You've Found Me Just In Time Chapter 6: Six, a batman fanfic

She didn't want to be here.

She wanted to be anywhere but here.

Harleen had been called into an unplanned meeting at the last minute. For what, she did not know.

There was an unsettling feeling in the air hanging over her like a cloud. She felt as if she were in trouble. But for what, she did not know that either.

"Dr. Quinzel." Dr. Jeremiah Arkham glanced up from the head of the table. "Please, sit down."

Harleen looked around the room warily, noticing the familiar faces who were already in their seats. Other psychiatrists like her. She pulled back the nearest empty chair and sat down, that uneasy feeling only increasing.

"Since that's all of us, let's begin," Dr. Arkham said. "I've called you all here today because Arkham has gained a new head psychiatrist. Dr. Crane, please introduce yourself."

To the right-hand side of the director, a thin, lanky figure of a man stood up. How Harleen hadn't noticed him before was puzzling since he was hard to miss. Not just because of his towering height, but because of his sunken-in eye sockets and the deep creases that made the permanent scowl on his face even harsher.

"Good afternoon," he greeted everyone in an equally harsh tone. "As Dr. Arkham said, my name is Dr. Crane and I will be the new head psychiatrist at this institution. I taught at Gotham University for twenty years and was the former director of the psychology department. I have written countless books and..."

Internally, Harleen rolled her eyes at this man's endless monologuing. She had heard of this man before during her studies. He was unavoidable since his journals and studies were referenced. But she was not impressed with his long list of accomplishments. She had encountered these types before. Oftentimes, they were men who loved the sound of their own voice just a little too much and wanted to prove to everyone they were the smartest person in the room. Already starting to tune him out, Harleen examined her painted nails when a sudden bang made her jump in her seat.

Everyone turned to look at Dr. Crane, who now wore a malicious smirk. On the table was a large, heavy textbook, which he had dropped and had caused that loud sound.

"What I just did was trigger your body's protective mechanism with this sudden stimulus," he explained as he began to circle around the other psychiatrists with a predatory gaze. "Your heart rates accelerated, your muscles contracted, you froze, and you started blinking rapidly."

Dr. Crane came to an abrupt halt behind Harleen and placed his spindly fingers on her chair. She could feel his stare on the top of her head, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Harleen didn't scare easily. She had to learn to push past her fear in this line of work. But for some reason, this guy creeped her out. Maybe it was because she was already on edge, and Dr. Crane only heightened that anxiety.

"I purposely droned on to lull you all into a false sense of security," he continued. "And when you least expected it, I startled you. And what did it result in?"

His eyes narrowed from behind his glasses as they swept across the room. No one spoke. No one dared to even move.

"Changed behavior," he answered his own question. "You're now paying attention. You've straightened up in your chairs and ceased your daydreaming. You're making eye contact with me."

Harleen released the breath she had been holding once Dr. Crane strode back to the front. Now that she felt like she could move again, she immediately crossed her arms over her chest. Not just as a defense mechanism, but in defiance as well.

"I was brought to Arkham to completely overhaul how we treat patients." He clasped his hands behind his back as he addressed the staff. "I've learned that fear is the best motivator for changed behavior, as you all just witness."

Before she could realize what she was doing, Harleen's mouth parted, and she asked, "And how exactly do you plan on using fear to accomplish this?"

All eyes immediately landed on her, but none more piercing than Dr. Crane's.

Embarrassment threatened to bloom across her cheeks, but Harleen told herself that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. She was asking a perfectly rational question.

"During my intense research back at Gotham University, I developed a new method that targets people's greatest fears," he said. "It's unconventional and some may consider it extreme, but the same could be said about these patients."

"It sounds unethical as well," Harleen remarked.

"Dr. Quinzel," Dr. Arkham warned.

But she did not back down. "With all due respect, this method doesn't sound professional. Not to mention, safe. Is this some type of hallucinogen?"

"Yes," Dr. Crane said simply. "With a ninety-five percent success rate. Tell me, Dr. Quinzel, what's yours?"

