"I Believe in Healing."
Gotham was nothing like the shining, gleaming city of Metropolis. There was no clearer indication of this than Arkham Asylum. The mental institutes and rehabilitation clinics of Metropolis were built to help the lost find their way again. They were monuments of the unity between human beings, built to represent one person holding their hand out to the other. Arkham Asylum was a cesspool, a place where the lost plummeted deeper and deeper down the abyss until all they couldn't see the light anymore.
The night sky hung over the complex as the cold, winter wind blew against the stone walls. The howl of the breeze echoed through the empty hallways as the front doors were opened and closed. A single man walked through the lobby, followed and watched by the staff. He wasn't used to their presence, and they were unused to his. They watched him with glares and hushed whispers, some wondering why he was here, others mocking why he was here.
The staff seemed disbelieving of their own mission. The idea of healing any of the criminals and psychopaths who enter these doors was a pipe dream, more fictitious than the monster bat that prowled the city streets.
That was why the man was here. He wanted to prove them wrong.
He was led through granite walls and over tiled floor, sometimes glancing at the trembling and bellowing figures behind locked doors. Some screamed out for help, others mocked the idea of help, and some just sat there, watching this new, foreign germ crawl along their floor. The man tried not to think about what some of them were thinking as he walked, holding his briefcase with both hands.
The doors were pushed open by a guard and the man stepped into the office with a nod of thanks. The guard just rolled his eyes. The man entered the room and found the person he was looking for. A woman sat on her chair, glancing at the notes scattered on the desk, her back facing him. Her blonde locks were wrapped into a bun, and he could see the distinct frame of black, thick-rimmed glasses resting on her ear. He saw her white coat stretch down her back, acting as a thin cushion on the seat.
"Doctor Quinzel?"
The woman stopped and turned her seat, spinning it around to face the man. Her cyan eyes met his grey pupils as her ebony-painted lips opened to show the slightest bit of surprise. "You're early, Mister Kent."
"Sorry. I have this awful habit of running late back in Metropolis and the last thing I wanted was to start the same record here," Mr. Kent apologized. "I did bring a gift, though. A bit of Metropolis hospitality for her sister city. I offered some to the guards and other doctors, but..."
"I doubt anyone here is very welcoming of gifts," the blonde doctor muttered. She watched as Mr. Kent placed his briefcase onto her bookshelf. He flicked open the locks, before pulling the leather case open. He reached inside and pulled out a small, white paper bag, the opening folded up to keep the contents from spilling out. He handed the bag to her with a kind expression on his face.
"I brought cookies from Metropolis. There's this amazing bakery downtown that always makes the sweetest cookies."
"Cookies." Doctor Quinzel blinked for a moment, fixing her glasses as she tried decipher the word. 'You brought cookies. For an interview?"
"Like I said, they're just a bit of Metropolis hospitality. Besides, you were nice enough to let me come here and interview, I thought it was only fair I offered something in return."
"You write a good passage about me in the Daily Planet, Mr. Kent. That is what you are supposed to be offering in return," the woman sighed. "I've never been to Metropolis. Is everyone as odd as you?"
"I suppose they are, yes. I always thought everyone in the city was just nice," he joked, a small smile on his face. The woman seemed to at least appreciate his humor as her frown turned more neutral. "Here, have some." He approached her seated body and held out the white bag, offering it with the same simple smile. The young doctor glanced at the bag, before taking it with a hesitant hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Kent..."
"My pleasure. So, are you ready to start the interview?" he asked, walking back to his briefcase. He saw her nod his head out of the corner of his eye, before he pulled out a notepad and a pen, before glancing around. He saw a chair pushed into a corner and motioned to it. "May I?"
"Oh. Of course," she nodded her head. He rolled the chair towards her, before sitting down across from the young, sunlight-haired doctor.
"Feel free to have some as we talk. I probably should have waited, but they're best when fresh."
"Fresh? It takes at least two hours to get from Metropolis to Gotham." The doctor rose her brow again as the reporter's eyes blinked at her.
"Oh, well, I mean, fresh is a relative term..."
"Hm. You're not like most reporters I know, Mr. Kent," commented the woman.
"You can just call me Clark. Truth be told, this is actually the first interview I've ever done by myself. I'm actually still new at the Daily Planet."
"Ah. I see. Looking for your first big break?"
"Looking for a story I believe in," he corrected. "I read what you said about your work. I could see it really came from the heart, and I respect that. So I want to help you," he explained. "Besides, I believe in second chances and rehabilitation, just like you."
