... really have a favourite. I mean, uh, you got the obvious early films, like Nosferatu." Joker said, June listening in wonder at the passion and knowledge that soaked his words, hands gesturing with each word. "Then Charlie Chaplin came around and started doing his sketches. They're, uh, slapstick but still kinda funny," He said with a chuckle, tongue swiping his bottom lip as his eyes peered around the room in thought, trying to remember those tapes he'd stumbled upon before. Then he shrugged, looking down at her. "I guess I like any film that's good... even when you turn the sound off, y'know?"

June nodded in complete understanding, shifting her body weight to the side as she payed attention to him. "Do you think they still sell silent films on DVD or VHS?"

"No idea." He smacked his lips together. "Why d'ya ask?"

"If, um..." She played with her hands, looking down at them. "If you continue to behave, I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to... to try and ask Dr. Arkham to let you watch some. I swear, I've never seen you so relaxed in my life." A shrill giggle left her but as soon as it did, she slapped a hand to her mouth as though she tried to catch it and put it back. He watched her with such interest that it scared him. Not that he was scared of anything, but the idea was there. He didn't like that simply watching her move amused him. Distracting. And that was never good.

"That's, uh, awfully kind of you, Junie," He mumbled lowly, eyes fixated on her calmly smiling lips, pink and plump. "Odd how you're being so..." Digging around for the right word, he clicked his tongue. The sound made June's heart stop. "...so thoughtful," He concluded with a tilt of his head. "So generous. You doing this outta the kindness of your own heart, doll?"

At a loss for words, she stuttered to find an answer. "I... I just think that treating you with respect is due."

"Due?" His dark eyes squinted with a laugh. "You do realise that I kill people, right? For kicks?"

"I meant respect as a human being."

"Who likes to kill people. A lo-t." He purposely ticked his tongue to intimidate her, and indeed, she did inch back just a little.

"Is it bad that I don't like my patients being treated like animals?" She asked, staring at him stubbornly. "Hell, the only thing stopping this asylum from being a human zoo is the fact that guests can't go past the visiting area. That's it. They keep you in a cell, they tie you up--"

"Mm, I do love being tied up." He joked, tongue pressed against the front of his teeth as he smiled.

"Joker, seriously," June frowned, sighing. "I feel... bad, alright? Not... I don't pity you, that's just sad. You don't deserve pity for what you've done, but this is a hospital, not a prison facility. I want to give you whatever makes you comfortable, but I can only do so much, okay?"

"If you cared so much about my, uh, my comfort, Junie, you'd think about dropping by my cell on Saturday nights-ah." Joker's voice had dropped an octave as he eyes her, turning so that he could rest his arm over the back of the chair.

June swallowed hard- she knew he was just trying to make her uncomfortable- and she played with her hair as she tried to think of an answer. "I-I don't work Saturdays. You know this."

Interesting how she didn't say no.

"Friday, then."

"I actually work while I'm here, you know."

"Lights off at ten p.m. If I'm, uh, correct, you finish your shift at seven, don't you?"

She finally looked up at him. "How do you know that?"

He smiled darkly at her reaction. "That's when Colter drops by my cell. He only ever walks down that corridor when you're there, and leaves me alone when you're around. But if he's in my cell, well..." He arched a brow. "You've gone home."

It was hard for June to comprehend feeling simultaneously terrified and impressed by how he'd calculated that. She paused and looked around her- she'd nearly forgotten about the real world- and expected every pair of eyes to be looking back, but nobody cared. Not even the guard by the door. She turned to Joker and saw him waiting, tonguing the insides of his scars as his fingers drummed against the back of the chair, filling her mind with nothing but the perpetual sound of his fingers, drum, drum, drum, drum--

"What does Colter do to you?" She fearfully whispered, neck bending forward.

He leaned closely towards her, whispering back. "You know what." Then he lifted up the bottom of his orange shirt to reveal his stomach, mutilated with bruises and belt whips, and Junie's eyes widened in horror, hand unconsciously thrusting to grab hold of his wrist so that he pulled the shirt back down. The way her small fingers curled around his forearm, dark hairs locked under her palm, they met eyes, her fearful, his gleaming. She was panicked, he was having the time of his life. It burned to touch him. And too many boundaries were being crossed for June to want to start counting.

She peeled her hands off as if she were stuck to him. Her nervous tics kicked back in, the smoothing of the clothes, the adjusting of her hair. "I-I'll tell Dr. Arkham about it."

