"First off, Mr. Sol, I'd like you to feel that you can be completely open and honest with me," said Harleen, smiling at her new patient. "Anything you share with me will be kept in the strictest confidence."

Chuckie stared at her. "Uh…what does that mean exactly?" he asked, slowly.

"It means that I won't tell anyone what you say in these sessions we have together," said Harleen. "Not the cops, not your fellow gang members, and not my fellow psychiatrists. This is all just between you and me, and I don't judge. That's not my job – my job is to help you get better, and the only way I can do that is if you tell me the truth. Ok?"

Chuckie nodded. "I just…I don't want to say anything that might get me into trouble. And I know you say you won't tell anyone, but I know Jack…" He trailed off.

"You know Jack what?" prompted Harleen.

"Jack…has a way of making people talk, even when they don't want to," finished Chuckie, slowly. "And I saw you and he were getting cozy earlier…"

"I can assure you, Mr. Sol, we were not," interrupted Harleen. "I would never become…cozy with a man like that."

Chuckie shrugged. "Jack's good at making people change their minds. Especially women – he calls it charm."

"Well, I don't find being groped or licked charming," retorted Harleen. "I'm not sure what sort of women he's used to dealing with, but his so-called charm is not going to work on me."

"He thinks it'll be our way out," said Chuckie. "Get a shrink on his side, and they'll help us escape from here. But Jack's plans don't always work out the way he says they will."

"So why do you work with him?" asked Harleen.

Chuckie shrugged again. "Jack's smart – I'm not. I mean, yeah, his plans don't always work, but if I were in charge, none of 'em would work. I don't have the brain for strategy and stuff like that. I don't think things through. I'm the muscle, not the brains."

"He told you that?" asked Harleen.

"Everyone's told me that," replied Chuckie. "Ever since I was a kid, other kids would call me 'big, dumb, slow Chuckie.' And even my mom said God went easy on the smarts when he was making me."

"That's horrible," said Harleen. "You must have felt so hurt."

Chuckie shrugged again. "I guess I was then. I haven't thought about it in a long time. And there's no point getting upset about it now – gotta work with what you got, not wish for more."

"That's a very mature sentiment," said Harleen. "But still, you must have a lack of self-esteem which is clearly influencing you to this day, undermining your confidence and forcing you to throw your lot in with gangsters because you don't think you deserve any better."

Chuckie was silent. "Can you…explain that without the big words?" he asked, slowly. "I'm sorry, I just…don't understand."

Harleen smiled kindly at him. "Chuckie, I think you're a good person," she said. "You're not like Jack and Buzz – you're not a criminal because you're bad. I think you're a criminal because you think that's what you deserve to be. People have told you all your life that you're worthless, so much so that you believed them. And you don't think you deserve better than the life you have, going from prison to prison – you've convinced yourself that that's all you're capable of. But I think you're wrong, Chuckie. I think you're worth much more. And you have to start believing that about yourself. You have to start believing that you deserve better, that you can break out of the life you've trapped yourself in and be good again."

Chuckie shook his head slowly. "Nah, I've done lots of bad stuff…you can't be good again after you do stuff like that…"

"Yes, you can, Chuckie," interrupted Harleen. "You have to stop telling yourself that you can't. You need to start thinking that you can. I'm sure you have lots of skills and talents just waiting to be discovered – what did you used to like to do as a kid?"

Chuckie scratched his head. "Well…I used to like to draw a little…"

"Perfect," said Harleen, handing him her notepad. "Go ahead, draw something for me."

"Aw, it's been years," said Chuckie, pushing it back toward her. "I won't be any good anymore…"

"It doesn't have to be good – the important thing is to try," said Harleen. "Go ahead. Here, I'm not a very good artist either, but here's a flower," she said, tracing a shape on the paper. "Can you do that?"

"Nah, I can't," said Chuckie. "I can maybe draw a dog though."

"I'd love to see that," said Harleen. "Please try, Chuckie."

Chuckie reluctantly took the paper from her. "Nah, it's no good," he said, after drawing a few lines. "I can't do it."

"Chuckie, I promise, you can," said Harleen. "And I bet you can draw a better dog than me. That's my effort," she said, drawing a stick figure. "I know you can beat that."

