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Rick should have known better when the mission to take down the villain du jour went too easily.
That was strike one.
He and the team, consisting of Harley, DuBois, Cleo, and Abner had just blown up the terror cell’s compound, with the leader and his inner circle within it, intel in hand, (courtesy of Cleo and her army of rats) and were on their way to exfil when the sound of vehicles accompanied by angry shouting could be heard following them.
Rick immediately brought the team to as high a ground as he could spot, which was an outcropping, and they soon made contact with the terrorist leader and some of his cronies who apparently weren’t as dead as they had hoped.
After a short firefight, they had almost all of the terrorists eliminated and Rick thought that for once, they’d all get out without a scratch.
Strike two.
He heard an urgent scream of “Rick!” behind him, and he turned in time to see Harley make a flying leap across his body, as a gunshot went off, and she collapsed to the rocky ground.
Rick raised his rifle, quickly sighting it, and fired, taking down the leader, who had shot Harley.
The split second after the gunfire stopped, Rick knelt down next to her prone figure, her stillness so unnatural.
He carefully turned her over, bracing himself for the worst.
Pressing his fingers to her wrist, he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt a steady thump.
The worrying thing was her wound—it was on her left side, dangerously close to her heart, and then there was the wound on her head from when she hit the rocky ground, which was steadily bleeding.
Putting pressure on her chest wound, which was the more concerning one in his opinion, he used the other to press his comm.
“I need an ETA on the helo, Quinn took a bullet to the chest and she’s got a head injury,” he barked into the comm, restraining the panic in his voice, determined not to make it to strike three.
There was silence on the other end of the line, then Waller’s clinical tone replied, “ETA on exfil is fifteen minutes at the LZ.”
“I need that cut down, and I need the LZ moved.”
“That’s as fast as they can get there, Colonel, and that LZ is the safest for the helo.”
“I can’t move her, Waller.”
“I’m not risking the helo, Colonel. We don’t know if there’s still bogeys in the area,” she snapped, a sarcastic tone in her voice.
“They’re all dead, Waller, I put a bullet in the leader’s head myself,” he bit out.
“And Quinn’s one of the best in Belle Reve, we lose her, you lose one of the most experienced people in the Squad. You know that. You know that if there’s a chance she can survive, it’s logical to take it.”
He could practically hear the woman thinking.
“Redirecting to your location, new ETA is twenty minutes. That’s all I can do if you want exfil from your location,” she ground out, before cutting the comms.
Rick frustratedly hit the ground before pressing the other hand to Harley’s head.
“Guys!” He called out, “exfil in twenty, keep an eye out!”
Looking back down at Harley, his eyes were drawn to the wound on her chest—given the angle of her wound and how high she had jumped, the bullet she had taken for his sake could very well have killed him if not for her jumping in front of him, the knowledge sending a shiver through him.
He felt motion beneath his palm, and looked up to see her stir.
“Mmm. What happened?” She whispered.
“You got shot, Harley. What were you thinking, you could have died, taking that for me,” he exclaimed.
“I think what’cha meant to say was 'Thanks for saving my life, Harls,' but’cha might’ve, the head injury I can feel might be affecting my hearing,” she breathed, a wry smile on her lips.
He couldn’t help a short laugh, wondering how this woman had the ability to make him laugh even as she was bleeding out.
“Exfil’s in about twenty minutes, Harls, we’re almost home.”
“Okay,” she sighed, closing her eyes, “jus’ wake me up when the helicopter comes…” she trailed off.
“No, Harley, no, you can’t fall asleep, come on, wake up.” He knew that if she fell asleep, the odds of her waking up again would plummet.
“Wha’s goin’ on, why ya keepin’ me awake? ‘M so sleepy…”
“No, no, no, Harley, come on, open your eyes,” Rick urgently called.
Slowly, she did as he asked, muttering, “Wha’? Why?”
Fumbling for something to say, he said the first thing to come to his mind. “I—I need your professional opinion.”
“For wha’?”
“I… need you to tell me if… if I’m crazy.” Even he shook his head at himself as the words registered in his mind.
