"I just think there's more to your stealing impulse than the rush you get in the moment," said Harleen, facing the woman on the sofa. "I think you're using stealing and the high you get from it as a substitute for any kind of meaningful relationship in your life. You think you can fill the void with material possessions, but the truth is what you want is something that can't be stolen."
"And I think I just like nice, expensive, shiny things," retorted the woman. "Also, it doesn't take a shrink to see that my desire to steal from rich people might have something to do with my poor upbringing of having literally nothing."
"Yeah, you're a regular Robin Hood," said Harleen, sarcastically. "I don't think you should see yourself as some noble avenger punishing the rich for being born that way and readdressing the economic injustices of society. Because you, as an individual, can't, and we're talking about you as an individual, not society. Ultimately you're the one who can control if you steal or not, whatever impulses you feel. And I think you'd feel far fewer of those impulses if you found something more meaningful to do with your life – if you made a real meaningful human connection."
"I don't need humans – I have my cats," she retorted.
"And that's a good start, but humans are fundamentally social creatures, and we need good, solid relationships with each other," said Harleen. "I don't necessarily mean a romantic one, but some kind of emotional intimacy with friends or family can really make a world of difference."
"I'm sure, but I'm an orphan, so my family is basically non-existent," she retorted.
"See, again, I think you're looking for excuses," said Harleen. "You got dealt a bad hand in life, I agree. But that doesn't mean you have to keep playing that hand. You can fold, start a new deck, or play a different game. But you have to be the one to make the choice to break out of that pattern, and I think you can, Miss Kyle."
"You got a boyfriend?" asked Selina Kyle.
"I don't see how that's relevant…" began Harleen.
"Well, you're spouting all this stuff about human relationships, but it clearly hasn't worked for you," she retorted. "Why would I take advice from someone who hasn't even taken their own advice?"
"Because I know what I'm talking about…" began Harleen.
"In theory," interrupted Selina. "But that's no good out in the real world, is it? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, Dr. Quinzel, but I think I know a little more about how difficult the world out there can be compared to some shrink who sits up in her ivory tower all day."
"Is that what you think I do?" asked Harleen. "You don't think I have the slightest idea of what the real world is like?"
"Maybe you do," she said, shrugging. "But you don't know what my world is like, so a lot of your advice really won't apply to me. We're two different people from two different worlds, and your theory of living happily ever after if I just find a man is not going to be applicable to me."
"I didn't say just find a man, and I didn't say anything about happily ever after," retorted Harleen. "I said start seeking out meaningful human relationships, romantic or non-romantic, it doesn't matter. Just something with a little emotional sincerity. I think it'll do you a world of good to be better in touch with your feelings."
"And I think I've survived this long in this hellhole of a city by ignoring my feelings," she retorted. She glanced at her watch. "Anyway, the court only ordered an hour of therapy a week as part of my plea bargain, and I think our time is up. So if you'll call the guards, I'll see you next week, Doc."
"Miss Kyle, I really wish you could just think about my advice," said Harleen. "Isn't there anyone in your life who you'd like to get to know on a deeper, more personal level?"
Selina thought for a moment. "Well…there is this one guy…" she began. "We've been sorta…casually flirting, but I can't deny I wouldn't mind things getting a little more serious between us."
"Is he a reliable, trustworthy guy?" asked Harleen.
"Depends what you mean by reliable," replied Selina. "He always shows up when you expect him to, I'll say that for him."
"I just think if you try to become emotionally intimate with a man who has commitment issues, you'll only be disappointed," said Harleen. "So I'd choose carefully, if possible."
"It's not possible," retorted Selina. "You can't choose things like that. You've clearly never been in love, Dr. Quinzel. And you tell me you haven't lived an ivory tower life."
"I know what I'm talking about," repeated Harleen.
"In theory," agreed Selina. "But you haven't had any practice in love, have you, Doc?"
"This isn't about me," retorted Harleen. "I'm trying to help you, Miss Kyle…"
"I'd help yourself first, Doc," she interrupted. "You go out there, get your heart broken a couple times, and then tell me all about the importance of meaningful human relationships. I'm betting you'll come to the conclusion that cats are a lot better too."
There was a knock on the door. "Therapy time's over," said a police officer, entering the room. "We're here to escort Miss Kyle home."
