After the crime scene of Jack's cell was thoroughly investigated and analyzed, he was allowed to return to it. He took a moment to savor the silence, climbing into bed and shutting his eyes.
"Jack?" asked a voice from the neighboring cell.
Jack sighed heavily. "Yes, Chuckie?" he asked.
"Why did you kill Buzz?" asked Chuckie. "You must have had a reason."
"I had a reason," agreed Jack. "I was sick of him yammering at me."
"No, that don't make sense," said Chuckie, shaking his head. "You're gonna get in a lotta trouble, and you're gonna get Dr. Quinzel in a lotta trouble, and I know you don't wanna do that since you like her so much. You must have had a better reason than that to kill him, because you're not stupid."
"I'm not," agreed Jack. "So just trust me that I had a good reason."
"I think I deserve to know," said Chuckie. "We all worked together for so long – he must have said or done something pretty bad for you to end his life just like that."
"What are you, a shrink?" demanded Jack.
"I'm not," retorted Chuckie. "But I bet you told Dr. Quinzel your reason."
"I didn't, actually," replied Jack. "It would only have worried her. He threatened to hurt her, Chuckie."
"And you think he actually would have?" asked Chuckie.
"I do," agreed Jack, nodding. "If he'd got the chance, he would have."
"Why?" asked Chuckie.
"Because he thought that would be a good way to threaten her into breaking us outta here," said Jack. "I…couldn't let him do that. So I killed him."
"And you didn't tell Dr. Quinzel that you killed him because of her?" he asked.
"I couldn't," said Jack. "She would have felt guilty, you know that. A sweet, sensitive girl like her…she doesn't want guys killing for her."
Chuckie nodded. "Well, I guess you did have a good reason then," he said. "Shame, though. I'd kinda gotten used to Buzz being around. And Dr. Leland's right – it's gonna cause a lotta trouble for everyone in here. You should have seen the cops poking around here, prodding the body, asking everyone a lotta questions…"
"Did you tell 'em anything?" interrupted Jack.
"I don't know anything," replied Chuckie, shrugging. "Or at least, I didn't. And now that I know he died because he was gonna hurt Dr. Quinzel, you can be damn sure I ain't talking to any cops."
"Thanks, Chuckie," said Jack, smiling at him.
"You think they're gonna send you back to Blackgate?" asked Chuckie. "To the chair?"
"I hope not," replied Jack. "But we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"
"You're a lot calmer than I would be," said Chuckie.
"Well, I got Dr. Quinzel fighting my corner," said Jack. "And so I feel pretty confident."
"Yeah, she's great," agreed Chuckie. "But what can she do against the cops and the lawyers and everything?"
"We'll just have to wait and see," repeated Jack.
"Well, good luck," said Chuckie. "To both of you. But I gotta say, if anyone can work the miracle of getting you off the hook for this, it'll be Dr. Quinzel."
"You got that right," agreed Jack. "She is a miracle worker."
…
Harleen was gazing down at her notes on the plan she and Jack had thought up together so far – it could work, but she needed to review it thoroughly and make sure it was completely foolproof. She knew how serious the consequences would be if they were caught, and her heart was beating in terror at the very thought of putting it into action. But oddly that fear inspired rather than crippled her creativity and imagination. The danger was strangely something that aided her in keeping her mind level and her senses sharp, and she almost craved the excitement of putting the plan into action as soon as possible. But there was still hesitation in her – on the one hand, she knew it was the only way she could save Jack, but another selfish part of her begged her not to even take the risk of ruining her career like this. There was a conflict in her, swinging back and forth between head and heart, and it seemed like both sides fighting against her might lock her into a stalemate of ever taking any action.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings. "Come in," she said, hiding the notebook underneath an open file.
"Harleen, can I talk to you?" asked Dr. Leland, entering.
"Of course, Joan – have a seat," said Harleen, gesturing.
"The police have just left – they're going to be in touch with the DA's office about putting Mr. Napier on trial," said Dr. Leland. "I just wanted to check that you were ok with all this. Mentally, I mean. It's kinda a big responsibility."
"Don't worry about me, Joan," replied Harleen. "I'm kinda looking forward to the challenge of it all."
"That makes one of us," sighed Dr. Leland. "You don't know how much of a headache this is going to be. Or how many times we're going to have to testify – trials like this can be lengthy and drawn out, and the lawyers will keep asking the same questions over and over again until you're sick of 'em. I really, really resent the lawyer who brought Napier here in the first place."
"I don't," said Harleen. "I think I've managed to help him a little bit."
"Even though he murdered his cellmate?" asked Dr. Leland.
"He's a…passionate man," said Harleen, slowly. "And he can be hot-blooded – if a guy insults him, he loses his temper and acts without thinking sometimes, which I guess is what happened with Bronski. Maybe I'm partially responsible for that – I thought getting in touch with his emotions would be a good thing for him, but maybe it only made him quicker to anger. But I think…he can change. I think he wants to change. And he should be given that opportunity."
"Well, I hope the court agrees with you," sighed Dr. Leland. "I can't say I do, but you probably know him better than me."
There was a knock on the door. "Excuse me, Dr. Leland, but the receptionist said you were in here," said a guard, poking his head in. "There's a guy from the DA's office here to see you."
Dr. Leland sighed heavily. "They do work fast when they want to. You can bring him here – what he has to say will probably concern Dr. Quinzel too."
