First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have favorited, commented or followed this story during almost a year long pause. YOU have ultimately been my greatest motivation in writing this chapter. I would like to apologize for the insanely long period without updates.
Some of you wrote to me saying you hoped I didn't abandon this story. Please know that however long the pauses may be, I will NOT leave this story unfinished! I love Dr Quinzel and Mister J too muc,h and appreciate your ongoing support of this story too much for that. I hope to be able to post a few more chapters soon, we are truly approaching the end of Sick Rose, and this in itself makes it a bit more difficult to write. Please bear with me.
That being said, massive thank you again to all of you who have stuck with me and my work THIS FAR. I hope you will like this chapter and are looking forward to see with me where this story will lead us to.
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, your thoughts and ideas are my greatest inspiration and motivation to write. I would also like to point out once again that this is NOT A LOVE STORY, so expect no fluff in these final chapters. If you see the relationship dynamic between Harleen and the Joker the way I see it and try to portray in this story from its very beginning, it will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure…
I am however open to your concerns, wishes or questions regarding the plotline or anything else, so don't hesitate to ask me
THANK YOU and PLEASE REVIEW GUYS!
LOVE, Zelda.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one full days.
Exactly 504 hours and 30 240 minutes without him. Harleen had counted it.
She had counted it and re-counted it again, and could still not figure out just how she had survived through more than a half of it. Because it was just that. Surviving. Existing, not living. Breathing in and out, in and …
It was pointless. Pointless to plead, humiliating to beg and absolutely devastating to realize and feel the defeat. Arkham was relentless. And the asylum board, that board which had so far only praised her achievements and named her the brightest star of modern-age Gotham psychiatry, stood unwaveringly by him, ruining her only chance to reverse Arkham's decision.
They had might as well put her on that cold stretcher... Might as well had strapped her to its mustard-coloured, hard surface and flicked the machines ON-
Harleen flinched, blue eyes creaking open. Blood shot eyes. They had been nothing but blood shot for the last fourteen days…Or was it sixteen already? Seventeen? Was it time yet?
Time. Time, time, t-i-m-e… but for what?
Maybe it was the right thing to do… She was losing control, had been losing it for some time.
You know it Harleen, you know it is true.
She needed to let go. She had to let go and go back to and get on with her life…
Her own life.
Not Mister J's… No, there's no Mister J. It's the Joker, her patient number 14-… Number?
Her patient.
Doctor. Patient.
Patient. Doctor.
How much time did it take for a patient to become a former patient? And how long did it take for a doctor to become a stranger? And what was the time anyway?
Dazed, she re-focused on the dark, purple circles, which had threatened to swallow the two, narrow slits of red and blue that used to be her eyes. Her skin was greyish, marbled, etched with soft lines around her cracked lips. Harleen frowned. Had she always looked this old?
Time. Passing by. A life of her own.
A life-time spent working at America's finest psychiatric institutions (she doubted she'd be able to walk back to Arkham Asylum if there wasn't him waiting for their session…), going to conference after conference, lecture here and lecture there, always remembered, immortalized as the young woman who used to treat the 'man who smiled'… Only that no one would know what his smile really felt like, how his whispers sent shivers of pleasure down her spine and how his pale eyes shined back on her, looking and seeing her just the way she wanted to be seen… no, to them, she'd be just someone who used to be famous…
She wondered, would she be a married woman one day?
A young psychiatrist turned a young wife...
A mother. A wife. Friend. Confidant, doctor – Patient?
'Time for you and time for me…time for…. hundred indecisions'
Except there was only one decision to be made.
To let go or hold on to… to what?
Her life?
A life-time without life… becausewhat else would it be without him? Just time. All the time in the world with no place for her to truly live… At what point in time had this actually happened?
What had become of her life?
….. He was right, of course. She was being ungrateful. He had changed, he had changed for her, tried to be a better man so they could…
Maybe he would get better this way.
Maybe this would help (it probably wouldn't help, but she had to believe….she had to make herself believe…) and they would stand a chance in the future. The time would be crucial, it would pass and there would come a day in the future when legally, she could be no longer considered his doctor, when he would be legally no longer her former patient and then, they could be like strangers, strangers able to live their own lives…
Or? Was there the other option? Could she actually do it?