"Wish my colleagues shared your optimism," she replied, a long, heavy sigh following her words. "All the same, I appreciate the thought." She reached into the bag and pulled a single, large chocolate chip cookie. She bit into it, tearing a chunk of the sweet, crisp treat off. She bit into it as the crumbs tickled her tongue like little firecrackers. "Huh. This is really good," she mumbled, only for her eyes to widen. "Sorry." She swallowed the snack and wiped her mouth. "Please don't mention that I talk with my mouth full in your article."
"It's okay," he chuckled. "Don't worry, Dr. Quinnzel. I'm on your side here. No one will know, or care about your poor manners once you succeeded." The smile on his face revealed he was merely teasing her, and she actually appreciated the act. The mood relaxed, if only a little, and the doctor felt just a bit more comfortable for her interview.
"I wish I had your confidence," she chuckled, a tone of bitterness hidden by her laugh.
"Do you not feel confident?"
"Don't misunderstand me, I believe in healing, and I am confident enough in my abilities, it's just that I've never worked with a patient of this... caliber? No, that's not the right word," she sighed.
"Notoriety?" he suggested.
"Is notoriety a better word for it?"
"I'll write it down, and we can decide on it later, maybe?" he suggested, jotting something down on his notepad.
"This interview isn't very authentic, is it?" commented the doctor, a small smirk on her face.
"A sad fact I've learned since acquiring my position at the Daily Planet, but I try to work with it as best I can," he admitted. "The world is hardly as clean as we'd like to think."
"Don't I know it," Dr. Quinzel muttered. "But that's why I'm here. Instead of making more of a mess, like some caped psychopath I could name, I want to actually try to stop the problem from the source. Instead of cleaning the spill on the floor, I want to find the child and ask him why he spilled it in the first place. I want to give the child a chance to heal and learn, and I want to figure out why they do what they do. I'll help them, instead of leaving them in a body cast for six months."
"Low opinion on Gotham's Caped Crusader?"Clark inquired, quietly writing down her words onto his notepad.
"I'm not typically a fan of thugs," she replied. Her azure eyes sharpened and her ebony lips fell into a scowl. "I didn't become a doctor to let the mentally ill be beaten and terrified. Society wouldn't applaud a man who abused the physically disabled, I won't applaud one who does the same to the mentally disabled."
"A lot of people would say that violence was the only way to stop these people from hurting innocent lives, Doctor."
She would have almost felt annoyed with the argument, but she could hear the gentleness in the reporter's voice. He certainly has a kind of charisma to him, she thought. This reporter, strange as he was, had a kindness to him that the tabloids Gotham was infested with sorely lacked. Instead of being attacked and her intellect questioned, he seemed more genuinely curious of her own thoughts and opinion. She appreciated the way he spoke, even if he was faking it for the interview.
"Maybe, but maybe they're violent because of the response they've been given? The cycle of vengeance perpetuates itself. A sick man who is stopped with violence will think violence is the only answer, especially if he sees people applaud the man who stopped him. So he doesn't listen to his doctors and he escapes and goes about the whole thing all over again, using more and more violent means to get what he wants."
"You sound passionate about the topic."
"Rehabilitation isn't a joke, contrary to what my co-workers think," she declared, glancing over Clark's shoulder to the door behind him. "Most of them have given up on helping the people here."
"But you haven't?"
"I'm nothing special," she replied, shrugging lazily as her gaze returned to the reporter. She stared into his gray eyes, only for her gaze to drift slightly. "Just someone trying to do her job."
"And you think you can help him?" It was a loaded question, and his steely eyes watched her ponder it. Her fingers crushed and caressed the bag on her lap as she quietly thought to herself.
"Have you ever met the man?"
"I have a friend in Gotham who has told me stories about him, but no, I've never personally met him."
"The first time I saw him, he was in a body cast, but laughing like he had heard a good joke. Everytime he laughed, he'd cough and nearly kill himself. Everyone thinks he's crazy, and maybe he is, but... There's no way he chose this life." Her eyes lifted up and her azure orbs met his grey eyes as she spoke with a slow, deliberate pace. "Something horrible happened to this man. Something awful, that damaged him for the rest of his life. If something terrible could bring a man to this... Then something good might help him come back from it."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I do. I truly do." But her voice was so small, almost like a whisper, almost as if a weight on her shoulders threatened to crush the hope she held.
"And that's why you want to help this man?"
"It's a factor," she replied. "The fame and awards aren't a detraction at the very least," she added, a wryly smile meeting his eyes . "May I ask you something, Mr. Kent?"
"Like I said, you can call me Clark, doctor," he gently reminded. He nodded his head, a kind expression on his face. "And of course."
"Why are you really here? It can't be as simple as you 'believing in me.' Spill it. Are you going to keep this story on the backburner until it all goes wrong and you can use it to show I was always a failure? Or are you simply here to prove how crazy I am already?" she wondered, her eyes sharpening into an icy glare. Despite the harsh stare, her anger seemed to wash past him like a river against a stone. He didn't frown, nor did he scowl, he just smiled.
