Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Inmate 1401948

a/n: I started writing this awhile back when I was attempting to understand my perception of the Riddler in my other story. This will be a series of one shot interviews between each Batman rogue. I don't own any of the characters. I hope you enjoy it! The next chapter will be Harley Quinn.

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Patient Interview 4

Edward Nigma aka the Riddler

She paused in front of the bland tan door. She wasn't looking forward to her next session at all. He had only been in Arkham for seven days, and still managed to completely infuriate her in that small allotted time. With a motivated deep breath she opened up the door to the white brick patient interview room. Across from the lone metal table sat a tall man with crazy red hair.

Edward Nigma gave her a smug smile as he laid his hands causally on the table. "Good Morning, Doctor," he said sweetly.

She paused at the door before closing it. She tried to act like his cheery greeting didn't bother her as she shut the door and moved to her chair across from him. She pulled out her recorder and put it on the table. "Good morning to you to Edward. You seem like you're in a good mood," she commented politely.

His eyebrow twitched at hearing his real name, but the smile never left his face. "Yes, I guess I am," he answered.

"Why is that?" she asked pulling out her notebook hoping that maybe some real progress could be done today.

The man gave her a slight glare like her simple question had insulted his intelligence. "Why does it matter? I don't quite understand why psychiatrist must ask the most dreadfully dull questions. There is no intellectual substance and therefore no challenge," he said as his thumb and index finger pressed together like he was rolling an imaginary object between them.

There goes her hope of progress. Letting out a tired sigh, she asked, "Okay Edward. What is it you would want me to ask?"

"Like a woman to put the work into the man's hands," he spoke leaning back into his chair, "I'll give you an example to help this process along. Hmm. Riddle me this, how do you not put a blade to your wrist when knowing your life is wasted on the incurable?" His lips turned into a calm smile as if the question were about the whether.

She frowned, "I find that inappropriate."

"Getting into the depths of a mind is not required to be appropriate especially when every person has dark thoughts…if they have thoughts at all," he mumbled the last part annoyed. His dark green eyes focused on something behind her.

"Do you really believe that to be true? Before your accident people found you friendly" _still an arrogant jerk but friendly "_…so dark thoughts didn't always plague your mind," she argued.

He let out a small giggle, closing his dark green eyes for a moment before opening them again. "I prefer not to lie so I will ask you a question…do you believe the first time I killed was after the accident?" he asked as he titled his head to the side. It almost looked like he was studying her expression for deeper thought.

She couldn't control her facial muscles to turning to shock then disgust as she ingested his meaning. He had killed before the accident. She had suspected that something in his past had set up the Riddler and the accident was just the tip of the iceberg, but she hadn't expected the killing to be before the accident. She put her calm mask back on and finally said, "Well I guess we are seeing some progress here. This is the first time you admitted to killing instead of blaming them on your riddles."

His dark green eyes rolled up under his black frame glasses then back at her, "It is all an interpretation. A brother rips and destroys his sister's doll. The little girl responds through tears 'you killed him.' The girl is to young to understand that the doll is not alive and therefore cannot die. We, however, do not burst this ignorance and continue to comfort her which only strengthens this false idea in her mind."

"Are you saying the people you kill are like dolls?" she asked somewhat disgusted with his lack of concern for human life.

He smirked shaking his orange hair out of his face. She wondered for a moment if that was why he wore the hat. "I am saying that you cannot kill something that has no brain power to be considered alive, but society sees things differently."

She frowned again. His respect for others was nonexistent. She had yet to meet someone as arrogant as him. "Let's change the topic."

"**A Comb Contorted Flour**?" he asked with a smug grin.*

She ignored the question and moved on to her own, "How is your leg?"

His smile didn't fall, but it faltered while his thumb and index continued to roll the imaginary object. "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" he asked.

"Edward…" she said with a tired sigh. This had happened a few times now.

"I counted 347, but still was unable to reach it," he stated his eyes literally glazing over as he thought about it.

"Edward, every time I bring up your leg you start talking about tootsie pops. Are the pain killers working?" she asked again. He needed to tell them so they could either increase or decrease the dose depending.

"Riddle me this, a man decides to quit his job, so he turns off the lights. He walks out of the room and 200 people die. Why do 200 people die?" he said his eyes getting a glint of happiness in them as he looked at her again.

"I'm not sure," she answered wanting to roll her eyes.

"He operated a light house," he said with a short giggle.

"Clever, but Edward you are using your riddles as a defense mechanism again. I'm here to help, and I can't do that if you don't talk to me about it," she tried to sound supportive, but at this point she wanted to be done with the session.

