This chapter was actually going to feature both POVs, but I haven't finished writing the Joker's half yet and I've kept you waiting. Besides, I did a word count and it turns out this is large enough to count as a chapter in its own right. It's a bit clumsy in parts, I'm afraid. Plus, Riddler joy!
Also, I haven't said this before, but I really appreciate everyone who reads and enjoys this fic, especially those who review. You guys are so much awesome. Every time I get a review or a fav. alert it just makes my day. Thanks, guys.
Teh disklaymer, it stil applyz, kthx
(Note to self: stop reading lolthulhu and icanhascheezburger, they corrupt the brainmeats)
Harley knocked softly on the windowed door of the day room's guard station. The man inside, a clever young man named Jamie, smiled at her and pushed a button to give her access.
The day room, being a high-risk area of the asylum, had its own system of monitors and alarms in addition to the general security system. Four guards stood inside the locked day room doors, stoic and watchful, and another two stood guard just outside. The guards unlocked the doors with swipe cards that hung securely at their waists.
Two guards manned the security station at a time, taking turns to keep watch on the monitors. In the corner of the station sat a gun cabinet which held rifles loaded with powerful tranquilizer darts. Restraints hung from a coat rack near the door. In emergencies, the guards manning the station could push a large red button, summoning extra assistance. As the day room was only used for a few hours a day, the asylum could afford to devote extra personnel to the area.
Harley smiled at Jamie and his co-worker, Micky. "Hi guys, how's your afternoon going?"
"Hey, Dr. Quinzel," Micky said, leaning back in his chair. "Not so bad. They're behaving themselves today."
"That's good to hear. Mind if I observe for a while?"
"Be our guest," Jamie told her. He stood. "I'm gonna grab a coffee. You two want anything? Black with one sugar for you, right, Micky?"
The guard nodded and turned his attention back to the monitors.
Harley smiled. "A coffee sounds good, Jamie, thanks. White with one sugar, please." She looked about the room as the guard closed the door, taking in the monitors, the safety gear, and the equipment. "How do you keep yourself from pushing that big red button?" she asked. "It makes my fingers twitch."
Micky guffawed. "Actually, we get to push it far too often for my taste!" He winked at her. "Tell you what: if something happens, I'll let you push it."
Harley chuckled. There were two sets of monitors in the room, and each showed the same images. She took a seat in front of the monitors commonly used by the observing psychiatrists, and switched them on.
The monitors jumped to life. No expense had been spared here: the images were sharp, detailed, and in colour. Nearly every area of the day room was visible; only a couple of shadowy areas in the corners were hidden from the cameras' sights. The room was so huge that a small number of blind spots were to be expected. Impressed, Harley pulled out her notebook and settled back to watch.
The Joker hadn't yet been admitted to the day room. Nevertheless, Harley found the experience fascinating. Poison Ivy in particular, as one of the very few women in the asylum, was intriguing to watch. Despite her beauty, the men kept their distance, and only a couple dared to watch her for too long. Ivy sat watching something on the television – "Probably a nature documentary," Micky suggested – but even though no one else seemed to want to watch it, no one tried to change the channel, either.
Harley found herself contemplating what it must be like to be surrounded by so many dangerous people and yet be so self-confident. Ivy had more respect from the psychopaths that were her peers than Harley had received from the males she had shared a laboratory with during med school. It was… unfair.
"Here you are, Dr. Quinzel." Jaime had returned, bearing caffeine.
Harley took the beverage gratefully, and sipped at the life-giving liquid as she turned back to her monitors. Poison Ivy must have noticed someone enter the day room, as the woman stood and moved towards the door. Harley followed the woman's path from one monitor to another, and felt a thrill race through her as she recognised the lean frame of her Joker.
Ivy had placed her hands on her hips and was speaking to the Joker violently and at length. There was no sound from the monitors, and Harley tapped the end of her pen against her lip.
"What do you think she's yelling about?" she asked, tapping the monitor's screen.
Jamie chuckled and took a sip from his coffee cup. "I hear he hurt one of her plants a few months back – god only knows how he got into her cell. She still hasn't forgiven him. They don't get along anyway. We've been trying to keep them apart lately, but that's not always possible."
Harley nodded absently, her eyes fixed on the screen.
The Joker seemed to have grown bored with the redhead's diatribe. He waved a gloved hand, dismissing Ivy's complaints as he walked past her. The irate woman continued to hurl abuse at his retreating back, but he ignored her.
Harley watched her patient's interactions with a few of the asylum's other residents, captivated by his movements and behaviour. Jonathan Crane approached him and made a comment that she guessed must have been fairly offensive, given the look of growing anger on the Joker's face. She found herself holding her breath. Suddenly he relaxed, making some sort of jest and patting the smaller man patronisingly on the shoulder.
Harley recalled the one-eighty in his mood the day before, when she had grabbed his arm to still his anger. She stuck the end of her pen in her mouth and sucked it thoughtfully.
The Joker was a conundrum. Every psychiatrist who had contributed to his file seemed to have a different opinion, many of which contradicted most of the others, and every one of which had, in Harley's opinion, several serious flaws.
He joined a card game, probably poker, to the objections of almost everyone at the table. In fact, after he entered the game one of the other players stood up and left, apparently to the Joker's intense amusement.
He was simply fascinating to observe. Watch him move: easy and graceful, capable of frightening speed. Harley shivered slightly, her eyes sparkling.