Selina grimaced. "House arrest is the worst," she muttered, adjusting the device on her ankle. "You got people escorting you everywhere, watching your every move…I'll be real glad to get this damn anklet off in a couple weeks."
"Assuming your psychiatrist believes you're cured of your kleptomaniac impulses," said Harleen, lightly. "And recommends that it be removed."
Selina smiled at her. "Well, don't you think I'm all reformed, Doc?"
"We'll see next week," replied Harleen, smiling back.
Selina nodded, and the police officer escorted her to the door. "Look, I'm being a little harsh on you, and I hope you know that I don't mean a lot of what I say," said Selina, turning back to Harleen. "I think you're a really good psychiatrist, Dr. Quinzel. It's really obvious that you care, anyway, and that's the most important thing."
"Thank you, Miss Kyle," said Harleen. "But that doesn't guarantee me recommending you for release, you know."
"I know," said Selina, nodding. "I just think you need some encouragement. You're good at what you do, and you deserve better than to be stuck as an intern here."
"I'll put you as a reference on my resume, how about that?" asked Harleen, grinning. "Selina Kyle, cat burglar extraordinaire."
Selina grinned back and left. "Probably couldn't do any worse on the job front with recommendations like that, actually," sighed Harleen, gathering up her notes. "Still, it was nice of her to say that."
She headed toward the break room, passing the cells where the gangsters were kept. One of them was in therapy, leaving only the overweight one, Sol, and the one with the green eyes, Napier, who was playing a game of cards alone in his cell. He looked up as she passed and smiled at her.
"How are you today, Dr. Quinzel?" he asked.
"I'm doing fine, thank you, Mr. Napier," she replied, walking straight past him toward the door.
"My name's Jack," he said. "What's yours?"
"Dr. Quinzel," she retorted, turning to him.
"Unusual first name," said Jack with a grin. "Your parents had high hopes for your career, Doctor?"
Harleen sighed. "Funny guy. My first name is Harleen," she said.
"Harleen Quinzel," he repeated. "Very nice."
"Thank you," she said, turning away from him. "I'll tell my parents you approve."
"I do," said Jack, smiling at her. "I approve of everything about you, Harleen."
"Dr. Quinzel," she corrected, turning back to him. "We are not on first name terms, Mr. Napier. That wouldn't be very professional, would it?"
"No, it wouldn't, Harleen," he said, smiling. "But I've never been the kinda guy who respects formality and authority."
"That's why you're locked up in here, isn't it?" asked Harleen.
"Maybe," he said, nodding. "What's your excuse?"
"My excuse is that I enjoy my job," retorted Harleen. "I like working with people, and helping people get better. This is a pretty good place to do that."
"Well, it hasn't helped me so far," said Jack, shrugging. "But my shrink's kinda apathetic – I think I'd be much more successful in my therapy with someone a little more sympathetic."
"Good luck," retorted Harleen. "Everyone knows you guys are only in here because your lawyer played the system. Dr. Leland herself said there's nothing psychologically wrong with you than there is a million other criminals. You guys just got lucky."
"Yes, we did," said Jack, smiling at her. "I'm a lucky guy, Doc – always have been. But let me tell you a little secret," he said, beckoning her forward.
Harleen hesitated – she didn't want to go anywhere near him, but she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid of him. So she approached him slowly. "Yes?" she asked, standing a few feet away from him.
"I can't tell you a secret from that far away – I need to whisper it in your ear," he said.
"How dumb do you think I am?" demanded Harleen.
"I promise I won't hurt you," he said. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"You think I trust the word of a criminal?" she demanded.
"No," he replied. "But I also think you ain't afraid of me. Are you?"
She drew closer to the bars, but still far enough away that he probably wouldn't be able to bite her if that was his intention – you never could tell with people in a lunatic asylum. His arm suddenly slid between the bars, catching her around the waist as he pulled her sharply against the metal. She felt his breath tickling her ear, and his tongue slowly licked her earlobe as he whispered, "There's plenty wrong with me."
She shoved herself away from him, glaring at him. "Is that supposed to scare me?" she demanded.
"No," he replied, grinning at her. "I don't think you're feeling scared. Are you, Harleen Quinzel?"
She ignored him, turning away and heading toward the break room again. She felt angry more than anything else – her body was flushed and shaking. "Creep," she muttered, wiping her ear as she entered the break room.
"You ok, Harleen?" asked Dr. Leland, noticing how red she was.
