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It all started about a month after the Corto Maltese incident.
By a miracle, (see: Harley Quinn coming from out of nowhere and impaling Peacemaker with her javelin) Rick escaped Jotunheim mostly intact.
He had given the evidence to Sol Soria at DuBois’ convincing argument, saying that not only would releasing the evidence get him, Rick, killed, it would get everyone in Belle Reve killed eventually.
Because with him out of the picture, Waller wouldn’t hesitate to put someone who wouldn’t give a damn about the lives of anyone on their squad, in charge.
And he couldn’t do that to Harley.
Hell, he couldn’t do it to DuBois, Cleo, Abner, or even Nanaue.
So he reluctantly handed the evidence over to Sol Soria, who promised that soon, once the figurative and literal dust had settled, it would come out, as he reported to Waller that the whole lab ended up destroyed before they could even go inside.
It really wasn’t Rick’s best lie, but somehow, through the Grace of God, she bought it.
He’d be keeping an eye on his back for forever after that.
And then the unexpected midnight visits started.
He never knew how she did it, how she bypassed that chip in her neck whenever she decided to break out of her cell, but she managed to come to his apartment in New Orleans at least three times a week.
The first time it happened, it nearly gave him the heart attack of a lifetime when he turned around to go to bed after brushing his teeth, and saw the pale skinned, black-and-red dyed platinum haired figure of Harley Quinn herself sitting on said bed.
No, he hadn’t screamed.
It… was a very manly exclamation, and that was how he’d describe it to his dying day.
“Hiya, Flaggy!” She waved. “I didn’t know ya voice could go that high!”
“What—” he cleared his throat, swallowing, willing his voice to sink back into its normal octave, “what are you doing here, Harley?”
“I’m here to see my best friend, what else would little ol’ me be doin’ here?”
Rick blinked. “You—I—I’m your best friend?”
“Well… yeah. You are. You taught me how to swim, you went to my roller derby tournament, you always had my back when we went out on a mission, you cared about me enough to rescue me, you… you smiled at me and hugged me like you cared, at any rate.” She wrung her hands uncharacteristically. “I—I must have read things wrong then, so much for being a psychiatrist, Harleen.”
Rick’s jaw dropped as he rushed to sit next to her on the bed, taking her hands in his. “You didn’t read things wrong, Harley.
I am your friend, I… just never thought I mattered that much to you.”
He huffed a small laugh, “To be honest, I think that you’re my best friend too.”
Now it was Harley’s turn to have her jaw drop. “Of course ya matter to me, dummy, that’s why I saved you from toilet seat-head back in that place.
I couldn’t let my best friend die on me, now, could I?
And… someone’s gotta watch your back after that spectacular whopper you told Waller.
That’s also why I’m here.”
He knew he was a stupidly soft touch when it came to Harley, however, what she just said made that place in his heart for her melt even further, and to save what little face he had left with this woman, he said, “You know I can handle myself, right?”
“Ya, I know, but friends got each other’s backs, right?”
Unable to help a stupidly touched smile, that she broke out to watch his back, Rick breathed, “Yeah, they do.”
Here, she leaned forward to pull him into an unexpected hug, saying, “I’m glad I’m your friend, Flag.”
“Rick,” he said, as he wrapped his arms around her slight figure.
“What?” She asked, pulling back, perplexed.
“Call me Rick. You are my best friend, and best friends don’t call each other by their last names.”
Her smile was blinding as she replied, “You can call me Harls, then. You’re a grand old Flag, Rick.”
He laughed fully this time, shaking his head at the Queenpin of Gotham who had latched herself like a koala around his neck.
And that was how, about two months after that first time, he ended up drinking beer (on his part, Harley stuck to whatever toxic-looking thing she brought with her in a giant pitcher) and eating nachos with one of the most notorious criminals in the world at 1:38 in the morning.
He’d taken to stocking his kitchen and fridge more than he usually did because of her unpredictable late night cravings.
“Do ya have any regrets, Rick?” She asked, her voice remarkably even, the faint quiver in her voice only audible to him because he knew her so well.
He scoffed. “You got time?”
“I got decades, but that’s not the point—gimme a greatest hits, Rick.”
“I probably would have tried harder in high school, wouldn’t have hung out with a bad crowd, would have told my Mom I loved her more, wouldn’t have been such a pain in my Dad’s ass, and I wouldn’t have been such a jerk to you at the start of everything.”
Harley’s eyes widened, and she touched a hand to her heart. “Dawww, Rick. Water, bridge.”
He smiled at her gratefully, and before he could think better of it, he asked, “How about you, Harls?”
She froze, and he mentally killed himself. But thankfully, she only twisted her bright crimson lips, saying, “Well, ‘course I do.
I wouldn’t’a killed some’a the people I did, wouldn’t’a done some’a the things I did.
I prob’bly wouldn’t’a taken a certain psych case in Arkham,” she sighed. “But then… ya know, if I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t’a met you, Rick… so… oh!
I know.
I would’a gone to Prom,” Harley nodded gravely.
