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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel	By : Risen86 Category: DC Verse Comics > Suicide Squad Views: 6735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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It’s been about 6 weeks since The Joker was left in Arkham’s custody and I haven’t really heard of much about him since. I know he received medical attention for his injuries when he originally got here. I had to do some nosing around to find out that he had to have his nose realigned and his jaw wired to help the healing process. From what trickled down the grapevine he was extremely compliant when the doctors came in; which, in hindsight, I find very interesting. I mean I didn’t really know who he was when I first saw him, but after his outlandish behavior, my curiosity got the better of me. Getting his name from staff was easy; everyone was talking about him and was willing to give me the lowdown. Quite a few were shocked that I didn’t know who he is; I had to explain that I’m a new resident of Gotham and haven’t really connected with the city news. Getting access to his file is unfortunately impossible; he isn’t my patient so the confidentiality clause keeps me from digging through them. I had to resort to Google and boy was that a fountain of information. By all accounts he is, in layman’s terms one insane motherfucker… that’s what all the sites said, though the tone in which it was said varied drastically. One thing came across quite clearly: this is a man with whom one does not fuck. All that, though, doesn’t tell me much about ‘why’ or ‘how’; there is surprisingly very little known about the man he was before he became ‘The Joker’.
Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel I stare at the main entrance of Arkham then at the path I usually use to get there; I contemplate absently the nature of the layman’s meaning of the word ‘insane’. When they the term ‘insane’ they usually mean that this person is lacking reasonable thought; what most people don’t always realize is that just because something appears to be insane doesn’t mean it’s unreasonable. I mean, for example, let’s say that you see a woman running down the street, screaming nonsensical gibbering and ripping her clothes off frantically. What’s the first gut reaction? ‘Wow… that bitch’s insane!’ But, see, what you may not know is that the woman unknowingly tromped into a colony of fire ants and right now there are hundreds, or thousands of fire ants biting the crap out of her. To her yelling, screaming and stripping is perfectly reasonable because she knows she needs to get them off, but until the other people witnessing her abnormal understand ‘why’ and probably ‘how’ their only explanation is insane. The ‘why’ and the ‘how’ are pivotal in understanding the action of others; so is the withholding of judgment for that matter as judgment shuts down your ability to be sympathetic to another person’s ‘why’ or ‘how’. I stop short in my train of thoughts.
What am I trying to say? That The Joker’s not crazy, maybe he’s just misunderstood? I laugh a little then … No just that one shouldn’t assume that he is insane… I glance at my watch. “Shit!”
I got here 20 minutes early and now I’m 10 minutes late. I jump out my car, lock the door and make my way to the entrance just like I usually do, only a little bit faster. My body rushes through the routines automatically as my mind still mulls over Arkham’s most infamous patient. As much as The Joker has been behaving himself I’ve sensed a rising dread within the staff. They are easily startled and are frequently sent scattering and screaming at the slam of a door only to try to cover it with obviously anxious laughter. None of the doctors, not a one, has yet to mention setting up sessions. I brought this up on the third day of his arrival as patients usually have their first session within 24 hours of admission. I was told then that he was in no physical state to be examined; I sensed it was a load of bull but accepted it. He was in pretty bad shape when I saw him after all. I then asked on the third week after his admission and got a very similar response as well as a reminder that The Joker was Dr. Schumer’s patient and none of my concern. The alarm bells at this point were sounding in my head. Finally I brought it up again 2 weeks ago in a regularly appointed staff meeting and the response was less than enthusiastic. At the mere mention of The Joker, the room quieted and our meeting quickly ended. When I was left alone with Schumer and he fed me the same horseshit story that he’d been feeding me for the past five weeks I offered to take The Joker on. Dr. Schumer quite rudely told me that I needed to mind my own business, that The Joker would be seen when Dr. Schumer was good and ready and that if I wanted to get anywhere with my career here at Arkham I needed to ‘RESPECT HIS AUTHORITAH!’ So naturally, I saw him die about 30 different ways in my head before I turned around and marched out of there in murderous silence.
“Señorita Quinzel!”
Snapping out of my thoughts for the second time today I look over at the voice and spot Mrs. Cuevas walking towards me “Good Morning Mrs. Cuevas.” Mrs Paola Cuevas is the senior intake councilor at Arkham and resident Gossip Queen.
“Dios Mio Señorita Quinzel, I thought you wouldn’t come in this morning.” she says in her lilting Ecuadorian accent. She is in her late 40s to early 50s and still quite beautiful. I’m sure she broke many hearts in her youth.
“No, I’m just a little late, is there a new patient’s file you wanted me to l-“
“Oh, I thought you knew and you quit… it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” I look at her more than a little perplexed; I figure it shows on my face because she speaks in a rush:
“TheJoker’sfileisonyourtable. Itwasn’tmyideaI’msorry.” It takes me a second to parse out what she’s saying then a flash of fire whips through me and leaves me dizzy. I may have swayed a little because Mrs. Garcia’s hand shoots out and grabs my arm to stabilize me. Clearly misinterpreting my response she repeats, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s perfectly fine, this is my job.” I reassure her as stoically as possible, but inside my chest I can feel my heart hammering.
“You can push back you know, that jerk Jerome is the senior psychiatrist in the building. He should be responsible for the hard knock cases; The Batman also insisted that The Joker be his responsibility.”