"You've been in Gotham too long, Dr. Quinzel, or maybe you just need a fresh perspective. I really didn't come here with some ulterior motive. I read about your work, found myself interested, and came to interview you, and while I may have heard stories of this man, I share your hope that he can be helped. I like to think we all can be," he explained.
"Heh. Forget reporters, you're not like most men I've met."
"Heh. Well, my ma always told me I was one of a kind," he chuckled. He paused, pondering his own question. She saw the hesitation in his eyes as he fixed his glasses, averting his gaze. For a moment, his grey eyes seemed almost cerulean in the yellowish light. "But I suppose I do have a slight ulterior motive." He saw the way her shoulders fell, but he was quick to explain. "Do you remember the 'Conduit Incident' in Metropolis a month ago?"
Dr. Quinzel searched through her memories, quietly recalling the event. "Yeah. Some supervillain with energy powers nearly blows up the city, gets stopped by Superman, and he ends up killing himself or something?"
"He died in Superman's arms, angry and alone. After he passed on, every paper, even the Daily Planet, smeared his name through the mud. They called him a psychopath, a monster, a degenerate... Not a single person mentioned his father." She saw the slightest tremble in Clark's hand, his pen quivering as he glared into the tiled floor through his glasses. "His father beat him and smacked him and neglected him. I'm not saying the abuse made him who he was, I'm not saying he wasn't responsible of his actions, but if someone had found him, curled up in a corner, crying as he nursed his bruised face... Who knows what would have happened...?"
She didn't say anything for what felt like a long, eternal moment. She didn't know what she could say. Social interaction and friendly comforting was never something she knew how to do with 'regular' people. She studied how to help the ill and abused for years, forgoing simple social interaction in exchange. Finally, she found her voice, low and almost hushed. "You knew him, didn't you?"
Clark nodded his head, sighing as his head gently bobbed up and down. "He was my friend, back when we were kids. I knew his father was hard on him, but I never thought... When I found out, it was too late to do anything.."
"I'm sorry for your loss..."
"Thank you," he replied. There wasn't anything he said after that, as Quinzel saw the memories play through his dull, grey eyes. It was said that eyes were windows to the soul, and while she never believed that new age garbage, she could at least see the regret in his.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open old wounds."
"You don't need to apologize, you didn't do anything," he replied. He shook himself a bit, rolling his shoulders as he buried his regrets within himself.
She said nothing as his smile returned to his lips. She didn't say anything, even as she saw how the smile seemed to have changed. Fake wasn't the right word for it. He was smiling. He was also just using it to hide his true feelings.
"I know that sometimes the people we call villains need help. They need to know someone cares." Harleen smiled at the reporter, her black lips gleaming along with her smile as he looked up at her.
"I'm glad to see there's someone out there rooting for me."
"More than just me, I assure you, doctor."
He returned the smile as she relaxed in her seat. "You can call me Harleen, if you want. When it's just you and me, I mean."
"Alright then, Harleen. Now then, next question..."
She gazed at the paper with a smile on her face, tongue stuck out as she quietly concentrated on the act. With slow, steady cuts, she freed the article from the newspaper. Once again, for the fifth time that night, she read the title aloud.
"Esteemed Doctor Fights for Second Chances in Gotham City." Esteemed! she repeated to herself. "Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a passionate and caring doctor at Gotham City's Arkham Asylum believes that the city isn't lost. She believes that a second chance is waiting just around the corner, and after meeting her, I believe the same. The good doctor is working nearly on her own, fighting for the rights of the mentally troubled and lost in a city that has forgotten them."
She held the parchment with one hand, almost as if it was sacred, taking care not to bend the thin material. She opened her scrapbook with her other hand, grinning as she came to a blank page. She placed the article down, laying on its front, and began to carefully wipe a glue stick against each of the four corners. Then she lifted it back up and placed it down on the top of the blank page, gently pressing it down so no bubbles of air or folds stuck out.
"First of many," she whispered to herself. "First of many, Har! People are going to know your name, and you are going down in the history books!" Her untouched lips formed a beaming grin as she stroked the grey paper. "Thanks, Clark..."
Her phone beeped and she glanced at it. Her alarm reminded her she needed to head off to work. She couldn't be late. She had her first appointment with her patient in less than an hour. With her spirit high and her smile wide, she grabbed her keys and ran towards her door. Today was the start of her new life...
END
Not sure how soon I'll update this, but this is a story I've been wanting to write for a long time. Harley Quinn X Superman is probably my number one crack ship. I love them together, so... yeah. I hope you enjoyed this story. If so, leave a review! If I know people like this story, I'll probably update sooner! Hopefully you enjoyed the first chapter of this little romance story.