Hi Everyone. This is my first attempt at fan fiction.
A couple notes:
-I don't own 'em. I just love 'em.
-This is a slow burn sort of story. I'm just playing around with the characters a bit.
-Please let me know what you think and what totally sucks. It's a learning process for me, but I hope you enjoy it.
"Good luck to you Miss Quinzel. We're so proud of you," Dr. Cassidy beamed. She pulled Harleen in for a hug that felt like being trapped in an over starched vice. Harleen stepped back gently. "We couldn't have done that six months ago," Harleen quipped as she awkwardly rubbed the back of her head. Dr. Cassidy smiled. "No we certainly could not."
Dr. Cassidy looked around the small apartment that had been laid out for Harleen. "Now then, is there anything else I can do for you while I'm here?" Harleen shook her head. "No thank you. I feel like I just need some rest." The young doctor nodded. "Well you have my number in the cell the team gave you. Please don't hesitate to call me. I can be here in minutes." Harleen gave a small smile. "Thank you."
As the door closed behind the good doctor, Harleen leaned back against it and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally she was on her own. She had been a patient at the Arkham Asylum for six months and was now part of a new program meant to "integrate the rehabilitated back into society." Well, at least that's how the brochure read. Harleen was considered "their greatest triumph to date" and Dr. Sharp felt certain there were many psychiatric awards with his name on them in the future.
Harleen went over to the kitchen island that separated the kitchen from the living room and opened her backpack. One by one pill bottles appeared on the counter. When Harleen had placed the seventh one in its place, she sat down and put her head level with the medications, staring at them to see who would blink first. She sighed again. "Rehabilitated eh?"
The journey to get to this kitchen counter had been a painful one. The first three months in the asylum had been session after session of electro shock treatment and although Harleen could clearly visualize being tied down and having electrodes taped to her head, she could not for the life of her remember what the doctors were trying to correct. She was told something about codependency, but she couldn't remember the face. She could remember words like schizophrenia, PTSD, and split personality, but there were no voices to hear for confirmation. One would suppose that meant she was cured. No no, that was the wrong word. Dr. Sharp had specifically told Harleen that she would never be "cured" but she could be rehabilitated with some deliberate behavior shifts and all seven of her little friends that sat before her now.
Harleen straightened up in her chair and looked about before her eyes landed back on her backpack. She reached in and took out a deck of cards. Sliding them out she began to shuffle them quickly and set up a game of solitaire. Solitaire is how she spent most of her time in Arkham when she was deemed stable enough to have them. Suddenly she drew a card and scowled. The card had no value, just a jester staring up at her wearing a red and black hat with matching tights. Harleen lifted the card and stared at it thoughtfully. Scoffing she turned to the nearby garbage pail and threw it out. "You don't need jokers when you all you play is solitaire."