"I'm fine, Joan," she said.
"How's Miss Kyle?" asked Dr. Leland.
"I think she's progressing as well as can be expected," said Harleen. "I told her I think her kleptomania could be sublimated if she could find a meaningful human relationship. She said she'd think about it."
"Well, that's more than anyone else has got her to admit," said Dr. Leland, smiling. "Great job, Harleen. I knew you'd be good at this."
"Thanks," said Harleen, opening the fridge and taking out her sandwich, which she ate in sullen silence.
"Is something wrong, Harleen?" asked Dr. Leland.
"It's nothing, Joan," said Harleen. "I just…well…a kleptomaniac and a compulsive gambler…they're a little basic, don't you think?"
"You'd prefer more challenging patients?" asked Dr. Leland.
"Well, yes, actually," said Harleen. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Joan, I'm really not, I'm happy to be seeing any patients at all, but…I just think I'm kinda wasting my talents on really obvious cases. My interest and specialty is in extreme personalities, and I really think I could do the most good with those kinds of cases. I've always enjoyed a challenge, and that's where I think I excel."
"I'm just not comfortable with giving you those until you have a little more experience," said Dr. Leland. "I know you think you're prepared, but these people have a history of eating novices for breakfast, sometimes literally."
"I'm not an idiot, Joan," said Harleen. "I know they're dangerous. But I also know I can handle it, and I wish people would just trust me to know what I'm talking about, for once." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I know I sound thankless and demanding, but…everything in my life is pretty disappointing at the moment. I just want my work at least to be rewarding, personally if not financially."
Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "Well…let me think about it," she said. "I promise you I will."
"Thanks, Joan," said Harleen, sincerely. "I really appreciate it."
Dr. Bartholomew entered the break room at that moment. "God, I need this," he sighed, removing a Philly cheesesteak from the fridge.
"The gangsters are as bad as we expected?" asked Dr. Leland.
"Worse," sighed Dr. Bartholomew. "That guy Napier just treats the whole thing like a joke, changing his story every time I ask him a question. Bronski just sits in uncooperative silence, and Sol could make progress if he wasn't so stupid. But I'm hardly going to waste my time and energy actually trying to help someone who doesn't even know why he does the things he does."
"Isn't that your job?" asked Harleen. "To help him discover why he does it?"
"I'm not a miracle worker," retorted Dr. Bartholomew. "He just tells me he doesn't know to every question I ask, and asks me to use smaller words. It's not my fault the man dropped out of elementary school and can't understand basic English. I can't dumb down my therapy to accommodate him."
"Then I don't see how you're going to help him," said Harleen.
"Isn't it obvious? I'm not," retorted Dr. Bartholomew, microwaving his lunch. "I'll go through the motions for a few more weeks, but then I'm just going to sign them off as sane and send them back to Blackgate where they belong."
"I don't think that's fair," said Harleen. "I mean, it is to Bronski and Napier, sure, but if there's even the slightest possibility that you can help rehabilitate Sol, then surely you have to try?"
"Don't tell me how to do my job, young lady," snapped Dr. Bartholomew, rounding on her. "May I remind you that you're an intern here, and as such you're not to question your elders and betters. I understand that you might have some sympathy for these men, having a criminal background yourself, but don't let your sympathy cloud your judgment!"
"You're letting your prejudice cloud your judgment, isn't that worse?" demanded Harleen.
"I won't take criticism from someone like you," retorted Dr. Bartholomew, removing his lunch from the microwave. "I'm going to eat in my office – good day, Dr. Leland," he said, storming out.
Harleen returned to her own lunch, shaking in fury again. "Harleen, how would you like to try and take on Chuckie Sol as your patient?" asked Dr. Leland, slowly. "He might be just the challenge you need. He doesn't seem as dangerous as the other two, but getting through to him is going to need the skills of someone more patient, and frankly, more intelligent than Dr. Bartholomew. If you want to try, I'll gladly transfer him over to you."
Harleen nodded slowly. "I'd…like that very much. Thank you, Joan."
"Dr. Bartholomew won't be happy about it," sighed Dr. Leland. "But what else is new? Frankly, he could do with being taken down a peg. And I can't wait to see the look on his face when you successfully rehabilitate Chuckie Sol."
She smiled at her, and Harleen smiled back. Chuckie Sol probably wasn't an extreme personality, but at least he was a start.