Hey, guys! First, I apologize for the late update and thank you so much for sticking with me and being patient. My mind has just been everywhere, I had writer's block, I didn't want this chapter to be too long - and I'm just so sorry. Try and enjoy this and I'm just so sorry and excuse any mistakes and feel free to tell me in a review how awful I am.

-7-

Upon arriving at Arkham, I realized that I didn't have my ID badge. Luckily, the night time security guards recognized me and let me. I made it all the way up to my office, almost breaking down again in the elevator.

I really have no idea why I even decided to go to work. There were papers that needed to be sorted but other than that there wasn't much to do. If I got bored enough, I could do an advance evaluation. It would get me ahead for Monday, but Monday's not so bad.

Well, there's that evaluation with Harvey Dent Two-Face on Tuesday. I have three other examinations on Tuesday so if I do two tonight, I would just be more open. It makes sense.

Only a few patients are actually under my care, and I've only made little progress in my findings. So I began to dig through my files and pour over my cases.

There was Lawrence Coupling, a schizophrenic who had murdered a group of school children. Filtering through the computer, I realized that he was in isolation for attacking another inmate in the rec room. But his case wasn't too outrageous, compared to the rest of Arkham.

It took more searching to realize that I had only a few of my patients were actually available. I only have ten, and two are in isolation and four were under the influence of strong, making it extremely difficult to carry a conversation. There was Megan, Caleb, Beverly (yes, that's a boy), and William, who likes to go by Hawk.

And then there was the Joker.

But I don't have to deal with him for another few weeks.

Or whenever I want to.

There's no denying that I did feel more prestigious after my examination. Chris praised me awhile afterward and I was congratulated by several people for keeping my wits. Not to mention the fact that I was very proud of myself. It's not like I was really drunk and couldn't handle him on my own.

Quickly rescheduling Beverly's time from Tuesday to tonight, I call security to set up the room. Remembering my promise, I made sure to take along some hand sanitizer. Beverly doesn't like overexposure to germs. Drove him insane and he forced several coworkers to drink down cleaning supplies for hours under threat of being shot with a water pistol.

I smiled softly as I entered the bright white room and quickly greeted Beverly, who smiled back in greeting. Despite him being a murderer, he's actually very charismatic. Very talkative and clean and wanting to know how the pop culture world is.

"Thank you," he croons as I hand him the very small sample bottle of hand sanitizer. He immediately opens it and creates a small dollop on his hands and begins to lather it into his skin. He closes his light eyes, taking in his personal ecstasy, and I'm quick to write down his reaction. "You know, my last therapist wouldn't give me any for the longest time. He had actually gone as far as to write it off of my list of goods, "for my own good" he said." He paused to scowl, but then he smiled. "But Mom kept sending them."

"That was sweet of her," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Who was your last therapist?"

"Darren Tiddle," he says, pronouncing the name carefully and I take note.

-"I'm sure that he was just trying to regulate your dosage," I tried to assure, smiling softly.

"Why the sad face?" he suddenly asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I wasn't aware that I was wearing one," I say in response, slightly worried that my mask had slipped.

Beverly raised an eyebrow and gave me an all knowing look. "Honey," he began with a soft sigh, "you're all dressed up and working. Something is wrong with this picture."

Well, he was right. As I hadn't a change in clothes, I had just put my white working coat over my dress and replaced my heels for a pair of extra flats I kept under my desk. I probably should have removed some of my earrings or let my hair down to make myself appear to be more casual, but I guess I hadn't thought about it. And I am working, and something is wrong.

"Maybe."

After my interview with Beverly was over, I returned to my office and just sat there. It was like all of my energy was gone and it was replaced with apathy. I felt so strangely detached, but then I got hungry. A glance at the watch still on my wrist let me know it was ten forty. I had to encourage myself to stand and walk to the snack machines.

Ten minutes later I was back in my office with my dollar Coke and dollar and twenty-five cent bag of Doritos. Why the chips were more than a drink, I have no clue. I felt rather pathetic for a moment before opening my bag.

It was mostly air.

I just paid a dollar and twenty-five cents for air.

What kind of sick joke is this?

Grumbling to myself, I ate a chip and quickly proceed through the rest of the bag, which wasn't much. With my Coke half gone, I realized that I was still hungry and craving chocolate.

An ache started in my chest and I felt myself frown. My brow furrowed and I became aware that my shoulders were slowing coming down, giving me a hunchback form. And then I began to cry some more.

My thoughts focused on Maegen and Lucas and the future baby – and then to lies and lies and more lies. Well, they weren't really lies. That's what Maegen would say anyway. The truth just wasn't displayed and I felt horribly out of the loop, out of sync. It hurt more than I had expected.

Quickly, though, I became annoyed with myself and began to pace the length of my office. My breath began to even and my tears finally stopping falling and I decided the best thing to do was to somehow busy myself. See another patient, sort of papers, make schedules, set prescriptions. The thought of just going home was very pleasing but no doubt Maegen would attempt to swing by and try and find me after the party. If I was there and she tried to enter, I would probably let her and explode. And I don't want to see her, not yet.

Staring down at my computer screen, the name Harvey Dent glared at me. It was like it was daring me to drag and drop it into the new time slot. The only problem was since this is graveyard shift, the file that everyone contributes to is locked in Walc's office. If I were to have a session, I'd be going in blind – which technically isn't always a bad thing.

Never being one to back away from a blatant test of courage, I reacted by meeting the challenge. Seeing that I didn't have much time to prepare, I decided to just get down to the room and set up. Not that studying this man's information would do me much good. I mean, it's Harvey Dent – What's there to expect?

Forcing away all feelings and remembrance of my anxiety, I let my cool mask take over as I made my way to the interview room. I took my time, relaxing my shoulders and popping my knuckles.

"Calm down, calm down," I chant my mantra, taking in deep, filling breaths. Erasing all thoughts of Maegen and anything relating to Maegen, I carefully opened the door and stepped into the clean room.

I hadn't expected him to look so gruesome. Sounds naïve, I know, but seeing half of his face charred off sent a chill down my spine and it wasn't pleasant. For second, I had thought the smell of burnt flesh would hit me but when it didn't I proceed into the room and took the seat opposite of the criminal.

His intense and once kind eyes were trained on the belts that restrained his arms and I was hesitant to break his concentration. But I couldn't be a coward forever so I cleared my throat and laid my fresh notepad in front of me and uncapped my pen. Looking back up, I tensed when noticing his gaze on me.

He didn't look particularly angry; just unbelievably criticizing. He seemed to be examining me more than I to him. A bit unnerved but more so annoyed, I took to analyzing the only thing I could – his appearance.

There's no doubt that he was once handsome. The half of his unmarred face was testimony to that. His skin smooth, if only disturbingly pale, the high cheekbones, the hair. The hair on the damaged part of his head seemed to be filling in and it was framing his face in an elegant way.

"Can we begin?" he asked, bringing me back to reality. I gave a sigh and quickly wrote his name on the top of the page.

"Let's."