Wren passed the grueling 30 minute drive by flicking through the radio, trying to find a bit of decent music to soothe her before tangling with the therapist. After 5 minutes, she found a station playing some AC/DC, Shoot to Thrill. Her band did a passable cover of the song, seemed appropriate to listen to it. Nodding her head to the beat, Wren sped up and passed the car in front of her. Man, she hoped that her session would go short, work mandated therapy was a fucking joke. Living in Gotham made the symptoms of PTSD in regards to bank robbery seem like every day behavior. Wren lived with a sense of fear, she was hyper alert, especially a work. The symptoms were there long before the cause. At this point, it was a way of life, a means to continuing existing, there was nothing to 'shrink.'

At long last, she pulled up alongside the office building where her weekly session had been held. Once she fed the meter, Wren kicked the door to her car closed. Not bothering to lock it, this neighborhood was nice. Why steal her piece of junk when there was a Porsche Spyder a couple cars down? Only a moron would choose a hot dog over filet mignon. Noticing the door hadn't shut all the way, Wren gave the car another nudge, earning a couple looks from the nicely dressed business people. On most weekdays, she would have easily blended with them, dressed in work casual, sporting her gold Gotham National Bank name tag, hair (braids and all) yanked up into a headache inducing bun. Alas, she wasn't on the clock, so Wren stood out in her jeans, relaxed hair, and heavier than usual eyeliner. Giving the onlookers a friendly but sarcastic wave, she straightened her sweatshirt and walked towards the office building.

When she got into the elevator, Wren greeted the door man "Hey Frank."

He was an older guy, and had only recently been known to her by name. Before that, she had been mentally referring to him as 'Broom Stache Guy.' Frank leaned in and hit the 12th floor button. "Therapy, Ms. Durrant?"

Nodding, she leaned against the back all of the elevator "Unfortunately."

He chuckled and stepped back. "Only a few more weeks to go."

Wren groaned "An eternity if you ask me."

The doors closed before Frank could respond. Sighing, Wren pressed her head against the cool metal wall of the elevator, counting the 'dings' that sounded with every floor. On the 12th ding, she opened her eyes and stepped out. At the end of the hall there was fog white glass door, the words 'Doctor Sharpe' were printed in black lettering right onto the glass. Wren opened the door and checked herself in on the iPad that had been screwed onto the desk, where a secretary would sit. "Welcome, Wren Durrant, Dr. Sharpe will be ready in 1 minute."

The voice was bright and cheery, yet hollow, a failed attempt to sound alive. Shuddering, she took a seat and waited. The door to the Doctor's office opened soon after. When Wren met Sharpe, her first impression was blond. The guy had white blond hair that he slicked back, and it was stupid pale, all pulled together by a pair of slate grey eyes. The guy was ethereal, shit, he'd look like a damn elf if he had pointed ears. "Now, Jeffery, I want to pick up a copy of, 'Letters Written from Sweden, Norway, and Denmark', I think it will give you some perspective on the female psyche. Try to understand the struggles that women face, that might temper some of your violent thoughts to them."

So being sexist was a psychological condition now? Suppose anything was treatable mental condition if you waved enough money at the right people. Jeffery grumbled and straightened his tie, only stopping when he noticed Wren. Her limbs seized a little, the look he gave her was nothing but pure revulsion and hatred. If looks could kill, she'd be a pile of ashes in her chair. All Jeffery needed was a reason. "Good afternoon miss."

The greeting was accompanied by teeth grinding and anger. Wren didn't even know the asshole, but being in front of him was reason enough. She didn't take her eyes off him until the door closed. Not looking up, she commented "That guy's gonna kill someone…"

Dr. Sharpe finally acknowledged her "What makes you say that?"

Wren let out the breath she was holding "Animal instinct, after you interact with someone like the Joker, you get a sense for it."

Sharpe seemed to see this as an in "Do you see the Joker in everyone?"

Standing up, she went into the office. "I don't see him in anyone, I've just learned what a killer looks like."

She'd made a mistake, mention the Joker, and the entire session was gonna revolve around the clown. Not to mention the fact, it would make the entire thing run longer than set. Sharpe seemed to think that Wren was an in on how the Joker's mind worked. That made him eager to take her case, he thought that through Wren he could crack the mystery that was the Clown Prince of Crime.

With a groan, she threw herself into the couch, refusing to look at the doctor as he seated himself opposite her. Like every session for the past month, Wren had opted to the look out the window, taking in the view "Do you think this tendency to see the Joker in strangers, has something to do with self-preservation?"

Great, they weren't getting off this train anytime soon. Wren's eyes flicked to Sharpe "I just know what a killer looks like now. No one looks like the Joker."

The doctor raised an eyebrow "Explain."

She watched as a flock of birds flew past the window, an undulating cloud of black "He had this look in his eyes, this emptiness…"

Trailing off, Wren closed her eyes. Conjuring up the Joker's face, trying her hardest to describe those big empties "Anyone that will or has killed, has hollow eyes, like their soul abandoned them."

That made sense, thankfully. "Joker's eyes aren't empty though, they're fucking gleeful. Shooting me was a real hoot for him."

She gestured to her damaged arm. Sharpe nodded and took notes. "What made you open up about the Joker, normally you shut down when he comes up?"

Shrugging Wren pushed a strand of hair from her eyes" Dunno, your woman hating patient made me think of him…"

The doctor pursed his lips "You think the Joker and Jeremy are the same?"

"What? No, they're only alike because they don't give a shit about the lives of others."

"That's a strong assertion to make of a complete stranger."

"You don't think Jeremy would physically hurt someone?"

"I never said that Wren, but I don't think he's a killer. I too, have seen my share of those."

She shuddered "Agree to disagree."

"How often do you see these killers?"

Wren shrugged "I've seen five so far."

Sharpe blinked "Who are they?"

"Just people in the street, one of them was the barista at the café where I used to get my coffee."

More notes "Used to?"

"I stopped going after I realized what she was."

"So you've been isolating yourself?"

Perhaps, she hadn't gone out clubbing like she used to since the robbery Wren didn't answer, and chose to look at her feet "How are the nightmares?"

She'd been have nightmare flashbacks since the robbery, something that Sharpe had been very concerned about "The same."

The lack of sleep was starting to have an effect of Wren too, she could still drive and snuck naps, but deep sleep was getting difficult. The nightmares were a replay of her getting shot and Joker standing over her, laughing, shooting her over and over again. "Alright, I'll be taking you off the prazosin, instead we'll try a behavioral technique."

Wren leaned forward, and listened. Honestly, this was the only thing worth coming to therapy for, and way to rid herself of the nightmares. "Now, I want you to jot down a brief description of a recent nightmare. If your most recent nightmare is too upsetting to think about, pick another."

He eyed her and waited for a nod of confirmation "Then think of a way to change the nightmare."

She raised an eyebrow "What do I change it to?"

The doctor chuckled "I want you to figure that one out yourself. Think of something that relaxes you, go from there. Once you do that, take a few minutes a day and think about this fixed version of your nightmare. Create a mental image of what you'd rather dream about."

Sharpe's wrist watch sounded, signaling the end of the session. "That's all there is for today Wren, same time next week, then after that, work mandated sessions are over."

Getting up, she made for the door "Of course, you're welcome to continue our sessions after that."

Wren paused and smirked "You offering free therapy sessions Doctor?"

Sharpe chuckled "Unfortunately I can't, the lease on the offices in this building are impossible."

"Then next week will be the last you see of me Sharpe, have a good evening."

With that, Wren closed the door behind her and made for the elevator. As if she'd continue these sessions willingly, She'd have to be mad to take that offer.