“You’re far from crazy, Rick, you’re the sanest person I know,” she frowned.
That, now that, made him laugh mentally.
He might not be, you know, a certain green-haired-bastard-level crazy, but he was self-aware enough to know there were days he didn’t feel particularly mentally healthy—he was certainly dealing with at least a not-mild case of PTSD, and maybe a host of other things.
“Come on, Harls,” he said, gently shaking her right shoulder. “Tell me the clinical definition of… psychopathy.”
Harley clicked her tongue, “No way you got that, Rick. If anyone’s got that, it’d be me. But anyway, since ya asked…”
He managed to keep her awake for the whole twenty minutes by asking her about various psychological conditions, Harley rattling off their DSM definitions from memory.
If she weren’t for the fact that she was bleeding out beneath his hands, he’d take the time to tell her how much he admired the fact that she had all this knowledge in her head.
Finally, the sound of helicopter blades slicing through the air became audible, and in no time, they were being ushered into the helo, the medics having to pry Rick from Harley.
He watched with bated breath as the medics worked on stabilizing her, his heart caught in his throat.
When they arrived back at Belle Reve, she was immediately removed from the transport, Rick on the heels of her gurney.
He would’ve followed her all the way to the operating room, if not for a very brave nurse who stepped in his path, saying, “I’m sorry, Colonel, but you can’t come any further.”
He glared at the woman, but she remained unmoved, raising an eyebrow in defiance, as if saying, “That’s all you got?”
“She saved my life,” he said lowly.
The nurse’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes softened, and she replied, “And we’ll do everything that we can to save her—she’s in good hands. But you still cannot come any further, Colonel Flag.”
He exhaled, his energy suddenly leaving him. “I want to be informed the moment she’s out of surgery.”
The nurse, Edith, he could see from the tag on her scrubs, nodded. “You should get some rest, she’ll be in there a while. And maybe wash up, get changed—I’m sure you don’t want her to see all that blood.”
He looked down at himself, and realized that his hands and clothes were covered in her blood.
Realistically, he knew he’d gotten her blood on him, but he didn’t realize just how much of it he’d gotten on himself.
Immediately, Rick closed his eyes to the things he knew would inevitably flash before his eyes, but no amount of closing his eyes would deter the images.
Marshaling his breathing, he staggered to the wall and sagged against it, waiting for the end of the mental screening of the worst things he’d ever seen.
As the ringing in his ears passed, he became aware of Edith calling, “Colonel, Colonel, are you alright?”
Blinking, and shaking his head slightly, he replied, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Edith’s expression was shrewd, and she must have worked with servicemen before if she could recognize a PTSD flashback.
“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed off from the wall, saying, “Please let me know when she’s out of surgery.”
Edith stared at him for a long second, before sighing and nodding.
With a quiet “Thanks,” muttered, he made his way to the locker room and changed into his spare clothes, a gray Henley under a black zip-neck and khaki cargo pants.
Lacing up his boots again, Rick decided to bite the bullet and head to Waller’s office to debrief her before she called him in like a kid to the principal’s office.
As much as dealing with her was unpleasant, it would keep him awake at least.
What felt like an eternity and an interminable debrief with Waller later, he was called to Medical, with the news that Harley was out of surgery—it went fine, she’d be there for two more days, but after that she could be released back to her cell.
He cautiously entered her room, not wanting to disturb her.
She looked paler than usual, but at least it wasn’t as deathly as before, and her face was relaxed and free of pain.
Rick tiredly sank into the chair next to her bed, his breathing punctuated by the steady beeping of the various monitors around her.
He shut his eyes, just for a moment, to allow himself to absorb the fact that she was alive, that she was safe, that every beep meant another breath in her lungs, another beat of her heart.
The next second, he was jolted awake (when had he fallen asleep?) by some sort of sense that something was different.
That same sense had kept him alive in more than one situation, so he immediately gave the room a once-over, hand on his hip, ready to draw his sidearm.
He only relaxed once he realized that the thing which was different, was that Harley’s eyes were open ever so slightly, and she was looking at him.
“Heya, Rick,” she rasped.