None of the other inmates seemed to like the Joker – in fact, more than a couple of the criminals in the day room seemed actually afraid of him – and he appeared to revel in this fact. However, if anyone else became the centre of attention, or – god forbid – made a joke at his expense, his mood changed in an instant.
Harley found herself likening him to a runaway train, racing towards a fork in the tracks. Just as the track could be changed at the last instant, sending the train in a different direction, so one never knew what direction the Joker's mood would go. Take yesterday, for example: when Harley had grabbed his arm he could have tossed her aside like a ragdoll, exploded with rage, even killed her. Instead, the track had switched.
If only one could reliably predict in advance which direction the train would go, Harley mused.
Apparently the Joker had managed to cheat at poker, despite being watched very carefully by a distrustful Two Face. The other players reacted with anger, and the Joker leaned across the table to yell at them before, at a warning from a guard, slowly calming and leaving the table with a quip. He dragged one of the more comfortable chairs into a corner, and presumably sat, but the shadows in the corner and the positions of the cameras meant that Harley couldn't see him properly.
She downed the last of her coffee and stood.
"Thank you, Jamie, Micky," she said, gathering her belongings. "That was really helpful."
"Come back any time," Jamie said, giving her a nod.
She was stopped outside the day room doors by the guards who stood on either side.
"You want to go in there, miss?" one of them asked her.
"It'sDoctor Quinzel," she said calmly. "Yes, I do, please. I believe I'm required to leave my possessions out here?"
The guard nodded. "Yep. Everything. Pens, pencils, anything metal, necklaces, pins – "
"Yes, I understand." Harley dropped her notepad and pens to the floor, then pulled off her labcoat and hung it on the hook provided. She smoothed down her blouse, ensuring that she didn't have anything else on her, and she buttoned an extra button on her shirt, feeling a tad self-conscious.
"You ready?"
She nodded, taking a deep breath.
The guard swiped his card. There was a beep, and he pushed the door open for her.
Harley stepped through into a room that had seemed a great deal smaller on camera. Heads turned to look at her. She swallowed heavily.
A man she didn't recognize stared at her with wide eyes, saliva dripping from his leering mouth. Others – serial killers, pyromaniacs, rapists and more – stopped what they were doing and stood, moving closer to her. The guards shifted warningly, tightening hands about stun-guns and pepper spray, and the inmates stopped their advance.
Harley walked slowly across the room, partly out of a strong desire to avoid any sudden molvements or anything that might be interpreted as flight, and partly because she was so fascinated by the criminally insane men and women that walked freely around her. She caught Poison Ivy's eye and risked a smile, but the other woman only narrowed her eyes slightly before returning her attention to her documentary.
A sudden hot breath against her neck made Harley squeal: she jumped and spun to see a man her height grinning at her.
She exhaled sharply. "Henry! What did you do that for? You scared the crap out of me!"
"Just sayin' hello, Dr. Quinzel." The man took a step forward, and Harley stepped back reflexively. "Haven't seen ya in a while."
"I've been reassigned," she said, keeping her voice steady. You can't show fear with them, only strength. If they notice you're afraid…
Harley straightened and jutted out her chin, an expression she hoped didn't come across as childish and petulant. "I told you that I wouldn't be back, at the end of our last session. Remember?"
Henry nodded. "Yer. Sure do. Don't remember you bein' quite so cute, though…"
A hand clamped onto the man's shoulder. The Riddler smirked at Henry, and gave Harley a wink.
"Riddle me this, Henry…"
The shorter man groaned loudly. "Aw, no, c'mon man…"
The Riddler pursed his lips in sympathy. "Oh dear, I forgot that thinking hurt your brain. Run along then, Henry, the question will divert to our pretty young doctor here." The Riddler pushed Henry off in the other direction before turning his sharp eyes to Harley.
She felt the hair prickle at the back of her neck, unsure whether her situation had improved at all. Still, at least he breathed through his nose, unlike the hapless Henry.
"Hello, Mr. Nygma, I don't believe we've met," she said politely.
"Maybe not, but I know quite a bit about you." He smiled smugly.
How much? Would… no. The Joker wouldn't have said anything, would he? No, no… of course not…
"I know a bit about you, too," she countered. "I've read through your file a few times. You're a fascinating case."
He narrowed his eyes. "Not as fascinating as some, I imagine…"
Harley folded her arms, her confidence rising. "I assume you're referring to the Joker. It's true, he's a more interesting case – not to mention more high profile. You can't blame me for choosing him over you."
Crap. Way to go, Harl…
The Riddler's eyes widened in anger, but he merely sneered indelicately. "Hrmph. Riddle me this then, Dr. Quinzel: Which crime is punishable if attempted, but not punishable if committed?"
Harley stared up at him for a moment before relief rushed through her. "I know that one!" she said, flashing him a smile. "It's suicide!"
"Indeed it is," the Riddler told her with a smirk. "Indeed it is."
He turned and walked away, and Harley felt a black, icy feeling slide down her spine as the implications of his words sank in. She shivered slightly, resolving to bite her damn tongue in future, and sought the reassuring presence of the Joker.
Relief flooded through her as she caught sight of him. He was in the nearest corner, eyes on her, smiling. A smile rose to her own lips and she quickened her pace.
I don't know whether I've mentioned this before... but you may have noticed that the names of all my minor male characters end with "ie" or "y". It amuses me. Except Melvon, of course, but he's special. For some reason. I find myself strangely fond of Melvon. Maybe he should feature in a phone call in a future chapter. Yes, I think perhaps he should.