Mad Love (Harlivy version)

Chapter 1

A cherry red 1965 Mustang convertible picked its way through the treacherous, misplaced pavement on the singular winding road up to Gotham's own Arkham Asylum. The driver cursed as she failed to avoid a pothole just before the narrow road opened up into a private lot which the girl deduced was maintained only marginally better than the driveway. She cautiously allowed her car to creep forward, both to avoid another unfortunate pothole and also in an attempt to find a parking spot where she wouldn't be in anyone's way. The latter task proved rather simple when she noticed a sign in the space immediately to her right that read "Dr. Harleen Quinzel." The driver beamed.

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel," she said under her breath, mocking herself by adding extra emphasis to her credentials. She really was a doctor now- a real-life practicing psychiatrist. She pulled in, making sure she had spaced her vehicle an equal distance from the cars on either side. Harleen didn't know if being a bad driver was a blonde stereotype, but since just about everything else unsavory was, she assumed it was best to rise above any notion her physical attractiveness might force people to conceive. Harleen had already spent significant time being "that girl" and was now carefully setting herself up to mold a new reputation, one that she could be proud of. Her mother had always said first impressions were everything, and Harleen Quinzel was more than ready to make hers.

"Arkham, eat your heart out." She said to the rear-view mirror, her wide, powder-blue eyes staring intently back at her. She narrowed them, trying to make herself appear somehow "harder." Only a hunter would want a baby deer as their psychiatrist, and Harleen refused to be made a meal of. She quickly grabbed a comb out of her glove box and pushed a loose strand of blonde hair carefully back into place.

"Don't fuck this up, Harley." She pointed an accusatory index finger at herself in the mirror. "Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up."

"Harleen. Good to put a face to the name. I'm Doctor Joan Leland." The middle-aged brunette extended a hand. Harley set her briefcase on the ground and shook back, careful not to appear too eager or bashful. She wanted her colleagues to see her as a confident, qualified young woman.

"Just call me 'Harley'. Everyone does."

The woman smiled somewhat pleasantly at her, and then continued "I trust you found your parking space?"

Harley nodded. "I did, yes." She wished there was more to say, something to elaborate on to impress or interest her new boss, but complementing the facilities would be horribly disingenuous.

"How about you set your things down in the office and I'll give you the tour."

Harley followed Dr. Leland to a room at the end of the hall past the security checks. It appeared to be a doctor's lounge of some sort with a small kitchen unit comprised of a counter and sink on the left hand side. Two men in matching white lab coats sat on the couches, each claiming one for himself.

"This is Dr. Graham and Dr. Cain." Leland gestured to the man on the left first, and then the right. "Gentleman, meet our newest resident psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel."

"But you can call me 'Harley'." She grinned, forgetting for a moment that she was attempting to come off as a stoic professional.

"We usually keep it to last names only here at Arkham, Dr. Quinzel. It sets a good example for the patients."

"Oh," Harley hoped her face didn't appear as red as it felt. "Of course."

Harley gave a slightly awkward nod to her new co-workers and somewhat clumsily set her briefcase down against the wall. Dr. Leland turned out of the room without saying another word and Harley followed close behind. The two women rounded a corner, passing by another security check, and were all at once standing at the end of a wide hallway. The walls were lined with glass-doored cells, and Harley could hear spirited conversations between the prisoners- err, "patients"- wafting towards her.