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Harley had just been released to her cell the other night, Rick having found reasons to be in Belle Reve for the whole duration of her stay in Medical, and he knew that any day now, she’d make an appearance at his place.
He was on the couch, watching tv, eating some chili he’d made when he heard a key clatter to the ground, followed by a familiar voice say, “Oh, damn it! Shit, shit, shit!”
Shaking his head with a smile, he went to the door, unlocking it and revealing Harley, knelt on the ground, left arm in a sling, pigtails slightly uneven, wearing a pink, glittery one shoulder t-shirt, the corner of a black strapless sports bra peeking out from the edge of the neckline, dark gray sweatpants with a black and red stripe down the side, and hot pink sneakers, a plastic bag in her right hand, fingertips an inch away from her key, which she had attached to a hyena keychain.
Rick nonchalantly leaned against the doorway, helpless to prevent his smile from widening into a grin. “Need some help there?”
Harley sighed, slumping. “No, I’m good, can you just take this?”
She raised the bag, and he took it from her, just as she picked up the key and leapt to her feet.
“Hey, Rick, how are ya?” She asked, hugging him without preamble.
If he were completely honest with himself, he stopped being surprised by her hugs a long while back, and… he actually didn’t mind them. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I’m okay, how you feeling, Harls?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her.
“Better,” she replied, pulling back. “The nurse who took care of me, Edith, she made me wear this sling though. And I really wanted to say no, but I was still a little achey this morning, so I caved.”
“I’ve met Edith. She’s a formidable woman—got quite the glare on her. Come on, let’s go inside.”
Untangling herself from him, she followed him into the apartment.
“Have you eaten yet?” Rick called from the kitchen, already getting the yellow monstrosity that was her bowl (he’d have to ask her what was up with all the hyenas sometime) and going to the stove.
“I could go for somethin’—ooh! Did you cook chili?”
“You want some?”
“Yes, please!” She chirped.
“Coming up!” He smiled, taking the lid off of the still-warm pot.
In the back of his mind, he noted that he hadn’t smiled as much as all this before Harley made herself such a presence in his life.
Aside from her near-constant physical presence, she was metaphysically everywhere in his apartment: from the aforementioned bowl, to the toothpaste and toothbrush he’d laid out for her two months ago, (he made a mental note to change it soon) the tube of red lipstick sitting in the corner of his bathroom counter, the strawberry shampoo and conditioner in his shower, the Harlequin Romance novel lying on his coffee table, the various hair ties and the odd hair pin he’d found scattered around, and he’d even found a gold pistol with a custom mother-of-pearl handle, inlaid with a black and red diamond pattern, along with a couple of magazines, under his couch.
Harley Quinn was a larger-than-life woman, whose enthusiasm for life was infectious, and he felt, as his Gramma would put it, blessed, that she chose him as her friend.
Taking a glass of water and two Advil with the full bowl, he went back to the couch, placing the glass and pills on the coffee table, and handing the bowl to her, before picking his own up again.
She eagerly spooned some chili into her mouth, closing her eyes and making a noise of contentment. “That’s delicious, Rick. If ya ever decide to set up a restaurant, you’d make it big.”
“Thanks, but I can’t really take all the credit for the chili—that’s my Gramma Helen’s recipe,” he proudly replied.
When he began hanging around with a bad crowd, and made trouble in high school, his parents started sending him to his grandmother’s house every weekend, hoping that the two days away from his friends would at least help keep him out of some trouble.
At first he’d hated it, finding it boring, but then, his grandmother, Helen, who had always been a fantastic cook, press-ganged him into helping her in the kitchen.
That was what had saved him from ending up behind bars as a teenager, and though he still kept the same disreputable company for a long while after that, he stayed away from the worst of their misdeeds.
Gramma Helen slowly taught him everything she knew about how to cook, which was really a Godsend in his bachelorhood. The chili was one of his favorite recipes, a good-old-fashioned Texas-style chili, with no beans or tomato sauce, the flavorful soup made from a dried chili paste.