Once his head and heart had successfully processed the fact that a reason she didn’t regret taking The Joker’s case was because she wouldn’t have met him if she didn’t, he asked, “What do you mean? Why didn’t you go to Prom?” Even he had gone to his Prom.
Raising her eyebrows, she explained, “Well, I was an awkward kid, ya know? I wasn’t the prettiest girl, and no one asked me, but I should’a gone anyway—it would’a been nice to experience it, dance all night long, and be young, I guess.”
Rick found it hard to believe that no one could have asked her to Prom. She was beautiful back then—he’d seen the photo in her file from when she was still Harleen Quinzel, and she was still beautiful now. “All those boys were idiots back then for not being able to see what a brilliant and beautiful woman you are,” he said, taking a drink from his beer to cover up the embarrassment he felt at saying that.
“Ya really mean that?” Her voice now had a teary waver, and he looked up to see her blue eyes shining with tears.
“Well… yeah, I do.”
Harley stared at him for a long time, then she reached out and took his hand in hers, rubbing a finger over the calluses on his hand from all the time he spent at the firing range. “Thanks,” she said, looking at him earnestly.
The next morning, an idea stubbornly lodged in his head.
He didn’t have a lot of time to execute it, knowing Harley, but he was nothing if not resourceful.
That evening, as Harley unlocked Rick’s door with the key he’d given her shortly after she started coming to his place, she was surprised to see all the lights out inside, except for a soft, yellow glow coming from the living room, and the faint sound of music drifting through the air.
It was the right apartment, her key unlocked the door, and it did look like Rick’s place, but she was unsure now, wondering if this was some sort of trap, and Rick was hurt, or worse, dead, and this was a sick thing planned by any number of her or his enemies.
Cautiously, she creeped towards the living room, ready to draw the knife up her sleeve or the gun at her side in a second.
To her surprise, the living room was filled with candles, which explained the yellow glow, the couch, tv stand, and coffee table pushed against the wall, leaving an open space in the room, Rick leaning against his nearby kitchen counter, dressed in a white button-down tucked into black jeans, a shy smile on his face, as he gestured widely.
“What do you think?”
“What is this, Rick?” She looked around, amazed.
Pushing off from the counter, he took the couple of steps that put him right in front of her, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, saying, “You, um, yesterday, or this morning, really, you said that you never got to go to Prom, so… it’s not West Gotham High, but… I hope it’ll do.”
“You did all this for me—all because I said I didn’t go to Prom?
I—” she looked down at herself, she was only wearing comfy clothes today—red patent leather combat boots, black leggings, and a soft red shirt under an embroidered and studded red leather jacket.
Her red and black hair wasn’t even put up in an updo or anything, it was just in her usual pigtails.
“I’m not dressed up for Prom,” she said emotionally.
“You look beautiful—you always do,” Rick assured her.
He turned back to the counter and retrieved a small, long box that was sitting on top, opening it to reveal a silver bracelet with its links made of roses, enameled red and black.
Harley gasped. “It’s so pretty.”
Rick took the bracelet out of the box, tossing that back to the counter, and held it up, signaling that she should extend her hand.
Her lip quivering, she put her hand out, pulling up the sleeve of her jacket.
As he fastened it around her wrist, he said, “I was thinking of getting you a corsage, but I figured you might want something a bit more lasting. And before I forget—” he quickly went to the other side of the kitchen counter, holding two things behind him as he approached her again.
He showed her his left hand first, revealing a small bouquet of red roses, presenting them to her.
Harley eagerly took them, pressing her nose to the blooms, inhaling deeply.
As she did that, she felt a weight settle on the top of her head, slipping between the strands of her hair.
She froze, grasping at whatever was on her head.
It couldn’t be.
She quickly looked at the microwave above the oven in the kitchen, and saw her reflection.
She was wearing a delicate silver tiara clip in her hair.
She looked back at Rick, tears beginning to fall.
He only smiled, “Every Prom needs a Prom Queen, or in our case, a Prom Quinn.”
“Oh, Rick!” She cried before rushing to him and hugging him more tightly than she ever had.
Fighting the urge to cough, he put his arms around her, running his hand up and down her back.
After a long moment, he pulled away, to Harley’s confusion, which quickly dissipated as he extended his hand to her.
She placed her hand in his, and he took her into his arms as they began to dance around the room.
As they danced, Rick offhandedly remarked, “Never thought I’d go to Prom with a doctor.”
Harley replied, “Never thought I’d go to Prom with my best friend.”
They were silent for a minute or so, when Harley murmured, almost as if she were afraid to, “Can I tell ya a secret, Rick?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never felt so much like a princess, or, well, a Queen, in my whole life, as I do right now. Thank you so much.”
And with that, she lunged up, placing a red kiss on his cheek, sending him a radiant smile.
He only pulled her closer to him, speaking his “You’re welcome, Harley,” into her strawberry scented hair.
And so, Harley Quinn got her wish of going to Prom, and danced the night away in the arms of her best friend.