Oh Jesus.

"I said put your hands on your head."

She'd hesitated a moment too long. She raised her arms, laced her fingers behind her head and waited.

"Are you armed, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir, I'm not," she said carefully. There was movement to the right, the same Major who had been stationed at the front door when she'd made her escape.

You should have never come home, you idiot…You should have known they were still looking for you!

"Stand up slowly." She did so and the Beretta followed her. The Major stepped forward and did a quick body search. His hands remained strictly to code. Harley would have popped in the mouth for anything less, resisting arrest or not, and he looked like he knew it, too. Her right hand itched… she would have given anything for the opportunity.

"She's clear," he responded, and the barrel finally stopped digging into the back of her skull.

"Put your hands behind your back."

The instinct to run took her for a moment, but she resisted, and did as she was told.

"What am I being arrested for?" she asked.

He clipped the handcuffs on tight, and spun her around.

"That's what we're going to find out."

A left hook sent her sprawling, and the world quickly disappeared.

OOO

Oh Jesus.

It was quickly becoming a mantra within her mind.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her jaw carefully, opening and closing it, wincing as she wiggled it back and forth.

Not broken, she thought, Now… where in the hell am I?

A table, two chairs, a long mirror along the right wall.

"Great…" An interrogation room.

There was a security camera in one corner of the ceiling, the little red light blinking on and off. The handcuffs were still in place, her hands before her now, but she'd already figured as much upon waking.

"Bastard hit me," she muttered. Son of a bitch.

Things were indeed going downhill, faster than she could have ever imagined. It was definitely not necessary force to knock the living hell out of the criminal in custody, which meant only one thing…

They're with the Elite, with-

"Hello, Ms. Quinzel."

She had not registered the sound of the door opening and closing, yet there he stood behind her, the silver eagle of his station polished to gleaming on his immaculate Class A's.

Stiffen that lip, Harley-girl, a familiar voice whispered in her mind. It won't do to show weakness in front of him.

"Oh," she said, attempting to feign disinterest. "It's you… I should have known."

I already did…

"You don't sound happy to see me, Lieutenant, I'm disappointed."

"You poor thing," she said nastily, a sneer curling her lips back from her teeth.

"Now, there's no need to be rude. I just brought you here so we might have a little talk together, privately."

"Is that why your man tried to take my head off?"

"Well, I couldn't risk your identifying our exact location now, could I? We might have put your head in a bag, but I'm afraid that has rather nasty connotations these days, don't you think?"

He crossed the room smoothly, and she had the absurd thought to check to see if he were on wheels. He sat in the chair across from her, folding his long fingered hands gracefully upon the table top.

"But now that we're alone together, free of his influence, I suppose we might be able to get somewhere."

"His influence?"

His own smile took a nasty turn.

"Don't play coy with me, Lieutenant, it's not going to work."

"Can't blame a girl for trying," she answered.

"Now… what I want to know… is what you know."

"About what?"

His teeth gritted together, she swore she could hear the grind of them as his jaw clenched.

"I want to know what he has told you."

"I don't know what good that's going to do. You could've just checked his file, all of my notes are there."

He frowned deeply.

"The file is missing, Dr. Quinzel."

"Oh dear," she said, lips pursing in mock-concern. "Just how closely have you been watching his movements?" she laughed. "Obviously not very well."

His fists were clenching along with his jaw now.

"Look, I don't know what you think is going on between us, but I can assure that it was perfectly above bar. I'm just his psychiatrist, I listen to his problems, his history, I offer him insight into his behavior, I offer him comfort, and a way to work through his own neuroses and find a way out of the psychosis that has gripped him since the attack that was made upon his person. I don't know what information you're looking for, but I don't think I know it."

"You're smart," he said after a moment.

"Why, thank you," she said, icily.

"But obviously not smart enough to figure out that it would be a lot easier on you if you just told the truth. What is he offering you? What can he possibly give you that I cannot?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Colonel… You can badger me all you want, but you can't make me confess something I have no knowledge of."

"I have reason to believe otherwise, Dr. Quinzel."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. I would certainly hope that you wouldn't just drag me in here, slinging around wild accusations that I'm involved in some sort of plot with one of my patients? I mean, surely you have hard evidence?"

His jaw clenched tighter, she noted triumphantly.

"Or perhaps not? Well, if you have no evidence… and speaking of, what exactly have I been arrested for? If you have no evidence, then am I to believe that you are holding me without formal charges? Isn't that just a touch illegal?" she raised her eyebrows coyly.

"Stop playing with me," he growled.

"Oh, I haven't even started playing, Colonel… we're just having a serious conversation is all… Not much fun in that. Let's talk about something a little more interesting like… when am I going to be given my phone call? When can I speak to my lawyer? What exactly are the charges being leveled against me? I mean, I could go on and on, but maybe you can answer just one of my questions, since I'm no good at answering yours."

"I'm supposed to believe he's told you nothing."

"Oh no, you shouldn't believe that. He's told me plenty of things… he's told me, for instance, that he had a puppy when he was five years old, that he grew up in Gotham, that his mother was a waitress… It's my job, after all, to listen to what he tells me, but I don't see how any of that is going to help you out."

His fists clenched tighter: she imagined his hand cracking and crumbling beneath the force of it like powdered glass. She licked her lips, darted her eyes back to his.

"But just because I don't know anything now, doesn't mean I can't learn something later…" she looked at him slyly, a little smile curving her lips. "If you would… tell me what I'm looking for, for instance."

It was his turn to sneer.

"If you haven't learned what I need to know by now, what makes you think you can learn it later?"

"Oh," she said quietly, carefully lowering her lashes. "I can be very persuasive," she purred, eyes focused tightly on his. His pupils were dilated. Yes! "And I think you know that."

"What are you suggesting?" he asked flatly.

"What I am suggesting, Colonel, is that we could work together… You see, I get tired of dealing with these people, trundling in and out of my office everyday, listening to their problems and their pasts… it all gets so tiring… The longer I look around me, the more I think that position in Psy-Op's is looking better and better. All those years of schooling, yet all I hear day in and day out is 'Ooh, I've lost a leg, ooh, I've lost an arm, ooh I was captured and tortured,' it's just so booring. You see… you're my ticket out of here," she smiled broadly at him, watching him from beneath lowered lashes.

He relaxed. Men, she thought disdainfully, they'll believe anything with a pair of tits.

"We might have a mutually beneficial relationship, Colonel. I so look forward to working… umm… with you," she gave a little giggle, and he smiled in return.

"So, we have an agreement, Doctor?"

"Ooh, yes," she crooned, "I think we do... Now…what do you know that I don't?"