“She’s the one who taught ya how ta cook?” Harley asked, bringing him back to the present.
“Yeah, taught me everything I know. Gramma Helen was fantastic.”
“Was?” She observed, her lips twisted in sympathy.
“She passed many years ago,” Rick nodded. “She saw me make Lieutenant, though. She was so proud, when I showed up at her door in my uniform, shiny, new rank bar on my shoulder,” he continued ruefully, wondering if she’d still be proud of him.
Harley caught the expression on his face, saying, “She’d still be proud of you, you know. Because you’re a good man, Rick.”
“Don’t feel like it sometimes,” he shrugged.
“Take the word of someone who ain’t been the best person in the world, Rick. I know what good looks like, and you’re it. If you won’t take that, take the word of your best friend,” she insisted, her sky blue gaze intensely focused on him.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
“What are friends for?” She winked cheekily.
To lighten the mood, Rick gestured at the plastic bag lying on the other end of the coffee table. “What’s in the bag?”
“Oh, that,” Harley sighed. “I wanted to refresh my ends, but my shouder’s still twinging like crazy, so I guess I gotta put it off ta another day.”
He had noticed her black and red ends were looking a little paler than she’d typically let them get lately, but given that she’d just come out of Medical, he really didn’t blame her.
“Is it hard?”
“Nah, ya jus’ gotta put the color into the developer, shake it up, put it where ya want, and then rinse it off, but it’s still a little hard to move my arm.”
Rick thought for a second, then offered, “If it’s that easy, I… I could do it if you want.”
“Oh, really? Would you?” She eagerly asked.
“Yeah.”
“Can we do it after we eat?” Harley was practically bouncing in her seat now.
“Sure,” he agreed.
“Uh, so, just put this,” he held up the tube of red colorant, “into this?” Rick held up the small bottle of developer, plastic gloves on his hands.
“Yeah, easy as that!” Harley nodded, sitting on a chair in the middle of his kitchen, a black bath towel around her shoulders, her unbound hair a bright contrast against it.
“Ohh-kay,” he sighed, slightly nervous about his foray into hairdressing, but wanting to do this for Harley.
Unscrewing the tip of the bottle of developer, he pierced the seal on the colorant, squeezing it into the developer.
The whole tube squeezed in, Rick prompted, “Now just shake it?”
“Mm-hmm! Just put the tip back on before ya do.”
Once the substance in the bottle had turned color after a period of shaking, he took hold of a section of her hair.
For some reason, his hands were shaking slightly, something that they hadn’t done even in the heat of combat. “I really don’t want to mess this up, Harls,” he admitted.
“Ya won’t,” she reassured, “start where the old dye does, slather it all ta the ends, and it’ll all be hunky dory.”
“Alright,” he sighed. He’d taken down a dictator, for God’s sake—he could dye his best friend’s hair.
It went easier than he thought it would be, and the repetitive motion was actually quite calming—Harley apparently felt the same, if the way her head was leaning back was any indication.
The process was repeated with the bottle of black dye, and after that, Rick began washing their dishes, to clear the kitchen sink for when they rinsed off the dye.
When he had soaped her bowl, he remembered what he intended to ask her earlier.
“Hey Harls? I just had a question, I don’t mean to offend you or anything, but… why all the hyenas?”
“Oh my gosh, I never told ya!” She gasped. “How could I have forgotten about my little Brucie! I have one, and he’s just the cutest, loveliest sweetheart ya ever saw.”
“You have—have a hyena?”
“Yeah, I’ll show you pictures next time, and ooh! I ought’a bring him over one ‘a these days, he’ll just love ya.”
Rick didn’t really know what to make of the fact that her pet was a hyena.
But then again, he really should have seen it coming. No way would Harley have a pet as ordinary as a dog.
“Only if you think he’ll be cool with it.”
“‘Course he will! I just know you’ll be besties!”
