AUTHOR'S NOTES
I took the liberty of revising all these chapters. It seemed to me that security of Arkham was extremely carefree and the depiction of certain visual imagery weren't as clear. I didn't like how I failed to include the Joker's court session, and why Harleen was chosen to be the Joker's doctor. So I went back, changed a lot of things and refined a lot of emotion in the both the Joker and Harleen.
I am trying to capture Harleen being this independent socio-psychiatrist, who isn't afraid of her job, does it well and professionally. I don't like either the Animation or comic book portrayal of Harley Quinn so as of now, I am making my own perspective of Harleen Quinzel, however I DO NOT OWN HER (or the Joker, Commissioner Gordon, Batman, ect)!! DC Comics' does.
(I do claim my characters, Amanda Whitley (aka Doctor Whitley), the Joker's wife, his daughter and those kinds of characters. I will kill you if you steal them!)
I like Heath Ledger's portrayal as the Joker, so I used Christopher Nolan's idea for the Joker (and this story is obviously post The Dark Knight.) However, the Joker was sinister, mischievous and sadistic, I also wrote this story to reveal to my audience that everyone, including criminals, is human and inhibit humanistic characteristics. There are primitive instincts within humans, and I think the Joker embraced those during the Dark Knight's bloodshed, but this time I'm going to warp that primitive nature that the Joker possesses into his human side as well, after meeting Harleen. You know, actually let the agent of chaos have a softer side for her, but all the while containing his malicious nature.
So, those of you have read most of this already, I do advise you to at least skim these the first couple chapters and get a better vision for this fic but for those of you who've opened this fic for the very first time, I hope you appreciate and enjoy it!
I do stress that without feedback the story cannot improve. I'm not begging for reviews but I am eager to hear from you.
And now that I've prattled a bit…
Here. We. Go!
I.
The gigantic building jutted roughly from the dark damp soil that plotted Arkham's under-belly and the trees that surrounded the "so-called Fortress" were dark and untamed, allowing underbrush and shrubbery to peek out.
Arkham Asylum overlooked from a secluded hill, safely tucked away about twenty-six miles from Gotham city limits, however, from it's perch it could directly oversea the glittering display of Gotham's dismal metropolis. A single dusty highway lead to and from its highly maintained house of the "criminally insane." Arkham was made up of several stories, even obtaining lower level floors underground and all of which had windows with shining, iron bars covering them.
An array of fences, surrounding the vicinity, all metal and colorfully decorated with black and silver iron barbed wire intricacies that tapered on top of them and also on the floor beds just outside of the Asylum, in case some lucky insane patient did in fact pass all of the security within the building.
Gordon was walking now upon the concrete flat, it bore millions of scrapes, chips and cracks that clicked underneath the soles of his loafers.
He was adjusting his collar and jacket before having to face the entrance of the Hospital when a camera, mounted just above the iron doors, looked to him. A voice, it must've been a guard from within the thick threshold, asked for identification and name.
"Commissioner Gordon," He spoke flashing his badge to it.
For a few moments nothing happened and he wondered if he should repeat himself but dismissed it just as the iron bar released the rusty doors and opened.
Gordon swallowed hard and proceeded within…
II.
"Well I came to see if this place would be fit enough to hold such a patient." Gordon spoke freely as he sipped at the coffee in his hand. It was in a cheap paper cup and he watched, in silence, as the steam arose from his thin corners.
"If you do not think we do a good job as far as security goes, Commissioner, then why did you come through all of the trouble to meet with me?" Asked Doctor Whitley.
They were sitting in her very large office. She faced him from behind her desk and shuffled around with various papers and with her lab top, flipped over her lap, clicked endlessly away.
She was a lanky woman, aging in her late forties, early fifties, with thin, fine blonde hair that was pulled into a messy pony tail with whipping bangs that swept over her paling and acute bony face. She held this some sort of look that spoke of "hard as nails" however; her voice was soothing, calm and baring some sort of warm emotion.
Her lips moved gracefully as she spoke and then she repositioned her seating behind her large desk. She pushed her palms together, slipping her fingers to be intertwined and smiled mockingly at him.
"I do not doubt your security. From what I've seen the place is," Gordon now pulled his right hand up, making a quote signature with his two fingers before he stated, "and I quote, "insane proof," but I assure you doctor, this patient is"—
"Just who is this fellow? And who is to say we might even accept his application? If he's as notorious as you say he is, then he'll probably either get the death penalty or be reported to a Federal Prison." She stated simply, taking her porcelain cup in her hand, cradling it carefully and then bringing her lips to it.
