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Harley was lying on Rick’s couch, just about to drift off, her midnight visit a bit later than usual, leading him to insist she stay the night, not wanting her to head back to Belle Reve so late, when she heard noises coming from Rick’s room.
Immediately, every muscle in her body was tight, her left hand wrapping around her knife, while her right pulled her gun, as she stealthily moved to his shut door.
“No,” she heard him mutter, “stop. No. Please, stop.”
Harley shut her eyes in sympathy—he was having a nightmare.
It was inevitable, really, with everything he’d seen even before he was assigned to lead the Squad, that his dreams wouldn’t always be pleasant.
His voice was beginning to rise, becoming more audible. “No, no. Stop hurting her, please.”
She sighed, he must’ve been dreaming about someone hurting June.
Harley was conflicted—she really wanted to wake him up from whatever horrors were playing out behind his mind’s eye, but from what she remembered of working with former servicemen, it was sometimes dangerous to wake them in the middle of a nightmare.
She scratched her head with the barrel of her gun, frustrated.
Then, he began yelling, “No! No, stop it, please, please don’t hurt her! Harley! Waller, stop it, stop hurting her!”
Harley’s jaw dropped, as she pressed the back of her right hand to her mouth.
He—he was having a nightmare of Waller hurting her.
He was having a nightmare about her, Harley Quinn.
That did it.
She would wake him up, trusting that enough of his mind would be present when he woke, and he wouldn’t hurt her.
She tossed her knife and gun carelessly onto the couch as she crept into his room.
The sight that met her eyes broke her heart.
Rick had thrown the bed covers to the floor, as he writhed and thrashed on the bed, sweat glistening on his brow.
She carefully approached the bed, softly calling, “Rick, Rick, wake up.”
“No, no, no,” he continued to mutter.
“Rick, wake up, you’re okay. I’m okay. It’s okay.”
But he continued tossing and turning, as little whimpers began to come from him.
Taking a risk, she knelt on the floor next to him, making sure she’d be in Rick’s line of sight when he woke, and gently took his clenched fist in her hand, loosening his fingers to lace their hands together, as she gently called out, “Rick, it’s Harley. I’m here, I’m okay, no one’s hurting me, you’re in your bed at your apartment, and I’m right here next to you. Wake up, Rick.”
With a gasp, he sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide open, their whiskey brown color barely visible with how much his irises were dilated, as his gaze darted around the room, immediately evaluating every possible risk.
“Rick, it’s Harley, it’s okay, you’re okay, I’m okay, everything’s okay,” Harley rushed to assure him.
His breathing began to come hard and fast as he started to crash from the adrenaline high.
“Shh, shh, Rick, it’s Harley, just breathe—in… out… come on,” she soothed, her medical training kicking in.
His gaze shot to her, as he took her in. “Harley,” his voice shook like she had never heard before. “You’re okay,” he whispered, his gaze running up and down her, checking for nonexistent injuries.
Harley moved to sit next to him on the bed, carefully telegraphing her movements, saying, “Yeah, I’m okay, you were just havin’ a nightmare—it was all a nightmare.”
“You’re really okay, you’re here,” he said, cupping her cheek in one hand, the fear for her sake still shining in his eyes, as he moved the other down her hair, which was out of its pigtails, flowing freely down her back and shoulders.
She gravely nodded, continuing to soothe, “Yes, and everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s okay,” he breathed, half statement, half question.
“Yes,” she replied, looking him right in the eye, willing him to believe her.
And he pulled her into a hug, murmuring against her neck, “It felt so real. Waller was torturing you because she found out I retrieved the evidence from Jotunheim, and I couldn’t do anything to help you.”
Harley ran her hands through his sweat-damp hair, “It wasn’t real, Rick. I’m right here, I’m okay, and you’re here, and you’re okay.”
He took a deep breath, nodding, as he continued to hold her.
She let him, not stopping the gentle repetitive motion of her hand carding through his hair.
After several minutes, his grip on her loosened, and he began to pull back, saying, “Thanks for waking me up, Harls, I’m sorry for disturbing you, you should go and rest.”
“Are you going to go back to sleep?” She asked.
His expression twisted with the long-suffering air of one who knew what awaited them, “Probably not.”
“So you’re just going to what, lie here doing nothing?”
Scooting to the foot of the bed, he scooped the covers back up. “Yeah. It’s not my usual routine after… something like this, but I want you to rest.”
Harley frowned. “What is your usual routine?”
She knew her gaze was sharp, and she mused in the back of her head that this whole conversation almost made her feel like Harleen again.
“I… typically I have a glass of really cold water, a small bowl of noodle soup, and… I lie down on the couch with the tv on,” he admitted.
“Okay,” she nodded.
“Okay, what?” Rick asked, consterned.
“Come on,” she said, jumping to her feet, extending her hand to him. “You’re going to get your routine if I have anything to say about it. Come on.”
