Her heart never failed to lift the moment he entered the room.
She gave him a radiant smile as he closed the door behind him and crossed the few feet to his chair. She pushed a card across the desk as he sat.
"Good morning, Captain, I trust that you are well today."
"As well as can be expected," he said flippantly, and turned the card over.
'Bugs?' she had written in the white portions of the card. He nodded, reached his hand out, requesting a pen. She hurried to find one for him, and placed it in his outstretched palm.
"I thought that today, Captain, we might break things up a bit and try something different. Today, I would like to conduct a few simple tests, with your permission, of course. "
His hand darted out, pushing the card back across the desktop toward her.
'Nubby saw them,' he had written in his familiar, hurried scrawl.
She nodded.
"Some of the head-shrinker's du jour, Doc?"
She smiled softly. "Yes, Captain, I must admit they are popular tests among doctors, but only because of their usefulness. Everything we do is simply to provide better insight into your inner workings, if you will."
"If you wanted to get to know me better," he purred, "all you had to do was ask, sugar."
Absurdly, she found herself blushing furiously, could not suppress the reaction, and groped blindly for her pen.
"Captain, that is inappropriate," she said, by rote.
He laughed heartily, and she wrote 'Thinking about leaving,' across a new card.
"Don't give me that line, Doctor, I see how you look at me."
They're listening! she thought indignantly, he simply grinning in return.
'What?' he had written.
A vitriolic "Captain!" was all she could manage. This was just the sort of show they needed to present.
'Gotham City?' she scribbled, 'Lots of people. Disappear.' She pushed the card before him again.
"Wonder how many of your buttons are just that easy to push," he read the card and nodded his approval.
She could not suppress her laughter this time, beaming proudly.
'How to get out?' she wrote across the three of spades.
"Now that's more like it," he drawled and took the card from her, writing furiously upon it.
"Do you wile away the hours thinking of ways to tease me, Captain?"
He passed the card across the table to her again.
'At night," it read, 'Less guards. Utility entrance in back. Maintenance uses.'
Genius! she thought, beaming at him again. My man takes care of everything. How many girls are so lucky?
He motioned for another card: she rushed to comply.
"What better way to use one's time than by thinking of you, beautiful?"
'Transportation?' he had written across the seven of clubs as he passed it back to her.
Now, that truly was a question. She possessed no car of her own. She couldn't buy one. It wouldn't do to have her name attached something. It would give them a trail to follow. She could… she could steal something if she must. No, they would report it as stolen. That would give them a trail, too. Wouldn't their first step be to check for stolen cars in the area? No, it had to be a vehicle completely unattached, one that would not be missed or reported.
One of Pamela's trucks! But then she would have to let Pam in on the secret. Would Pam even be amenable to the idea? She wouldn't approve of absconding with her patient… perhaps if she explained that they were both in danger as long as they remained at the hospital?
"Now you're just trying to flatter me, Captain."
"Is it working?" he answered and she laughed.
'I have an idea,' she wrote and passed the card.
"You seem to be trying very hard to avoid these tests. Could it be that you're afraid of getting to know yourself better?"
He gave her a dubious look, one that had several reasons, she noted.
"You look as though you doubt me, Captain. Do you not trust my methods?"
"I wouldn't call it a matter of trust, so much as one of disdain. You people, always trying to understand your world, classify things into neat categories, all black and white. Sometimes things just can't be understood, Doctor. The world isn't ordered," he spat, hands gesturing wildly before he stilled, seemingly seizing upon some new tack.
"The world," he breathed, "is simply chaos. There are no reasons for anything."
She frowned softly, genuinely disturbed for a moment.
"That is an… interesting world view, Captain."
"It's the real world view, Doctor. Most people aren't strong enough to realize it. Others, like myself, the reality is simply forced upon. Do you think this," his tongue slashed against the corners of his mouth, "had a reason?"
She shifted, mouth opening and closing silently.
"I don't have an answer for that, Captain," she said quietly. "I would like to try and bring our time back to a more constructive line of thought."
"Define constructive. See, me, I've always preferred destructive. Rather my… life's ambition, if you will."
Her frown deepened.
