Ha Ha Harlequin

“A coincidence?”

Harleen resisted the urge to roll her eyes as the burly cop in front of her repeated himself for the umpteenth time. Keeping her features calm and taking a deep breath, she nodded her head.

“Yes, a coincidence,” Harleen told him, adjusting her glasses on the tip of her nose. “It is not very likely that patient 6823 escaped his cell in the middle of the night just to murder patient 3859.”

The officer raised an irritated eyebrow at her, looking at her in disbelief. She was aware of how foolish she sounded, but she was not about to lose this patient. “Not very likely? Have you met this guy?”

Detective Bullock was not very appealing to the eye, although he could be, if he actually attempted to clean himself up. His shirt was not tucked into his pants at certain places, his tie was hanging loose around his neck, and it was obvious that he had not shaved his face in a few days. Or showered, for that matter. He was large, but in a muscular way. His thick New York accent did not do him any favors. Harleen was pleasantly surprised to see that he had not once hit on her or patronized her the whole half hour they had been locked up in the room together, although this did not excuse his appearance or his brutish behavior towards her.

“I am his psychiatrist and am aware of the extreme security that has been placed on him and the close scrutiny that he has been under,” she answered him, irked.

“Ah but you’ve only been his doctor for a day,” he pointed out, placing his hands on the table she was sitting at and leaning over to get a better look at her. He tiled his head to the side and stared her down, waiting for a response. Harleen stared back, her eyes slowly narrowing. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Yes, but I was Dr. Arkham’s assistant at the beginning of the Joker’s incarceration, not to mention that I’ve also been here before the Joker’s arrival,” she began through gritted teeth. “I know all of the security measures that can possibly be given here. We are properly educated on the inner workings of this facility before we are sent out into the field, a technique that perhaps the Gotham City Police Department should keep in mind as well.”

“Are you calling’ me a bad a cop?” Bullock retorted, fists clenching against the metal table top and lips curling in like a wolf about to pounce.

Normally Harleen was very cooperative with the GCPD, for as often as they are here, one had to be. In this case, Bullock did not deserve any cooperation.

“No, not at all,” she began slowly and calmly, making her face look as innocent as possible. “Just an uneducated and barbaric one.”

“Argh! Jesus, woman!” he growled like a behemoth, throwing his hands in the air as if he were fed up. Harleen secretly hoped that he would keep coming at her; she could keep this up all day.

The door swung open, and Commissioner Gordon stepped into the room, frowning at Detective Bullock. Harleen leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms, knowing that she had won this argument.

“Detective, I can take over from here,” Commissioner Gordon told him. It wasn’t a suggestion, but a demand.

Bullock arched his back and tilted his head from side to side so that it cracked.

“Good, it’s ‘bout time,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket and leaving the room. It was as if there had been no argument or struggle at all. “It’s time for my lunch break.”

Harleen shook her head in disgust as the door closed behind him. She was alone now with Commissioner Gordon, a man whom she respected more, but was still not pleased with.

“Hello again, Ms. Quinzel,” he greeted her, smiling slightly. He sounded exhausted.

“Commissioner. Why on earth do you have men like that working in your force, Gordon?” she asked, turning her attention over to him.

“Because, Ms. Quinzel,” he began, rubbing his temples. “He is a good detective. And I would prefer it if you would refer to me as Commissioner Gordon, thank you.”

Harleen pursed her lips in annoyance. “I disagree, Commissioner Gordon, but I have a feeling that this argument will not be going anywhere so let’s return to the matter at hand. The Joker.”

Without removing his hands from his temples, he said, “He’s staying.”

“Where else is he going to go-” Harleen stood up and began ranting, but upon hearing what he had said, she stopped and stared at him in disbelief. “He’s…staying…?”

There was brief silence as the two made eye contact. Then Gordon sighed.

“Yes, he is staying,” he repeated firmly, finally pulling his hands away from his aging face. “I will write a report about this, and make sure the mayor does not have him removed.”

“You don’t…want him removed?” she asked in disbelief.

She was so worried that they would take away her patient, the one that caused her so much trouble. She was not willing to have him taken away so easily. She already had most of her responses and arguments planned out. The stress of this whole conundrum had been increasing inside of her, and she had fought so hard to not let it show. Finding that it was so easy to keep him there, she suddenly felt exhausted, and could hardly comprehend the rest of what Gordon was saying.

“What would be the point of moving him? So he can have an easier chance at escaping? I’d rather have him here than at Blackgate,” he admitted truthfully, standing up and preparing to leave. Blackgate triggered a response out of her.