"If I thought I needed help I would have admitted myself, wouldn't I?" he said more causally.

"So you don't think there is anything wrong with what your doing?" she asked.

"Genius are misunderstood by the simple minds around them. Abraham Lincoln was not a popular president during the civil war; it was only after he had left the presidency that he gained the fame. I think about 60% of children pick Lincoln as their favorite president."

Her face deadpanned. Her features started to look haggard. It felt like trying to swim upriver as she argued, "You put people in death traps that is not something that can be misunderstood."

"They are riddles doctor…easy riddles that they can easily escape from. Don't blame me for television rotting their minds," his hand cuffed hands moved to the table as he talk. She watched in disgust as he began outlining an invisible question mark.

How could she go about curing a man who thinks he is above god? How can she convince him it's murder? She wanted to slouch over with the weight she felt.

"You like classical music correct? Beethoven in particular?" he said interrupting her thoughts

"Yes…how do you know that?" she said eying him suspiciously.

"Well since I have been locked up in my cell with nothing to do. My mind has kept itself busy with some riddles. I've been thinking of one for you. It's rather complicated out of respect for your somewhat above average thought capacity. Would you like to hear the beginning of it?" he said his dark green eyes lingering on her face.

Before she had a chance reject this he continued. "The music stopped. The woman dies. Why?" he asked his long lips turning into a vile smile as he leaned over the desk to stare at her.

Her fingers clutched around her pen. This mad man would not threaten her. "I believe we are done for the day, Edward," she said calmly getting up.

As she opened the door the Riddler finally spoke, "Think about the riddle dear!" Her response was to slam the door hard.

The Riddler just sat there in his wheel chair. A frown finally formed on his lips. They were all incompetent Doctors. If the woman had a reasonable IQ she would have realized that the riddle he described had nothing in relations to her. By mentioning music and suggesting a riddle she only assumed it was a death threat. The actually answer had to do with a tight rope walker, but of course the average mind would never conceive that. He was surrounded by buffoons dressed up as doctors on some pretense they could cure others.

He rubbed his leg again even though the handcuffs prevented any real movement. The drugs did nothing to subdue the pain; only intelligent thought would prevent it. He had little faith he would access any of that soon.

The door behind him opened revealing Mike, his orderly. The big blond man walked over to him, and pulled his wheelchair out from the table. The Riddler dearly missed his cane, but the people wouldn't allow him to have anything sharp on his person. "Did you get what I asked for?" he said in a cold monotone voice.

Mike stopped the chair before he opened the door. He then heard the man digging through his pockets. The Riddler smirked as ten tootsie pops were placed on his lap.

"Good," he stated putting them under his shirt. He could handle the stupidity of Arkham if he had his candy.

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*Uncomfortable Doctor?


	2. Inmate 0121993

Patient 0121993 Interview 12

Harleen Quinzel aka Harley Quinn

"Hello Harleen," he said causally as he shifted his file on the table. A wavy blond sat across from him. Her finger was twirling a piece of her hair in circles as her big blue eyes stared dreamily out at the wall.

"Harleen," he repeated.

"I fell like we go through this each session," she said in her psychiatrist tone. So many of Arkham's psychiatrists end up on the other side of the desk. It almost made him rethink working here. The girl continued speaking still not looking at him, "I would prefer to be called Harley."

He nodded, "Yes I understand that, but the name Harley associate to much with the past were trying to cure you of."

She let out a bored sigh as she stretched her arms in the air. "I don't need to be cured," she said in a yawn.

"You believe you're sane?" he asked doubting the claim.

"Oh I didn't say that. I'm crazy, but that's the fun. Don't ya see Doc, life more fun on the other side!" she answered with a huge smile her Harleyiques voice coming out.

"Having an abusive boyfriend is fun?" he asked.

Harley's hands fell from the air as a pout formed on her lips. "He loves me. He just gets angry when something goes wrong. He's a sociopath, ya know. He doesn't feel the same way we feel. He doesn't notice when he hurts someone until its too late," she said. It was odd hearing a psychiatrist diagnosis on the Joker in a ditzy tone of voice. "But I accept my Puddin for all his flaws."

"If he's a sociopath he can't feel love either," he showed the flaw in her logic.

She closed her eyes and giggled. "Silly Doc, if my Puddin didn't love me why does he keep me alive?" she asked.

"Because he can use you. Don't you see, you're like his side kick," he stated.