He almost laughed at that thought, but he knew better than to say never. If you had told him several years ago that his best friend would be none other than Harley Freaking Quinn, he’d have laughed, but here he was.
Thirty minutes later, the dye had fully developed, and they went to the sink to rinse it off, moving her chair, her head hanging into the steel basin.
Rick took great care not to tug on her scalp as he washed out the dye, gently running his fingers through her hair, the red and black stained water swirling down the drain.
Harley sighed, humming to herself.
“You okay there?” He asked.
“Yeah, this is great, so much better than when I do this myself, I ought’a ask you ta do this for me all the time!”
Rick laughed, “Tell me again when you look in the mirror, okay?”
After conditioning her hair as the directions on the dye bottles indicated, he carefully wrang out the excess water before wrapping it in the towel, her ends again bright red and darkest black.
She practically skipped to the bathroom, and he heard her squeal of joy all the way in the kitchen.
She dashed back out, towel hanging haphazardly over her shoulder, hugging him again, saying, “It’s perfect, Rick! Not only are you a fantastic cook, you’re also a fabulous hairdresser!”
Returning her hug, he replied, “You’re welcome, Harls, let’s get you dry now, though. I don’t have a hair dryer, so we’ll just have to comb and towel it.”
Soon, they were on the couch, Rick tag-teaming the towel and the comb he’d dug up from a drawer in his bathroom and washed.
After watching her favorite romcom, which just happened to be on the tv, he could tell she was getting a little sleepy.
Fortunately, by then, her hair was relatively dry, just a little damp in spots, so he stretched out on the couch before pulling her into his arms, shifting her so she was lying down with her front to his, careful of her sling, her weight on her right side as he continued to run the comb through her hair, while his other hand lightly rested high on her back.
He was aware that the tables had now turned from a couple of months back, when he’d woken up from a nightmare and he’d lain in her embrace that night.
Drowsily, she settled against him, muttering, “Mm, you’re warm, ya know?”
“Thanks, I guess?”
“You really should consider setting up a restaurant and maybe a salon if you ever decide to stop being all Colonel-y, Rick,” she replied non sequitur—but knowing the twists and turns of her mind, it was nothing new for him.
“A restaurant and a salon, huh?”
“Yeah, they could even be in the same place, right? After ya get’cha highlights done, ya could get some really good chili.”
Rick allowed the image Harley was describing to take shape in his mind.
“What would it be called?” He asked.
“Ya wouldn’t go for anythin’ fancy, so it’d probably be called… Rick’s Diner and Salon.”
It was a nice image, but to him, something was very much missing.
“I don’t know, that doesn’t sound quite right,” Rick shook his head.
“Whattya mean?”
“I think… it would be called Harley and Rick’s Diner and Salon,” he smiled.
“You’d take me with you?” She lifted her head from his chest to look him in the eyes, the expression on her face admiring, as if he’d hung the moon.
“Of course I would, Harls, it wouldn’t be the same without you. And you do make a mean chicken noodle soup,” he said matter-of-factly.
“That I do,” she smiled waterily, before laying her head on his chest again. “Maybe one day, Rick,” she sighed.
“One day, yeah.”
The next minute, Rick felt her breathing deepen, and she sank more heavily against him.
He watched her for a beat before adjusting his position to a more comfortable one on the couch, using the hand on her back to hold her securely against him, the other still gently combing through her hair.
But sleep avoided him, his thoughts swirling.
He realized now that whatever version of his future he imagined, one thing remained the same—Harley.
Whether he led the Squad until his dying day, or left it, she was there.
He could no longer envision his future without her presence in it.
Rick felt that that thought should have alarmed him, but it didn’t.
It really didn’t, because she had carved a place for herself in his life, his home, and if he were completely honest with himself, his heart.
No one had managed to get under his skin like that before, not even June.
Harley had worked her way so far into himself that excising her from him… would be tantamount to death, really.
Then, a thought shot through his mind—the thought that he wouldn’t change a damn thing.