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Harley knew she had been a coward when she ran from Rick that evening after the Schmidt Mission.
But it was the only thing she felt she could have done, because that kiss…
She couldn’t avoid it anymore; she was in love with her best friend, and she couldn’t bear it if he said that it meant nothing, so she said it herself, not allowing Rick to get a word in edgewise.
Better she be the one to say those painful words, because to hear them from him… it would shatter the remains of her heart she had scooped up and put back together, the shards of her heart, which Rick himself, with his friendship, had helped place into her own hands.
She easily recalled the conversation they had that night.
Their hellos were slightly awkward, but they soon settled into their familiar easy conversation.
In retrospect, it was her who had shifted things back to the awkward, actually, when she stated how much she loved the mission.
She hadn’t even really intended to say that, it just slipped out.
When he asked her why, her heart stuttered.
There were many things she could’ve answered to that: That it was because of their dance, that incredible dance she’d never forget, that it was because of the kiss, the kiss she could still feel like a brand on her lips long after it happened.
So she settled for the answer that was closest and yet furthest from the truth.
That it was because she felt beautiful again, like when she was golden blonde, fair (but not bone-pale), relatively sane Harleen.
She almost felt like the kind of woman he deserved like that, with all the thick, concealing makeup all over her, with the wig firmly affixed to her head, with the nail polish, the silk gown, the matching clutch and stilettos, and the jewelry.
Harley recalled what Flavia had said just before they began her transformation for the evening.
The intuitive woman had suspected that she had feelings for Rick, and was determined to give her a look that would “Make him speechless, darling.”.
And she did.
It felt nice, to see the normally-so-composed Colonel Richard Rogers Flag Jr. so utterly at a loss for words.
From seeing her, no less.
It was the effect of the makeup though, and everything else she was wearing, the nasty, whispery voice in the shadowy, cobwebby corner of her mind whispered.
He wouldn’t find her beautiful anymore once all of that was off of her, no matter what he said in the past.
Harley brushed it off, pushing it away, because she needed to be mostly sane tonight, and not just for her own good.
She was successful, but the whole night almost felt like a fever dream of some sort, and if not for the mission, she would have suspected that this was some elaborate construct of her mind, because it all felt like something out of one of her romance novels.
And it would have been something like one of her romance novels, but the heroine wasn’t supposed to run from her hero at the denouement, because she was too damaged for him.
As much as she didn’t want to play it over in her mind, she remembered the end of their conversation in crystal clear high definition.
She was glad he’d chosen to hover next to the kitchen sink, but then, all of a sudden, he was so close, telling her she was beautiful, so beautiful, even as she really was, reaching out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, making her breath hitch, the warmth of his hand something she couldn’t help but lean into ever-so-slightly.
And it terrified the ever-loving-shit out of her.
So Harley did what she did best, and ran.
It hurt—so much so, that she almost felt like she was drowning in pain, though she was valiantly trying to fight the currents of her suffering, her swimming lessons powerless against this rushing tide, her heartbreak when Joker dumped her nothing compared to this, but she’d rather this pain than the agony of rejection, because how could he ever love her like that?
It was impossible, and even if he did…
He deserved so much more than her—her and her crazy.
She wouldn’t do that to him.
Harley had been rather successful in her campaign of avoiding Rick like her life depended on it, having stayed away from him for two weeks straight.
It hurt like hell, but she was managing.
She was sitting with one of her newer romance novels in her hands, blankly staring at the page, not taking in any of the text on it, when the door to the room containing her cell opened, admitting her favorite guard (other than Rick), Sean.
He was an older man, maybe late forties, early fifties, solidly built, with cheerful green eyes, and a rough, chainsmoker’s voice.
She noticed that he was more often than not her guard now, after she offhandedly mentioned to Rick a couple of months ago that Sean was nicer to her than most.
Yet another reason, among many, to love Rick, she thought, which wasn’t helpful to her situation.
“Got a delivery for ya, Quinn,” Sean said jovially.
