“He's been out awhile. Couldn't get them to keep him at the hospital, couldn't put him in with the general population either.” The guard was hunched over a monitor at his station, watching various screens in a dully lit room that held forgotten files and had no windows. Harleen stood behind him, watching one particular screen and vaguely smiling to herself. He was hers. She'd fought for him, her patient. Her eyes were lit with optimism and an almost child-like excitement was barely contained in her expression. She would fix him, she would write about it, she'd be famous. They would both be famous and it all started with one patient, one particular patient that was more unpredictable than the rest. She'd read the file, what was gathered on him, and this was the chance she had wanted.<br/><br/>“I know,” she answered with her eyes trained on the screen, listening to the muted sounds of him yelling. The only cell with real volume that could be turned up or down because he was locked away from even the guards. No one got near him, no one was allowed except to keep him alive and except for her after a lot of fighting and paperwork.<br/><br/>There was an echo, the scrape of metal, rattle of keys, clink of doors. There was an uproar from the lunatics, a deafening sound that drown out the click of her heels on the unyielding floor. She ignored them, her eyes fixed in front of her and her jaw set firmly. The clipboard she held at her side she had clamped her fingers so tightly onto her knuckles had turned white, but the other hand swung limply, casually. A guard-turned-orderly, different from the one stuck in his windowless workspace, walked beside her in a rigid upright position, occasionally slamming his night stick into the bars of some too riled inmate. Harleen resisted the urge to flinch at the abrupt sound and the howl it prompted out of this or that person behind bars. “Sorry, Doc. They don't see too many new people down this way. It's kinda like Christmas having him then you come through.”<br/><br/>The bright blue eyes glanced at her only protector and she smiled a tight-lipped smile that prevented her teeth from showing. “It's alright. I don't mind. I've had worse things said to me.” The vulgar noise and occasional cat call almost made her laugh, albeit it would have been a flighty sort of response. It wasn't the same as being stared at on the street or by men and women in minimal security asylums. Her observations had all been done in such tame places, with people who hadn't hurt anyone, not really, not intentionally. These people, they were monsters, and some part of that idea was so enticing. To be able to get into their heads – who wouldn't want to jump at the opportunity?<br/><br/>The door at the end of the hall looked foreboding, even when they stopped in front of it. The man, in his wrinkled uniform, paused to peer at the slight woman in front of him in her very serious white coat. The aging face looked concerned for her. “I'll be right outside if you need anything. You be careful with him. A lot bad people come through this place, but there's something wrong with this one. No sense of self-preservation and smart. Those things, they don't mix. Don't make any sense.”<br/><br/>“Well,” she started calmly, almost confident in her mission, “we'll see. He can't do much harm behind glass.” Harleen nodded once and the guard, still reluctant to put her near him, yanked the door open. This time he was rewarded with a flash of her teeth as she stepped into the room. The door closed quietly behind her and she almost looked back to it but stopped herself midway. The grip on her clipboard was renewed and the anticipatory anxiety coiled in her stomach.<br/><br/>From where she stood, she could see him standing in more light than she was currently in. He looked more like a drunk off the street who had gotten himself into a brawl from where she stood. Slowly, she made her approach, the sound her heels louder in a quiet room, deafening, even above the echo of voices rattling in her head still from the cell block. Three steps away from the glass she stopped and stared serenely into the enclosure. She wasn't smiling anymore, but studying him, trying to determine if he still looked like a drunk. The blood, she could guess, wasn't actually his so much as the poor nurse he'd bit. “Have you?” she asked suddenly. “Learned your lesson? You haven't been here very long. You haven't been awake for most of it. It's hard to say you've learned anything.” Harleen pulled up her clipboard long enough to compose a brief note to herself. The board was then pressed against her chest and held, not protectively, but as a matter of convenience. “But you do know why you're here then.” It wasn't a question but she still looked expectant as if he should say why and how he'd turned up in Arkham.