Arthur Fleck wouldn't have been her first choice of a patient.
No, the reason she even wanted to work at Arkham was to meet one of the nation's most prolific female serial killers. Arkham State Hospital had been home to two of them, Sofia Falcone and Pamela Isley. Seeing as Sofia had already been released, that left her with Pamela as her only option.
That was who she had her mind set on.
Female serial killers were rare. Men solely being their victims even more so.
When women killed, they targeted the most vulnerable. Children, the elderly, or the ill. Sometimes, like in Sofia Falcone's case, they targeted other women.
The research on female serial killers was severely lacking, and Harleen Quinzel intended to change that.
It was a miracle Pamela hadn't just outright killed her when they first met. Harleen had taken a huge gamble by approaching her inside her cell and giving her the plant. But she needed to earn Pamela's trust, which was practically nonexistent, and show she wasn't scared of her.
And that gamble had paid off.
Pamela slowly started to open up to her. She told her about her lonely childhood and the distant parents who raised her. And about the boy that she blinded in one eye after he tried to assault her in the woods. She even opened up about her experiences in college recently.
But never about how she turned into what she is now.
While Harleen appreciated anything Pamela decided to speak about, knowing how deeply private she was, none of it took her by surprise. Her antisocial personality, lack of both male and female friends and trauma that manifested itself into misandry and misanthropy were all things Harleen could've guessed after looking over her file.
But the burning question was how did Pamela become not only a living host to what was essentially a parasite but a ruthless serial killer.
While scientists wanted to dissect her body to see how the carnivorous plant co-existed within her, Harleen wanted to unravel her brain and learn what secrets lay inside it.
She could just imagine what caused her to finally kill. The thought her mind kept coming to was it was because of a male lover who either scorned her or traumatized her or both. That's what other psychiatrists would come up with anyway.
But as Harleen spoke with Pamela more and more, she realized it wasn't a male lover. It couldn't have been. On paper, Pamela appeared like the stereotypical man-hating lesbian. Yet, Pamela seemed turned off by romance, disgusted even.
So if it wasn't a male lover–or a lover at all–what could it have been?
These were the questions that plagued Harleen as she hurried over to her next session. She wanted to desperately grow closer to Pamela. She wanted to be the one she shared all her history–all her secrets–with. Harleen had already come so far with her, but she wanted to go all the way.
The nagging voice in her head told her she'd never find what she sought from Pamela. There would always be that wall between them, no matter how hard Harleen tried to tear it down.
It would be best to move on. To other patients who needed her help.
Who actually wanted her help.
All these troubling thoughts dissipated as soon as Harleen entered the brightly lit room and became Dr. Quinzel.
"Mr. Fleck," she greeted the man wrapped in a straitjacket.
Arthur barely reacted to her. He remained hunched over, lifting his head ever so slightly. The swelling in his eye had gone down, but there was a nasty bruise in its place.
"My name is Dr. Quinzel," she continued, moving her clipboard underneath the pit of her arm. "I'm going to be your new psychiatrist–"
"I remember you," he said. "You were there that night. When the Bat brought me here."
Harleen nodded and took a seat opposite of him. "Yes, I was. How's your wrist, by the way?"
A toothy grin split across his face. "Still broken. And being tied up like this sure doesn't help things. Did you know wearing a straitjacket for long periods causes swelling and a lack of circulation?"
"Yes," Harleen admitted. "But because you killed your last psychiatrist, you have to be restrained like this."
The smile on Arthur's face didn't waver at her comment. "Why are you here? Aren't you scared of me?"
Harleen's mind instantly flickered to Pamela. "I've dealt with patients like you before. So no, I'm not scared."
"That's right." Arthur chuckled. "You're Pammy's psychiatrist. Tell me, how is our prickly pear doing?"
Harleen took a seat across from him and placed her clipboard over her lap. "We're not here to discuss Miss Ivy. We're here to discuss you."
"Me?" Arthur's grin widened to an impossible degree. "What else is there to say that hasn't been said already?"
"Lots," she replied. "Like why you keep breaking out of Arkham. You don't even try to flee the city. Most people would. Why is that?"
Arthur gave a simple shrug, or at least attempted to. "Other cities don't have a vigilante dressed as a bat."
Oh. Of course. She should've expected that answer. The patients in this unit all had an unhealthy obsession with the Batman. That was another thing Harleen wanted to understand about Pamela. She had told her about how one day she would kill the Bat for what he did to her. It was one of her sole purposes to keep on living outside of eradicating mankind and helping the environment. Did she realize how ironic it was to be a misandrist and still be obsessed with a man, even if she wanted to kill him?
"And he's the reason you have a broken wrist right now. As well as a black eye."
He didn't seem the least bit bothered by this. In fact, he just leaned back in his seat and observed her. "I've never seen someone stand up to him like you did. There are six foot, two hundred fifty pound men who wouldn't dare do what you did. And you're just a tiny little thing. Barely five feet and a hundred pounds soaking wet. You were fearless."
Harleen pushed back her glasses on the bridge of her nose and frowned. "A man dressed in a Halloween costume, no matter how intimidating, is still just a man. Just like a man painting his face like a clown is still a man underneath."
