Thank you to everyone who has read/faved/reviewed my first chapter. YOU ROCK! Everyone (besides sweet coldkiss) are probably wondering what the title means. So I am going to take time out to say what a rad band Children 18:3 is. All My Balloons is a title for one of their songs, on top of being an awsome song I thought it seemed Harleyish. So get on Children 18:3's myspace and listen to the song.
Anyway that's all thanks again for reading.
Dr. Quinzel was not at all what Joker had expected. She did not look like someone who should be working with homicidal maniacs. She looked more like a marriage counselor or someone who works with little kids and teenagers, if in the medical field at all. She tucked a loose strand of shiny blond hair behind her ear and sat down.
" Do you want us to stay Doctor," one guard asked.
" No that won't be necessary, but thank you," she replied.
" Okay," the guard said uneasily. " We'll be right outside if you need us,"
The two stepped out and waited in the hall. Dr. Quinzel flipped through the pages of the notebook.
" How are you today Mr. Joker," she smiled warmly.
Joker did not like her trust in him. She was so comfortable, making conversation like he was just a normal patient. She was not in fear at all, what was happening here. Why did he even get her in the first place. She looked fresh out of college. He was the most dangerous criminal in Gotham. He had killed countless innocent people in the past few months. As well as destroyed a hospital and Gotham's white knight Harvey Dent. He deserved a better shrink. Some old guy that has been working at Arkham since the begining of time. Someone that Joker could stress and eventually cause a heart attack to. Joker was dissapointed.
He shrugged a reply, he was to distracted to give a real answer. Joker just watched Dr. Quinzel. She finished writing.
" So today are session has been cut a little short, due to my lateness," she said apologetically.
" But usually a session last an hour-"
" What time is it?" Joker asked.
" Um, it's ten twenty-five," she looked at her watch.
" Anyway, sessions are an hour, everyday. If you ever need to talk when you are not in a session I will try my best to be there. I have informed the guards here that I allow that, so just ask them to contact me. Now just a little about me, my first name is Harleen. But I would prefer to be called Dr. Quinzel. I just recently moved here to Gotham, I have one other patient. But Jonathan only has a session once a week so I have free time if you need me. So any questions?"
" Yeeaah, how did you manage to get both of Gotham's biggest criminals," asked Joker, curious as to why Arkham had insulted him so by handing him over to Dr. Quinzel.
" Since I just moved here I was not present for your's or the "Scarecrows" crimes on Gotham. This way the two of you can get the help you need without a biased opinion," she replied.
" Now I have a few quick questions for you," the doctor began.
" Can you tell me your biological name?"
" Joker," he stated.
" No, I mean the name your parents gave you… I understand you like to be called Joker. I can continue to address you as "Joker" until you are ready to be called by name. But for now I need to know that name,"
He made an exagerated confused look. " Honestly I can't remember,"
" That is all right Mr. Joker," she wrote something else down.
" Obviously you aren't ready for that, and that's okay. Could you possibly tell me why you chose the alias "Joker", something from your childhood, an experience you had maybe," she asked.
Then a guard entered the room.
" Hour's up Dr. Quinzel," he said.
" Alright," she sighed, disapointed she'd gotten nowhere.
" I will see you tomarrow Mr. Joker,"
" Gentlemen," she said to the guards before leaving the room.
The guards led Joker back to his cage and locked him in. Joker smiled thinking back to Dr. Harleen Quinzel's frustration. She tried to hide it but Joker could see she was discouraged that their first session had not went well. He was glad, who did she think she was coming in all happy and perky. No one treated the Joker that way. That was just it. Out on the streets he was the Joker, purple trench coat, face full of make up. You didn't even have to see he had a knife to be in fear. But inside the walls of Arkham Asylum he was just another man. He ran his fingers up and down his bumpy mutated cheeks, he was just a pathetic, scarred man. That's why Dr. Quinzel wasn't afraid. He was only human in here. That would have to change, then Joker got an idea.