Gordon could smell the faint tanginess of her warm green tea. He was just about to say something until she pulled a singular finger up,
"It's just unlikely that we'll admit him here, unless by order of the court and didn't you say he was having a court session today?" She interrupted her own train of words, screwing her green eyes and pointing a finger back up at him.
"That's correct, two o clock sharp. But Doctor, he's got his own attorney running and screaming from him, and I'm pretty sure, with the way that mad man is, he'll manipulate his own defense attorney to plead insanity. If he does that, he'll probably be sent here to get a medical evaluation of which I'm afraid he'll influence his own doctor's report!"
There was a long pause of silence between Doctor Whitley and Commissioner Gordon, both taking little sips of their drinks and eyeing each other unwaveringly.
Just then, two little knocks came from behind the large oak door of the office and a stunning, young woman poked her head in.
"Oh, I'm sorry," She whispered, with a red face, "Am I interrupting?"
Just then Doctor Whitley curved her frown upward.
"No, not at all, Doctor Quinzel, come in." She boded with a loose wave of her hands and flickering wrists.
The Commissioner eyed Doctor Whitley suspiciously as the younger woman, dressed in a pair of jet-black slacks, clinging very snuggly to the shapeliness of her legs and buttocks, came through the room. Her heels were muted on the soft carpet and just as she was beginning to sit, she was adjusting the white collared blouse underneath the black vest over the agreeable size of her breast.
"Commissioner Gordon, I would like to introduce you to our newest Arkham edition, a real studious prodigy, Doctor Harleen Quinzel."
Harleen's big blue eyes swept over him in his direction, displaying a perfect smile of pearly white teeth, and she outstretched her hand to him. This was making Gordon almost melt in her presence and he carefully making himself look as composed as he could, shook her hand. She was simply gorgeous.
"Now, despite Harleen's flawless looks," Doctor Whitley laughed, noticing Gordon's flustered features, "She isn't just a pretty face. She actually graduated at the top of her class from Stanford University."
Harleen Quinzel at this point started to blush a vibrant red and released a small nervous giggle.
"Is that so?" Gordon's eyes widened when glancing back at the young doctor.
"And how old are you? I'm sorry, you just look rather young to be a graduated student, especially with a Doctor's degree." Gordon asked very politely.
"Yes, I know. I get that a lot so no need to apologize. I am actually twenty-six. I skipped my first year of high school and ascended in the tenth grade, graduating early in the top ten percent of my class and became accepted during Stanford's early acceptance program when I was senior. I was sixteen, turning seventeen the following fall program. I got a head start basically, that was all." She responded very quietly, looking nervous the entire time she spoke.
"Oh, don't be so shy, Harleen!" Doctor Whitley bragged.
"And then she graduated, like I said, in the top percent of Stanford's University. However, how she ended up here, of all places, is beyond my imagination." Doctor Whitley conversed in delight.
"Oh, so you haven't lived in Gotham your whole life?"
"No sir, I haven't, I grew up in Chicago." Harleen said, now beginning to perk up.
"Which proposes a very interesting dilemma. Harleen, where do you currently live, as of now?"
"Pilot."
"Pilot? That little crossroads just outside of Clayton?" Gordon asked.
"Yes sir, it's about an hour from here." Harleen readjusted her sitting position in the chair, facing Doctor Whitley's desk.
"Yes, which is precisely up to our advantage, isn't it Commissioner?" Doctor Whitley proposed with a poised face.
"I'm sorry, I'm not exactly following." Gordon replied, looking weirdly at both doctors. Harleen Quinzel's eyes twisted oddly obviously dumbfounded as well.
"There is a possibility that we receive a very sick patient Quinzel, much more insane than some of your current patients, like Jonathan Crane"—
"You're the Scarecrow's doctor?" Gordon interjected. This was all so mind boggling –she, of all the talented Doctors in this place, was assigned such a nut case? How is that she hasn't gone mad already? Was she truly, as Doctor Whitley stated, Gordon pondered when laying his eyes back upon the young doctor, a gifted psychologist?
"Yes, I am. Not much progress, but little is better than none." Harleen sighed.
"Anyway, as I was saying," Doctor Whitley continued, "Harleen hasn't lived in Gotham, ever, so her findings and evaluations of this man you speak of, Commissioner, can't possibly be biased. You see if we were to give him someone, like Doctor Cleary, who has lived in Gotham his whole life, you can't possibly expect him to evaluate him correctly. Why?" Doctor Whitley asked, with an obscure smile, "Because what if that criminal affected him directly? Doctor Cleary might make it to where, if this man is clinically insane, report that he is well aware of his own actions and should be admitted into a regular correctional facility or worse, face the death penalty"—
"So you're saying that it could be wise to give him to someone who doesn't know anything about him?" Gordon asked intrigued.