With a shaky sob, the blond pushed herself off the sink and away from the mirror. There was no point in staring at the present reflection, willing the reality of it to change…
The green bruise covering the right side of her face from brow-bone to the tip of her broken nose was still there each time she had opened her eyes…
Old? No. She felt ancient.
Ancient, vacant and terrifyingly alone.
Because just how much time would have to pass before they could live their lives like that?
The law and time knew no mercy…
"She didn't take it well, I'm telling you. This-, this whole situation is a disaster!" He no longer cared who he was talking to. Months of work, months of positive reports, zero incidents and now this… Dr Arkham could almost feel the faith and steady funding of the facility slip away between his shaking fingertips.
Out of the darkened corner came a grumbling response:
"What exactly did she say?"
"That I cannot do it! That it's ridiculous, it would destroy all of her present-day progress with that homicidal freak and that her entire study would be ruined without her own medical results! As if she cared about empirical research anymore!" Arkham was pacing frantically around the lounge, his usual decorum left somewhere in the meeting room on the 24th floor of Wayne Enterprises.
The board members had been particularly appalled that day, but it was hard to say whether it was because of Quinzel's incredulous and manic behaviour, or because the ruby liquid that began to trickle down her lips and chin once again as she'd became agitated was a fool-proof evidence of the Asylum's failure to tame Gotham's famously unhinged crime boss yet again. All that, and after such a promising period under Quinzel's supervision…. it had been a crushing disappointed to many.
"I need a drink," snapped the doctor in defeat and made a bee-line for the expensive whiskey bottle on the chrome side table set with two glasses. Out of nowhere, the bulk of Bruce Wayne's frame came into view and stopped his progress with a swift move of his watch-bearing arm. Arkham noticed the otherwise well-fitting tuxedo had a few creases and once again asked himself just why was he reporting to the billionaire in the latter's private apartment in the Wayne Tower...
Where was he anyway when the board meeting was in session?
He accepted the glass with a mumbled thanks and waited for the other man to join him: "You won't have one with me?"
"I don't drink."
'Curiouser and curiouser, thought Alice'. Except that Arkham felt like he could not handle any more turns of events and frankly, after the mayhem at the asylum, he no longer cared about the reason behind Wayne's brooding and just slightly ominous involvement in every debate concerning the Joker's treatment that'd ever occurred in the board meeting. Just don't cut me off, you spoiled little brat. It was not his personal or his staff's fault that the psychopathic clown was just so damn unmanageable.
He downed the whiskey and grimaced at its bitter aftertaste: "I've been thinking then, when I saw Quinzel so panicked, so furious with me before the meeting…. about what you've said last time. I thought then that maybe it's really high time we hit reverse".
A raised brow. "I told you she wasn't a good choice from the start."
"I know you did, but I already told you he had asked for her," barked the doctor impatiently, slamming the glass onto the table between them, "The Joker is a one-man-mob. There was nothing I could do. You know it's like that!"
Bruce Wayne turned away, hands slowly smoothing down his –for once- messy hair.
After a while, he continued in a grave voice: "He must have seen something in her. Sniffed out her soft spot. Just like with all the others he had manipulated before her."
"But she was so un-like all the others! She's lasted this long for heaven's sake. He used to lash out on his therapists in the first session, no-one stayed with him longer than a few weeks. It was… it was as if someone was finally able to get him to reason. He was actually in therapy! That's what I don't understand. I thought it was working. She was working. And now… after months there comes a fist in the face, three stitches on the forehead and a broken nose! It looked even worse when she walked in to the board meeting. Cavendish was not happy. And we both know he goes for lunch with the chief-editors of at least five national newspapers. If this gets out again, the asylum is ruined, Mr Wayne! I am ruined!"
Breathing heavily, Dr Arkham tried to fix the younger man's eyes in a pleading glance but the dark haired man had a far-away stare fixed upon the numerous papers sprawled on his undoubtedly very expensive artisan desk. After a while, the billionaire announced:
"You don't have to worry about that just yet. He's still in the Asylum. The board might act angry but they don't care that much as long as he's not out in the streets, high as a kite, knocking down pedestrians with his sports cars after some cartel shoot out in Delton Bay."
