Harleen stared at the drawing hidden in her cabinet file. She wasn't sure why she had kept it. It looked as if a child had made it.

But as the saying goes, it's the thought that counts, right?

Despite its poor quality, it was the first gift she had received from a patient. It was almost going to be a year since she started treating Pamela, and she wasn't even sure if she had made any progress with her. She sure as hell never got a gift from her. Not even a thank you.

Meanwhile, she had only been seeing Arthur for a few months, and it was a completely different experience. Their interactions were more of a give-and-take. It was like everything she imagined a psychiatrist and a patient's relationship to be. Arthur didn't clam up like Pamela usually did. In fact, he was probably a little too much of an open book. He didn't have a filter. He just said what was on his mind.

She glanced at the taped-up picture again and frowned. Had Pamela really torn it? Harleen knew she and Arthur didn't get along. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. When two extreme personalities met, it was bound to cause some friction. Plus, with Pamela's prejudice against men mixed with Arthur's tendencies to push people to their limit, it wasn't a surprise they clashed.

No, what surprised Harleen was what Pamela allegedly said. How she warned Arthur to stay away from her because he would try to corrupt her.

"Dr. Quinzel." A young orderly appeared in the doorway of her office, interrupting her thoughts. "There's someone here to see you."

Harleen ran a hand through her blonde hair and heaved a tired sigh. "Tell them I can't right now. I'm about to see a patient."

The orderly shifted their weight on their feet, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. "It's Harvey Dent, doctor. The D.A."

She snapped her head up at the name. "The D.A.? What is he doing here?"

"He wouldn't tell me," the orderly answered. "He just said he wanted to speak with you. It sounded important..."

"Damn it," Harleen swore under her breath. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now. She was about to have her session with Pamela. It had been on her mind ever since Arthur told her what had happened earlier this week. "Okay. Let him in."

After the orderly left, Harleen paced around her office, trying to theorize what the district attorney could want with her.

She came up with nothing.

Whatever the reason was, Harleen figured it wasn't good. Because there was no good reason someone like Mr. Dent would seek her out.

Harleen would soon find her answer when the door opened and in stepped Harvey Dent. He was one of the few people Harleen thought resembled his photos and appearances on TV. In fact, some would say the cameras didn't do him justice. Though he was of average height for a man, his presence was large enough to fill a room.

As she went over to greet him, Harleen was never more conscious of how tiny she was in comparison. "Mr. Dent, it's an honor to meet you. I have to say this was a very unexpected visit. I wish I could've known beforehand and cleaned up a little." She gestured to her office with a half-hearted chuckle.

He did not return her smile. "I understand this was a last-minute visit. I've been meaning to come down here for some time now."

"Oh?" Harleen's expression grew serious at the sudden shift in the air. "Well, I was told you wanted to see me. Is there something I can help you with?"

Harvey strode over to the bookshelf behind Harleen's desk and examined the various books stored in it closely. "I was told you're the psychiatrist treating Pamela Isley and Arthur Fleck, is that correct?"

Harleen bristled at the question. "That's confidential information. Surely, someone of your standing would know that–"

"You don't need to tell me what you all are discussing," he said sharply. "Although I can only imagine the types of conversations you're having with those lunatics."

"Is that why you came all the way down here?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Because I imagined being the D.A. of Gotham would keep you pretty busy instead of wasting both our time like this."

Harvey withdrew from the bookshelf and picked up one of Harleen's files on her desk. "Pamela Lillian Isley," he read the name out loud with a hint of bitterness.

She instantly moved to his side, about to make a fuss of him grabbing her things. But before she could do so, he handed her the file, and she practically snatched it from him.

"Did you know I used to date her, doctor?" Harvey regarded her with a curious expression.

"Ivy– Pamela?" Harleen quickly corrected herself when she saw the look he gave her. "No... I didn't know that."

He nodded his head. "We went on a few dates. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. I was smitten the moment I laid eyes on her. As much as I wanted to kiss her, I wanted something deeper than just the physical with her. I wanted to actually know her. Crazy, isn't it? How some outdated sense of chivalry is why I'm standing here today."

Harleen opened her mouth to answer, but Harvey kept talking. "If it hadn't been for the Batman, I would've ended up like those other unlucky bastards. There isn't a day that doesn't go by where I don't think about what could've been. I wonder if she thinks I'm the one who got away."

As Harleen listened to his account, she could feel her patience wearing thin. She wasn't sure why she was so bothered by this. Maybe it was because this story should've come from Pamela's lips, not Harvey's. "Is there a point to this story, Mr. Dent?"

His eyes narrowed into slits, and he never looked more unlike the man on TV. Gone was the dazzling white smile and friendliness that oozed out of him while he spent hours campaigning. "Even though it's only year two of my term, I plan on running for reelection, doctor. There's still so much that needs to be done in this city, and that's going to take more than four years. But it seems like every damn year, a new one of these costumed freaks pops up."

She scoffed. "Well, what do you expect when there's a freak running around in a bat costume through the city?"

"It's true that the Batman can't be the sole answer to this problem." Harvey glanced out the nearby window where a swell of dark clouds was quickly gathering. When he met her gaze again, there was a newfound coldness lurking within his brown eyes. "But you're not helping things either, doctor. These people–if you can even call them that–can't be rehabilitated! How many more innocent lives are going to be stolen because of their antics? Gotham's citizens deserve justice. And I'm going to make sure they get it."

