#quincy sharp

“You called up just to make fun of me?” I sarcastically respond back, rising from my bed to walk to the living room. It looks exactly as it did before I went to bed: full of papers scattered everywhere. The vague memory of me spilling my documents in my tired state washes over me as I groan internally. This is too much for a morning, especially for a working day.

“Can’t a girlfriend phone up their partner?” she teasingly responds.

If it was any other day I would have found this funny. This was not one of those days. Still, however, I persist.

“Yeah, yeah.” I reply. “At least I get to hear your voice before heading to work.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet. You always have your way with words, dear.”

“If you say so.” I dryly reply, too tired to come up with any other response.

“You excited about tonight?”

Huh?

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, we’re going to Pauli’s Diner after you finish work tonight, remember? We made plans about it a couple days ago. Don’t tell me you forgot about it…”

I detect a trace of sadness as she trails off. Shit. I completely forgot about that.

“No, no, of course not.” I lie to her with fake excitement. “I’m still tired from waking up. Brain is not fully working yet, you know?”

I hear a sigh of relief on the other end. “Good. I’ve been really excited about it. It’s going to be great!”

“Yeah…”

The conversation goes on for a few minutes, talking about simple mundane stuff. As she talks about something I couldn’t care less about, I look back at the clock. I’m planning on getting to work around 08:15-08:30 ish so I can have a break before I start. If there is time to get ready, it is now.

“Penny, I would love to talk more but I really need to get ready for work.”

“Okay, love you.“

“Love you too.”

I silently hang up and place them onto the kitchen counter.

Dammit.

Three words. Three simple words. A while ago they were full of genuine energy, happiness, and love. Nowadays it feels rehearsed.

I still remember when I first met Penny. We were both students at Gotham University. I was studying psychology and she was learning finance. We shouldn’t have met, really. The chances of seeing each other were so slim. And yet on a cold October day, when I was late to one of my lectures, a caffeine addicted student that was me accidentally ran right into her. One small talk and here we are. We’ve been dating for the past few years. The first couple years, it was amazing. I felt like I was made of gold. Now, somehow, that gold has begun to rust and corrode away. It’s not her fault. Really, it isn’t. It just…happened. Over time the relationship just felt…bland. I didn’t get excitement or thrill anymore. Most of time I have to fake it for Penny’s sake.

I should break up with her. I really should. And I plan too…just not yet.

I’m such a coward, I know that, but…Penny is one of the only few things that make me feel…alive anymore. Or, at least, close to it. Without her…the closest thing that could replicate the same effect as Penny was my job…

…at Arkham Asylum.

Speaking of which, I really should get ready for work.

  I arrive at 8:30 sharp as usual. Everything is the same as I left it last Friday. The same narrow, almost claustrophobic, corridors, the same large, dusty framed painting of the warden by the reception desk and the same old and tired doctors with all the hope they once had vanished. And that is not even mentioning the same variety of inmates or, like some guards like to describe them as, “pyschos”.

I haven’t worked here for too long. In fact, last week was the one-year anniversary of me being a psychiatrist at Arkham. I still remember my first day. Everything seemed so bright. My love for Penny burned as bright as the sun and my optimism and passion were through the roofs. I had so many ideas on how to cure Gotham’s rogues gallery, so many dreams of curing this city from the ilness that has plagued its roots for far too long.

Many doctors at Arkham merely scoffed or rolled their eyes at my naivety when I first arrived, claiming that I will soon lose them in this hellish place.

My love for Penny was lost. My passion? My determination to save this city? Absolutely not.

And that passion, that determination, led me to my first breakthrough:

My successful treatment of Gotham’s infamous Julian Day, once the criminal known as the Calendar Man.

It was tough, it was exhausting, and required a lot of patience of Mr Day telling me all the monstrous crimes he committed on certain holidays, but it was all worth it. Coincidentally, last week was also when Julian was released from Arkham Aslyum as a cured, sane man. I don’t know what he’s going to do, but I’m just glad I cured a piece of evil that stenches the city.

The ill in Gotham can be cured. I was sure of it then and I am sure of it now, and Julian Day is living proof.