Silence.
"So, you say you sent her on a paid leave for a while?" continued Wayne, pinning the doctor down with an intense stare, "Told her she needed time off to recuperate?"
"Yes," moaned the doctor, briefly satisfied with having the other man's support. Wayne was right of course. As long as The Joker was safely behind bars, he couldn't rule Gotham's crime scene. And that was all the protection the public could ask for.
"I told her I think it's been a bit too much for her lately, that we might see his outburst as a sign she needed a holiday to re-focus and re-evaluate. I find her to be quite slacking her other patients, you see? She got too involved with his case. I haven't seen a typed word from her regarding that empirical research on psychopathy she was so interested in, since she had been given a green light with the clown."
Bruce Wayne shifted slightly, glancing momentarily away from the sitting doctor.
"Maybe… maybe we should consider this incident as a struck of luck…. At least it gave me a legitimate reason to pull her off the case for a while…. She couldn't argue with that."
"Did she or he tell you why he hit her?"
Arkham slowly shook his head: "No, she wouldn't tell. I thought she was going to pass out… It seemed the whole thing had really struck a nerve with her. But then again, we were all shocked. It came out of nowhere, even for him."
Silence.
"Whatever it was, the clown clearly didn't get his way. I suppose the girl has a greater will power than we gave her credit for, Dr Arkham. You made her sign the papers then. The alternative therapy, as requested by the board."
"Yes. She made a downright scene about it in my office. I think she was quite confused for a while but the clown is with Dr Strange for now alright. I think Alex might be able to permanently fry his brains out by the time Quinzel returns, or at least let's hope he does."
"Shock therapy then?"
"Shock therapy. We're going down on him the 19th century way. Hydrotherapy, ECT and then again. Trauma after trauma. I must say I wish I've found a reason to do this sooner. It's certainly no treatment for him, but if he's not coherent at the end of it all, it will be for the best for all of us."
The billionaire snorted, unamused: "Just not for Doctor Quinzel."
The doctor's eyes darted to the grim man in a dishevelled tuxedo.
"No," he replied carefully, "just not for Doctor Quinzel."
Cold, pale eyes scanned the small piece of office paper, smuggled to him with his evening 'selection' of meds. He could still make out the ARKHAM ASYLUM watermark in the top-left corner. It was a torn-out piece, former part of a bigger picture which no longer fit the image…
He smirked, bloody red lips stretching into a wide, cruel smile.
No blotched ink as a sign of tears, he had to admire that.
Little doctor clearly had a more levelled head than he thought. Once she had reached a decision, she stuck with it, no regrets and no looking back.
I will do it, J.
I'm so sorry about before.
-H
Good. He needed that. Just like he had planned. There was only one thing left to do…
But first, he had to call Frost.
First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who have favorited, commented or followed this story during almost a year long pause. YOU have ultimately been my greatest motivation in writing this chapter. I would like to apologize for the insanely long period without updates.
Some of you wrote to me saying you hoped I didn't abandon this story. Please know that however long the pauses may be, I will NOT leave this story unfinished! I love Dr Quinzel and Mister J too muc,h and appreciate your ongoing support of this story too much for that. I hope to be able to post a few more chapters soon, we are truly approaching the end of Sick Rose, and this in itself makes it a bit more difficult to write. Please bear with me.
That being said, massive thank you again to all of you who have stuck with me and my work THIS FAR. I hope you will like this chapter and are looking forward to see with me where this story will lead us to.
PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, your thoughts and ideas are my greatest inspiration and motivation to write. I would also like to point out once again that this is NOT A LOVE STORY, so expect no fluff in these final chapters. If you see the relationship dynamic between Harleen and the Joker the way I see it and try to portray in this story from its very beginning, it will come as no surprise to you, I'm sure…
I am however open to your concerns, wishes or questions regarding the plotline or anything else, so don't hesitate to ask me
THANK YOU and PLEASE REVIEW GUYS!
LOVE, Zelda.