“You can’t—I can’t ask you—”
“I ain’t askin’, Rick, come on, don’t make me drag your ass outta that bed. I can totally do it, but I’d rather you just plain come with me. I do make a mean chicken noodle, after all, anyway.”
He looked at her hand, then back up to her. “You’d knock me out if you had to, wouldn’t you?” He asked, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Only if you were being stubborn,” Harley smirked.
“In that case,” he placed his hand in hers, “lead the way, Chef Quinn.”
She dragged him out to the living room, pushing him down onto the couch as she went to the kitchen, and looked for everything she’d need for her chicken noodle soup.
The soup pot found, she filled it with water from the tap, placing it on the stove to boil as she stuck her head into the freezer, fridge and pantry.
Finding the onions, carrots, celery, pasta, and a leftover container of Popeye’s chicken, she made quick work of the peeling and slicing, brushing off Rick’s offer to help, calling back into the living room, “Set a toe into this kitchen, Rick, and my best friend or not, I’m knocking you out and tying you to the couch! And it’d be for your own good!”
Fifteen minutes later, Harley came back into the living room with a steaming bowl of soup in one hand, a glass of water half-full with ice in the other, offering it to Rick.
Gratefully taking both, he set the glass onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote control of the tv to change it to the channel that showed those romcoms Harley liked.
“What about you?” He asked, spoon halfway to his mouth.
“I’m coming back, silly, all that cooking made me hungry, anyway.”
She soon came back, steaming soup in her bowl, a bright yellow monstrosity that had, for some incomprehensible reason, hyenas on it, saying, “Come on, budge up, I know I’m thin, but I ain’t that thin, and this is my side.”
Not bothering to suppress the indulgent smile on his lips, he moved up, leaving space for Harley to sit down on.
They sat there together, watching the romcom playing.
It was predictable, and of course, the guy got the girl in the end, but the thing that was more entertaining for him to watch was Harley.
She was so engrossed, reacting to pretty much everything that happened onscreen.
The credits rolled when he covered a yawn.
Harley’s soup was really good, with a nice kick from the spicy chicken, and the vegetables were just right, not too raw, but not overcooked, and that combined with the contentment he felt just being there with her, actually made him sleepy, and he felt enough courage to try sleeping in his room.
“Thanks for cooking for me, Harls, you didn’t have to do that, but I need to let you rest, and—”
“Whoa, whoa, hold up, mister, where ya goin’?” Harley exclaimed, her grip surprisingly firm on his arm.
“To my room, I need to let you sleep.”
“Nuh-uh, that ain’t part of your routine, you’re staying right here, Rick.”
He could see the stubborn set of her mouth and knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with her.
“Okay,” he conceded, “you can take my room then—”
“Nope, not gonna do that either, that’s your space.”
“Then how are we going to do this?”
Her lips twisted for a second as she chewed the side of her cheek.
He saw the moment she hit on her idea.
“Move forward,” she enthusiastically grinned.
Sighing, uncertain of what she was getting at, he did so, and saw Harley twist and shift until she was lying down on the couch, legs outstretched.
“What now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
And to his surprise, Harley extended both her arms to him, making grabby hands.
It took an embarrassing second for it to click in his head just what she wanted him to do.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Harls, I’m heavier than you, I don’t want to hurt you,” Rick shook his head.
“Come on, Rick,” she cajoled. Then her gaze turned serious. “I ain’t fragile, ya know, I won’t break.”
“I know,” he replied. And he did. She had an iron will, and a heart of gold wrapped in steel.
“And I know you’d never hurt me, Rick, ya couldn’t. You don’t have it in ya.”
“I wouldn’t.” Harley had endured enough hurt in her life, and he had promised himself long ago, even before they really became close, that he’d do his best to prevent her from experiencing any more, no matter the cause, be it anyone or anything.
“So come already, why don’t ya?” Harley asked exasperatedly.
“You’re sure?”
“No, Rick, my arms are just out here for no reason. Yeah, I’m sure!”
With a sigh, Rick carefully lowered himself onto Harley, placing his head onto her shoulder.
Initially, he tried to keep himself from putting his whole weight on her, but she could see the tension in his muscles, and she gave a hard tap to his solar plexus, which made an “oof,” escape him, and his whole weight sank onto Harley, making a satisfied noise come from her.
She squirmed around, getting comfortable, and soon, her arms wrapped around Rick, holding him to her, which he admitted made him feel safe and comforted.
“You okay, Harls?”
“Mm-hmm! Now, relax and go to sleep, I’ll keep your nightmares away, I can be pretty terrifying when I need to be, ya know?”
Oh, he knew. He’d seen it firsthand on missions, and he was really glad that they were friends.
“Thanks, Harley,” he muttered, sleep making his slight Texas accent heavy.
The last thing he felt before succumbing to the siren call of sleep was a soft kiss pressed to his temple and slender fingers running through his hair.