Harley Quinn's psychiatric evaluation didn't take a short time—after all, she was Arkham's model alumnus.
The final assessment was…
Completely normal.
"You Americans have a pretty broad definition of 'normal,'" Ethan Hunter said, holding the Bureau's evaluation report, forcing a smile. "If Harley Quinn weren't standing right in front of me, I might actually buy this."
"Maybe, like the Director said, those who are too sane can't do our line of work."
"I really believe your nonsense now!" Ethan rolled his eyes, but he wasn't actually upset. In a world full of supernatural and extra-dimensional powers, superheroes and supervillains alike all skew "abnormal" to some degree.
What? You have special powers but want an ordinary life? Wanting that already makes you not normal. Normal people live normal lives; special people live special lives—no need to interfere with each other.
"Only idiots care about silly diagnoses on paper." Harley Quinn stretched, then hopped off the comfortable couch in the psych exam room. "I miss being on the other side of this desk—sitting there in flesh-colored stockings, crossing my legs seductively, and reading people like a book…"
"Spare me the flesh-colored stockings—please! The moment you say 'reading minds,' your psychologist license should be revoked!" Ethan wiped his brow and checked his terminal—he was ten minutes past quitting time—so he made a point of leaving. "Work's over. Ladies, see you tomorrow."
He hustled out of the medical wing and into the elevator. Turning, he found Harley and Ada following him step-for-step.
"Uh—why are you following me?"
"Oh, pudding, you're my direct superior now, and the Director appointed you my temporary guardian. If I don't tag along, who will? Besides… do you think the Bureau has a singles dorm? Do you think a freshly discharged psychiatric patient like me has a home? If you brought me back, you're responsible."
Harley said it with perfect confidence—and she had a point.
"So what's your situation?" Ethan asked Ada as they walked. "Harley's a discharged patient with no social resources, fine. But you're a Level 4 agent—soon to be promoted to Level 5 after this—your salary shouldn't be bad, right?"
"Captain, first—I'd like to get off work too. Getting out of this building naturally requires an elevator," Ada said, batting a wet, flirtatious eyelash at Ethan. The tips of her eyes fluttered a faint red. "Second, my apartment is being renovated. I've been living in a hotel nearby. Would I pass up free lodging? A field agent's salary doesn't exactly let me live in hotels every day."
"You're sure my place can fit three people?" Ethan arched an eyebrow.
"No problem—we can squeeze. You sleep in the middle, how's that?" Ada teased, then clapped a hand over Harley's mouth before the latter could blurt out something. "Just kidding. Everything about your housing here is handled by Director Fury. I know you live in a 400-square-meter flat."
"Damn! You're robbing my dignity, huh?"
"Couldn't help it. I've been eyeing a multifunctional grappling hook from Stark Industries and need to save up… By the way, you seemed pretty chummy with Tony Stark—can you get me a discount?"
"Your talk about pay and perks just took the Bureau agent mystique down to street-beat cop level."