"Precisely."
"The man is very manipulative Doctor Whitley, I'm not doubting Doctor Quinzel's talents but someone as young and influential as her shouldn't be put in charge of him"—
"Just whom are we talking about, Commissioner?" Harleen asked.
Gordon swallowed hard, eyeing Harleen Quinzel with weary eyes.
"He doesn't exactly have a name but his calling card is a picture of a Joker. So we've given him that nick name."
"The Joker?" Doctor Whitley's eyes sunk in a little bit back into her skull.
"That's right."
Harleen's mouth went dry when she saw her boss; Amanda's eyes grow wide.
"Is he that bad?" Harleen asked, directed towards more Amanda but Gordon laughed mockingly.
"Yes. He's a very sick criminal. We've caught and retained him so far. Hopefully he won't escape again." Gordon scratched his neck now looking back at the perplexed Doctor. Amanda Whitley grew silent.
Harleen thought, The Joker? She wondered, very quietly, as Gordon and Amanda Whitley exchanged words once more, what this man looked like. Was he deranged, complete with disorderly clothes, a broken face and bruised esteem, or was he perfectly normal, like Doctor Crane?
It appeared, to Harleen's observant eyes that a following trend had begun in Gotham –it's "criminally" insane population liked the use of props, such as Jonathan Crane's alter ego, the Scarecrow mask. What if this man, as difficult as Jonathan Crane, is worse? What if he's completely and utterly untamed and wild, like an unattended child?
"The one whose been causing all that mayhem in Gotham? I did not realize that was the one you were talking about." Doctor Whitley said, almost as if she was saying it to herself. She then looked suspiciously at Harleen and then stood up.
"We'll discuss more, Commissioner when we hear the results of the court session this afternoon. Is that quite alright?" Doctor Whitley stood, outstretching her long arms to the Commissioner who did the same as well. They shook hands.
"Yes, that's fine. I'll be seeing you soon, Doctor Whitley," He turned to leave before he turned back to shake the hands of Harleen Quinzel, whom remained seated and transfixed in her plethora of thoughts, "And you too, Doctor Quinzel."
"Oh!" Harleen stuttered, taking his fingers into her own, "Of course."
Gordon then dismissed himself very casually, closing the door quietly and tightly behind him.
After he cleared the room, Amanda sighed very loudly, before she began to fiddle with her teacup and then swiped up, very swiftly, Harleen's coffee mug.
"I'll warm you up some more." Amanda Whitley spoke quietly as she turned to her cabinetry, setting it beside the coffee pot. She started to fix more when Harleen piped in very quietly.
"Amanda," Harleen sat up straight, looking at her supervisor as her back turned toward Harleen, "Will I be receiving this new patient?"
"...Hopefully." Her boss replied very smoothly, refreshing her cup of coffee and turning around to meet Harleen's face.
"This creep, and excuse my language, is one sick bastard. He's quiet the criminal and I want you on his case. Everyone, including people like him, deserve an unbiased evaluation, especially if they're going through the legal system, which in itself is pretty fucked up." Amanda paused, seeing Harleen remained composed.
"I suggest," Amanda began again, handing Harleen's outstretched hang, back her coffee, "that you watch Gotham's news tonight when they review the Joker's court session."
III. (Harleen arrives homes, after a day of work.)
Sebastian mewed quietly as Harleen poured the cat mix into a glass kitten bowl. She put it on the floor and then, after washing her hands, began to finish cooking her pasta.
The television in the other room blared quietly, echoing the local weather report for Clayton. And Harleen listened quietly, adjusting her pajama bottoms and straightening the white lacy cami over her protruding breasts.
Just then, as Harleen finished fixing her pasta, and began pouring parmesan cheese over top her steaming plate, she heard one of the anchormen announce with enthusiasm one of the top stories of tonight's news.
"And tonight, there is a special feature of our neighboring metropolis, Gotham, is allowing the trial between the City of Gotham, versus the criminal only known as the Joker, to air on certain stations. Tune in for that on channel 231 for dish, that's paper view so for you dish viewers you might have to pay to watch however for our cable viewers, it's completely free on channel 16."
Harleen scurried to her pastel colored sofa, hopping gently into its plush green cushions and turning her channels with her remote.
She quickly clicked yes to pay and then dug into both the excitement of the production and into the deliciousness of her food.
The court room was full with press's cameras and camera men, a lot of photographers and of course, the hundreds of scared eyes of jurors, lawyers, attorneys and regular citizens.