Smiling comfortingly I place both my hands on her shoulders “I’m a big girl Paola, you don’t have to worry about me.”
I can sense her eyes roving over my features, then exhaling she places her hand on my cheek “Godbless & good luck Dr. Quinzel.”
“Please call me Harleen.” She nods then bustles away allowing me to hurry, as discreetly as one can rush, to my office.
When I get into my office, I close the door serenely then pitch my handbag on the visitor’s chair violently and scramble to the blue file sitting in front of my computer. I realize I’m overly excited about this patient but can’t seem to squash my budding fascination with the case. I feel like I’m about to get my hands on the juiciest of all juicy fruits.
Plunking myself down on my black chair I grab the file in both hands and observe it quietly for a second. Then I peel the file open, the very first thing I see is a purple sticky note with the words ‘You’re welcome –J” scribbled on it. I rolled my eyes thinking that Jerome had thought he would ‘do me a favor’ when he was just avoiding the patient. Ripping the sticky note off the file, I crunch it up and throw it in the garbage under my desk.
Taking the sticky note off has revealed the image of the man; green hair slicked back, pale oval face, mocking red lips and sharp blue eyes.
Probably the only part of his body left without tattoos I think to myself.
To the left of the image in the patient’s name section was ‘The Joker’ then in brackets ‘also responds to Clown Prince (of Crime), Jester of Genocide, Harlequin of Hate, Ace of Knaves’. Clearly he filled the form out himself. I chuckle a little at the absurdity of it then my eyes move back to study the picture of him again. This is the best likeness I’ve seen of him yet; I couldn’t tell much of his features when we first met and pictures online were not very clear. They were either blurry security camera videos, or shaky cellphone videos. Looking at him now I can see that he is actually rather attractive, despite the no eyebrows look. Dragging my gaze away I flipped the page over to view a document we received from GCPD. There was a list that started about half way down the page that I start reading: Robbery, theft, grand theft, arson, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, forgery, extortion, racketeering, money laundering, drug possession, drug trafficking, kidnapping, solicitation, vandalism, terrorism, attempted rape, coercion, homicide, double homicide, triple homicide and the list goes on.
“Jesus Christ!” I rub my eyes underneath my glasses “Well… I asked for it.” then pick up my pen, open up my notepad and delve back in.
My cell door bangs open, the sound is like a gunshot in the room. I stay immobile sitting on the edge of my cot; my cuffed hands are dangling down between my legs and my head is bent forward.
“Ooohhh, can I go outside and play with the others mummy?” I mumble, “I have been a very good boy.”
There is no response so I tilt my head and fix my eyes on the figure in the doorway. “Aah, Dr. Tooth, I thought you were someone else.” When the dentist didn’t move I jiggle my hands in the air to show him my cuffs “Please come in, didn’t you know? I’ve been defanged.” I laugh. Dr. Tooth doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t crack a smile either but he moves into the room.
“ My name is Dr. Toph, Joker. Now lie down and shut up.” He gestured for me to lie down on the cot. I follow his instruction stretching my legs out until they dangle over the edge of the cot and placing my hands on my naked chest. He’s been getting increasingly rude with each one of his visits, which I have diagnosed as a symptom of my compliance. You stop threatening peoples’ lives and they start forgetting who you are. I watch as he picks a box of purple latex gloves out of his bag & places it on the cot.
“ I like your gloves D-”
“You know why I chose this profession? “ He interrupts “because I’d rather stick my hand down a guy’s throat than hear him flapping his lips and making noise.”
“Hahahahaha, well that’s a surprise, I’d never have thought we’d have anything in common.” I smile wide showing him my new silver chompers. “Although I think if I stick my hand down your throat you may make noise… kind of like squeaky wheezing sound.” I demonstrate the noise ”We should try it out, it’ll be fun.”
I see the color drain from his face and for once he says nothing.
“Open wide.” Dr. Tooth orders a little less snidely.
“Why Doctor!” I bat my eyelashes at him “I never knew!” When I oblige I feel him poking around in my mouth. It doesn’t take long before he pulls his gloves off.
“Looks good.” He approves taking his gloves off.
“Doctor, before you go I have to ask, do you know what the dentist said to the criminal?” I see him roll his eyes. “N-“ when he leans in to pick up the box I lunge forward head-butting him, I feel his blood gush down my forehead and see him fall awkwardly back onto the floor. He’s yelling incomprehensibly at first but then manages to scream “You son of a bitch! I… I think you broke my tooth!” His mouth is dribbling blood. I hear pounding feet coming towards my cell. I get up off my cot quickly using my legs to push the box of purple gloves on the floor, then pushing it under the cot when my legs hit the floor.
Aaaaah it’s the little things in life….
Dr. Tooth is laying on his side his left cheek on the ground, bleeding and jabbering. I smile widely as I walk over to him; I kneel beside him placing my cheek on the ground with my hands on my stomach.
“Hahahahahaha... Well, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Oh my God you broke my nose’ but I agree with you doctor that’s much more appropriate.”
The guards’ push the door open and I greet them with a “What took you so long? I could have squashed his brains out by now.” They begin to half carry, half drag Dr. Tooth out of my cell.
Wimp…
I hear the door closing behind me “By the way, thanks for the new chompers Doc. I love them. Hahahahhahaha…”
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel