NOW WHAT AM I GONNA DO FOR 15 MINUTES, Joker thought.
He didn't realize that he actually had more time left than he originally thought. Joker thought that his session would have been over in the next five minutes— the clock must've been wrong. That was the problem. Right? He didn't hallucinate the clock showing the wrong time because that's what he wanted to see.
He wanted to see Jack. He's been waiting to see Jack since he woke up. That's the only thing he has to look forward to.
Wake up.
Have breakfast in your cell.
Stay in your room.
See the psychiatrist.
Have lunch with everyone.
Have group therapy.
Go to the yard to work out— which he didn't.
Have dinner by yourself.
Get ready for bed.
And go to sleep.
That's all he did, all day, everyday, for the past 17 years.
He still can't believe that he'd hallucinate something as stupid as that.
Did he really wanna see Jack that bad?
No, he didn't.
He didn't.
It was just a stupid hallucination.
Joker's hallucinations haven't been as... extreme, he would say. He truly didn't realize that he was hallucinating Sophie until he broke into her home. He hasn't had any of those types since 2001. Now that he's actually being forced to take his meds, his hallucinations have been... he doesn't know the correct word to describe it. Bothersome? Not dangerous, he guessed. At least they weren't dangerous.
Joker was back in his cell. That kid in the cell across him was nowhere to be seen. He assumed that he must be getting evaluated by a nurse, or by the physician. Looks like he needed it anyways.
He was going to try as hard as possible to avoid that kid, but something inside him told him that it would be impossible.
He was going to bite off another finger if that kid kept calling him that name.
That horrid name.
That... that fake name.
Joker was his real name. Sure, it wasn't his legal name, but it was his name. It's not like he'd ever be able to change his legal name. Not after what he did. Multiple life sentences, plus the extra charges for what he did while he had escaped. No way in Hell would Gotham let him change his name.
He wishes he had his face paint. Every time he breaks out, he has to buy a new set. Once The Batman catches his ass— like he always does— the cops take away his makeup and take it as evidence. It's the same shit everytime. He was tired of it.
But he'd see Jack soon, and Jack always knew how to sneak things in. One of his goons would send it to him on the down low.
Eight more minutes, he thought.
Eight more fucking minutes.
★★★
The doors finally unlocked by themselves. A guard came to Joker's door and escorted him outside his cell.
"What happened in the doctor's," the guard asked.
He was the same one who originally brought him back from Dr. Quinzel's office.
Nosy, Joker thought.
"I don't think you're allowed to ask those questions," Joker said.
"... I get the hint."
The guard stayed silent after that. Joker was one of the more violent inmates, so he knew he shouldn't intentionally make things worse.
The pair walked to the cafeteria on the second floor. It was as dull as ever. Concrete floors, concrete walls. The tables were made from metal with the paint chipping off of it. The line started near the emergency exit— the place Joker would almost always escape through.
Jack was already sitting down in the corner table by himself. No face paint. Just greasy, half-dyed hair, and scars sitting across his lips. The line wasn't that long. Joker would be sitting with him in no time.
Nobody even tried sitting next to Jack.
Everyone knew that was his and Joker's table.
Joker got his tray and tried not to make eye contact with the server. The server always wanted to talk to every goddamn fucking inmate, and it bothered him. He rushed out of the line and practically ran to Jack's table.
He sat down across from him. The long lightbulb was right above them, and a window that showed the yard was to Joker's left. The table was long, but it was always just the two of them who occupied it.
Joker wanted to keep it that way.
He needed to keep it that way.
Joker sat in silence for a short moment.
Jack broke the tension.
"Did you see that fucking kid," he whispered with a nasily voice. "Looks worse than both of us combined," he rudely joked.
"I don't like him," Joker softly answered.
"Why? You both have the same skin issue. That's rude to not like him because of his appearance," he laughed.
"No- It's not that. He kept calling me Arthur."
"Bite his finger off!"
"I'm only doing that if he comes up to us."
"I can hold him down if you'd like," Jack creepily smiled.
"He's not here yet. Why isn't he here yet," Joker asked Jack.
"I dunno. He's probably in the medical ward right now. Looks like those scars were pretty fresh. He might've accidentally opened one. Or a few."
"That shit's painful."
"Aww, are you feeling bad? Joker feeling bad for someone other than himself?"
"Well- No! But I mean, if the nurses don't dress the wound right, it'll stick to the gauze, and rip open when you change it! That hurts more than getting your ass beat by a bunch of guys!"
"More than The Bat," he cackled.
"Yes. More than him."
"Speaking about The Bat," Jack whispered sinisterly, "what should we do when we leave again?"
"We can't kill him," Joker laughed unintentionally.
"You're right."
"Can we expose his identity without killing him?"
"No... but," Jack snickered.
"But what?"
"We can keep it to ourselves. Make it useful to us and only us."
Jack didn't know that Joker already has an idea on who The Batman really is. He couldn't tell Jack. Even someone like him would think he was crazy.
"What's on your mind, Joker," Jack smiled.
"Uh," Joker stuttered. He was about to lie. "I told Dr. Quinzel about how I felt like I should've been born a woman."
"And...?"
"She said something about "gender dysphoria?""
"... The fuck is that?"
"I don't know."
"Is it a psychopath thing?"
"No, she didn't say that."
"Because you know how she said we both have "psychopathic traits" or some shit."
"But it isn't a trait of that."
"Maybe it's something new that we he have in common!"
"You think so!"
"Yes!"
"Jack, I don't think most men wish they were born women...."
"Yes the do! I know I do!"
"I know, but I'm thinking, maybe- maybe that's just an us thing?"
"That's even better! We both get to be Joker, and be gender dysphoric!"
"Don't say it so loud!"
"Why," Jack asked, suddenly whispering.
"I have a feeling it's not a good thing," Joker said quietly. "Like, psychopathy makes people stay away from you. Fear you. But this?! I think- I think this puts a target on our back. I think we should... just keep this to ourselves."
"That's fine with me. Plus, it's not like we can actually look like women."
"We can do drag."
"But I mean, like an actual woman." Jack's demeanor changed entirely. "I want to look like a regular woman who happens to have scars on her face, and has green hair. Not a parody."
"Well- So do I."
"I think we should just stick with the psychopathic traits.... This is making me depressed," Jack laughed loudly.
People turned and stared at the pair.
Joker waved, then turned back.
"I'm glad you agree with- with me." He laughed loudly by mistake. "We'll be women in secret. Okay?"
"That's fine with me."
"Great."
"Other than... that... Quinzel only ever diagnosed you with schizophrenia and narcissistic personality disorder, right," Jack asked.
"And- And depression."
"But everyone has depression! Not everyone is a fucking schizophrenic narcissist— you're like a unicorn."
"What would you be?"
"I'm just antisocial. I don't think I'm supposed to be here, actually. But Quinzel has fucked with the system to make them keep me here for some reason."
"I'm... I'm glad you're here, with me. Not in this place, I mean."
"I understand." Jack cackled happily. "I'm glad I'm here with you too."