I walk into my office and casually placed my bag on the sofa and my files on my desk. It was decently sized and decently cleaned. I haven’t really decorated mine as much as others have. Some have tons of picture frames of their families and friends on their desks and called it a day. Others have nothing at all. As for me, I don’t have any pictures of my family. Not anymore at least. I haven’t spoken to my parents in years since I told them I wanted to be a psychiatrist rather than a gymnast like they wanted me to be so I could carry on the family tradition. I don’t care, though. Not anymore. All I have on my desk is a picture of me and Penny hanging out at an amusement park a year ago.

The thought brings my attention to that very same picture, lying there at the right corner of my desk. I haven’t moved it in so long that dust surrounds the frame. I carefully lift it up and examine it closely. In front of a giant Ferris wheel there is Penny, her beautiful black hair curled up into a ponytail and her bright blue eyes shining with excitement, grinning without a care in the world, and me, who shares that exact grin.

I remember that time. It was a good memory. It was before everything in this relationship went to shit, on my side anyway. I felt…alive.

“There’s my favourite doctor!”

The joyous voice snaps me out of my thoughts as I turn to look at its origin.

Of course, it was him. I recognise that carefree voice, that short black beard, the warm, honey-like eyes, and the messy brown hair from anywhere: my best friend, David.

“There’s my favourite security guard.” I joyously respond back. I place the picture frame back onto my desk, now long forgotten like it once was.

David and I met during my very first experience of a riot at Arkham when Basil Karlo was trying to escape. I would have been killed if he hadn’t intervened. Since then, we have been best friends.

The security guard walks up to my desk holding up a newspaper in his hands and plants it on it right in the centre.  “Sorry to tell you, bud, but your breakthrough with Calendar Man has been overshadowed.”

I glance at the headline of the paper. There, in big, bold, black letters it says: “BATMAN SAVES MAYOR FROM CLOWN PRINCE OF CRIME”

Why am I not surprised?

“Eh, it’s fine.” I tell him, shrugging as I do so. “I didn’t become a psychiatrist to be famous. I did it to save lives.”

My genuine tone makes David chuckle. “Always an optimist.”

I chuckle back. “Hey, that’s what you like about me.”

He hums in agreement. “That is true. Not many doctors tend to be optimistic after a while. The fact that you’re still hopeful is an achievement in itself.”

He’s right. I can’t name a single doctor who starts their day with a smile.

“I’m one of a kind.” I smartly tell him. “Anyway, when did that stuff with Joker and the Mayor happen?”

My question leaves David open mouthed, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor. “Are you for real? It happened last night!”

Last night?!

“What? Seriously?!” I tell him, as I glance back at the opening article. Yeah, it does say the attack happened last night.

“Yeah! It happened eleven at night, it was crazy! How did you miss it?!”

Ah…that explains it.

“I might have fallen asleep from utter exhaustion.” I told him, rubbing the back of my neck.

My friend sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you were going to relax a bit after our last conversation.”

I nervously chuckle at that, a spark of guilt forming in my gut. “I know, David. I just can’t help myself. I really want to help the patients here.”

He looks back up at me and his face softens slightly. “Yeah, I know, but you can’t help anyone if you look like you’re about to pass out.”

I know he’s right. It’s the truth. But it’s hard to relax nowadays. It’s hard to stop doing one of the few things that make me feel more alive than ever.

Still, to ease his conscious, I relent. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax next time.”

My reassurance seems to bring my friend relief as the tension from his body is released. Before either of us could say another word, however, a monotone female voice erupts the intercoms.

“Can Dr. Y/N L/N please visit Professor Hugo Strange’s office.”

Shit, not Strange.

“Uh oh.” David speaks up, slight worry in his voice. “You got to visit Strange.”

I groan loudly, rubbing my hands down my cheeks dramatically. “Fuck sake. I hope he’s in a good mood today.”

