"Last name?"

"Quinzel."

"First name?"

"Harleen."

"Is that Miss?"

Harleen Quinzel's smile fell a little. "Um…no, Doctor, actually," she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said cashier at the bank, scribbling out what he had written. "I just assumed, being a young lady…"

"No, that's fine, I understand," said Harleen, forcing the smile back on her face. "I only qualified last week, so I'm just getting used to it myself!" she laughed.

The cashier didn't. He smiled patiently. "Is this a personal account you're wanting to open, or a joint account?"

"Personal," replied Harleen.

"Would you be interested in opening an additional joint account with your partner?"

Harleen's face fell again. "Um…I'm single, actually, so no."

"Of course, I'm sorry," said the cashier, not looking up from his work.

Harleen stared at him. Was he sorry because he had made an assumption, or sorry because she was single? The man was very patronizing – he could easily mean both. Who knew that opening a bank account could make you feel so bad about your life? She kinda regretted having to do it, but she had officially moved to Gotham now with her new job and couldn't keep using her old bank in Brooklyn. She had thought, starting a new life with a new job in a new city, it had made sense to open a new bank account. But it was proving more complicated and more humiliating than she had initially suspected.

"Do you have any proof of address?" he asked her, looking up.

"Er…yeah, maybe somewhere," said Harleen, beginning to dig through her bag. She pulled out a copy of her apartment lease she had signed this morning and handed it over to him.

"I'll also need your drivers licence, passport, and your last three statements from your former bank," he continued.

Harleen stared at him. "Right…all that's strictly necessary, is it?"

"I wouldn't waste your time or mine asking for them if they weren't," he retorted.

"Gee…I didn't realize it would be so complicated to open a new bank account," said Harleen, slowly.

"Well, obviously procedure must be followed at all times," replied the cashier. "That's simply the way things are, Dr. Quinzel."

"Yes, of course," agreed Harleen. "Well, I guess I'll have to skip it for today – I don't have my passport or bank statements on me. Thanks for your help."

"Not at all, Dr. Quinzel," he replied. "Next, please."

Harleen sighed, pausing in the foyer of the bank to reorganize her bag. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She had just been through seven years of medical school, so she was used to dealing with paperwork and bureaucracy, but sometimes she just got really sick of it. She had had to sign documents for her new apartment, forms for her new job, insurance, leases, statements, papers, papers, papers. Since when did papers have so much meaning? Since when had her life become a series of papers, one after another? And speaking of papers…

She made her way back over to the counter. "Sorry, excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," she said, pushing herself timidly between the cashier and his new client. "But I think you still have my apartment lease."

"You'll have to wait, Dr. Quinzel, I'm just dealing with this gentleman," he snapped.

"Look, I just need it back…" she retorted, grabbing it from off the counter.

At that moment, the doors to the bank were thrown open and several shots were fired into the air. "Nobody move, this is a robbery!" shouted a voice.

Screaming and panic instantly ensued, until more shots were fired and the same voice shouted, "Everyone down on the ground with your hands over your head now!"

The people around Harleen obeyed, and she did too. She probably should have been frightened being mixed-up in an armed robbery, but she had never been able to control her temper very well, nor just calm down after people irritated her and put her in a bad mood. And truthfully, her primary emotion was still annoyance at the cashier, for the things he had said and the way he had acted. She was more annoyed than scared of this robbery, more bothered about it being yet another inconvenience she had to deal with rather than any fear for her life.

And she only grew more irritated at the time it was taking for the robbers, all three of them, to load up the cash. If they didn't hurry, the police would get here in time to arrest them, and it would serve them right. They didn't look like the brightest bulbs in the shed anyway – there was a big, fat, slow-looking one, and then a kinda thin, rat-faced one, and finally another thin one, who was smoking a cigarette and seemed to be the most competant one of the lot. His eyes were strange and bright, and they focused on the task at hand with a deep intensity and concentration. He was the most interesting of the three, mostly because he was trying to hurry the other two along, but Harleen was still annoyed at having to waste time dealing with them at all.

It was this annoyance that caused her to lose her temper, and to speak before she thought, when the one smoking the cigarette brushed past her and accidentally knocked against her on the way to the counter.

"Excuse you," she muttered under her breath.

He paused, and she instantly regretted speaking as he grabbed her by her arm and hauled her to her feet. "You say something, doll…" he began.