“What’s it today, Seanny?” Harley replied, trying for her usual bubbly attitude, but if the paternal smile on his face was anything to go by, it didn’t really work.
Granted, she had been moping enough for everyone to see, for the last two weeks.
“It’s the fancy ground coffee beans you like, fresh off the transport.”
Her eyes lit up slightly, she had just finished her last batch, and she was hankering for a good espresso.
Sean unlocked the door to the ledge welded to her cell, dumping the three pound bag of ground beans onto it, Harley being considerate enough to wait for him to lock the small door and take a step back before she practically ran up to the bag, inhaling the smell of the coffee.
She liked Sean, and didn’t want to scare him too much, after all.
Harley heard his rough chuckle as he said, “Eh, knew that ought to cheer you up, Quinn, and if that ain’t enough, you’ll probably get a visit from the Colonel today.
He inspected that bag himself, and I know his visits always cheer you up.”
Oh.
Rick… he was here today.
Her heart began racing as if she’d just chugged two dozen espressos.
“He—he’s here?”
“Yes, he is, and knowing him, he’ll be in to see you.”
“Oh… that’s nice,” she nervously smiled.
Sean sighed, “I know you won’t tell me, but I hope that what’s troubling you passes soon.
They are giving you your medicine, right? It’s not those sugar pills and stuff?”
She nodded, touched at his concern for her.
“Don’t worry about me, Seanny, nothing but the finest antipsychotics, antidepressants, and anti-anxiety meds for good ole Harley Quinn,” she replied, mustering a laugh.
“That’s good.
Well, if you need anything, you know what to do,” he said, gesturing to the cameras overlooking the room before leaving.
Harley slunk back to her bed, unsure if she wanted a coffee after Sean said that Rick had personally inspected the bag of ground beans, her instincts telling her something she couldn’t quite make out over the pounding of her heart.
She sat at the head of her bed, shoved up against one corner of her cell, staring at said bag as if it held a deadly creature of some sort.
She had to have been sitting there for the whole day, staring at the bag, her hearing poised for Rick’s familiar gait outside of her cell.
But the day passed without the familiar thud of his footsteps sounding anywhere near her cell, it was well past sunset now, and when there was no mission or anything needing his personal attention, Rick was a creature of habit—he always went home by the time the sun went down, which made a slight frisson of relief run through her.
Once another hour had passed, dinner having come and gone, she began eyeing the bag in a different way—her hankering for coffee hadn’t passed—in fact, it was as strong as ever.
Her instincts were still screaming at her not to go near it, the drug-muted voices in her head agreeing as well, but she’d been resisting the urge to make a cup of coffee the whole day, and she wanted a cup, like twenty minutes ago.
So she tiptoed towards it, knowing she probably looked like an idiot—the great Harley Quinn, scared of a bag of ground coffee beans.
Biting the proverbial bullet, she hauled the bag to her table and opened it up.
There was nothing—she sighed at herself for being so foolish, and reading something into nothing as she dug her small plastic scoop into the grounds—
Harley halted as her fingers brushed against something that was most definitely not ground coffee.
Inhaling sharply, she reached in and unearthed a small piece of paper with Rick’s messy handwriting emblazoned on it.
“Please come over tonight.
We I need to talk to you.
Please, Harls.
R”
She read and reread the writing on the paper, though she knew exactly what it said from the first time she read it.
Swallowing, she put the paper on the table, continuing to make her coffee, which probably wasn’t a good idea, seeing as her whole body felt like a live wire.
She made her coffee before retreating to her bed, idly sipping the strong espresso as she mulled over what to do.
To go or not to go?
That was the question.
She felt terrified out of her mind, but Rick had done so much for her at her mere request—sometimes even without it—and he’d given her so much, it was only fair that she go to him when he asked.
So once it was lights out, she steeled herself, and went through the process of escaping Belle Reve—it was something she could do in her sleep, she was so experienced at slipping through all of the prison’s security, even the nasty little chip in her head.