"So what are you suggesting?" Harleen demanded though she had a feeling where this was going.

"They need to be made examples of." His tone was so gruff that it didn't even sound like him. "Arkham will no longer house these maniacs. We've been too soft on them and that's why more and more of them keep cropping up. They should be executed, and then that will make the next one think twice about putting on a costume and calling himself some fucking ridiculous name."

Harleen could only stare at him with a mixture of indignation and disgust. She knew people like this existed, but to come face-to-face with someone so cruel and heartless made her blood boil. "These people are sick. They need my help."

He let out a low chuckle. "I think you've been spending too much time here, doctor. You can't see things clearly anymore. These psychos wouldn't even hesitate to leave you choking on your own blood if the opportunity arose."

His hand moved to the inside of his pocket, and he pulled out a coin. He shot her a toothless smirk as he held it out. "You want to bet on it?"

"The only thing I clearly see is that I've wasted precious time I could've spent with one of my patients." Harleen's glare had never been angrier. She caught a glimpse of the file in her hand and couldn't resist adding, "Miss Isley is actually my next patient. I'll be sure to tell her you stopped by."

Harvey balked at the remark, obviously taken aback. With nothing more to say, Harleen adjusted her glasses before heading towards the door. She could feel the edges of her lips tug into a satisfied smirk as she walked away from him, her head held high.

"Oh." She gave him one last glance back. "Close the door when you leave, Mr. Dent."

Her heels clicked down the hall as she hurried to her next appointment. She was already a few minutes late and hated that her pointless meeting with Harvey had cut into her time with Pamela, who was already waiting for her there when she arrived.

"I apologize for being late, Miss Ivy." Harleen took a seat and crossed one leg over the other. "How are you doing today?"

"You always ask this question and my answer never changes," Pamela remarked dully.

Harleen couldn't hide her irritated sigh, and she blamed Harvey for it. He had soured her mood. Uncrossing her legs and straightening her back, Harleen's usual soft tone grew firm. "You're right. So let me ask a new question. Why did you rip Arthur's drawing?"

Pamela narrowed her eyes and didn't immediately reply. It was as if she was mulling over her answer. "I wondered if you would ask about that. I guess he told you, the big crybaby."

Harleen raised an eyebrow and waited for her response.

"If I said it was because it was a hideous drawing that even a toddler could do better, would you believe me?" Pamela asked.

Although Pamela's expression was as serious as ever, Harleen knew she meant it as a joke. The rare times she showed a humorous side, it was usually the dry type.

"No."

"Fine." Pamela brushed aside a red curl. "I know what type of man Arthur is. I've encountered them before."

Harleen's heartbeat quickened. The first question that ran through her brain was if Pamela was really going to say what she thought she was? Was she going to finally reveal what happened to her?

The ones that followed were why Pamela even cared enough to warn Arthur to stay away from her? Why did it matter if Arthur was trying to corrupt her like she alleged?

And that's when the most dangerous thought crossed her mind. Could Pamela actually care about her?

"What do you mean by that?" Harleen prodded.

Pamela crossed her arms and shook her head as if the answer was obvious. "I remember reading a book once–it doesn't matter what it was about–but a quote that always stuck with me was how men want a subservient woman. But they never fall in love with subservient women. They're attracted to independent women. But their dream is to collect these women and imprison them like a rare specimen."

To say Harleen was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Pamela was not really much of an oversharer, and it took a lot of gentle nudging to get her to open up. But even in just these few sentences, it revealed more to her than any previous session had.

Anyone else would determine it had been a boyfriend behind Pamela's desire to kill. But Harleen knew better.

"You said you speak from personal experience," Harleen began. "Was it a boyfriend who you're referring to?"

Yes, Harleen knew better. She knew it wasn't a boyfriend who Pamela was speaking of. But she hoped by pretending to think it was, Pamela would clarify and accidentally reveal the truth.

It was a huge risk. The odds were not in her favor. But her previous gamble had paid off.

But it seemed like Harleen's luck had run out as the expression on Pamela's face twisted into a scowl. "We're done here, Dr. Quinzel."

"Wait, Miss Ivy." Harleen scrambled to regain control. "I apologize, I didn't mean to offend you."

Pamela huffed as she stood up and headed for the door. "You think you're important enough to offend me? I'm just observing what's clearly going on. Anyone with half a brain could see it. It seems like they're just handing PhDs to anyone these days if you can't see how dangerous Arthur is."

That comment stung more than any slap ever could, and Harleen almost wished Pamela had just hit her instead. True to her floral nature, Pamela knew how to dig her thorns in perfectly.

Nothing more was exchanged between them, and Harleen allowed the guards outside to escort Pamela away to her cell. Now left alone, she sank back in her chair and let out a loud groan.

She was a fool to ever think Pamela cared about her. The simplest answer was usually the correct one–as it was here. Pamela simply hated Arthur that much that she would try to deny him any help he sought.

But she would prove them wrong. Harvey, Pamela, all of them. She would help these patients and give them the care they needed. Yes, they might've been dangerous now, but they didn't always have to be. At one point in their lives, they weren't.

But just as the simplest answer was usually the correct one, the same applied here.

It's what drove her to become a nationally-ranked gymnast, to go to college and study psychology, and to pay for said college with the scholarships she earned being an elite athlete.

The more someone told Harleen she couldn't do it, the more she wanted to prove she could.