2: Joseph Kerr and Juanita Dekter

"Why not rig the ferries to explode after a set amount of time?"

That was not usually the way Faith opened a session with a new patient, but after spending her weekend reading through the Joker's rather extensive files, she knew going with the traditional line of questioning was only going to take them in circles.

She seated herself across the table from him, taking in the straightjacket he wore, knowing his ankles were cuffed together and then took in the collar around his throat, arching an eyebrow. She gathered there was a chain cuffing him to the chair from that collar. While others may have found these precautions a bit severe and unorthodox, she was rather pleased with them. She had no desire to find herself at death's door because of this mad man.

He looked much different in his present state than he did in the mug shot she had of him and what she had seen on the television from his reign of terror nearly a year ago. His hair was no longer green, nor greasy and unkempt but clean. It was a bit curly, and a dark blonde, bordering on light brown. Without his customary face paint, he was rather handsome, if you overlooked the scars.

What was disconcerting were his eyes. They were what could be termed as a warm chocolate brown, without any warmth. She could discern nothing in his eyes and that was what bothered her most. One of his previous psychiatrists –who was now on a long, long vacation- had made a note of 'considerable lack of empathy', which was unsurprising. Another doctor had put down 'antisocial personality disorder', there was 'narcissism', and her personal favorite: 'fucking lunatic'.

"What would be the, uh, fun in that?" he finally replied, answering her question with a question, his tongue darting out of his mouth to swipe at his scars, forcibly reminding her of a reptile.

"I would assume the fun would be in letting the passengers have thought they were safe when neither ship blew up at midnight only to kill them regardless."

"Interesting." He leaned forward in his chair, studying her just as intently as she was studying him. "What would you have, uh, done?"

Her first thought was to say that she wouldn't have done it to begin with, which was the truth. But it was also the answer he was probably expecting. "I would have caused the boats to explode regardless." She said finally.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Why… not…" He echoed, licking his chapped licks, something she noted he did frequently. "I like you, doc-tor…?" His eyes scanned her dove gray sweater for a name badge, not finding one and merely smiled at her, revealing his yellow stained teeth.

"Tepple, Dr. Samantha Tepple."

"That's not your real name, is it, doc-tor?"

"Is Joker your real name?" Faith enquired pleasantly, plastering a cool smile on her unpainted lips.

"Touché." They simply stared at one another until he broke the silence. "Joseph Kerr."

She considered that, the smile never faltering. "Juanita Dekter."

"Juanita Dekter… Ju… nita… dek… ter… You need a doctor."

Faith hid a shudder when he began laughing uncontrollably, shooting a glance towards the steel door where a guard lurked, his forgettable face filling the small square, plexiglass window. Somewhat reassured, she gave her attention back to the hysterical maniac who probably would have been rolling on the floor at this point if he hadn't been restrained.

Just as suddenly as he started, he stopped, lunging forward as far and quickly as the straightjacket and chains would allow him. "I like you, Doc." He growled, the somewhat nasally tone she had become accustomed to deepening, darkening. "We're going to have fun together… I, ah, I can tell."

"I did have the ferries rigged to explode, you know. The, uh, the Bat-man stopped me."

This was day two of their sessions. Faith had promised Quincy that she would give the Joker one hour a day for exactly one week and no more. She had other patients to tend too, regular patients, patients of the adolescent variety.

"How did he stop you?" She asked, her hands folded on the table between them.

Today was no different than yesterday in terms of set-up. He was still heavily restrained and she hadn't been allowed to bring anything but a tape recorder into the room as pencils or pens had the potential to be dangerous, for her. Of course if he somehow managed to get free, he could always bash her head in with the small recorder of maybe even attempt cramming it down her throat. She banished those morbid thoughts almost as quickly as they entered her mind.

"How did he stop me, Doc?"

She arched an eyebrow.

"He strung me up! Instead of let-ting me go SPLAT on the concrete below, he saved me. I really think he should be the one in this room with you, he's the craazzyy one, not me."

"So, you're saying the Batman is crazy for… saving your life?" Faith reiterated, frowning slightly. The Joker was not suicidal, that much was obvious. Though while not actively seeking his death, that didn't mean he feared it either, interesting.

"Of course. Would you let me live if you had the, uh, the chance to stop me?"

"This isn't about what I would do."

"Of course it is, doc. You know what I've done, what I am, ah, cape-a-ble of." He stretched the words, popping his 'p' with obvious relish as he regarded her. "You wouldn't put me down if you had the oppor-tun-i-ty?"

"Again, this isn't about what I would do."

"Doc, you're not playing the, uh, game, you're s'posed to answer the question."

"I did answer the question. Back to the ferries, how did Batman stop you, did you have a detonator like you provided your victims with?"

"I don't like that word. Vic-tims. It makes them sound so inno-cent when none of them were. Not a, uh, single one." He glared at her, his eyes scouring her face for who knew what. "You're not inn-o-cent either, are ya Doc?"

And that concluded their session.

"The Joker is not insane, at least, not in the technical sense of the word. His brand of 'insanity' is-" Faith cut off midsentence when she heard the door to her apartment open. She didn't live in the 'upper class' section of Gotham nor did she live in a section that could have given the now desolate Narrows a run for its money. She was comfortably settled in what could best be deemed 'middle class' and though crime was still a problem –it was Gotham after all- she was still surprised to find someone just strolling in her door.

Frowning, she rolled off her bed where she had been recording her thoughts for her notes and padded towards the bedroom door, halting long enough to retrieve her aluminum baseball bat from next to her dresser.

Quietly making her way down the narrow hallway, she heard the intruder walking from her living room, through her den and into the kitchen. Gray eyes narrowed when she next heard her refrigerator door opening, wondering what kind of thief ate before casing the place.

"Don't you own anything stronger than wine?"

"Bruce?" Relief coursed through her and she nearly sagged against the cream colored wall. "What the hell are you doing here?" She demanded a second later, dropping the bat and storming into the kitchen.

She was greeted to the sight of Bruce Wayne setting her cheap bottle of sangria on the counter. What was odd was that he looked… "Are you drunk?" She had seen him drink, but never seen him intoxicated, nor did she want too. "Bruce! Answer me!"

He ignored her, busy now searching her cupboards for glasses and finally settled on two plain plastic tumblers. After pouring them each a measure, he turned and held on of the glasses out to her.

Faith got her first good look at his face. His eyes were red but not overly blurry or glassy, so he had just recently started his drinking binge. His usually impeccable hair was disheveled as was the business suit he wore. Frowning, she took the glass, still staring at him. "Bruce, what's wrong?" She asked softly, her curiosity at just how he had gotten into her apartment overridden by concern.

"Do you know what today is?" He asked, his voice low and flat.

She shook her head no.

"Today is Rachel's birthday." He raised his own tumbler to her in a mocking toast. "Cheers."