Harleen, when focusing on the far right corner of her television, there she saw, in court room, sitting at a wooden desk was a tall, broad shouldered green haired man, whom wore what appeared to be face paint. The camera focused on him closer, sending a shiver down Harleen's spine when she saw how his make-up was arrayed. His eyes, looked as if they had been gouged out by the obvious black paint that dripped into the eye sockets of his face and then, rutted and torn, his fleshy cheeks curved upward, revealing yellow teeth, all concealed in a crimson scar colored smile.
"The City of Gotham accuse the Defendant, the Joker, of twenty-one cases of fraud, forty-eight cases of a vandalism, fifty-nine cases of robbery, sixty-five cases of assault, one-hundred fifty-five cases of second degree murder and two-hundred and seventy one cases of third degree murder," The Judge paused, cautiously, eyeing everyone in the courtroom before falling upon the Defense Attorney, Michael Sanders.
Harleen's mouth dropped, as she continued to watch and then she mouthed, very quietly, holy shit!
"How does the defendant plea?" The Judge asked.
"Guilty, your honor, by reason of insanity." The Joker's attorney jittered his words and shook crazily when he heard the outburst of disruption in the courtroom.
People were throwing fits and crying out as the attorney remained standing and stared helplessly at the judge. It was a complete pandemonium in the courtroom and flashes of cameras fluttered wildly within the room when it was overcome by the insanely loud, creepy laughter of the criminal whom roared loudly with amusement.
The Judge pounded her mallet loudly, yelling, "Order! Order please, I need order in the court!"
Silence ensued after by the subtle giggles of the Joker and he held his sides, trying to contain himself.
"Are you saying that this man committed these crimes without considering his mental state?" The Judged asked, eyeing the Joker suspiciously.
"Yes, your honor. My client has displayed," The man quieted for a moment, looking cautiously sideways at his nappy green haired client, whom stared back with glowering, angry eyes, as if warning his attorney to choose his words wisely, before continuing, "He hadn't the mental capacity to understand the consequences of his actions."
Another outburst of the yelling filled the courtroom. Nothing but the intense firing of rude and grotesque comments were heard and thrown at the Joker. The many plaintiff lawyers cursed with pointing fingers and outrageous fussing and fighting comments were heightened. Even some of the jurors were becoming agitated.
"Order! Order in the court!" Yelled the Judge, slamming her mallet down once more.
There was long moment of silence before she bestowed her glaring eyes upon the defense attorney.
"Legal documentation supporting his mental health?"
"No, your honor, however, if I may suggest, a mental evaluation"—
"Objection!" An angry plaintiff yelled, "This man is perfectly knowledgeable for his actions! Any evaluation made would be"—
"Overruled." The Judge slammed her mallet once more, before collecting various papers from in front of her.
"Mr. Sanders, you say that your client has no idea of the consequences that he may face, until now, because of these crimes? Correct?"
"Yes, your honor, that is correct."
"And you propose a medical evaluation, to determine, if in fact, by pleading insanity, that your client is truly unaware of his actions?"
"Yes, your honor."
For long moments, she over looked the courtroom silently before rustling through the documents of which lay out before her. She reviewed for a couple minutes, silently and then looked, narrowed eyed at the Joker, who fiddled with his handcuffs and hummed a light gay tune.
"I herby order the Defendant, the Joker, to be admitted into Arkham Asylum where he will be evaluated for next six months prior to the next court date, February 23, 2009 of which will ultimately determine the correct," She gave a defensive look at the plaintiffs, "coarse of action."
The Judge shuffled her papers together when another awful sound of yelling began to erupt once more, until it was silenced by the creepiness of an electric spasm of laughter from the Joker.
"Aw," the crazed loony spoke smoothly, winking at the Judge, "you're too kind!"
The Judge stared back with rustic, placid eyes, unwavering at the Joker's antics and smiled mockingly back.
"Court is dismissed!" She spoke loudly, pounding her mallet down for the last time.
IV.
The very next morning, Gordon was once more in Doctor Amanda Whitley's office, discussing their newest patience admittance.
He didn't sit, he was too jittery for that and instead he roamed nervously about.
"Well, as you forewarned," Doctor Whitley sighed, sipping at her white coffee mug, "He has been admitted here, but I've been told he's been put in the solitary confinement cells, padded, and strapped in a straight jacket. The cell he's been put in is complete with padded walls, a floor cot and closed off with a singular, half foot thick, alpha complex coded, glass door, and fanatically secured with the highest, most advanced security precautions. He was brought here in the early hours of the morning."
"Glass door?" Gordon screwed his eyes worriedly.
"Six inches thick, Commissioner, it's too thick for him to break."
