This is NOLANVERSE peeps so please bear in mind this is a REALISTIC interpretation of Harleen Quinzel meaning she only has hints of her original self in there. She's actually intelligent in this and doesn't sleep her way to the top because she doesn't need to. I don't think in a real life situation that Arkham would assign her to The Joker later on if she didn't have the mental capacity to cope with him. To tell the truth, I doubt she'd last long at Arkham Asylum if she were this bubbly bimbo girl & The Joker would definately kill her. Though I love the original Harley, if you want to see her then don't read this & get annoyed with me. If you want realism however, you've come to the right place so read away! :]
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Right so I wanted to write this as a stream of conscious narration. It was originally going to be a series of diary entries but I thought it'd be much better with Harley just talking about her life in a conversational type way. She's going to be the little story teller here! :] Something tells me I'm going to find this quite challenging trying to get into the mind of Harley but this is the Nolanised version of Harleen Quinzel after all so it might not be so bad, I guess I can kind of shape her to think whatever. I've set this before The Shadow of the Bat because I wanted to make a past for her; I may be doing this for other characters too. I'm already thinking of a kind of biographical thing for Jonathan Crane and maybe Edward Nashton. The Joker would definitely be an interesting one to delve into but I like how Nolan made his past an enigma so I'm thinking it'd be best if it stayed that way.
I'M WRITING 3 STORIES AT THE MOMENT, ALL SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT IN WRITING STYLE!!! These being:
The Shadow of the Bat (currently writing several chapters for it!) Basic 3rd person storytelling but with points of view expressed subtly :]
Batman Origins: Harleen Quinzel (right here before you ta-da!) Basic 1st person storytelling from Harleen!
Rebirth (sequel to The Shadow of the Bat – working on the first chapter as we speak! I'm gonna sort of work backwards but I won't put it up on here until The Shadow of the Bat's finished obviously!)
So I apologise to anyone reading 'The Shadow of the Bat' for taking so long but I've got 3 projects on the go right now as I can't seem to stay away from writing about Harley but the new chapter is pretty much finished and I'll be making a couple of changes to it!
DICLAIMER: DC comics own everything, I own nothing but the characters I've created myself – which I've really tried to avoid as best I can!
"Baby ballerina's hiding somewhere in the corner
Where the shadow wraps around her and our torches cannot find her
She will stay there till the morning, crawl behind us as we are yawning
And she will leave our games to never be the same." - 'Sugarcane' by Missy Higgins
Meet Harleen Quinzel
I think it was Einstein that once said "Only a life lived for others is a life worth living," and I guess I've always stood by that. People say you need to work hard. They say you need to take the time to relax. They say you need to grab at every opportunity. They say life's full disappointments and God knows I've had my fair share of them. It's really quite funny, the contradictions that surround these so called 'theories' of life. But life's a joke right? Something to be enjoyed. Something you can share with somebody - maybe that's the truest theory of them all?
If I had to tell you the whole thing, the ingredients that made me into the person I am today, the gymnast, the psychiatrist and fiancé to a very handsome computer analyst. I'd have to start from the beginning. But how could I possibly begin to tell you?
I guess I should really introduce myself. My name's Dr. Harleen Quinzel. It's been awkward trying to adjust to that title as even though I've held it for a good few years now, I still call myself Miss. It's a common mistake. I'm known simply as 'Harley' or 'Lee' to my friends, those who I care to call friends anyway, I guess I've never really had many of them. My oldest and dearest friend would have to be and will always be Pamela Isley or as I call her, 'Pammy' or 'Red'. I've known her since we were little and we went to Gotham Elementary together. She's been an emotional crutch for me my whole life, a shoulder to cry on, the only one I've really shared anything with. Come to think of it, there's still things I haven't told her. I always get told that my secrecy is something I have to work on. Of course being a psychiatrist I know all about the effects bottling up emotions can have but so far I've had no problems with it, I mean it's not like I have any deep psychological problems. I should know after working with the criminally insane for so long, I'll get to that later though. As I was saying, I still have my flaws just like everybody else. I mean nobody's perfect, right? I know that the world would be a boring place if that were true.