Strange is quite possibly the most brilliant mind in this place, far smarter than all the doctors here. I heard he travelled around the world learning a variety of psychological methods to help in his therapy for his patients. He’s so good that he has even caught the eye of Warden Sharp. I was so excited to see him when I first got here, so happy to see a brilliant professor at last. When I finally met him, he didn’t even bat me an eye. He quickly walked past me, bumping shoulders in the process, and rudely commented that I looked unprofessional. Since then, I learned that Strange is certainly not the man I thought he was. He cares very little about his patients nor his co-workers. In all honesty it seems like he’s only a professor just so he could manipulate his way into becoming famous and having some level of power.

And now I have been summoned to his office. Terrific.

David pats me on the back and walks out of the room, muttering a sympathetic “Good luck.” Before he vanishes from view.

Okay, Y/N, calm down. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

  This is the first time I am ever in Professor Strange’s office and, quite frankly, it is just as I imagined. The atmosphere is cold and distant, much like the owner itself, with every piece of necessary equipment meticulously organised with not a single item out of place. The only picture that I can see on the dull, grey walls is Strange’s framed P.H.D degree.

A rough cough interrupts my thoughts as I turn to see the man of my thoughts himself, sitting behind his desk. His eyes behind the circular specs of glasses are just as chilling as the atmosphere in this room, his short brown beard so sharp it could cut you just by looking at it, and his pure white uniform resembling a mad scientist from a science fiction movie.

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

I gulp at the hard voice that emits from the man’s mouth. Its full of power and confidence. He has complete control of the situation.

“Good morning, Professor Strange.”  I reply back, trying to mimic his confidence.

Strange gestures the chair in front of the desk with right hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “Please, have a seat.”

I slowly but surely make my way over there, each step feeling like a lifetime. When I finally sit down, I realise how close we are. His dead eyes have not blinked once.

“Now, Doctor L/N, I understand you have quite a busy schedule today so I will not waste our time.” Strange coldly states. “I am sure you are aware of last night’s incident.”

I nod slowly in confirmation. “Vaguely, Professor Strange. I only know that Batman saved the Mayor from the Joker from the newspaper.”

Apparently, my answer seemed to irritate the professor, who proceeds to huff in response. “Vaguely? Have you been living under a rock?”

Did he just ask that? That fucking ass-

-No. Stay calm, Y/N. Just stay calm.

I take a deep, long breath in an attempt to calm myself. Once I release it, I try to give the nicest answer possible. “I was quite tired last night from my work, so I had an early night. I only just heard about the incident a few short minutes ago.”

The professor hums in acknowledgement. “I see. So, I take it you are unaware that Harleen Quinzel is a patient once again at our establishment?”

Harleen Quinzel?! Harley Quinn is here?!

Surprisingly, I have not once seen her as a patient in the asylum. I heard from some of the guards and doctors that she and her “boyfriend” escaped during a riot over a year ago. But now she’s back?!

I force my face and tone of voice to remain neutral to disguise my shock. Whether I succeeded or not is unknown. “I was unaware of that news.”

His eyes still have not left my own. Not even once. “Of course. She was captured by the Batman during the attack at City Hall and was brought here. The Joker, on the other hand, escaped his grasp. From what I heard him and the GCPD are trying to locate him.”

I nod slowly at his words, trying to understand the point he’s making…but failing. “With all due respect, Professor Strange, but how does this relate to me?”

The man huffs again, clearly impatient and frustrated that I have not figured out whatever he’s planning. “Who are the patients you are currently treating, Doctor L/N?”

My patients? How are they connected? Shouldn’t he know that anyway?

“Waylon Jones, Edward Nashton, Victor Fries, and Harvey Dent.” I carefully list out.

“And I believe Mr. Dent is your more recent patient out of the rest after the leave of Julian Day, am I correct?” he continues.

“Yes, sir.” I reply.

“I see.” He simply says. “Well then, I am sure Mr Dent would not mind too much when he is transferred to another doctor.”

TRANSFERRED? ANOTHER DOCTOR?

“Transferred?!” I immediately respond, leaning forward in a flash. “Why is he being transferred to someone else? I voluntarily chose to tackle Mr Dent’s case, Professor Strange. Not many doctors around here have done that.”

My upset reaction does not move Strange in the slightest. In fact, I can see a smirk slowly forming on the left side of his lips. He’s enjoying this.

