Aren't I naughty? Chapter Two up already. I should know better and save some for when I run out of steam, but I've already started writing chapter five and I'm really enjoying it. I don't intend to leave you waiting too long between chapters.
OH! I realised not long after I posted Chapter One that both the basic plotline (i.e. Mad Love) and the title of this fic are similar to TheMadPuppy's "A Madhouse Romance". I mean, I know (and love) TheMadPuppy's take on the story, but I really hadn't intended the titles to be so similar. So make sure you don't get them confused! And while you're at it, go read TheMadPuppy's fics! (And, Mad Puppy, if you'd rather I changed the title of my fic, I shall do so.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, B:TAS or any of the characters therein. This story is based on the graphic novel and cartoon "Mad Love" and is written strictly for fun. I don't own so please don't sue.
Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Harley to her friends, was a rising star in the psychiatric world, and thought herself a fairly good psychiatrist. Her grades had always topped every class, and she had found that she possessed a certain insight into the behaviours of others that gave her an edge against her rivals and a gift for psychiatry.
She was young, talented, and ambitious, but she was still well aware that the shine had barely worn off her doctorate. She had the feeling that it was her lack of arrogance as much as her good grades and tight skirts that had won her such a prestigious internship. Harley was more than grateful for the opportunity, and had no plans to waste it.
She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, holding a blouse to her chest. No, not that one… what had Dr. Arkham said? No cleavage, and watch the hemlines. Some of the inmates could be trouble.
Harley smirked to herself as she tossed the blouse aside and picked out a more austere shirt. Trouble? Dr. Arkham had clearly never walked by a construction site in a short skirt. Which was probably a good thing. The mental image made her giggle as she slipped into a black pencil skirt. It was short, but smart, and she had noticed another doctor wearing one of a similar length.
She wound a tie about her neck and tied a half-windsor with practiced fingers. Up went her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She stood back to survey herself in the mirror. The result would be considered by many as rather severe, but Harley rarely had the time for exuberance and barely noticed.
The final touch was her new pair of glasses. They were reading prescription, and if she was honest with herself she didn't really need them, but she spent the vast majority of her day with some form of reading material before her and it strained her eyes. The glasses lessened the discomfort she would otherwise feel at the end of the day, and made her look a little more professional, which was rarely a bad thing.
Black high heels, complimented by sleek dark lipstick, and just a hint of eyeliner and mascara. Harley wasn't a big make-up girl, but a few little touches, Spartan though they were, made her feel that little bit more feminine.
Dr. Harleen Quinzel looked herself in the mirror again one last time. She looked a lot less nervous than she felt.
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Dr. Joan Leland greeted Harley at the door with a soothing smile and a warm handshake. She was a friendly woman with a pleasant face, full lips, and dark hair cut into a short bob. Harley liked her on sight."Dr. Quinzel? I'm Joan Leland."
"Nice to meet you," Harley said with a smile. "Please, call me Harley."
"Of course." Joan led her into the Asylum and down the hallway, giving her a brief orientation. "Now, I know you met with Dr. Arkham and the head of security last week, do you remember all the safety procedures? They're important, and don't be afraid to ask if you forget something."
"I remember. Don't touch the glass, stay away from the bars, stay alert in high security…"
"You won't be spending much time in the high security wing at this point," Joan told her with a smile. "What's wrong? You look disappointed."
"Oh, not really," Harley said, forcing a smile to her lips. Of course she wouldn't be allowed access to the more extreme residents of Arkham at this point, she reminded herself. All the same, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
"Let me guess, the high security wing is why you wanted this internship, right?" Joan chuckled. "Everyone's like that at first. They want all the fame that comes from curing one of Gotham's most dangerous criminals, or even just the experience of interacting with such high-profile personalities. You'll change your mind soon enough, believe me."
"It's not that," Harley insisted as they turned a corner. "Sure, they're famous, even glamorous, but what really draws me to them is their passion. I love intense personalities, they fascinate me. They're a challenge."
Joan smirked to herself, shaking her head. Harley could almost see the thoughts rising in the woman's mind: another arrogant intern, coming here for the "challenge". She sighed inwardly, anticipating a lengthy period before she was allowed to interact with the extreme psychopaths that so intrigued her.