Of course my past is full of glitches, whose isn't? Hardships are something we all have to deal with and yes, my parents have been the source of most of it. My mother, Mrs. Lillian Grace Quinzel was a highly successful lawyer who strived for me to follow in her footsteps, she never did approve of me choosing to follow in my father's instead. She looked very much like I do now which as you can imagine is still frightening to me whenever I look in the mirror and see my mother staring back at me. I couldn't imagine being one of those lawyer types, even if I did go down that path I think I would've chose criminal justice rather than civil stuff, guess I've always had an unconscious need to have criminals in my life. I've always been a disappointment to my mother and it did bother me at first but it's got to a point where it doesn't any more. My father, Dr. Charles James Quinzel (who if I could compare him to anyone look wise it would definitely be someone like Tom Selleck minus the moustache) was a Professor of Psychology at Gotham University. He was once a great man with a brilliant mind, however his old age and retirement have forced his talents to go unused, inevitably I suppose he feels that his best days are behind him which unfortunately has forced him to form a close relationship with Mr. Jack Daniels.
It's no doubt sad but also quite embarrassing, especially when in the midst of company. An example of this is when I took Edward to their place last Thanksgiving. My father had had too much to drink and started blabbing on about we could never survive in marriage, how raising a family in New York would never work because the cost of living was so high and we'd barely scrape by. He pestered the both of us about our jobs and said we didn't earn enough, he even told me to leave Edward at one point in the night when he was sitting right next to me. My mother ignored it and instead just badgered into Edward's family life. Luckily Edward sucked it all up and didn't take it too personally but as you can tell it obviously wasn't a very thankful Thanksgiving for either of us. However the look on my father's face just before we left to go home made it all worthwhile when we announced our engagement. It's kind of funny how these things work out but I guess all the talk about us never making it together pushed us into proving him wrong; that night we decided we would do just that and, well, there you have it.
I suppose my parents did push me a little too hard to succeed in academia, in the Quinzel household failure was never an option, not for their little Harley doll. I've always told myself that I'd thank them for their persistence one day but I'm still waiting for that day to come.
The pushiness really stretches all the way back to when I was a little girl. I remember one occasion that illustrates this perfectly. I was 5 years old and had just attended my first gymnastics class but I was very upset. I wanted to be a ballerina but my mom wouldn't let me follow that dream. It seems mommy Quinzel had plans for little Harleen. Big plans. My mother didn't want any more children, she couldn't bear the thought of going through the joy of childbirth* again. Obviously she felt the need to 'get it right' so to speak the first time around. As for my father, he was just along for the ride, backing her up whenever he needed to. I suppose that's what really led me to follow in his footsteps instead of my mother's, unconsciously it must've been to spite her in a way.
I remember I climbed into the back of my mother's black 4x4 Jeep that she'd just bought from the money she'd made on her latest case. I don't know what it was exactly, of course I was too young to understand. All I remember was when I asked my mother told me that a very bad man had done bad things to a nice lady and had to be put away. As always she took pride in showing how she'd helped with that. At the time I acknowledged that the bad man had done bad things but I still pitied him, when I was little I didn't believe anyone should be locked up but I suppose that changed as I matured. Before we set off home, my mother noticed the look on my face when she fastened my seatbelt for me.
"Ohh, what's wrong sweetie?" My mother said with a pretense of worry.
"I don't like it." I told her, I never elaborated on much as a child but I suppose all kids are like that. If you didn't like something, you didn't need a reason. It was honest. I sulked a little and I noticed her subtly roll her eyes at me. It kind of pisses me off thinking about it now but at the time it didn't really register with me that much.
"What, your gymnastics class?" She looked at me in the eyes in an attempt for me to back down and say no but I replied in the only way I thought right at the time and it's kind of become a habit of mine ever since. A way of me saying yes without me actually having to utter the word, even as a child the word held too much promise for me. The promise of a new pet bunny, 'Yes, we'll get you a nice one,' a new bike with tassels attached to the handles with white daisies painted all over it, 'Yes Harley doll, we'll get it at the weekend!' a new pair of boots 'Yes, of course sweetie'; all of them were never carried through. The word 'yes' seemed to be the word my parents used to get my hopes up so I rejected using it as often as I could.
"Mmm-hmm!" I replied and she gave me the weirdest look I'd ever seen. Though I've seen many weirder ones since. It was like she couldn't comprehend how her little girl wasn't the mirror image of herself. Like she'd done something wrong, even as a kid I could sense the frustration in her dying to come out. I've always had a knack for that in people, I suppose that's what makes me such a good psychiatrist. My mother continued to close the door and I initially thought she was mad at me and was going to leave me in there as punishment until she opened the front door on the driver's side in front of me and climbed into the seat. Closing the door and fastening her own seatbelt she looked back at me in the rear view mirror and continued on making me see she was right.
