Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Harley?"

"Hm?"

"Harley, why did we have to go to the farmer's market? It's still a mystery to me."

"I thought you liked mysteries. Or do you mean you can't figure it out?"

Edward sighs. She is using her teasing voice. It's not his favorite one, at least not when it is used to increase his exasperation. "You don't even cook. So why do we need all those vegetables?"

"You cook," she says matter-of-factly. Which is true, he does, but still...

"For the two of us, according to my perfectly laid meal plans. Unless you have planned to invite all of Arkham for dinner, this is going to last us for weeks. If it doesn't go bad before that." Not to mention that he doesn't even see how they want to transport all this. There is barely enough space for his legs in her sidecar.

"Don't worry, it's not all of Arkham." If she didn't have her hands full balancing three brown paper bags that are filled to the brim, she would probably have patted his cheek. "Just one."

"Ivy." His voice is weighty and flat like a weighty, flat stone. Who else would it be but that meddling woman? She has been a thorn in his side since the beginning. "She expects you to use locally grown produce."

"Oh," she says amid the rustle of paper. "So you did figure out the mystery!"

"Of course I did." Is she questioning his genius?

Behind them there is a crash, as of a stand toppling. Someone is shouting, "My cabbages!" and a few passersby exclaim in surprise and hurry on. Just your usual Gotham mayhem on a Saturday morning and for once, they're not involved. Unless Harley had planned something without telling him about it. She had been spending a suspicious amount of time with her flora-loving friend, and cabbages would be just the sort of thing she would turn against the sellers... if she were small-minded and intent on terrorizing the very people she is telling Harley to support, which – Edward has to give her that – Ivy is not. She is a tree-hugging fanatic who wars against international companies, who conveniently have a branch office in Gotham for her to attack.

Whatever the cause of the commotion, they're both walking faster to distance themselves from the scene of the crime lest they be accused of creating it. He inconspicuously surveys the damage as they make their escape.

"Harley?"

"Hm?"

"Did you buy a live goose, too?"

Harley glances over her shoulder just in time to see the goose that has been waddling after them stop in its tracks.

"I thought it came with the purchase. You know, one of those 'buy four cabbages, get one goose free' kinda deals."

"You bought four cabbages? What on earth are we supposed to do with four cabbages?"

"...throw them at B-man? Just imagine them go kablow-ey!" Harley beams like a ray of sunshine as she is no doubt imagining the vegetable explode against Batman and covering him in leafy green shreds. Edward has to admit it is a satisfying image. But not as satisfying as outsmarting him.

"You might as well throw the goose at Batman."

"As a last resort maaaybe. I know my rap sheet is long and full of horrors, but I draw the line at animal cruelty. I don't wanna be known as the gal who killed a goose just to get away from Batman or something."

"You helped Joker jokerize fish."

"Yeah, but they're fish. I helped him jokerize people too, and you're not mentioning that one, either."

"And you're worried about animal cruelty." Edward shakes his head.

"Here, hold this for me for a second, will you?" she asks and unloads the grocery bags into his unsuspecting arms. What she has so casually carried takes him by surprise with its weight. Yet a quick peck from her lips makes him forget about his troubles.

Until a sudden honk startles him.

Bell peppers, pumpkins, and a cucumber topple from his precariously laden paper bags and bounce onto the ground. The goose that had so alarmingly announced itself (or its displeasure at their display of affection?) comes racing forward. Its goosey head wiggles as it snakes around Edward's legs. Edward dances around rather clumsily, not knowing where to put his feet. He doesn't want to step on the items on the ground – now more numerous because he's dropped one bag that spilled its contents across the curb – nor does he want to step on anyone's feet, least of all the goose's. Geese have teeth, you know, and Edward would rather not be bitten, thank you very much.

As Edward twirls around his own axis, the goose picks up one of the bell peppers and... instead of dashing off with it, as Edward would have expected, it places the fruit – yes, it's a fruit, or more precisely: a berry, because it's fleshy and does not have a stone, believe Edward, he knows these things (botanical classifications are perhaps the only thing that the Isley woman and he can agree on. That, and maybe that Harley deserves so much more than him.) and you know what? Pumpkins are berries, too, so you may sit down now and write a thank-you letter to him for that information – into the bag that's lying on the ground.

"Why, thank you, dear goose, sir," Harley says, holding open the bag and helping the goose help her put the groceries back into it. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. I do not know if you are sir."

The goose does not answer, but it does flap its wings at Edward when it wants to get something close to his feet. Edward would have considered himself rooted to the spot by now, watching in bewilderment as the scene in front of him plays out, but then this strange creature nearly attacked him and he jumped, causing another pumpkin to drop to the ground.

"Eddie, sweetie, you're breaking them."

"What on earth is going on?"

"Why, our goose is helping me re-bag the groceries. Such a good goose you are. Yes, you're a good goose." That last bit was directed at the goose, not him. Because, of course, just ignore him. It's not like he's not doing his darndest to keep the last of the groceries from falling out the sad and drooping bags in his arms.

"So it's our goose now? Just like that?"

"Well. Yeah. Unless there's an official way to go about it." She thinks about that for a second, index finger pressed into her cheek, while the goose is playing ball with a pumpkin. "Do you think there is something like a goose registration office that we would have to go to?"

"No."

"No, you don't think so, or no, we don't have to?"

"No, I'm certain that we don't have to."

"Alright, well done you," she cheers as the goose rolls the pumpkin into the bag with its beak. "Now, off we go."

Harley stows the overflowing bag on the bottom of her sidecar and helps the goose inside.

"And where am I going to sit?" Edward asks.

"Honey, you have longer legs. I'm sure you can make it home on your own. You can't expect the goose to know the way already and waddle there. It's gonna take hours!"

Edward is not going to mention that it might take him hours, laden as he is. "Can you at least—"

"Toodles!" she waves at him as she kicks her bike into gear and speeds off.

A honk sounds across the distance, much like a bark of laughter.