She briefly contemplated going straight to his apartment, but thought better of it—if she was going to get her heart broken again tonight, she was going to look good while it happened.
She went to her storage locker which had her New Orleans clothes stash, and picked a v-necked red velvet blouse with smocked shoulders and puffy sleeves, a black damasked silk corset which had black lace at the top and tiny sapphires shimmering on the bodice, dark blue jeggings with gold sparkles, gold patent leather boots, along with black pearls in her ears and about her neck.
Once she was satisfied with how she looked, Harley took the familiar hyena keychain in hand and made the journey to Rick’s apartment.
The door to the apartment, which for a little over a year had been her safe haven, now almost felt like the portal to her end.
But there was nothing for it, she was already here, and even now, she couldn’t bear to disappoint Rick, much as she felt that her heart would be shattered at the end of the night.
She shut the door behind her, and walked slowly into the living room.
Rick was standing in the living room, in a dark plaid shirt open over a black t-shirt with dark wash jeans, looking like he had been pacing for a while if the literal path she could see on the carpet was any indication, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his hand through it repeatedly.
For a second, her heart raced and twisted almost painfully, because the man didn’t even have the decency to look horrible.
Ugh.
Unfair.
“You came,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” she replied, trying for an even tone, “least I could do, ya know?”
“Can—can we sit down?”
“Sure,” she murmured, though she wasn’t really sure how she’d do with the proximity.
They sat on their customary spots, Harley on the left, Rick on the right.
He looked at her evenly, seemingly gathering his thoughts.
She squirmed under the scrutiny, his gaze almost too intense for her suddenly too-weak heart.
Finally, he spoke.
“I’m going to tell you something, Harls, and you’re going to listen.
You’re not going to interrupt, no matter how much you want to, because what I have to say to you is important.
Okay?”
“Alright,” she promised, trying to prevent the tears that wanted to prick at her eyes.
“Harls,” he began, “I’m sure you remember that… that kiss two weeks ago.
Well, it made me realize something.
Something very important.
It… made me realize that—that I can’t be your best friend anymore.”
Despite her promise not to interrupt, she couldn’t help but inhale sharply, helpless to prevent the tears welling up.
She knew it.
Good things just didn’t happen to her—they were always destined to end, and horribly.
He mercilessly continued, “I can’t be your best friend, because I don’t want to be just your best friend—because I love you, Harley Quinn.”
Her jaw dropped, and she frowned, was—was he playing some kind of joke on her, or something?
“Say something, Harls,” he begged her.
“Are—” she cleared her throat, “are you joking me right now? Because this isn’t funny, Rick.”
“I would never, Harls—I would never play with you like that bastard did.
I… I never expected that I would feel this way for you, but I am so in love with you, Harls, I can’t even—I don’t even know how to express it, because I’ve never felt anything remotely like this before for anyone,” he earnestly replied, looking evenly into her eyes.
Her heart soared upon hearing his words, a smile threatening to break out on her face, because she could hear the truth in his voice, and see it in his eyes.
But then harsh reality came crashing down on her, slamming her into the cold, hard ground.
She didn’t deserve him, not in the slightest, even as all she wanted to do was to tell him she loved him back, that she had for a long time now.
For one thing, she was literally certifiable.
She was dealing with multiple psychiatric problems and that was just one of the many reasons he should just stay her friend.
She had done so many things as Joker’s chained dog; she had blood on her hands—blood that nothing could or would ever wash away.
And as much as Rick called her beautiful, she knew what she was.
If not for her dyed hair, she was practically a ghost.
He at least deserved someone who looked normal, not like they were on the verge of death.
“Why?” She croaked.
“Why what, Harls?”
“Why do you love me, Rick?
I’m literally insane—there are times where my mind is hanging onto what threads of sanity I still have through the cocktail of antipsychotics, antidepressants, and anti-anxiety meds I have to take every single day.
I have done so many things, horrible things, Rick—I have blood on my hands, blood that I swear I can still see sometimes.