Her smile left turning to a frown before she shook her head. "He holds me, and tells me he's sorry. He listens to me. He protects me. And best of all he makes me laugh. If that's not love I don't know what is," she said with a new sense of pride. Her body had started bouncing in her chair while a big smile played across her face. He had a hard time believing any of that to be true, but there was something about Harleen that always seemed so sincerely honest.

"You're finding excuses for him Harleen. Can't you understand that you are hurting yourself?" he attempted.

Harley stopped bouncing in her chair and focused her blue eyes on his. They were playful…and teasing. "Have you ever played hide and seek?" she asked tilting her head to the side like a puppy.

"Yes, I think everyone has," he responded coldly at the shift of conversation.

"Okie Dokie, so you know that to win you have to find the best hiding place. As a smart human being your goal is to win. Everyone likes winning. It's part of our nature. Now let's say you're playing with you're girlfriend. She's a cutie pie of course, cause you seem like the handsome type to pick em. Um anyways…the seeker is heading towards your girlfriend's hiding spot. As a smart person, you would stay silent because winning is the ultimate goal. Love changes all that though. Love makes you jump out from your hiding spot making a funny face," she stated bringing her hands to her cheek as she stuck out her tongue she held it like that mumbling, "and shout at the person so they come after you," she let go of her, "You see love isn't rational, Doctor. Love goes against human nature because by human natures we are greedy, brutish creatures. When you're in love you sacrifice your own needs for the other person. You would sacrifice your entire self for the person. You can't justify it because there is no way to justify it. All you know is that you would step in front of a moving toy truck if it saved your love one. Love is insanity, and I can't expect a sane person like yaself Doc to understand."

He found himself blinking in some sort of trance. It wasn't because her argument was flawed, no exactly the opposite. He just couldn't get pass how she sounded and acted so stupid, but her words expressed a deeper thought. She really was quite smart, but was the rest of it a charade. The Joker, himself, had led many psychiatrist down wrong paths…did he teach her to do the same. At that moment, she didn't look like she needed help. She just looked like a slightly immature older woman who was enjoying her life.

She leaned in over the table and took him out of his thoughts. "Can I tell ya a secret?" she asked with wide blue eyes.

He felt himself smiling for the first time during a session. Finally. "Yes, of course. Everything is kept between the two of us," he assured her.

Harley glanced to each wall as if they had grown ears and could hear every word. She leaned over more on the table finally settling her eyes on him. They seemed darker, and for a moment he was reminded that this woman who acted so playful and innocent killed hundreds of people. Her lips turned into a smirk. "The real reason I'm with him," she said in a deeper tone that reseambled more her actual age escaped her mouth, "He can scratch an itch no other man can. Let's just say…he knows how to ride a Harley."

Her blue eyes stayed focus with his, and he noticed the evil glint he had first saw when she was yanked through Arkam's doors. For some reason, it felt like ants were crawling all over his skin. He didn't know how to respond to that. Was he suppose to take it as a joke, or was he suppose take her seriously? Did she really do it all for sex…he highly doubted it. He also doubted she did it all for love too. Yes, he could tell that she was emotionally dependent on the Joker, but if the Joker were taken out of the scenario he was almost certain she would continue killing for her own amusement. "You're droolin, Doc?" she said with her innocent voice and a giggle as she leaned back in her chair again.

His mouth was slightly a gape, and he hadn't realized it. He quickly closed his mouth and adjusted his tie like the comment had never happened. "I had actually wanted to spend this session talking about your father," he began.

He tried to study for a reaction, but her eyes were once again darting around the room in search of something. She would randomly smile as if the crack on the wall had just started dancing. "What about my Pa?" she asked still looking about.

"He's currently spending a life sentence at Blackgate. Do you believe this had in effect on your drawl to the Joker?" he asked wanting to snap his finger in her face to get her to look at him again.

She started giggling. He had first thought the white flaking paint on the bricks had brought it about, but then the laughter got harder. "Are you seriously trying to explain my actions through simple Freudian logic?" she choked out through laughter. As always her knowledge of psychiatry disturbed him. She finally started to calm down as she wiped a tear from her eye.

"You don't believe it is possible?" he asked wanting her opinion.

"No Doctor," she stated seriously for a moment before giggling again, "Puddin and my Pa are nuddin alike. My Pa was reserved, never laughed, and very content. He only got pushed into the Biz cause my Uncle Murrie begged for help. It was bad luck that landed my Pa in the slammer where he don't belong. Puddin, on the other hand, is restless and always seeking out adventure. He's not content with life because life is a joke. My Pa situation only proves that. He takes what he wants because he is above all rules." She had started twirling her blond hair again around her finger as she smiled big to herself.

