It was dark in the apartment. Curtains closed a few hours ago, the air heavy from the afternoon heat. There were loads of papers scattered across the floor. Some pencil sketches, notes filled with red or black ink. A few books with bent pages, psychological theories, dietary or drawing handbooks. She looked outside, raindrops smudging away the lines of the streets, lanterns as bright as stars. She sighed when the phone finally rang.
Most likely, it was that creep once again.
He kept texting her since a case of some autistic guy, calling and telling her just how wonderful he was and how revolutionary his work to the scientific world would be. She highly doubted that. She wondered sometimes whether he was just plainly stupid or there was a method to his madness, those forever on-going rambles, silly invention plans, the whole flirting with her. Just, ewww.
Really, for all she cared and knew, he was sometimes crazier than all of their patients combined. At least in his megalomania and the lack of taste or tact in conversations.
Massaging her temples with just fingertips, she sat down heavily on the sofa. Her mobile was still ringing, vibrations sending chills down her spine. Maybe this time it won't be all about him, but rather something relevant at last?
"Jonathan?" she drawled, checking her fingernails. "Hi, what can I do for you?"
She heard him squeak with delight upon hearing her voice. For crying out loud, how old was he? Five?
"Yeah, nice to hear you too" she grimaced, searching for a blanket. Where had she put it yesterday? It had to be there somewhere… "Ah, I see. So, what's up? Anything I could help you with?"
"Hmm? Napier? Yeah, you told me about him a couple of times, I think, what's with him?" Nope, never heard the name, but what the heck. Jesus, why should she care for his patients anyway? Blanket, where are you…? "You've got a meeting tomorrow? About him? Mhhhm."
Oh. So the autistic's name's Napier. Sweet.
"I see, Jonathan, but what connection…" Oh, there it goes again, Harleen. There it goes again. "Jonathan, I understand but what do I have in common with your patients and meetings you've got on them… Hello? Jonathan, what d'you want this time? Just tell me and be done with the whole masquerade, okay? I don't have all day."
Ha, that's the spirit girl! Perhaps this talk would be the end of their so called friendship. At last!
He mumbled something pleadingly. "Jonathan, stop acting like a spoilt child. I'm sick and tired of helping you out all the time. Yeah, I am. What? Oh, Napier. So what about him? Mhm. Mhm."
Crane kept on talking for about ten minutes on a project he and his colleagues had had been doing for the past three years. Now that she thought about it, Harleen HAD had heard about that Napier guy way before his call. He was one of those non-responding patients, no matter how much medications or therapy sessions they'd have, there'd be no result. He remembered nothing but his childhood? Interesting, really… Panic attacks, manic depression? Arkham had had only five or so similar cases to this in its 100 year-old history… They still didn't know anything? But, what…
"It's everything you've got on him? Just a couple of broken sentences? You gotta be kiddin' me, Jonathan!" She sat up immediately, blanket forgotten that instant. "For crying out loud, Crane! You've had him for almost three years only to yourself and now, what? Not a single full report, no notes of his behaviour, just some talks! How's that possible in the twentieth century?"
Really, even such a fool like him could've taken the job more seriously! Harleen stood up, remembering a book she'd bought some time ago. There was a paragraph Arkham himself wrote on the ethic of a psychiatrist. She'd so show it to Crane the next day, that pathetic, little…
"Jonathan, stop this instant! Why the hell are you even calling me? Yes, I remember our rule! What…? No, I'm not ungrateful but you have to understand me too, Jonathan. Mhmm, no…" That slimy git! "But, Jonathan...!"
Throwing her hair behind her back, Harleen was sure she'd never ask for any help again in her future career of a psychiatrist. Just because Crane helped her once in writing a report on amnesia and obsessive-compulsive behaviours in her college times, so that she could get to Arkham, didn't mean she'd be forever doomed to get him out of trouble! Firstly the case with molestation, then those false reports! She'd strangle him the moment she had the opportunity to if she could. Bastard.
"Tell me, what do you need me to do this time" She poured herself a glass of water, forgetting about the book. Even thousands of rules or whole volumes of them would have no effect on him, after all. The almighty Jonathan Crane. Oh, how the mighty have indeed fallen, Harleen wondered. He was one of the most famous people in the scientific world once, tons of lectures, amazingly cured patients! Crane was one of the reasons she'd come to study and then work in Gotham. He was fantastic at the beginning but after the famous fall-out, every so-called friend of his turned his back on him. He told her that it was because of some money issue that they'd stopped working with him, but Harleen knew it was only partially true. No one wants their wives being raped while having a new doctor around, after all. He started talking about crazy inventions, some fear gas or something else like that afterwards, when all of the doors closed in front of his nose at the same time. Funny, he was once called the most sane mind of Gotham.
She began walking around the living room, picking up stuff and organising it all a bit. "Yeah, Napier. Okay, okay." Hmmm. How they'd come up with that name anyway? He'd just told her that they had no papers on him... Oh, what the heck. She could always ask him later about that one. "I see... What do I need to do? What...? HELLO? Jonathan, are you joking? Say WHAT? Crane, you're fucked up! Entirely messed up! There's no way I could possibly do that, no way! I say NO FUCKIN' WAY, JONATHAN! Oh no, no, NO, mister, you can't possibly do that to me, NO! Hello? Don't you even dare to hang up on me now, Crane... HELLO...? HE... You..."
Harleen fisted her hair, screaming out of frustration. That BASTARD, that slimy git had just left her once again with the grimmest job ever! How could she possibly be the new therapist to Napier? HOW? She knew nothing of practical stuff, she was just out of college for crying out loud! He couldn't have possibly done that to her, WHY? She picked up a vase and threw it at the wall, thousands of glass shreds shimmering brokenly at her feet.
She'd get Crane for that. And his death wouldn't be in any means enjoyable, at least for him.
him.