Joker shook his head with a sly smile. "No you won't."

"Excuse me?"

"I know you won't. What'll he do, Junie? Stop Colter with his bare hands? The old prick looks like he's made outta straw."

"Well, I can't just have the guards beating you whenever they feel like it."

"If you've got such a problem with it, why don't you take it to the big guy himself, huh?"

"No!" She almost cried, then covered her mouth to muffle herself. Joker laughed at her reaction and she trembled, shaking her head. "I-I can't talk to Colter." God, even the thought of it terrified her.

"Why not?"

"Have you seen him? He's twice my size!"

Joker was tempted to laugh again, in spite- the poor precious doctor can't even handle the dumb brute with three braincells- but as he paused to look at her, her hands, how they gripped the hem of her skirt and how her chest suddenly began to heave, teeth nibbling her lip and her gaze distant, he realised that it wasn't just the case of her being too stupidly shy to confront Colter.

"You're scared of him."

June's voice turned to silence as she blinked at him, speechless. She was in no place to deny it, but at the same time, she couldn't let her own patient know that she was scared of someone who walked past him every day. Hell, she couldn't let him know that she was more afraid of Colter than she was of the Joker.

But he asked again, this time leaning closer and lowering his voice to try and reason with the girl. Digging into her to find her fears. "You're really scared of him, aren't you?"

She swallowed hard and straightened her back to create some space between the two. "Don't- don't make it a thing. It's not a big deal. There's... history there that I'd rather not dwell upon."

"You're teasing me, doll..." He sang huskily, donning a smirk that soon turned into a toothy grin. June could hear herself breathing, chest tight as he shuffled closer to her. "C'mon," He tempted, "I hate the guy. You hate the guy. We, uh, we have a lot in common."

"So?"

"So... let's talk about it." He'd flipped the session completely on its head, seeing if he could draw her in enough for her to stupidly trust him.

"It's not profess--"

"Neither is Colter beating me in a jail cell. I think we can at least even it out here, Junie."

Moments after he said it, it was scary for June to think that she was actually considering the possibility of telling him. She almost let it slip, nearly said the words, date gone wrong, forgotten who they both were for a second. Amongst the sound of rain hammering gently on the glass windows just beyond them, she almost felt calm enough to the point where maybe telling him won't be so bad. It was hardly a conscious decision, but then she woke up, shook herself from the thought, and her head rose, hooded eyes boring right back into his.

"Art therapy, Joker." Her mouth was still open as she uncomfortably breathed, raspy and hollow. "Do art therapy and I'll tell you."

He spoke the moment she finished, shaking his head, "No! No, Junie, c'mon, you can't- you can't just bribe me with things and expect me to comply--"

"I'm your doctor," She croaked in a sad, nearly pained-sounding way. Her doe eyes were wide as her forehead creased upward, worry on her mind. "I'm not bribing you. I want to help you."

Junie's words were desperate, so much in fact that he knew she was being somewhat truthful. But just like him, she had an ulterior motive. Maybe she did want to help him. Maybe she was a good and honest doctor. But she also wanted to prove everyone wrong- Dr. Arkham, Colter, everyone who'd ever doubted her. She had her secrets, secrets that even he couldn't solve, but she was an open book. June didn't want to cure him for some selfless purpose or to serve a greater good, in fact, she was doing it for herself. If she could get the stamp of sanity printed on his medical records, then she could cure anybody. Everybody would fight to employ her, hell, she could even run Arkham. She just wanted to prove everybody wrong. Anything, she'd give, just to show them that she could do it. Her trust and complete utter faith was just out of his reach, and all he had to do was give her what she wanted. He was never one to play by the rules, but for Junie, he'd make an exception.

His shoulders fell, a falsely defeated sigh that she mistook for being true. And then a nod, a nod of genuine acceptance.

"Okay," Joker said, voice calm. "Alright."

"Art therapy?"

He nodded. "Art therapy."

Je t'aime, said the French lover silently, finally letting the blonde girl go.

---

Sympathy and voyeurism, not love. Not yet, at least. ;)

And I know this is a liiittle bit late but I've got an exam tomorrow and I really haven't studied that much, wish me luck :///

Also I absolutely loved the feedback on the last chapter. Glad to know that you all hate Colter as much as I do, and I'm super surprised to show you what I have in store for him.... >:)

-tkj