“Harls, how’re you feeling?” He asked, leaning forward on the chair, elbows on knees.
Smirking, Harley replied, “Like I got shot.”
“Taking one in the chest’ll do that to you,” he said with not much bite behind his tone. “I know you were joking, but I’m sorry I didn’t thank you for saving my life back there,” he continued apologetically.
“Ehh, no biggie. Just having my best friend’s back,” she breathed, patting his hand.
“No, Harls, I really could’ve gotten killed back there, if not for you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her smile was warm and sincere, as her smiles had always been lately, for him. Before he could dwell much longer on that thought, she asked, “What’s the damage?”
“Two more days here, then you can go back to your cell.”
“Mmm,” she muttered. “Cell, sweet cell. Was Waller pissed?”
Under his breath, Rick said, “When isn’t she?”
Harley laughed, but not for long, as she clutched her chest, laughter tapering off into a groan.
“Hey, hey, just breathe, the morphine’ll kick in again in a bit,” he soothed, gently rubbing his hand on her left arm.
“Ooh. That wasn’t fun.”
“That’s an understatement.”
They didn’t speak for about a minute or so, when he broke in, “I should let you rest—” Rick cut himself off as he saw the look on her face.
He wasn’t as good as Harley was at reading people, but he was pretty damn good, and he saw the reluctance and fear on her face.
Softly, he asked, “You want me to stay?”
Her mouth twisted briefly, as she whispered, “Could’ja? Hospitals sorta give me the creeps now, ever since… well.”
Since Arkham, since The Joker, he knew was the end of that sentence.
He couldn’t refuse her, especially something as simple as this.
“Sure.”
Her eyes lit up, and his heart broke at the fact that someone willing to stay with her in a place that reminded her of the worst time of her life, made her that happy.
If he ever saw that green-haired-bastard, he swore he’d kill him and give Harley his head on a platter.
Oddly, that thought didn’t alarm him as much as it should have, but he settled back into the chair, sending Harley a smile.
She smiled back before shutting her eyes.
Five minutes later, he thought Harley was asleep, but then she spoke, shattering that illusion.
“Rick?”
“Yeah, Harls?”
“I was jus’ thinkin’. I know what’chu were tryin’ to do back there, askin’ me ‘bout all that psych stuff.
But I just wanted you to know that yeah, you might got a little PTSD, and maybe a little bit’a depression with a slight touch of anxiety, but’chu’ve got nothing to worry ‘bout.
You’re really the sanest person that I know.
Just because someone’s a little damaged don’t mean they’re crazy. Believe me, I would know.”
That touched him. People like him were all too readily dismissed as certifiable when they came home traumatized, affected by all the things they’d seen, greeted by a society unprepared to help them adjust to civilian life again.
Briefly, he thought that she might reconsider her diagnosis if she knew what he was just thinking about her ex, but instead he gave her a simple, “Thanks, Harls.”
“No problem. That’s my professional opinion—you did ask, after all. And… if it means anythin’,” she said, almost embarrassedly, worrying the blanket laid on her in her fingers, “you… you make me feel sane again when I’m with you, Rick.”
Rick wanted to hug Harley so much right then, but instead he just settled for lacing his hand through hers, holding onto her hand tightly. “I… don’t know what to say,” he replied, swallowing thickly, a little overwhelmed, to be completely honest.
“That’s okay. Ya don’t hafta say anythin’. Just thought I’d put that out there,” she smiled tiredly.
Clearing his throat, he said haltingly, “Well, I’m glad I help—help you, Harls. That—that means a lot.”
“Means more ta me,” she smirked.
“It’s not a competition,” he chuckled.
“Ehh,” she noncommittally replied, her eyelids beginning to droop.
Quickly spotting this, he said, “We can discuss whom it means more to another time. Rest, Harls. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
With a satisfied sigh, she nestled deeper into the covers, Rick drawing the blanket over her shoulders, and she murmured softly, “Thanks, Rick. You’re the best.”
And with that, she finally drifted off.
Pushing his chair closer to her bed to continue holding her hand, so that it’d be one of the first things that she felt when she woke up, he responded, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear it, “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”