The guard nodded, leaving and returning shortly after with a young man in a suit. "Dr. Leland, I'm Harvey Dent, the assistant District Attorney," said the man, holding out his hand to her.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Dent – this is Dr. Quinzel, Mr. Napier's psychiatrist," said Dr. Leland, gesturing at Harleen. "I must say, I didn't expect the DA's office to be so prompt in getting this case started…"
"No, I'm not here about Mr. Napier, although I'm aware of that incident," interrupted Dent. "I'm actually here to speak to whoever certified Selina Kyle as being mentally fit."
"That would be me," said Harleen, standing up. "Do you have a problem with my diagnosis?"
"Not me personally, but objectively there is one," said Dent, holding out a paper to her. "She's been re-arrested, caught red-handed trying to steal a rare diamond from the Natural History Museum, less than twenty-four hours after her release from house arrest."
"What?" asked Harleen, taking the paper from him and scanning it. "It says here she was captured by Batman," she said, looking up at him.
"It's immaterial who the arrest was at the hands of – the fact in this case is that she was not fit to be released," replied Dent. "I've been sent over to speak to her psychiatrist to try and understand why they made this false diagnosis, and to recommend to Dr. Leland that some of her staff might need to be reprimanded or retrained in their methods."
"There is nothing wrong with my method!" snapped Harleen.
"Really?" asked Dent, raising his eyebrows. "So people re-offending so soon after their release is your goal, is it?"
"Of course it's not!" retorted Harleen. "Obviously I made a mistake in her case, but I truly thought…"
"We're not questioning your integrity, Dr. Quinzel, just your competence," interrupted Dent. "Maybe you just weren't prepared for this kind of responsibility, or these kinds of cases – I certainly chalk it up to inexperience more than malice. But nevertheless, we don't need these kinds of mistakes happening again. It reflects badly on our office, and particularly on yours," he said, nodding at Dr. Leland.
"I think what reflects badly on your office, Mr. Dent, is using an unstable vigilante to do your dirty work for you!" snapped Harleen. "By rights the court should throw any arrest made by this Batman lunatic out as a matter of principle!"
"I'm sure we could sling mud back and forth at each other all day, but you'll notice Miss Kyle's statement," said Dent, nodding at the paper he handed her. "She committed this crime specifically to attract this Batman in order to try and form a more meaningful relationship with him on the advice of her psychiatrist."
"Well, obviously I didn't mean a more meaningful relationship with Batman!" snapped Harleen. "I told her it was important to choose carefully…"
"I just don't think we can allow these kinds of embarrassing missteps to happen again," interrupted Dent. "Do you, Dr. Leland?" he asked, turning to her.
Dr. Leland shook her head slowly. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Dent – I'll deal with this privately," she said.
"As you wish," said Dent. "But you'll understand if my office specifies a different psychiatrist for Miss Kyle on her eventual return here. Good day," he said, leaving and shutting the door behind him.
"Joan, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" began Harleen.
"I think it would be better, in light of this, if we remove Mr. Napier as your patient, and have a different doctor testify at his trial," interrupted Dr. Leland, gently. "If you really want to help him, I mean. The prosecution is going to bring up this past error of yours, and in light of that, your opinion will be worse than useless with the jury."
"It was just one mistake!" exclaimed Harleen. "But I'm not wrong about Jack!"
Dr. Leland was silent. "Harleen, I think you already know how much one mistake can influence a person's life," she said, quietly. "I've never brought it up, but your internship was heavily opposed by everyone else here because of your…criminal record. Which I know was a stupid mistake, and which I don't blame you for," she added, hastily. "But the fact is that mistakes do reflect on us, and they do influence future decisions, in us and other people. And if the prosecution found out about that, and this…they'll use those mistakes against you, to turn other people against you, and anything you have to say. If you really want Mr. Napier to have a chance of escaping prison and the death penalty…I think we need to hand him over to someone else for therapy."
"No, I won't let that happen!" exclaimed Harleen, standing up and feeling tears come to her eyes. "I can help him, I know I can…"
"And you knew Selina Kyle was cured too, didn't you?" asked Dr. Leland, quietly. "I'm not trying to be unkind, Harleen – I'm just trying to help you see things as they are, as everyone else is going to see them."
Harleen sat back down slowly, feeling tears trickling down her face. "It's not fair," she whispered.
"No, it's not," agreed Dr. Leland, with a heavy sigh. "But it's life, Harleen, unfortunately. People judge everything about you – the way you look, the mistakes you've made, the life you've chosen. There's nothing that people won't judge. You've just started your career here, but you'll learn soon enough…you have to have a pretty thick skin to come into work, day after day, knowing that every decision you make is going to be scrutinized and probably condemned, when all you're trying to do is help people, and you know it. But nobody else knows that, and nobody else assumes you're trying to do your best. Who'd ever try to help people in a world like that?" she sighed, standing up and heading toward the door. "I sometimes envy our patients in that way – they don't care what anybody thinks, and they don't have any responsibilities except to themselves. They're locked up in here, of course, but otherwise they must feel very free. And we, who voluntarily spend our days taking criticism and complaints, who choose to engage and try to get along in a society so full of malice and envy and hate…well, who's to say we're not the crazy ones after all?"
She left and shut the door, leaving Harleen alone with her thoughts and her tears. But oddly she didn't shed any more – she just wiped her eyes slowly, and then slid the file off the notebook outlining the escape plan. She didn't feel any conflict now - strangely, she had never felt more calm and collected and sure of herself in her life. "Maybe you're right, Joan," she murmured, staring at it. "Maybe we are the crazy ones after all."