"It sounds like you hold a different respect for your father," he started not wanting to dive into the Joker dilemma again, "Why is it you haven't seen him in years?"

He watched as sadness overtook her expressions. She was so readable. It probably contributed to her naturally honest appearance. Her hand fell from her hair and landed in her lap. "My mother died," she stated seriously, "She committed suicide after his arrest. He blamed me for not keeping an eye on her and not protecting her."

He paused looking up from his notes. He almost thought he was seeing his daughter who had come home after a bully had teased her at school. Her face had fallen into her chest as her shoulders slumped in. Then unexpectedly she started laughing again. Her handcuff hands went to her chest as she heaved in heavy breathes to keep laughing.

"I don't believe I understand why this is funny," he stated calmly as the girl continued to laugh.

"It's obvious Doc," she said waving her hand in the air like he was nuts, "If my Pa never got into crime then he never would have gotten caught then my mother would never have committed suicide then I never would have been interested in psychology then I never would have taken my internship at Arkham and then I would NEVER have met my Mistah J and become the happiest girl in the world. It's funny how life gives you lemons only to give you a giant strawberry the next day."

…

It always came back to the Joker. Harleen used to be such an independent girl based on her file. He needed to severe the trust between Harley and the Joker. He hadn't wanted to bring it up, but he would have to. Harley was singing softly to herself about all the colors that matched strawberries. Her foot was tapping on the ground, and she seemed to just be enjoying herself.

"Harley," she looked up slightly surprised that he had used her nickname, "You do know that Joker has made sexual advances at the female nurses."

She giggled softly. "Mistah J's a flirt, Doc," she answered with a shrug.

"A flirt? I never constituted flirting as stealing a kiss from Nurse Rosie," he stated waiting for her to wake up from her Joker delirium.

"Nah. Mistah J just gets a bit frisky," she said with a wave of a hand, but the happiness in her voice was slowly draining and the smile wasn't as wide.

"Rosie's a friend of mine she…"

"Look," she said in a deep serious voice that lacked any smile, "I know what you are attempting to do. I myself was a psychiatrist at this institution for five years. I, however, never purposefully broke someone's will to live in order to heal them. I found a more comfortable and less stressful path of healing. Therefore Doctor, I would suggest you go back to your studies and research more on abusive victims. I believe you find no course of actions that suggest sending the patient into a complete tizzy. And before you make another remark about the Joker and this nurse," she spat the word, "I want you to remember when the Joker does break out, which he will, he will take me with him. And when I'm out I will know the name of this Nurse Rosie."

She leaned back in her chair and attempted to cross her arms over her chest only to be prevented by the handcuffs. The seriousness behind every word tore him apart. It felt like every statement was made to make a deeper impact on him. If words were knives…he would probably have been dead.

"Besides aren't relationship problems suppose to be kept between the couple?" she asked in a higher pitch voice more to herself then to him before she pouted.

He had lost her. They weren't going to get any farther today. "This session is over Harleen. Have a good day," he said politely.

Harley watched as the older man leave through the door. Once the door had shut, her hand turned into a fist on her lap as her teeth pressed tightly together. "I'll KILL HIM!" she shouted standing up and knocking her chair down. "I'll F*CKING KILL HIM!" she shouted again and began pacing the room. "Kissing? After all I've sacrificed for him, and he goes off stealing kisses from ditzy nurses! He will have something to laugh about when my fist meet his favorite little clown!"

The door started to open and she stopped pacing turning her frown into a smile. "Waltie!" she said his name in a fake high shrill. Walter didn't even falter. Harley had noticed he didn't like talking much, but he had gotten used to her habits.

"Time to go Miss. Quinn," he mumbled nodding to the door. An idea popped into her head as she heard someone switching on a light switch (whether that was just in her head or not she didn't know). If the Joker can steal kisses I can too.

"Wait I'm not ready yet," she smirked then playfully skipped over to Walter. He was about to turn to head out the door, but she leaned up grabbing his square jaw between her hands and kissed him hard. His body stiffened as his hands rose to push her away, but he didn't. What logical man would push away an attractive blond? She finally pulled away feeling satisfied. "Okay Waltie. I'm ready now. Take me to my cell!" she said dramatically pointing off into the hallway.

Walter stood there silently as he watched the girl walk out in front of him. She was definitely as weird as the Joker. "Match made in hell," he mumbled before following the giggling harlequin.


End file.

Batman Begins/Dark Knight, Crime, Humor