Whatever previous fear Harleen felt towards this man had been replaced by indignation. Who did he think he was? Just because he was some celebrated psychiatrist didn't mean he could come in here with this new method of his!

"How is exploiting a person's fear supposed to help them?" Harleen demanded. "That sounds like torture!"

"Dr. Quinzel, that is enough!" Dr. Arkham told her through gritted teeth. "You are out of line!"

Harleen shook her head, too wired up to sit down. "Dr. Arkham, how could you agree to this? If you want an example of fear not working, take a look at the Batman!"

Dr. Crane scoffed and rolled his eyes. "The Batman is nothing but an obsessive vigilante who insists on playing dress up every night. I'd hardly consider what he does to be similar to my line of work."

She crossed her arms over herself again. "Then what do you consider this besides cruel and unusual punishment?"

Before anyone could answer, Harleen turned to face all the wide-eyed people in the room. "What is going on here? Why is no one else saying anything? You can't tell me you all are going to go along with this– This insanity! The reason we got into this profession was to help the mentally ill! If we wanted to abuse them, we could've just joined the GCPD!"

Dr. Crane's gangly frame shook as he let out a low chuckle. "My, my, Dr. Quinzel. That was quite an impassioned speech. I must say I'm impressed. If only more of my students had been as dedicated to psychiatry as you. Maybe I wouldn't have failed as many of them."

She did not smile at the compliment–if one could even call it that. "You're right. I am passionate about this. Which is why the board will hear about this. I'll make sure anyone who uses this 'new method' never practices psychiatry in the state of New Jersey again. Especially that quack you call a doctor."

Dr. Arkham lurched to his feet, practically foaming at the mouth. "Dr. Quinzel, I've warned you twice already to be quiet! If you can't, then you need to leave this room! Now!"

With a push of her chair, Harleen slid out of her seat and headed in the direction her superior pointed. Her blood was at a boiling point, and if she checked her blood pressure, she was sure it would be through the roof. But before she exited the room, Dr. Crane's voice made her pause.

"Oh, Dr. Quinzel," he hummed. "I'm going to need all of Arthur Fleck's files as soon as possible."

Harleen whipped around. "What?"

"Oh, I didn't mention it? Arthur Fleck will no longer be under your care." There was a wicked gleam in his eye. "I will be his new psychiatrist."

The wind was knocked out of her in an instant. "But– But–" Harleen stammered. "You can't do this! I'm his psychiatrist! He trusts me! He'll never open up to you like he did with me!"

"Not anymore, you're not." Dr. Crane looked over to Dr. Arkham. "Isn't that correct, doctor?"

Dr. Arkham nodded his head. "Arthur has been one of our longest-committed patients."

"And most dangerous," Dr. Crane added. "Who a better subject than Arthur Fleck? I'll show everyone, including you, just how revolutionary this treatment is if I can correct the man who calls himself the Joker."

Harleen could only clench her fists so hard that her nails dug into her skin. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. They were going to treat Arthur like a guinea pig!

As she slowly turned around, she didn't miss the ghost of a smirk on Dr. Crane's sallow face. He knew he had outwitted her and left her speechless.

He knew he had won.

And he enjoyed seeing her defeated, the sadistic fuck.

After she left the hospital, Harleen got into her car and started the long drive back to her apartment. The radio was on, like it usually was. Not only did it make the drive more bearable, but the sounds of the hosts talking and joking with each other made her feel less alone. As if they were there right next to her.

It was a habit she had. Like back at home, she had the TV turned on even if she wasn't watching it. It just made her feel safer for some reason.

But today, she shut off the radio and let her thoughts drift. To the meeting. To Dr. Crane. To Arthur. Hell, even to Harvey Dent.

She wondered if the district attorney had anything to do with this upheaval. If he had somehow had put pressure on Dr. Arkham to change the way they dealt with patients, short of executing them. And who was to say they wouldn't be executed? Not officially, but it would be so easy to make this look like an accident. Give the wrong dosage. Even give the wrong injection altogether.

All these thoughts were making her head pound and when she finally arrived at her apartment, she untied her bun and took some aspirin. She took off her glasses and collapsed on her bed, her jumbled thoughts becoming clearer as the medicine took effect.

