Harley Frances Quinzel was content.

After all the years of hard work and effort she'd finally got a internship in the Arkham Asylum for criminally insane. She even got her own office. It was a bit smaller and cramped than ususal, but it belonged to her. She smiled once again and got comfotrable in the leather chair by a mahogany desk. John Myers' case file was laying in front of her along with her notes, but Harleen was looking at the window. Raindrops were hitting the glass calming the girl's mind.

It was late. Quinzel was probably the last doctor at Arkham at that hour. Everyone else had gone home to be with their families. Harleen sighed, involuntarily fixed the glasses on her nose and looked at the files again.

Myers was an interesting case. Almost-to-be murderer caught red handed by his victim's mother. Marie Irons had been cut on her neck, stomach and thighs with a pocket knife before falling unconscious. John was found crying maniacally next to the girl. When asked why he did it, he answered, "She had to change."

He wasn't too interested in the fact that the girl he'd hurt will be fucked up for the rest of her life. She was placed in a private clinic outside the city.

The strange thing was that he never got in trouble with police prior to his incident. He was a perfect citizen, paying taxes, staying in shadows. Harleen could not find anything leading to domestic violence. John's mind was a puzzle and it was annoying the intern very much.

His face alwyas stayed the same. Bored, extremely bored. He did not speak much, was answering questions briefly with no emotions. Harleen thought it was because of meds he was taking, but she was told Myers' prescriptions had been revoked.

"Revoked? Why?" she asked.

"He doesn't need 'em," nurse replied, shrugging.

Quinzel had so many questions in her head. During sessions she had to sit quiet and stare as doctor Leland kept trying to squeeze out at least a few sentences out of Myers. Harleen wanted to talk to him.

"No way, girl!" Leland refused.

"One session, Joan! I feel I could do some good!"

"I can't allow that."

"I'll be fine," Quinzel objected. "There will be guards behind the door and I'll have the panic button next to me. I just want to talk with him."

Joan Leland grimaced and said, "I'll see what I can do."

Couple days later Harleen was proudly walking down the corridor in Arkham to an appointed room where she could finally get some work done with John. In the room there was a table with two chairs. Faint light was giving that place a slight yellow glow. Harleen placed her notebook on table top and sat down. She fixed her dark skirt and pushed a golden curl behind her ear. She was very excited.

When Myers was sat down wearing a straitjacket she sent him a small smile. The man did not react while one of the guards gave her a weird look. The girl exhaled focusing on the patient and completely ignored cameras or guards.

"Hello. I am doctor Harleen Quinzel," she introduced herself lightly. "I'll be your therapist from now on, mister Myers."

The man was still looking at her with a bored expression. The intern opened her notebook, took a pen and asked, "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Not really."

"No? Well, I was thinking maybe we should we to know each other better."

Myers sneered. "Everything about me is in these papers."

Harleen shook her head smiling again.

"Not everything." He looked at her while squinting. "There's nothing about your favourite colour, hobbies, music you like the most."

"What does it matter?"

"It matters a lot, mister Myers." She noted 'stubborn'. "I won't be able to help you, if you don't talk."

Distaste appeared on Myers' face. He leaned back on his chair and glanced at a small window on the right. Quinzel scribbled 'reserved'. He saw that and wrinkled his nose. The girl breathed quietly. 'Observant'.

"I heard you've been off your medication for a while now," Harleen tried with a diffrent approach. "And I don't think you're a madman. I'd like to know what happened, what made you hurt that girl..."

Suddenly Myers rose up making the table jump. On his usual bored face appeared anger. He was breathing heavily and his arms looked as if they could emerge from the restrains. Harleen pressed the button immediately. She stood up with a violently beating heart. Two guards entered the room tackling John Myers to the ground.

"Stop!" Quinzel screamed.

Leland appeared out of nowhere, grabbed the blonde and her notebook before dragging her away.

Standing in front of Jeremiah Arkham in his office felt awful. Harleen was like a child who hadn't listened to her parent and got scolded badly. She got assigned to Ariadna Walker, a black widow. Killed four men, took their money, standard stuff. She took her meds, liked to chit-chat. Probably none of her stories were real.

Harleen was still thinking about John Myers.

Whatever happened that day, whatever made him so angry he had to hurt his own girlfriend was not mental illness. Marie must've triggered something deep inside that man. He was hiding some dark feelings. No man goes from an honor student to a freak who stabs people in a span of a few years. Harleen was considering child abuse or bullying before. It had to be it.

After begging Joan for days she could finally go back to treating John. She fixed her glasses and mentally reminded herself to buy the other woman an expensive bottle of wine. Their places switched. Joan was now sitting in a dark corner observing.

"How are you, mister Myers?"

"John," the man muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Call me John."

Harleen nodded with a smile.

"I'm sorry for the last time," Myers continued monotonously. "I got angry, it was not cool."

The blonde was struck dumb.

"It's alright," she replied. "Everyone has a right to get angry. It's human."

Whole session went smoothly. Quinzel was asking questions, John was answering. She found out he'd had a sweet tooth. He also enjoyed Bob Marley's music. He told the intern a few stories. She giggled once or twice. But she did not touch the subject of Marie, not yet.

If it weren't for the straitjacket, or the bad smell, Harleen could almost feel as if she was having a small talk with an old friend in a pub. Unfortunately, the session had come to an end. Joan arose from her seat and Quinzel began to pick up her papers.

"She called me a pussy."

Sound of Myers' voice starled the blonde. She raised her head and looked at him with questioning look. The vulgar word he'd used threw her off guard. Leland kept quiet, too.

"She called me a pussy," John repeated. "And I ain't a pussy."

And on that same day John Myers was reported dead. He'd hung himself in his cell at night. Harleen had realized she was wrong all along. John's incident was not an impulse. It was a planned act born from hatred.

Quinzel closed her eyes and closed John's files. She will have to put them in the archives, just like the rest of deceased patients' papers. She took her coat and bag as she was headed to her empty apartment. She'd also have to ask about the Joker again.