Jack Napier stopped speaking suddenly as he saw her face. He had never been struck speechless by anyone before, but he had never been as stunned by anyone before as he was by this young woman. She was absolutely beautiful, but that wasn't the reason he was stunned – he had seen beautiful women before. But this woman's wide, blue eyes were gazing at him with a strange expression he hadn't expected to see in anyone's face during an armed robbery. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it wasn't fear. She wasn't afraid. And that was strange. That was intriguing. That was…stunning.

He regained control of himself almost immediately. "You say something, dollface?" he repeated, sternly.

"I said excuse you," she repeated, her red lips set in a firm line, and defiance shining in her blue eyes. "Obviously you ain't got no money, having to engage in armed robbery, but manners cost nothing, y'know."

He stared at her. Nobody had ever tried to defy him before. He didn't like it.

He flicked out his knife. "I don't like dames giving me lip," he muttered. "How about I teach you some manners, sweetheart? Like how broads oughta be seen and not heard."

"Listen, bozo, this broad is a doctor," snapped Harleen. "So I'd appreciate a little more respect from the likes of you."

"Jesus, you really are a dumb blonde, ain't ya?" he snapped. "Doncha know it's a bad idea to provoke the guys holding you hostage?"

"Oh? Is that what this is? A hostage situation?" she snapped. "I thought it was just a badly planned, badly executed armed robbery! Why don't you just hurry up and take the money and go and let everyone else get on with their lives? It's not like we all wanna waste them like you idiots obviously have!"

Jack was about to respond with a few nasty words, when he suddenly heard a siren approaching. "Aw, Christ!" he hissed, cursing Buzz and Chuckie mentally for taking so long and giving the police time to get here. "Bunch of morons," he muttered. He suddenly seized Harleen around the waist and held a gun against her head. "Looks like it just turned into a hostage situation, toots!" he chuckled.

"Jack, what the hell are you doing?" shouted Buzz, rushing over to him.

"You deaf? The cops are here," snapped Jack, nodding at the door. "Only way we're gonna get away is by threatening them with the death of an innocent civilian. Not that the cops care about your life in particular, sweetheart, only it's bad publicity if they go around letting people get killed," he said to Harleen, laughing. "Just follow me," he snapped to Buzz and Chuckie, as he dragged Harleen, struggling against him, to the door.

"Ok, coppers, got a little joke for you!" he chuckled, facing down the group of policemen waiting outside, pointing guns at him. "What happens if you try to stop us getting away? Any ideas? Give up? I blow this little doll's brains out!" He laughed. "Aw, guess that ain't very funny really, is it? So if you don't want it to happen, just back off!"

"Do as he says," snapped Commissioner Gordon, and the policemen reluctantly lowered their guns.

"Chuckie, Buzz, grab the loot and get in the car," snapped Jack. "You're coming with me, dollface," he muttered in Harleen's ear, pulling her with him toward the car.

Harleen fought against him, but he had bent her arms behind her back in a vise-like grip. It was useless to struggle, but she tried anyway, her temper still overriding her common sense. He shoved her into the backseat and followed her, then snapped at Chuckie, "Drive!"

Jack held the gun against Harleen's head, watching out of the rear window, until the police were out of sight. Then he relaxed his grip on both his gun and Harleen's arm slightly. That was a mistake.

Harleen instantly punched him in the jaw, and then began lashing out violently, if ineffectively, hitting and kicking and screaming at him. He was taken aback, but quickly retaliated by striking her across the face with a powerful blow. While she was stunned, he seized her arms again, bending them behind her back until she cried out in pain.

"Now you listen to me, you little bitch!" he hissed. "You touch me again, and I'm gonna carve a smile onto that pretty little face that you'll never be able to get rid of! Just sit down and shut up! If you're a good girl, you might just make it outta this situation alive. But if you're a bad girl, Daddy is going to be very, very upset," he murmured, flicking out his knife again and holding the blade against her throat. "Get me?"

Harleen didn't respond except to glare at him. Her pride hurt as much as her face, and she could feel a black eye forming. But she wasn't going to let him get the upper hand, however much he threatened her.

"Let go of me," she muttered.

He obeyed, releasing her arms, but still holding the knife against her throat. He gradually drew it away, but they both kept their eyes on each other, in a glare of mutual loathing, for the rest of the journey.