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To be honest- something she rarely was with even herself- Harley had always assumed that she would die first. Mistah J, after all, had all his men and his cleverness on top of her own unwavering devotion. All these things groomed and molded and remade to protect him from anything, and yet he too burned in that helicopter.
Bang bang, crash crash, dead dead.
She threw her head back against the ground and giggled madly through her tears, making a noise that closely resembled the explosive sound the aircraft had made when it hit the ground in Midway. Her laughter grew in volume, changing from cackles to desperate sobs and back again. Harley heard the door open but didn’t move from her splayed out position on the floor. Little Harley, broken on the floor- all cause her puddin’ is no more!
Curling into herself she continued to laugh and to cry, to mourn and to delight, refusing to acknowledge the dark-skinned man leaning against the bars of her cage. As her breathing slowed back down, she wondered briefly if she was locked up or if everyone else was.
“Look, Harley…” Deadshot started, his gaze trained completely on the ground. He remained silent and tried to think of something to say, anything at all that might console the disturbed blonde.
“Look at what, Shot? Ain’t much to look at in here!” She swung up to her feet, spinning in a few dramatic circles before throwing herself at the side of her prison. She was very disappointed when the loud resulting ‘bang’ didn’t make him flinch in the slightest.
“Wanna play I spy then? Okay, I’ll start- I spy something gray!”
“Harl-”
“Ha ha, get it? Because everything in this fucking room is gray! Do you know where the colors went, Shot?” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, her grin widening to an almost painful extent as she bared her teeth at him. “I think they burned up. Every single one of them, in a big fire. Even if we dig through the wreckage they’re gone forever.”
He finally turned to look at her, taking in her disheveled appearance. Even for this hellhole, she looked terrible. Her eyes met his with a challenge. He could see that she was looking for a fight, looking for some violence. She was looking for someone to break her just like he used to.
“Calm down, blondie.” Floyd spoke gruffly, but the meaning in his words was anything but. “I just came to tell you something.”
“Tell me what, babycakes? Oh don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for m-”
“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well,” He leaned forward to stare right into her eyes, watching the words die in her throat. “But I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”
Her eyes widened in shock at his unwavering gaze, turning around sharply to hide any evidence of new tears.
He silently watched her, allowing her a moment, until she once again turned her head in his direction.
“I told you,” Deadshot chose not comment on the thickness or the scratchiness of her voice, just watching with concern at how her body nearly folded in on itself as she fell onto her mattress. “You’re my friend.”
He went to add something, but she continued. “I have so many friends, but not my puddin’. What am I supposed to do without him, hm? My jokes aren’t as good without someone to deliver the punchline.”
“Well that’s up to you.” Ignoring her strange attempt at humor, he cleared his throat and tapped against the bars, looking around at the paranoid guards who nearly all had their hands resting on their weapons (as if they stood a chance against him to begin with). “You have to deal the hand you’ve been dealt. You have to keep on going.”
Silence fell between the two criminals, deep and full of complications and words too kind to be said in such company. Floyd sighed and bumped his fist gently against the bars, gesturing the guard over with a flick of his head. Two guards moved to flank him on either side to escort him out, but he paused halfway to the door.
“You asked me if I’ve ever been in love before. I didn’t ask you if you had, because it was obvious. He was written all over you, you know- inked on your skin like another shitty tattoo.” He heard her chuckle and smiled to himself at the genuine sound.
“What you had was real, Harley. Nothing can take that from you.” He began moving to the exit once more, ready to go to his own cell again and sleep the next few weeks away, before her small, broken voice stopped him.
“See you tomorrow, Floyd. You better know how to braid a girl’s hair.”