Jack Napier had set a date to return and with that Harleen Quinzel felt relieved that she would have a week before his return. She planned to get back into her normal weekly routine with a few slight alterations to allow her to accommodate Jack Napier on Wednesdays. She started taking her work home and doing the paperwork on her own time. Since her work consumed her life and left nothing more, she figured that this was an acceptable inconvenience.
It had been two workdays and one weekend and the only noticeable loss was the knowledge of what happened on the most recent episode of ER. A slight obsession with John Stamos was one of the very few traits that had persevered and lasted throughout her life. As she aged she had cast aside her childish qualities to fortify herself against the cruel, harsh world. Her humor had faded as she viewed it as a sign of weakness. Yet, alas, her biggest Achilles' heel may be her irrational fear of handing herself over to her emotions.
Monday morning began in the office just as it had for as long as the office had been running. People droned on about their lives and what they perceived as life-threatening issues. Most were diagnosed as having anxiety disorders but nothing major. They functioned fine, avoided most of their problems and vented to Dr. Quinzel about the unavoidable ones. This seemed to be a mutualistic symbiosis. She made a living off of them and in return she lifted the world's weight off of their shoulders.
Her current patient was prattling on about his irrational fear. He would shake and turn white at the slightest hint of death. Skeletons and ghosts were right out of his comfort zone. Harleen stared blankly as she drew small scribbles on her notepad to give the impression of interest. She had gotten used to sitting through these drear monologues with "undivided" attention in the past…but that was before she had met an actual interesting patient. Now the stories seemed even more dry than usual and she had to fight to stay awake.
"…and that is when he started dancing and singing…that skeleton…It was horrible! They should put up warnings around those TVs. I remember days when they wouldn't play that such filth on display where everyone could see. I remember going white and descending and the next thing that I remember is waking up on the cold floor surrounded by blue vests and khaki pants…"
Dr. Quinzel lost her focus and went off into her own little world. She still feigned great interest and her patient was none-the-wiser. The white of the paper rapidly decreased as her pen declared domination. And her patient droned on…and then…
The door burst open and a mobile skeleton slid in. And slightly behind it was a man in a white doctor's jacket. Red scars blared from his cheeks. One foot was balancing on the metal cross that supported the rack of bones while the other stretched out behind pushing off of the ground. He had made the skeleton into a scooter. As he slid into the room both sets of eyes fell upon him. Harleen focused on Jack and then onto her notebook as it closed in to hide her face. The patient eyed the skeleton closing in on him and then his eyes rolled in upward as he fell to the floor in a faint.
"Hello…uh…toots. I couldn't stay away." Jack's expression stretched into a wide smile.
"Fran! Could you call someone? Mr…umm…Mr. Morte has…fainted." Flustered by the situation Harleen struggled to expel the words.
"Right away, boss." Fran yelled from the other room. And Harleen heard the phone slide out of its base.
Harleen spun her chair as she bolted towards the unconscious Mr. Morte. Jack rolled the skeleton in a diagonal line in an attempt to intersect Dr. Quinzel. They came into proximity a few feet from the patient.
Harleen paused to focus on Jack in an attempt to discover his intent. Fire shined in her eyes as her fury engulfed her. She stood her ground and was not yet ready to strangle a patient. That would look bad on her résumé.
"Why so serioussss?" Jack sneered. He flicked his wrist and a coiled pointer slid from the white sleeve and into his grip. With another flick it reached its full length. Harleen was almost in awe that Jack had not added lightsaber sound effects.
With an earsplitting crack the pointer landed on the elbow of the anatomical structure.
"Zhis here would zheem to be vyour problem," a German accent for today's session it would seem, "Vyou lack zhee fundamental element for laughter…zhee funny bone. In a normal human being it vould be right zhere. But wiff zyou…?" He lifted his hands and shrugged to demonstrate his lack of information on the matter. "Zhis a most curious mystery."
One side of Harleen's lip began to curl as if a smile was trying to escape, but the fury held it in and tried to altogether deny its existence. A deep breath caused her body to rise and fall and then she recollected her composure.
"I thought that you said you would be back next Wednesday, Jack." A small quiver in her voice was the only hint of her anger. "You can't just barge in, unannounced at the expense of another person's time. They need my help, probably…maybe…about as much as you do."
"Uh…No, no, and no. You make a good point…but…uh…fail to realize where you are wrong. I can just "barge" in here as you put it, because…uh…as you can see, I just did. Annnd the only way that I have previously made my entrance is at the expensssse, of another's time. I took your time." He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. "And if anyone's time should be more important than mine," he focused his glance on the man on the floor, "It's not his. It would be yours. Uh…after all…you get paid for sharing your tuh-ime. And lastly, it is not I who needs your help, but you…who…uh…needs mine."