And no matter what you say, no one else will find this—” she gestured to herself, “beautiful.
I don’t deserve you, and I never will,” Harley desperately replied.
He stared at her as he processed her words.
“You never said you don’t love me,” he replied, beginning to smile.
“That’s what you took from that?!” Harley cried impassionedly. “But ya, I love you, because how could I not?
I love you even though I don’t deserve you.
I love you even though I shouldn’t.
I love you because you’re you.”
He moved towards her, taking her hands in his, the calluses on his catching on the back of her hand.
“I’m glad—more than glad,” he laughed, before continuing, “I’m not the most eloquent person, but every reason you have for why you think you don’t deserve me?
Well.
You say you’re crazy—that some days you’re hanging on by the grace of God and some pretty strong meds?
Well, you’re not the only one who feels one step out the door of sanity sometimes, Harls.
You know I’ve got my problems—hell, you’ve woken me up from a nightmare, and held me through the rest of the night.
You say you’ve got blood on your hands?
So do I.
People have met their end at my hands, that to this day, I’m still not sure if they should’ve.
I have kills to my name that I am so ashamed of.
And I remember all of their faces.
I’m no saint, Harls.
And you say no one else will find you beautiful?
What does anyone else matter?
To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.
Your skin, I know you’re ashamed of it, but it’s like… freshly fallen snow.
Soft as it, too.
Your eyes—they’re the brightest blue I’ve ever seen, and the sparkle that gets in them when you smile is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life.
And your hair, it’s like white gold, tipped in roses and night.
I love you because you’re you, and I love you just the way you are, Harley Quinn.”
God in Heaven help her.
This man knew exactly how to eviscerate a girl’s heart.
Not eloquent, her ass.
The tears which had been threatening earlier?
Yeah, they were now full-on fountains, had been since somewhere around the middle of his speech.
He’d torn down almost every reason she had for why they were all wrong.
“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered through her tears.
He sighed, “I decide what I deserve.
I decide what I want—you of all people know that principle, Harls.
And I want you,” he rebutted, something almost like victory in his tone, as if he knew she was close to giving in to him.
“You shouldn’t—I’ll only ruin you,” she cried, in a weak, last ditch attempt to sway him.
“And what if I want you to ruin me? You’re in my blood, Harley Quinn, and I don’t care what happens,” he earnestly declared.
A sob tore through her, as she buried her face in his neck, gasping for breath, shaking from the overwhelming emotions, the scent of his aftershave both comforting and stimulating.
Rick wrapped his arms around her, running a gentle hand up and down her back.
“Shh, Harls, it’s okay,” he murmured.
“This is crazy, Rick,” Harley shook her head, as she lifted it from his neck.
“You thinking of taking back me being the sanest person you know?” He smiled.
She couldn’t help a watery laugh, “You honestly remember that?”
“Of course.” He caressed her cheek. “I remember everything you tell me.
So what do you say?
Let’s be crazy together?”
She looked at Rick, into his warm whiskey-brown eyes, sparkling with so much honest, open, and pure love, an expression which took her breath away.
No one had ever looked at her like that before.
Like she was precious.
Like she was everything and so much more.
She took a deep breath.
If there was ever anyone she would risk everything for, it would be him.
What was another jump for her?
And this time, she knew he was waiting for her at the bottom.
Powerless to resist anymore in the face of his relentless love, she breathed, “What the hell?” before leaning in, and kissing him with all the passion she had in her.
His arms wrapped around her immediately, his passion instantly matching hers, if not overwhelming it, as he slowly laid down on the couch, maneuvering her slight figure onto his, still kissing her.
Her hands buried in his hair, tugging slightly on the dark, sandy strands, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest, before he pressed her more firmly against him.
He deepened an already impossibly deep kiss, giving her a high better than any drug she’d ever had.
Her mind shut down from the sheer onslaught, and this time, she just allowed the riptide to pull her under.
Fuck her swimming lessons—she’d happily drown right here.