Chuckie took the pen back, and slowly traced the shape of a dog on the paper. "There, you see?" said Harleen, smiling at him. "I'm a doctor, and you're better than me at drawing. Doesn't that give you any confidence in your abilities?"

Chuckie looked blankly at her. "Doesn't that make you feel good about yourself?" said Harleen, trying to reword it.

"Yeah…it kinda does," agreed Chuckie. "Hey, this is great," he said, smiling as he returned his attention to the paper. "Lemme try drawing a bird now…"

"I'll tell Dr. Leland to make sure you have plenty of paper in your cell," said Harleen. "It's important for an artist to be able to work."

"Aw, I ain't an artist," said Chuckie, blushing.

"Isn't it better to think of yourself as that than to think of yourself as a criminal?" asked Harleen. "Doesn't that sound better? And doesn't that make you feel better?"

"Uh huh, it does," said Chuckie, smiling at her. "But it ain't true…" he began, his face falling.

"Well, start by pretending it is," interrupted Harleen. "And believe it is. That's the first step into making it a reality. Anyway, you're an artist if you're creating art, and you are creating art, aren't you?"

Chuckie nodded slowly, drawing some more shapes. "This is real nice of you, Dr. Quinzel," he said, smiling up at her. "That other shrink, he asked me a lotta tough questions about my childhood, but this is more fun, letting me draw like this. He got real mad at me too, but you're a lot nicer than he was."

"I think it's important to be kind to people," said Harleen. "Especially to people who are struggling."

"Yeah, I know Jack and Buzz will be happy about it too," said Chuckie, nodding.

"Oh, they're not my patients, Chuckie," said Harleen. "Which is good – I don't think it would be easy to be kind to them."

"Why not?" asked Chuckie, looking up at her. "They ain't bad guys either, not really. They're just trying to make a living like everybody else. And after I tell them what a great shrink you are, I'm sure they'll be begging to be switched over to you."

"Yes, I'm sure they will," muttered Harleen. "I think…some people choose to be bad, Chuckie. For whatever reason, and sometimes those reasons are very persuasive, but…it's hard to be nice to people who you know wouldn't be nice to you."

"I think they'd be nice to you," said Chuckie. "They're always talking about how pretty you are."

"Yes, and guys like that aren't always nice to girls they think are pretty," said Harleen. "Especially if the pretty girl isn't interested in them."

"Oh. I thought you were interested in Jack," said Chuckie, confused.

"Why…would you think that?" asked Harleen, slowly.

He shrugged. "I wasn't spying on you or nothing, but…the way your body was shaking when he touched you, and the look in your eyes…I mean, I ain't had a lotta experience with women, but…you looked interested to me."

"Well, I'm not," retorted Harleen, feeling indignant at the very idea. "Though I'm sure he thinks I am too – he seems to have that kind of ego that assumes everybody loves him."

She sighed, glancing at the clock. "Our time is nearly up, Chuckie – why don't you keep that notebook for drawing in your free time?"

"Gee, thanks, Dr. Quinzel," he said, beaming at her. "You're just the best."

Harleen smiled back, and escorted him back to his cell, where both Jack and Buzz were lingering. "Doc, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," said Jack, smiling at her. "I've been thinking it over, and I don't think it was right of me to place my hands or any other part of my body on you without your consent."

"No, it wasn't," retorted Harleen. "But it's all right – I understand that you thought it would be charming, for some reason. Apparently your dubious charm is going to be the key in enlisting the help of one of us to break you out of here, but sadly you're not that charming, Mr. Napier."

Buzz stared at her. "Chuckie, you idiot, you weren't supposed to tell the shrink!" he hissed.

"He didn't tell me," said Harleen. "I figured it out for myself. Why else would you both be trying so hard to attract me? I feel sorry for you more than anything else – you actually think that's the way to win a woman to your side, which shows how little you know about women."

"You got us, Doc," sighed Jack, smiling at her. "So you're not interested at all?"

"No, of course not!" retorted Harleen. "What kind of woman would be interested in a man like you?"

"I dunno, Harleen," replied Jack, grinning. "What kind of woman do you think?"

Harleen said nothing, storming off. She had been right about Jack – the man was clearly arrogant enough to think that she did have some interest in him. Maybe he deserved to be locked in here after all.