Arthur let out a loud laugh and doubled over in his chair as if she had just told the funniest joke. But just as suddenly as he burst out laughing, he immediately grew serious. "You. I like you. You have a lot of guts. But let me tell you something, doc. He might be a man, but he's not like any man you've ever encountered."
She sensed that he didn't appreciate the way she spoke about the Batman, so she decided to change her tone before she ended up offending him and risked him shutting down. "It seems like you're not scared of him either. In fact, it sounds like you admire him."
"Or maybe I'm just insane enough to seek him out," Arthur snickered. "That night we first met, doc. What were you doing here so late? I thought you would've been at a party, kissing some lucky guy at midnight. But you were at Arkham, the last place I'd expect anyone to be unless they were being held against their will."
"We're here to discuss you, Mr. Fleck," she reminded him.
"Oh, c'mon!" He grinned at her. "You can trust me, doc! I promise, I won't tell. Got a little holiday blues? Or did some asshole dump you?"
Harleen relented, figuring he wouldn't drop the topic unless she told him. "I was actually here because of you. I got a call that you had escaped again, and even though you weren't under my care, I couldn't ignore it. I came down here, thinking I could do something. Even if it was just calming down the other patients."
That was mostly the truth. She had omitted the detail that she actually hadn't been doing anything that night except watching the annual fireworks show on TV. It wasn't anything weird or abnormal; Gotham always had a fireworks show on New Year's. But she was a little embarrassed by that answer because of how lame it was.
Arthur was right. She should've been at a party or cuddled up with her boyfriend. But the reality was her party days were long behind her. Not since college had she experienced a head-splitting hangover. And not since around that same time had she seriously dated someone.
The dating pool in Gotham was about as filthy as the river that ran through it. And with her line of work, the little time she did have wasn't about to be wasted on people who weren't looking for something serious.
That was the problem, really. She knew what she wanted, and it wasn't a hookup or a casual fling, which was what most people were looking for. She wasn't about to be friends with very little benefits with someone.
And then there was the whole issue of her title. Dr. Harleen Quinzel. A lot of men were intimidated by her Ph.D., and she was not going to dumb herself down to meet their ridiculous standards. Nor should she be expected to.
Harleen was still young–still in her twenties even though she was rapidly approaching thirty. But the dream of living behind a white picket fence with a couple of kids was fading just as quickly.
"Ah, a workaholic then?" Arthur's question snapped her out of her thoughts.
"That's a simplistic way of looking at it." She glanced down at the clipboard in her hands and realized she had been clutching it so hard, her fingers were red. Relaxing her grip, she placed her hands on the table. "I see it more that I care about Arkham's patients, even if I don't personally treat them. They all deserve to be treated with dignity and respect, and not be manhandled by some vigilante wearing a bat costume."
"Well," Arthur sighed. "You'd be the first employee to ever say that. Everyone else just sees us as irredeemable monsters."
This caught Harleen's attention, and she cocked her head in interest. No one had ever said that to her. "I'm sorry other employees here have told you that."
"I can tell you're different, doc." Arthur leaned back. "I can tell you actually care."
Harleen couldn't deny that she felt her heart swell at that compliment. She had hoped other people, especially those she treated, noticed her efforts to help them.
"I do want to help you, Mr. Fleck." Her features softened as she gazed at him. "Despite what you've done, you still deserve help. I've been able to help even the most hostile, violent patients, so no one is a lost cause in my eyes."
Once cold and distrusting, Arthur now regarded her with a much warmer expression. He smiled again at her, but it wasn't like before. This time, he didn't show any teeth, and it made him look younger.
Kinder.
"Our time's over." The chair scraped against the floor as Harleen rose to her feet.
"Already?" Arthur slumped down in his chair again. If Harleen didn't know any better, she would say he almost sounded disappointed that she was leaving.
"Don't worry. I'll be back soon enough. I look forward to our next session, Mr. Fleck." She tried to reassure him with a smile before leaving the room.
As soon as she did, Harleen felt like she could breathe again. She hadn't realized it until she left that room that her muscles had grown tense and the palms of her hands had become clammy.
But she wasn't sure why. She had dealt with patients just as dangerous as Arthur, so she knew it wasn't fear that made her body react like this. And when she had chastised the Batman, the only thing she felt was her heart racing with righteous indignation.
She suddenly remembered she had the same reaction around Pamela when she first met her. The tense muscles, the breathless sensation, the sweaty palms.
Harleen rushed over to her office, trying to push the thoughts of Arthur out of her mind. But it was just like what happened with Pamela. The harder she tried, the more she thought about him.
He was unimpressive without the clown makeup. Unlike Pamela, whose attractiveness was not diminished even in the orange and white jumpsuit, Arthur was not attractive at all. He was far too skinny and lanky. His wrinkles aged him more than he actually was. And his beady eyes resembled a predator's that was on the hunt for its next meal.
Yet even with all these imperfections, Harleen couldn't stop thinking about him. Specifically, his gentle smile and the kind words he told her.
Pamela had never looked at her like that. And she was certainly never going to tell her something like that.
That should've been the first warning sign of attaching herself to a man like Arthur Fleck. Harleen should've recognized at that moment that whether it was Pamela or the Bat, there would always be someone else they'd compare each other to.
There would always be three in this relationship.