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It's only after they get back inside the mall that Harley lets herself remember her injuries. It didn't matter before, couldn't matter when she was about to die, and then Ivy was back, and then they were taking Joker down, and the building was falling apart, and everything was burning.
But she can't compartmentalise the pain away forever. Her fight with Joker left her with a stab wound in the gut, a nose that she thinks might be broken, and a dull headache where he smashed her head against the glass. Her whole body hurts, and that realisation crashes over her as soon as she lets herself relax.
The others have their own injuries to tend to, their own shit to sort out. She makes it to the couch and sits down heavily, trying to act like she's okay. Her side is bleeding, she registers distantly, red coming away when she presses her hand to the wound.
She wants to get up. Get out of this fucking outfit, head into the city, embrace the chaos she helped cause. But right now, she can do nothing except sit here, breathing, trying to acclimatise to the pain.
“Fuckin' asshole,” she mutters, inspecting the slash in her clothing, the blood slowly pulsing from the cut beneath it. Even now Joker's dead, she still has to have some reminder of him, a new scar carved on her body, like he hasn't given her enough.
“Harls? You okay?”
Oh. She thought everybody left. Should've known better, she thinks distantly. Ivy never really leaves.
“'M fine,” she mumbles, blinking until her vision clears.
Apparently, that's not convincing enough, because Ivy swims into focus seconds later, dropping down in front of the couch with worry written all over her face.
“Harley? Harls. Honey. What happened?”
“Like it when you call me that,” Harley says, not meaning to, and shit, she's definitely lost too much blood.
“Focus,” Ivy says, tapping her cheek gently. “Look at me. You're hurt.”
“Motherfucker stabbed me in the gut,” Harley tells her. “I got him too, though. Did it for you.” She leans her head against the back of the couch, lets her eyes drift shut. “Don't worry. I'm okay. Just gonna... rest a minute.”
The last thing she hears is Ivy saying her name, and then everything fades out.
When she wakes up, the first thing she's aware of is a hand holding hers. She grips back reflexively, slowly blinks her eyes open.
She's lying in her bed, and Ivy's sitting at her side, holding her hand, watching her carefully.
“Hey, Ive.”
Ivy smiles at her, her green eyes soft. “Hey, Harls. How are you feeling?”
Harley takes stock of her body for a moment. There's still a dull ache where Joker stabbed her, but it hurts much less. She can feel bruises on her head and face, but it's a background pain, not fierce and overwhelming.
“Better.”
Ivy exhales. “I wasn't sure if... I mean, the city's in chaos. Medical supplies aren't really... around. So I used my own serums and stuff. Wasn't sure it'd work.”
“You're a genius,” Harley says, and means it. “Course it did.”
Ivy laughs a little, shaking her head. Then her expression fades into something more serious. “I'm... I'm glad you're okay.”
Harley grins. “Back at ya. Seriously, Ive...” She thinks about the way it felt when Ivy was gone, and the grin wavers, nausea clawing at her stomach. She doesn't ever want to feel that again. “I thought I lost you.”
Ivy squeezes her hand. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”
“Like I'd ever want to.”
Ivy's smile then is so soft that Harley feels like she might cry. Puts it down to blood loss and whatever serum Ivy gave her, because that doesn't even make sense. Since when does Ivy's smile make her feel so much?
Ignoring the thought, she shifts slowly into a sitting position and looks down at herself. She's in pyjamas, no trace of that clown outfit Joker forced her into. She reaches for the hem of her t-shirt gingerly. The wound is bandaged neatly, a faint green tinge on the fabric, presumably from whatever plant concoction Ivy used on her. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, like Ivy bothered to take out her ponytails.
Distantly, she wonders how she stayed unconscious through all that. Maybe she was hurt worse than she thought. And Ivy... Ivy took care of her. Made sure she was comfortable, bandaged her wounds, spent who knows how long on serums to treat her.
Harley feels tears prick behind her eyes, and before she can get a hold on herself, one of them trickles down her cheek.
“What's wrong?” Ivy asks, frowning at her, one hand reaching forward, like she's ready to jump into action.
“Just...” Harley swallows and wipes a hand across her face. “No one's ever really taken care of me like this before, you know? Guess I'm not used to it, or somethin'.”
Ivy looks down at the bedclothes, tugs at a loose thread with slender fingers. “It's nothing. You know I...” She tugs the thread harder, her shoulders tightening. “You know I care. About you.”
“I know,” Harley replies, and grins. “I love you too.”
Ivy inhales, like she's about to say something else, but nothing comes out. Harley reaches for her hand, which is still fiddling with that thread, and links their fingers together.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
Ivy doesn't look at her, but she doesn't pull her hand away. “You're welcome. Or whatever.”
They sit like that for a couple minutes, not talking, and it might be the best moment Harley's had in a long time.
Joker's gone. The city's hers for the taking. And Ivy's here, alive, holding her hand.
For the first time in what might be years, Harley feels something like peace.