"It's not safe! No matter if it's two feet thick it's still a hazard. Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
"Commissioner, why do you consistently doubt Arkham's staff and security? You do realize that this one of the best psycho-analytic facilities in the entire United States, right?" Doctor Whitley stated.
Gordon made no reply but merely put his hands on his hips when he heard someone enter through the room, clicked quietly in a pair of stilettos.
It was Harleen Quinzel, again, like yesterday, stunningly beautiful but today her hair was swept into a loose, golden bun displaying the paleness of her face, but her cheeks, glittered with rosy shine and her pale pink lips acutely tight at the corners. Harleen was dressed in a pair black of high waisted women's Dockers, and a snug red blouse.
"Oh, am I interrupting again?" She laughed and stopped dead in her tracks, staring them both wearily.
"And you can't be seriously assigning her the Joker, can you?" Gordon spoke venomously.
Harleen fell quiet and felt a pang of frustration when she saw the Commissioner standing, defiantly in his hip standing pose, watching her intently.
"I do not doubt you're ability, Doctor Quinzel, it's just that this man is nothing like"—
"With all due respect, Commissioner," Harleen spoke defiantly, "this is my second year working here and I am well aware that not every "criminally insane" patient is the same. I am not a child and I don't like how you continue to insinuate my inability to handle such a patient."
Gordon fell silent when he noticed her eyes were enraged greatly, igniting a vivacious icy stare. Her lips pursed into a deep scowl, giving him a feeling of discomfort.
"I apologize, I truly do. I am just concerned about you working with him." He said.
"I appreciate you're concern but Doctor Whitley wouldn't assign me to someone of whom she didn't feel I could handle." Harleen looked over at Amanda, who blinked a few times, with a conjured smile and then peered up at Gordon.
"Commissioner, I want you know that if we sense something is about to go wrong, and may I remind you, we video tape most of the more dangerous patients, we will take precautions. We try our best to work with both our patients and as well our Doctor's well beings."
There was a long silence and a long stare was exchanged between Doctor Whitley and Gordon. Harleen shuffled uncomfortably until Gordon looked wearily at her.
"I didn't mean to offend you, in any way Doctor Quinzel. I sincerely hope the best for you and for the Joker, however, may I ask for weekly updates on his progress?"
Harleen glanced at Amanda Whitely, who shrugged and then Harleen said, "Sure. I see no problem with that."
"Excellent. I should expect to hear from you next week," Gordon responded looking at his watch, he turned to leave.
"Thank-you again, Doctors." He closed the door behind him upon his exit.
Harleen said nothing for a few moments before turning to face Amanda who winked casually, "Time to meet you're new patient, Doctor Quinzel." She mocked, handing her a bulk of files from her desk.
V.
A pair of bulky guards transported the Joker, whose wrists and ankles were strangled into a pair of tight metal cuffs, to the Auditory Room, namely known to Harleen as the Sessions Room.
He was calm and composed, still wearing his war paint, he passed complacently, and almost too tired to really culminate what was going on until he was trusted through a pair of iron doors into a bright fluorescent room.
There he saw her, gorgeous and composed very elegantly with her ankles intertwined with each other and in her lap a clipboard with a beige colored file.
"Well, well, well," His mechanical laughter, sent shivers through Harleen's body, but she remained stoic without expression, as they strapped the Joker's body into a cushioned chair that was bolted to the floor.
"Whatah, do we have here? Hmm?"
He was everything she imagined he'd be; terrifying. His face paint looked dirty and smeared, rubbing his eyes raw with what appeared to Harleen, was his eyes gouged out. His smile was torn and crooked at the ends, curving upward into a scarred smile. He continued to snicker at her vague and serious expression.
"Hello, Joker, I am Doctor Quinzel. I will be administering you for the next six months, every other day, for one hundred minutes even."
"Nice to, ah, meet you," He licked his lips, flickering his eyes here and there, "too bad it's not under, ah, better circumstances-s-s."
I am trying to update as much as I can, it's just I got so much to do with graduating this year so I can't guarantee an update every couple days, however, I do work on this on and off weekly. I am working between 3,900 – 4,000 words each chapter.
Sneak Peak; Chapter Two: Wanna know how I got these scars?
"My full name is Harleen Quinzel."
There were a couple minutes of silence. She kept his gaze on her, entirely, until she noticed something in his mind was ticking like a clock –almost like the name delighted him in a most terrifying way. He leaned forward, hacking and coughing in a most horrendous fit of laughter.
"Care to share the humor?" She proposed very composed.
"Toots," He smacked his lips, "I think its fate that, ah, and the two of us should –heh— meet like this. Ya know?"