“Because, Doctor L/N, you will be focused on another patient. Specifically, Miss Quinzel.”

WHAT?!

HARLEY QUINN IS GOING TO BE MY PATIENT? HARLEY QUINN? THE WOMAN WHO BIT OFF A DOCTOR’S EAR THAT ONE TIME?! THE HARLEY QUINN WHO IS OFTEN TO SAID TO BE CRAZIER THAN THE JOKER?! THAT HARLEY QUINN?!

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think this is a wise decision.” I carefully explain to him, trying my hardest not to make him mad. “Miss Quinzel has shown to be quite dangerous around the doctors a lot of the time. I heard she even bit an ear off of one of them.”

Despite my caution, my words cause Strange to sneer violently. “And yet you have no problem having an animal as your patient.”

That fucking asshole. Of course, he brings Waylon into it.

“Waylon is not an animal.” I grunt out, my teeth grating as I say it. “He is a human being. A person, just like the rest of us.”

Strange then has the absolute audacity to sarcastically laugh at my statement as if I was telling a funny joke. “Don’t fool yourself, Croc is an animal. He is cannibalistic killer who hates humanity.”

I have been Waylon’s doctor for the past few months now. While it took a while to get through to him, he eventually warmed up to me when I actually treated him like a person unlike everyone else. From what he has told me about his past, I certainly don’t blame him for hating humanity.

“Waylon is learning.” I tell him. “Progress is slow, but it’s progress nonetheless.”

Strange rises from the desk and walks to a file cabinet at the left corner of the room. He opens one of the draws and quickly pulls out a file and places it on the desk right in front of me. In big, bold letters I see the name “DR. HARLEEN FRANCIS QUINZEL”

“If you have no problem “helping” that animal then I’m sure you will have no problem helping your new patient.”

No, no, no, this cannot be happening.

“But why me?”

“Why not you?” he counters. “You have only been employed at Arkham for a year and you managed to, quote on quote, “cure” one of Gotham’s infamous killers. Miss Quinzel is one of the most dangerous criminals in the city. Warden Sharp himself believes that you can get through to her for the benefit of Gotham.”

Ah…now I see what this is about.

“Is this about “the benefit of Gotham”…or is this about helping the Warden’s mayoral campaign?”

It’s no secret that Warden Sharp cares more about his reputation and ambitions to be mayor than his co-workers and patients, much like Strange himself (no wonder they get along). When Julian Day was released, Sharp received nothing but praise. If I cure Harley Quinn herself then he would win the election by a landslide.

My accusatory question makes Strange sneer yet again and proceeds to lean forward until our faces are inches apart, his eyes glaring daggers right into mine.

“Remember your place, Doctor L/N.” he spits out. “You are going to take this case and you are going to help Miss Quinzel, otherwise I recommend you should explore your career somewhere else. Are we clear?”

What?! He’s going to fire me if I don’t do this job?! He can’t do that! Right?

But then again…he does supervise all the other doctors. And I think there was that one time where he fired a doctor who couldn’t meet his absurd standards…

He’s going to actually fire me if I don’t do this job, huh? After that massive breakthrough I accomplished, I’m still a disposable asset to him? To the Warden who would no doubt listen to his favourite doctor?!

FUCK!

“Crystal.” I reply through gritted teeth, my anger evident.

My eventually compliance brings a smug smile on Strange’s lips, pleased by my reaction. “I am glad we came to an understanding, Doctor L/N. You’re first session with Miss Quinzel is tomorrow morning at 10:00am. That will give you plenty of time for you to have a look at her file. Good day.”

I slowly rise from my chair and grab the file, my eyes never leaving his. My heated gaze is an inch of my boiling anger, its intensity rising every damn second I’m in his office.

“Good day, Professor Strange.”

I walk back to my office, every step feeling like a lifetime, as I realise the reality of my situation.

That bastard! That fucking bastard! He thinks can do this to me?!

“Hey, there you are!”

I look up and see David approaching me, a concerned look written all across his features. “What’s wrong?”

I release a long, painfully heavy sigh as I give him my blunt answer.