"Just stick to it honey, you'll learn to like it." She said bluntly and turned her key in the ignition. I couldn't believe what I was hearing and I was on the verge of tears. I hated gymnastics – of course I eventually learned to love it so I guess I am kind of grateful for that. However, I was a 5 year old girl being forced into something I didn't like so naturally I was upset and when little kids get upset, they cry. I felt my cheeks become flushed as I fought the tears back, I gulped at the lump in my throat silently as I replied.
"No." I stated, almost shouting it at her in determination that she wouldn't make me do this. Just as the car started edging forward she slammed on the brakes and her head shot up to look at me in the rear view mirror again. Her eyes burned through me, I know now that I've pretty much inherited that look from her whenever I get angry. I've been told this by various relatives whenever I see them, which must be once in a blue moon.
"You're not quitting young lady, we don't have quitters in this family." She tried to keep her voice calm but even at 5 I knew when she wasn't kidding around. I fought back the tears again and stayed brave but said nothing to her.
"Do we?" She egged me on but I didn't give into her demands for an answer. I looked back at her with my big baby blues, attempting the puppy dog sympathy look but it didn't work.
"No, we don't. So you're going back there and you'll learn to love it just like mommy did when she was a little girl." As the car edged forward I looked out the window and saw the little girls coming out of ballet in their pink tutu's and little jackets, their supportive mothers and fathers holding their hands as they walked them to their respectful cars for the journey home. The classes all took place in the dance & gymnastics school on the upper east side of Gotham, seeing the pretty ballerina girls added insult to injury to me at that moment. I knew then that as long as I did gymnastics there that I'd always be the one looking at them and longing to join them but never being able to. I looked back down at my leotard which was a horrifying red and purple full body number. I felt like a baby, like I was wearing those all in one pj's or something and I didn't want to, I wanted to feel like a big girl and wear a pretty tutu. As we left the parking lot I couldn't contain myself any longer.
"I wanna be a ballerina." I told my mother, my voice was small and defeated but I wanted her to know how upset I was about the whole thing and how badly I wanted it. I wanted her to make a promise that I could be what I wanted to be and have it be a promise that she'd keep for a change. I needed to hear a 'yes' from her that gave me more than just false hope. She pretended to ignore me for a couple of seconds as she drove the car but it was obviously a delayed reaction as she thought about something to say back so she could win the argument. She'd had a lot of experience in winning arguments, it was her job. Let's face it, being 5 years old and having a discussion with a successful lawyer didn't exactly give me the upper hand especially when the lawyer was also my mother. She looked back up at me in the rear view mirror as we stopped at a set of lights and carried on winning.
"We've already talked about the ballerina thing sweetie. You're doing gymnastics just like mommy did when she was your age. This is the last I want to hear of it, got that?" She firmly told me. I hung my head, I would've said it was in shame but it was really because I was feeling sorry for myself. I wanted pity and knew I couldn't get it, not from her anyway. I doubted my father would've felt any different about it, I remembered the last 'discussion' about taking ballet, how my father did nothing to support me as usual, needless to say if I could've given him another middle name to join his own, it would have been 'welcome'.**
"Right, now let's go home to daddy now shall we? We can tell him all about your big day!" My mother concluded and we didn't say another word all the way home. I noticed her glazed over look in the rear view mirror all the way back, at the time I thought she was just concentrating really hard on driving because I was too young to understand the complexities of human nature. However, looking back on it I realise that she was mulling over where she'd went wrong with me already. I wouldn't be so cynical about my parents like this but if you lived with them, you'd understand. My mother was the perfectionist and my father didn't really give a shit as long as I did well and my mother was happy. So as a 5 year old girl who hated her class and was being forced into continuing them, you can guess that I really couldn't wait to get home to daddy and tell him about my 'big day!'.
* The reference of childbirth is from 'Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker'. I remembered Harley's line from when she and Joker tell Batman about their 'adopted' son, thought it fitted in quite well :]
** Reference to BTAS episode 'Harley & Ivy' in which Poison Ivy remarks that if Harley had a middle name it would be 'Welcome'. Thought it was a good reference as I liked the idea of Harley saying it about someone else :]
Anyway, even though Harley doesn't open up to people, I wanted to do this as an insight as to what it would be like if she was to a psychiatrist such as herself or a normal person at a bar kind of thing. Maybe even to Pamela Isley or someone close? Though she does open up to her, she doesn't tell her EVERYTHING. Just thought I'd say that before anyone points out that she's revealing all when I've written her as a secretive person because I do see the blinding fault in that! :P
I wonder what Mr. J would think about all this? I'm sure he'd love to hear it but neither of them know of each other's existence as of yet so that's not really an issue to delve into I don't think :P
Hope you liked it and hope I get reviews, HINT HINT! ;]