"Captain, please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think that's a very healthy goal for one's life."
"Define healthy. You see, everything's relative, Doc. From one person to the next, the universe shifts just a little, skews, and by the time it gets back to you and me… why… maybe you're the one who's insane, and I'm the only one that really knows what I'm doing."
She stared at him, lost for words again.
"I don't understand."
"You will," he answered simply, eyes trained intently upon her.
She shook her had for a moment.
"Would you submit to the tests, Captain?"
He sat back in his chair, looking suddenly bored with the whole thing, lean strong legs stretched out before him.
"Yes, I suppose I would."
She sighed softly, mind still whirling.
"The first is going to be a Rorschach test, an inkblot test."
"Ah, the old look into the ink and tell me what you see… Haven't your colleagues told you what happened to them when they tried that?"
She froze, looking up at him carefully.
"Are you threatening me, Captain?" she asked slowly.
"Nevermind, doctor," he was straight in his chair now, tongue darting again, "Tell me, what is the purpose of this little time-waster, hmm?"
She straightened the edge of the flashcards on the desk.
"The purpose of the Rorschach test is to hopefully find a pattern in your answers, Captain, certain recurring symbols that might give us further insight into your personality."
"Symbols?"
"Yes… like… Jungian archetypes, for instance. Jung believed that certain truths about the human mind and spirit could be expressed through age-old symbols and figures of ancient mythology. Look at those playing cards of yours. They're rife with such symbols. The Queen of Hearts, the Suicide King, the Knight, even a very important figure, the Trickster."
"The Trickster?" he asked, smiling suddenly.
"Yes. Did you know that in some ancient cultures that jesters were considered paths to the sacred? It was believed that you could not pray until you had laughed. Clowns were said to represent the ever-changing absurdity of the universe and were thus viewed as sacred."
"Chaos," he pointed, grin widening.
"Yes," she said softly, "I suppose so. Throughout history, people have chosen these archetypes and given them personal meaning. The High Priestess, the Hermit. Having found the basic foundations of their personality within the tenets of the figure, they gave the users their identity."
"People have thus chosen their own identities?" he was watching her closely.
"Yes," she nodded.
"Let's choose one for you then. Ah, I know, Ms. Harleen Quinzel. That name is much too boring for you. You're ever so straight-laced, but I can see the truth underneath. Give that name a bit of a-," he rubbed his palms together, "-shine and what do you get?" He circled his hands around his eyes, miming a mask. "The comic servant. The Arlecchino. Harley… Quinn…"
She groaned softly, shaking her head.
"You aren't the first to tell me that, you know."
"Oh no?" He frowned.
"No. I heard it all throughout college. You see, my father loved the Commedia dell'Arte. I'm more than half certain that my name is no coincidence. My father had a twisted sense of humor, and my mother was never very good at arguing with him."
The frown deepened. He did not seem happy with this answer. She uncrossed, crossed her legs, squirmed beneath his glare.
"And what would you be, Captain?" she asked quickly. His eyes focused on her again.
"What?" he snapped.
"If you were a symbol? What is your archetype?"
He shook his head dismissively.
"Think of yourself… If you were reduced down to the fundamental, the elemental, what would you be?"
"You still think you can try and understand me! Alright, why not… A knight perhaps, the Jack of Spades, does that give you insight, Doctor? Perhaps I am ever the warrior."
She remained silent for sometime, him staring at her challengingly.
"No," she said finally, "No, that's not what you are."
"Know better than I do?" he asked derisively.
"I must," she said, frowning. "I know exactly what you are, Mr. Irreverent."
She shuffled quickly through the playing cards, found easily the one she had been looking for. She slid it across the surface, watched it take briefly to the air and flutter to the desktop, face down before him.
"What's this?" he asked, simply staring at it.
"That's what you are."
He picked it up slowly, turned it over and laid it flat on his palm. He tilted his head curiously, a lock of hair falling across his left eye. His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips; her eyes followed its course precisely, and she nearly forgot her conclusion.
"The Wild Card. That's your symbol… The Joker." She nodded, proud of her self, and pulled the first of the ink blots from their stack.
She never saw him palm the card.