Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
attending_physician) wrote2012-06-26 10:49 pm
attending_physician) wrote2012-06-26 10:49 pm
it's just you and me against me...
This recording does not exist.
(She’s told that more than once in the course of trying to get a hold of it.)
Someone who is not a member of the police, or affiliated with the district attorney’s office, or acting as counsel for the suspect would never be allowed into the interrogation room; especially not someone who is also a vigilante criminal and wanted by the police.
(Harleen replies more than once that she understands, but that she still needs the recording.)
She tries the commissioner, and the district attorney, but in the end the solution is much simpler. There are cracks still in the GCPD; small things can still be bought.
“I need this,” she tells the lieutenant. “I’m his doctor. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
He is sympathetic and only asks for half of what she’d expected to pay.
Two days later, a nondescript brown envelope turns up in her mailbox, containing an unlabeled DVD.
The picture quality is shit; the fact that most of the lights in the interrogation room are out certainly isn’t helping matters.
Harleen realizes why the lights are out the second before they come back on.
The question is a stupid one. She pulls a face that she’s glad no one can see.
She expected more from the Bat.
He’s talking and the Bat isn’t listening.
”They're only as good as the world allows them to be.”
“... these civilized people—they'll eat each other.”
Harleen is.
The Bat dials up the violence to avoid playing the game.
(How many bones did she break? Does anyone know?)
The Joker gives up the addresses and the Bat tears out of there like her cape is on fire.
Eventually, an officer is sent in to guard the door.
The minute he responds to the Joker’s question, Harleen knows this is going to go very badly.
The Joker steers the officer out of the room.
If she turns the volume up, she can hear shouting from down the hall, though the words remain indistinct.
And then the explosion.
Harleen turns the video off when the screaming starts.
All told, she watches the interrogation three times from start to finish. She rewinds, takes notes.
By the time the Joker’s next appointment rolls around, she feels about as prepared as she thinks she ever will.
(She’s told that more than once in the course of trying to get a hold of it.)
Someone who is not a member of the police, or affiliated with the district attorney’s office, or acting as counsel for the suspect would never be allowed into the interrogation room; especially not someone who is also a vigilante criminal and wanted by the police.
(Harleen replies more than once that she understands, but that she still needs the recording.)
She tries the commissioner, and the district attorney, but in the end the solution is much simpler. There are cracks still in the GCPD; small things can still be bought.
“I need this,” she tells the lieutenant. “I’m his doctor. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
He is sympathetic and only asks for half of what she’d expected to pay.
Two days later, a nondescript brown envelope turns up in her mailbox, containing an unlabeled DVD.
The picture quality is shit; the fact that most of the lights in the interrogation room are out certainly isn’t helping matters.
Harleen realizes why the lights are out the second before they come back on.
The question is a stupid one. She pulls a face that she’s glad no one can see.
She expected more from the Bat.
He’s talking and the Bat isn’t listening.
“... these civilized people—they'll eat each other.”
Harleen is.
The Bat dials up the violence to avoid playing the game.
(How many bones did she break? Does anyone know?)
The Joker gives up the addresses and the Bat tears out of there like her cape is on fire.
Eventually, an officer is sent in to guard the door.
The minute he responds to the Joker’s question, Harleen knows this is going to go very badly.
The Joker steers the officer out of the room.
If she turns the volume up, she can hear shouting from down the hall, though the words remain indistinct.
And then the explosion.
Harleen turns the video off when the screaming starts.
All told, she watches the interrogation three times from start to finish. She rewinds, takes notes.
By the time the Joker’s next appointment rolls around, she feels about as prepared as she thinks she ever will.
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"What do you like about him?"
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"What's your favorite song?"
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"...I can't decide if 'Killer Queen' is too obvious or entirely perfect."
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"Jesus, I haven't thought of that in ages. One of my instructors...when we were learning how to perform CPR, they told us there were two songs we could think of to time our compressions, that had the right beats per minute.
One of them was 'Stayin' Alive,' and the other was 'Another One Bites the Dust.'"
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The Joker claps his hands and cackles with glee.
"That is perfect," he wheezes.
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"Which was largely the point."
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Harleen glances at the wall clock and immediately forgets what she was going to say.
"...looks like we ran a little over time."
A little.
Half an hour.
Semantics.
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She smiles, trying for apologetic.
"We'll see each other next week."
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"Okay. I'll wait."