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"Didn't the Joker say you weren't s'pposed ta come around anymore?"
Barely suppressing a groan of frustration, Harley looked up from her magazine long enough to figure out who was talking to her. Whatever his real name was, she couldn't remember. He'd been Brutus since the Joker hired him, renamed him, and eventually promoted him. The man was stocky and muscular. Between his solemn exterior and his imposing stature, he always reminded her of a brick wall. He had the build that made him perfect for his previous profession but a few too morals to reach success.
His first trip to Blackgate had been on... What was it. Assault of an officer, obviously. A couple counts of that. Homicide. He killed his boss! That was it. He killed his boss 'cause he wasn't getting a pay increase. His arms folded over his chest and Harley's lips quirked as she pictured him looming outside of a dingy nightclub in the middle of the night, rejecting sleazy guys. He'd be easy to charm and get past in another life, where Harley smooth talk her way past bouncers to get into clubs.
At least, he learned not to ask about his pay.
"You know how Puddin' is, B." She replied lazily, gaze focusing back on creased pages of her magazine. Some half-assed assessment of local vigilante's armor and how fashionable it was. Harley peeled the page from the binding, balling it up and tossing it over her shoulder. Sure- She didn't like the do-gooders. No reason to be petty. " 'M gonna talk to him when he gets home."
The man huffed in irritation. The floor creaked as he resigned to crossing the room and sitting on the dirty lounge chair beside her. Harley adjusted her position, from stretched out to folding her knees toward her prone body. "Boss said we ain't supposed to let you come around this time, Quinn. I'm supposed to kick you out."
Harley rolled her eyes. The magazine was dropped on her face, pages folded awkwardly against her cheeks with the bad angle. Her eyes shut as she swallowed her growing irritation with the man. It was hard adjusting to having a temper, but she still had better control over it than the Joker did. "You know I love ya Bruts. You're like a brother to me. So, if ya just get up an' walk outta here, we can both pretend you didn't see me. Got it?"
She expected him to take the offer. Most of the thugs would. Most of them had in one case or another. Harley'd been surprised to learn how many of the half-brained clowns actually respected her enough to get the fuck out of the way when she asked. Brutus, however... Brutus merely sighed, sagging further into the couch to settle more comfortably into the old, worn fabric. His arm shifted and before she could lift the magazine to peek at him as he moved, he'd looped his arm around her legs. Hugging her shins to his side as he idly looked around. No one ever came into the Joker's room-- Not without the Joker himself. They had plenty of time, and privacy, with the distant rowdiness of clowns on parade barely audibly serenading them through the many cracks and gaps in the windows.
"I'd like to." Something about his tone made her skin crawl. She pushed the magazine entirely off her face, with it noisily clattering to the floor beside the couch, to give him a narrowed stare. "But Boss wouldn't be happy if I lied to him. I'd need... I'unno... kinda..." His hand started at her knee, squeezing it before it started venturing down her thigh, far enough that the prickles of unease congregated explosively, making her jolt just enough to keep him from moving any closer to her hip. "You get what I mean, right? I know you do it for the other guys-- They brag about it all the time. 'N I know ya like me more than the other guys, so..."
"They... What?" Fire and brimstone hissed through her teeth, like Hell itself spawned in the pit of her stomach from her rage. Brutus blinked, looking down at the lithe form of a woman at least a hundred pounds smaller than him and found himself swallowing a wave of fear. She hadn't even moved yet, her expression barely shifted from skeptical to confused. It was her eyes. Brutus could see the reflection of his own gravestone in them and he realized just how uncertain his future was.
"They... Said you... Y'know..." He motioned with his hand, because he couldn't find the words to admit what he had clearly been mislead about.
His guilt did little to distract from her rage. All his stuttering did was blow the cap on her rage. The heel of her red boot slammed into his ribs so hard, she was certain something broke beneath it. He wheezed hoarsely, slipping from the lounge onto his knees. He doubled over himself, cradling the spot where her pointed heel had struck hard enough to rip his clothes.
"You think I'd do somethin' like that for your slimey ass?" She snarled, off the couch before he could get the breath in to beg for forgiveness. This time, her black boot stomped into him, the deliberately pointed heel puncturing into his flattened palm. This time, she could _feel_ it. The skin ripping, the damage inflicted. Brutus let out a scream that sent a rush of endorphins down Harley's spine. She took a step back, dragging her bloody heel against the floor as she turned to where her hammer had been propped up.
"Filthy lil' fuckin' sleazeball," She spat on the carpet. He couldn't get words out, just stuttering apologies that melded together so frantically they hardly made sense. "I'm TAKEN!" She swung the hammer. It felt like time slowed; but it usually did when she got the perfect swing. His jaw was shattered on impact and the momentum of the strike threw him back onto the ground. His groaning was barely audible through the haze of rage that filtered the room as red as his blood.
He didn't try to get up again. Brutus curled in on himself, cupping his jaw as he blubbered into his knees like... Like... "Oh, you're such a fuckin' baby. You're gonna ask a lady to suck your chode 'n you won't even take a hit to the face like a champ? What kinda pussy are you?" She heckled, dropping her hammer onto his hip to keep it mostly unmoving there. He wheezed in discomfort when she leaned on the hammer as well. "What's the matter? You never had your jaw broken before? That's Gotham, baby. You think the Joker would pull his punches 'nough not to shatter your fuckin' skull if he knew you were disrespectin' him like that?"
The hammer was hoisted over her head, primed to swing again. "You better be thankin' your lucky stars I got to you, first."
"What a show. Bravo! Oh, I wish I'd brought roses." Her breath caught in her chest. Her swing lost all momentum, dropping nearly harmlessly against the broken man sobbing into the floor. Harley couldn't care less, honestly. The moment she laid eyes on the grinning man, all of her problems seemed to float away. "Brings a tear to my eyes." Her grin mirrored his and he laughed in pure delight. When his arms outstretched to welcome her into them, she nearly knocked him off his feet. The bloody man's prone body forgotten as she hung off the clown prince, giggling like a schoolgirl as she gushed to him, like nothing had even happened.
She didn't even remember why they were apart in the first place.