“You were thinking of taking him to Blackgate?!” she cried out incredulously.

“I wasn’t,” he told her as he reached for the door handle. “But the mayor was, and so was the rest of Gotham.”

“That’s absurd,” she answered, shaking her head. “He would kill twice as many prisoners there as he would here. And escape would be easy as well. He would look down upon the other criminals surrounding him…”

Harleen stopped as she realized that she was babbling as she was analyzing him.

“Exactly,” he said, slightly annoyed and as if this were the last place he wanted to be.

“Commissioner,” I yelled suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. Gordon looked down at the ground and sighed.

“Yes, Dr. Quinzel?”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about our last conversation,” she told him, tone very serious and eyes flashing. “I’m not quite through with you yet. I know you’re not telling me everything, and I will get it out of you one way or another.”

The silence that followed that statement was thick as the two continued to stare each other, neither one willing to back down first. Gordon was keeping his facial expression calm and unconcerned, but Harleen could tell that he was hiding something. She was a psychiatrist after all.

“Ms. Quinzel,” he began, tone turning serious as well. “Why are you so interested in the matter?”

“Because, Commissioner, I know something is wrong. Something happened between Thomas Schift and Harvey Dent, and now both witnesses to the event are gone. If whatever happened there had something to do with my patient’s death, I deserve to know.”

Harleen’s ruby red lips closed together firmly and her baby blue eyes narrowed at him, all in an attempts to look intimidating. She was aware of how unintimidating she normally was, but it would not be wise to underestimate her. She hoped that Gordon was getting the hint, but she couldn’t tell through his expressions, or lack thereof. He continued to stare at her calmly.

“Good day, Ms. Quinzel,” he finally replied, and left the room.

Even though Gordon had disappeared, Harleen had not moved. She was still looking intently at the spot at where he stood.

Why won’t he tell me what he knows? She thought to herself, annoyed. Is it really that bad?

She was dying to know the answer, and she would see her promise through. She would get it out of him eventually.

~()~

Harleen was sitting crossed legged on an old bean bag chair in her apartment, eating a bowl of ice cream and going over the Joker’s file for the millionth time. The chair held special memories for her; her father gave it to her before she left for college. Most parents get their kids a lab top before they go to college, but not her dad. She didn’t care how unorthodox it was; she loved it. It was red with black diamonds placed at random spots throughout it. He always liked to call her his ‘fiery little diamond in the rough.’ It suited her perfectly.

She was in ‘bumming mode,’ as she liked to call it; black yoga pants, Gotham University hoodie, and red fuzzy socks. Her hair was tied up in a loose, messy bun, and her glasses were perched on the edge of her nose, like they usually were. Her TV was blaring in front of her. She was only half listening to it, when something caught her attention.

“There was a big scare at Arkham Asylum today as one of the patients, Thomas Schift, notorious for helping the Joker during the attempted murder of Mayor Garcia just months ago, was found dead in his own room. Officials are not yet releasing the full story to the public. More details later at nine. In other news, a new club owned by Oswald Cobblepot called the Iceberg Lounge will be holding its grand opening-”

Harleen had enough of the news. As soon as she had stepped out of the asylum earlier that day, she was swarmed by news reporters and cameramen. Not being allowed to tell them anything, she had to run away with them as calmly and normally as possible. Dr. Arkham had given her the rest of the day off, which was one of the last things she wanted. She wanted to see her patient. She wanted to smack him in the face for doing what he did. She wanted to talk to Jonathon-

She mentally cursed at herself as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She brushed away the few straggling pieces of hair that had escaped her bun.

Idiot, she thought to herself angrily. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that man, no matter how wonderful he was before. He’s a criminal who tried to take over Gotham…and now he’s locked up in his own asylum.

Jonathon’s face suddenly appeared in her mind. She had not thought about him in a long time. She could see the strands of brown hair that always fell in front of his face when it wasn’t kept back, and his high cheek bones, and bright ice-blue eyes hidden behind his wiry glasses…

Harleen couldn’t help but blush.

Stupid, high school girl crush…

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the dark, looming shadow resting on her newly opened window sill. A footstep on the creaky wooden floor brought her back to reality. The only light in the room was from a lamp next to her television, so the figure was drenched in darkness.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, rolling out of her bean bag chair and spilling ice cream all over the floor and her file. She immediately began searching her pockets for her phone. “I’m calling the police-”

“Don’t bother,” the man called out in a deep, gruff voice. He held her cell phone in his hand. She didn’t have landline.