To her surprise, Joan stopped and turned towards her. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "We get a lot of doctors in here – some with years of experience – who think they can handle the crazies we keep locked up. Most of them can't. You can't blame me for being sceptical when an untried intern expresses a desire to work with them."
Harley smiled at her and shook her head. "No, that's alright Joan. I realise that they might be a bit out of my league at the moment, but I'm here because I hope to be able to work with them one day. I can't deny that I hope that day is sooner rather than later, but I'm trying to be realistic about it."
Joan gave her a small smile, pursing her lips in thought. Finally she smiled and beckoned Harley towards an elevator. "Come on, then." When Harley raised a questioning eyebrow, she laughed. "Hey, I remember being young too," she said sardonically; Harley mused that she couldn't be more than thirty-five, hardly old.
"I remember what it was like coming here the first time, knowing who was here and wondering when I'd get a glimpse of them. I'll take you through our Rogue's Gallery." Joan glanced sidelong at Harley as the elevator doors opened with a ping. The young woman must have been excited, but hid it well.
They passed through the guard station into a long hallway. It was wide, wider than any they had passed through so far, and lined with glass-walled cells. The inmates, the most dangerous within Arkham's walls, looked up as the doctors entered. Some noticed that Harley was new, and pressed themselves up against the glass, leering at her with hungry eyes.
Harley had expected to feel afraid, and was surprised to feel only mildly apprehensive. She returned their gazes with her own searching look, eyes curious. Some, taken aback, retreated into the shadows. Others continued staring.
"I admit to having an ulterior motive to bringing you through here," Joan admitted. "I want you to understand that these people are hardcore psychotics. If you give them an inch, they'll do much more than take a mile. They're dangerous. Do not underestimate them."
Harley nodded. Yeah, yeah, I know. They had moved further down the hallway, and she was beginning to recognize faces behind the glass. There, the woman with the plants – Poison Ivy. That face in the shadows was Killer Croc.
A cheerful whistling reached her ears, tugging the corners of her mouth into a smile. She followed it, leaving Joan behind, intent on discovering the mysterious whistler.
She knew who it was before she reached the cell. She slowed as she neared it, struggling with the growing feeling of – what? Fear? Excitement? A mixture of the two?
She felt herself drawn forward, nerves singing, as she stepped closer to the cell and the Joker came into sight.
He was leaning against the wall, almost as if he was waiting for her. She stared at him, eyes hungry, like the psychopaths who had fed on the sight of her just moments before.
He looked up caught her gaze. He stared at her for a fraction of a second before his face broke into a wide, cheeky grin. He winked.
Harley stared at him in surprise, then ducked her head to hide the smile that crept across her face. Don't flirt with the psychopaths, Harley. Bad girl. No cookie.
Joan had come up behind her. "Ah yes, the Joker," she said, putting a hand to Harley's shoulder and gently directing her away from the cell. "Don't even think about it. He's one of the worst. He'd chew you up and spit you out."
Harley followed Joan through the rest of the hospital, barely paying attention to the woman as she lectured her on the dangers of underestimating the big boys. When you've heard one horror story of a shrink found bludgeoned to death with his own notepad, you've heard 'em all. Instead, Harley's thoughts kept creeping back to the inmate who had excited and attracted her in ways she hadn't experienced before.
That smile… something had bubbled up within her from the depths of her soul, a trace of childish exuberance that she had long ago set aside in favour of other pursuits. From a young age she had been a talented gymnast, and instead of playing with other girls and boys her age, she had found herself spending longer and longer hours at the gym, training with gymnastics classes, her parents, and later a coach. It had started out as a fun after-school activity, but it didn't take long for the young Harley to apply her ambitious drive to the sport. She had never quite made it to Olympics. Her real passion was psychiatry, and eventually school had taken over from gymnastics. Long periods at the gym turned into long periods at the library or in the lab. She had never really had the time for playing.
She thought of that smile again, and recalled how much she really had enjoyed gymnastics. Perhaps she would take it up again. A night or two a week at the gym would do her good.
Joan pushed open the door to the staff common room, and Harley put her thoughts to one side as she went to greet another crowd of co-workers.
I always find it easier to write Harley than her Puddin'.
In our Next Episode, we rewind to see the Joker's take on meeting Harleen Quinzel for the first time. Because I can.
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