She couldn't let them do this to Arthur.

Not after how far she'd come with him. This would undo so much progress.

Harleen cared about him too much to let him be mistreated and drugged with who knows what.

She would dare say she even loved him...

She immediately sat up at the thought. No, there was no way she felt that towards him. Not only was it weird and desperate, it crossed so many professional boundaries.

But why did she start doing her makeup differently? Why did she start wearing skirts instead of slacks? And why did she get giddy when Arthur pointed these details out?

She found herself thinking about him more often for the past several weeks. Even when she was with her other patients like Pamela, her mind wandered to thoughts of Arthur.

In fact, she hadn't thought about Pamela in a while.

There had to be some logical explanation for this behavior. But Harleen couldn't think of anything besides the obvious.

With a groan, she laid back down and rubbed her temple. Ever since Arthur had told her about his supposed half-brother, that's when things really spiraled for her. 'Supposed' because there was no evidence of any siblings in Arthur's life. Just as there was no evidence of any rich, powerful father.

But Harleen didn't need any evidence. She believed him.

Or maybe, she wanted to believe him because he had told her something he had never shared with anyone else. She couldn't accept he fabricated such a story.

Because that would mean accepting she wasn't helping anyone. She was a failure like Dr. Crane suggested.

And she just couldn't accept that.

Frustrated, Harleen shot out of bed and tugged at the ends of her hair. She would not let Dr. Arkham or Dr. Crane do this to Arthur. She would show them he could be treated without their 'methods.'

She would save him.

She was the only one who could.

Rummaging through her closet, Harleen found an old black and red sequined top from her gymnast days. It still looked brand new since she had only worn it once. Same with the black tutu tucked away in one of her drawers.

After she laid out the outfit on the bed, she returned to her closet and moved all her clothes out of the way to reveal a small safe hidden in the back. She had never opened it before since purchasing it. She didn't want to.

Harleen's fingers laced around the gun, holding it carefully as if it were a living thing.

She had never used it before. That was another thing she didn't want to do. But living in Gotham meant owning one just in case.

Acting as if it had burned her, Harleen quickly placed the gun back inside the safe. This was a crazy idea. There was no way she would be able to pull this off. How did she expect to save Arthur dressed in a tutu and using a weapon she had never fired before?

Harleen swore at herself mentally for being so stupid.

She left her closet, shaking her head at her foolishness. Today had been a long day and she just needed to sleep. Then she would start thinking clearly.

But as soon as she changed into her pajamas and laid back down, she tossed and turned, unable to get uncomfortable. All she could think about was Arthur. He would be upset once he found out she was no longer his psychiatrist. He would feel betrayed.

What if he lashed out? What if he hurt himself?

She could picture it vividly. Arthur trying to hang himself with the bedsheets or cutting his throat open with a shank because he felt like she had let him down.

Like she didn't care about him anymore.

No, she wouldn't stand for that. She would never be able to live with herself if one of her patients died, especially because of her.

Turning on a light, Harleen shuffled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. She had to do this.

She was the only one who could.

Harleen unscrewed the lids off her contacts case and put the lenses in her eyeballs. She preferred glasses over contacts for the convenience. She only used contacts for special occasions, and this was very much a special occasion.

After a few blinks, her eyes adjusted to the lenses. Now that that was done, Harleen rummaged through her makeup bag until she found what she was looking for.

She hadn't worn this type of makeup since her gymnastics days and maybe a few Halloween parties. She didn't think she'd ever touch it again. But it was a good thing she hadn't thrown it out. Who knew when it could come in handy like right now.

This was it. There was no turning back. She stared at her reflection for what seemed like an eternity, her fingers tapping the sides of the sink. Debating if she could go through with this–if she should–Harleen reminded herself she was the only one who could.

As Dr. Quinzel, she had been limited thanks to people like Harvey Dent, and Dr. Arkham, and Dr. Crane.

But as Harleen, she could do what Dr. Quinzel couldn't. She could help people without any rules or regulations or bureaucracy getting in the way.

With trembling hands, Harleen brought the puff up to her cheek and began to powder her face white.