“Shit,” she cursed again, looking around for the nearest makeshift weapon. The lamp next to the TV seemed to suffice, and she picked it up and held it above her head, ready to chuck it at him.

“Calm down Harleen,” he said, surprising her. How did he know her name? “I just came here to talk.”

“Who the fuck are you? How do you know my name?” she cried out, lamp still positioned in a threatening manner above her head. Her breathing was heavy as fear clung to her heart. This was the first time that someone had broken into her house before, and this guy obviously knew who she was. Harleen immediately assumed the worst; he was some creepy stalker who had been watching her for months and was finally making his move. But then, her inner psychiatrist kicked in. The dark stranger had yet to attack her; he had remained firmly planted in the shadow by her window. Her heart beat began to slow down as she began to relax, but she refused to lower her makeshift-weapon.

In response to her question, the man stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the lamp. Her voice became caught in her throat. It was the Batman. She was once again tempted to throw the lamp at him when she realized it was still plugged in. Unplugging it meant plunging the two of them into complete and total darkness. Gently and not taking her eyes off of him, she set the lamp down.

“You,” she said quietly, watching him warily. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Of all the people to show up in her apartment, it was Batman. She had never seen him up close; then again, very few people had. His costume consisted of some sort of black body armor with a broney-gold belt wrapped around the torso. He had a long cape that flapped in the gentle breeze rolling in the room and a mask that concealed all of his face except for his eyes, mouth, and chin. His glare was cold and serious. She was thinking that he must have been through a lot when she realized how stupid that sounded; of course he’s been through a lot, he’s Batman!

“I came here to warn you,” he told her abruptly, taking her off guard. “You have been curious about Thomas Schiff and Harvey Dent. I am asking you nicely to leave it alone.”

“Uh…what?” she began, pausing to swallow and brush a hand through her bangs once more. Harleen was having a hard time taking it all in. Batman broke into her room to tell her to stop asking around about Schiff and Dent. Shiff…“Schiff…wait a minute, did Gordon tell you this?”

And now it was starting to make sense. Gordon had told her her, and now she was getting scolded. By the Batman. Her anger flared up in her once more.

“No,” she stated firmly, eyes flashing.

Apparently Batman had a short fuse as well. He walk straight up to her face and looked her straight in the eye, but Harleen did not back down, even if her hands were shaking out of fear.

“Leave it. Alone,” he told her, baring his teeth slightly. “You do not need to worry about it. It is none of your business.”

“None of my business?” she repeated, glaring at him in disbelief. “Thomas Schiff was my patient, and if something happened between him and Harvey Dent, it could have been affecting his behavior. I am his psychiatrist and I have a right to know.”

“You are no longer his doctor Harleen,” he reminded her. “Therefore, it is no longer your concern.”

“What if it is information that could have prevented his death?” she asked him, staring desperately into his eyes. They were hazel. “He was my patient, I was in charge of him, and I just let him die. He was a human being, too, you know! Despite everything that he had done, he was still human!”

She was yelling at this point, and her eyes even began watering. Even she did not realize how upset she was about all of this. There was silence after her outburst, and his eyes seemed to soften. So he was human, too.

“Thomas Schiff’s death was not your fault, Harleen,” he told her, resting his large, masked hands on her shoulders. She did not expect him to touch her, not like that, at least. It was soft and comforting. Harleen was so confused. He continued, although a tad reluctantly. “Something did happen between Dent and Schiff, but it had nothing to do with his death. Let me worry about it.”

“You?” she asked incredulously, shaking her head lightly. “Weren’t you the one who killed Harvey Dent?”

His expression was pained as he closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Yes. I can take it. I can hold these burdens. You need to trust me on this.”

Something was wrong. Harleen could tell, but doubted that he would let her play psychiatrist with him. She wanted to protest more, she wanted to find out the secret. As she thought about it more, she felt it was more about Harvey Dent than Thomas Schiff. Dent had more to lose.

She decided to accept it.

“Ok,” she told him, lowering her head so she stared at his rubber-clad feet. “I won’t ask about it anymore.”

She felt his arms slip away from her shoulders, and she looked back up at him only to see him already leaping through the window, without a goodbye or a thanks or anything. Harleen should not have expected anything less.

Harleen didn’t know what to with herself for a full ten minutes. She sat and stared at the window, where Batman had entered her life for the first time, and most likely the last. Finally, her brain reunited with her body and she ran to find her cell phone so that she could call Pam. She needed a girl’s night filled with chocolate and Nicholas Sparks movies. After searching her room, drawers and closet, it took her a moment to realize what happened to it.

“The fucking Batman stole my cell phone!”