Harley Quinn sat petulantly in the flimsy plastic chair, swinging her legs in time to a silent calliope. She hated cafeteria food (yuck!), and Professor Crane had yet to show up in the lunch room, which meant there was nobody to talk to. Annie hardly talked at all, just sat real still and ate her food. She was kind of like a dog, following Harley everywhere but never saying much. And she never talked in her own voice. She did Harley's voice, mainly, and sometimes the guard's or the nurse's.
"Hold out your arm, dear," the nurse had said, smiling. And Annie had looked at her, expressionless, and said in perfect nurse-voice,
"Go to #$%, dear."
Or then there was the time the guard had winked at Harley, and Annie had jumped up and growled at him and said (in a deep, rough, junkyard voice borrowed from one of the other inmates),
"Ya stay outta my way an' hers, ya lousy piece of trash!"
At first, Annie's impressions had been funny. Silly. Entertaining. Then she'd starting doing Harley's voice more and more. It hadn't been so bad- it had actually been quite interesting to hear her own voice come out of Annie's mouth. But that was then. Now, it was slightly annoying, slightly disturbing, and really starting to get on Harley's nerves.
"I wonder where Professor Crane is," Harley mumbled, pushing eggs a la sponge around her plate.
"Prob'ly got thrown in the dark cells," Annie offered in Harley's voice.
"Aw, knock it off," Harley sighed. "Say, Annie, dontja ever get tired of talking like me?"
"Pleased ta meet ya! I'm Harley Quinn!"
Harley rolled her eyes.
"Um... yeah, right. Whatever makes ya happy."
"Excuse me, Miss Harleen Quinzel?"
The voice spoke from a few feet away, breaking into Harley's thoughts with a pinched tone and slight Southern accent. Harley jumped up, knocking her chair over, and practically threw her arms around the speaker, a heavyset woman with short, flat grey hair and thick hornrimmed glasses on her face. Said glasses went flying, but Harley didn't stop her hug.
"Awww! That's so sweet! But just call me Harley, ev'rybody does!"
"Hmph. Yes, well," the woman sputtered, retrieving her glasses, "I am Dr. Nestor."
"Did they switch docs on me again?" Harley complained. "Darn, I hate it when they do that!"
"She's my doc, thankyouverymuch," Annie cut in.
"Why didn't you say so? Pleased ta meet ya, Annie's Doc!" Harley beamed, holding her arms out for another hug. Dr. Nestor swallowed hard and grabbed Harley's hand, shaking it vigorously and staving off the second hug.
"Yes, I'm pleased to meet you as well," Dr. Nestor said. "You've been a wonderful influence on Jane. I'm glad she has friends like you, Miss Quinzel. Jane, it's time for our session."
"Do I have to?" Jane-and/or-Annie complained.
"Of course you do," Dr. Nestor replied. "And, uh, Harley, I think Dr. Abraham is waiting for you."
"Aaaaw," Harley pouted, crossing her arms. "Bye, Annie."
"Bye, Harl!" Annie shouted, skipping out the door after Dr. Nestor. Harley sighed and slumped down on the table, resting her cheek on her left hand and poking the unappetizing matter on her lunch tray with a spork. She frowned at the mess. Arkham was, purportedly, a place of healing and not of punishment. Staring down at the grey-white "biscuit", so-called, Harley wasn't so sure.
"You. Quinn," a deep voice sounded behind her. "Weren't ya listening? Doc wants to see you."
"So... what's up, doc?" Harley bubbled, plopping onto the relaxation couch and throwing one of her brightest smiles at Dr. Abraham. The good doctor sighed, clicked his pen twice, and flipped a tan manila file shut.
"Harleen, good to see you in such high spirits," he said.
"Really, doc, just call me Harley!" Harley said in mock protest. "Harley Quinn, if ya have ta be formal."
"Hmmm. Well, Dr. Quinzel, I wanted to give you some good news. From now on, you'll be participating in a selective therapy group twice a week. Dr. Robinson and I have reviewed your file, and we think you have a good chance of recovering," Dr. Abraham said.
Harley giggled.
"Ya talk like I'm sick or somethin'!"
Ignoring this outburst, Dr. Abraham continued his speech.
"You'll be in a small, supportive group along with several of your- err- friends who have made significant progress lately. It's a very good sign that Dr. Robinson is letting you into the group; you have a very good prospect of, um, improving. Harleen, I know you don't like it here. I don't even like it here, and I work here. It's a dangerous place, and I'm sure you don't like being stuck in your room all day."
"The food stinks," Harley grumbled. "Literally."
"You don't have to stay here," Dr. Abraham said, leaning forward. "You could... you could leave, if you wanted to."
Harley sighed and said nothing.
"Harley," Dr. Abraham began again, "we want to help you. We want you to have a better future. Isn't that what you want, too?"
"I... guess," Harley
said uncertainly.
"You could leave Arkham forever," Dr. Abraham said encouragingly. "You can do it, Harley. We can help you. Think about it. You could move out, get your old life back... you could go anywhere, do anything. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Um... yes?"
"You would be able to travel, to see the world. You could go shopping again," Dr. Abraham said. "And you could get... Bud, isn't it? You could get custody of Bud from the Exotic Animal Rescue and own him, legally. You could go back to the way things were... before. You could be normal again."
"But I... I don't want to be normal," Harley gulped.
"Then what do you want? You can't keep running forever, Harley, and you can't go back to a life of crime, not without... not by yourself. What do you plan to do now? Grow old in Arkham Asylum? Escape, and be killed by one of the rising supervillains? I can warn you what will happen, but I can't make your decision for you. You have to choose. What do you want, Harleen Quinzel?"
Harley swallowed twice, contorted her hands into knuckled knots, and bit her lower lip nervously.
"I, I," she began. "I don't know. I just don't know."
"...and Annie had jumped up and growled at him..." Bonus points to whomever correctly names this Arkham inmate.