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Explosions, sparks flying from a saw blade, men in masks with guns, and her very own Puddin’ back from the dead and standing in front of her. Harley could swear it was a dream in that moment, that all her wishes had come true. The Joker was back and he’d come to rescue her, and as he held her close in that familiar grip that had always been just a little too strong, everything was perfect.
And then, of course, that moment fades. Reality returns with the bitter tang of coffee on her tongue, the sound of guards screaming in pain, and her new friends calling out from their cells, demanding to know what’s going on. Harley breaks the hug, the Joker holding her in place a moment longer before releasing her, and she smiles at him.
“Oh Puddin’, I knew you’d come for me.” Harley feels breathless as he smiles in response, and she tells herself it’s relief at seeing him alive.
“Of course, sugar, you’re mine forever,” the Joker’s voice lies somewhere between a drawl and growl, “Now let’s get out of here.”
“Sure thing,” Harley chirps, taking his arm and walking with him to the open door of her cell. She looks down the hallway that she knows Deadshot’s cell lies down, and she can still hear him shouting for someone to tell him ‘What in the damn hell is happening?’. When he threatens a non-existent guard with a gun he doesn’t have, Harley can’t help but smile, and she turns towards the Joker, “We’re gonna get my friends out of here too, right?”
The Joker growls and looks away from her, towards the gaping hole in the wall that is presumably their exit. “They’ll be fine without you.”
“Nuh-uh.” Harley stops in her tracks and drops the Joker’s arm to cross her arms over her chest, “I’m not leavin’ here without ‘em.”
The look that the Joker turns on Harley is a fearsome thing and it causes her hot blood to chill, but she’s seen it before and she knows she can weather it. Sure, he’d killed men after running his hand through his hair as he’s doing right now, but he’s her Puddin’ and she’s his Harley. She knows he won’t hurt her, not really, and she also knows she can’t leave without her team. She’d left them once, no way was she going to do that again, especially not when they’d stuck by her through everything.
“We can’t risk it,” the Joker growls through clenched metal teeth, and he grabs Harley’s arm with an all too familiar grip. She knows by heart the shape of the bruises it will leave on her, and while that had once made her feel so connected to him, something feels wrong about it now. Her brow creases as the Joker pulls on her arm like an impatient child on a leash. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Harley opens her mouth to respond, but the voice of God cuts her off.
“Joker, you’ve picked the wrong damn facility to break into,” Amanda Waller’s familiar voice echoes from the PA system, and the Joker runs a hand through his hair again, teeth flashing silver. “You may have disabled most of our systems, but it sixty seconds we’re going to have control of the cell lock systems remotely again. And when we do, you will have a team of highly motivated killers coming right for you. I’ve told them they get five years off their sentence for apprehending or eliminating you.”
“Harley, now,” the Joker snarls, and Harley’s breath catches in her throat as she tries to use her free hand to pry his grip off of her arm. This doesn’t feel right, it’s not right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to live and die for him, she should have been out of that hole in the wall minutes ago, riding off into the night with him. So why is she still here? Why is she-
“Harley Quinn, if you stand down and remain in the facility, you and the rest will receive an additional five years off your sentence,” Waller’s offer floats down, and Harley whips her head around to look at the nearest camera.
“You really mean that?” She calls out, “Like, really really?”
“You can’t even be considerin-”
“Yes.” The word is spoken with finality, and for all that Amanda Waller may be, Harley knows she’s not a liar. Harley nods to herself, and finally succeeds in freeing her arm. She takes a small step back from her Puddin’, the tiny motion feeling like running a marathon, and she can’t look away from the fury on his face.
“What are you doing?” The Joker’s voice is quiet, a deadly calm, and then he chuckles and Harley counts the seconds.
One, two, three, four- he chuckles again, two laughs this time.
Five, six, seven- “What are you doing?” The Joker mumbles, almost sounding defeated and tired.
Eight, nine, ten- he covers his mouth with his smiling tattoo, and Harley’s heart stutters in her chest.
Eleven, twelve- “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He screams, and he laughs, and Harley takes another step away from him.
Thirteen- one of his men runs up and grabs his arm to try and get him to leave, the others are clambering through the hole in the wall like rats fleeing a fire. The Joker shoots his man without looking away from Harley, and for the first time she flinches at the sound of a bullet.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen- he stalks towards her, and the Joker holds her jaw in such a sweet grip that Harley wonders if she’s made a mistake. Did she choose wrong, in picking prison over her Puddin’?
Seventeen- his fist flies into her face, and Harley falls to the ground from the force, the taste of blood too familiar in her mouth.
Eighteen, nineteen- Harley looks up at him, and she wants to see a monster, but she still just sees her Puddin’.
Twenty, twenty-one- he kicks her in the ribs and she curls in on herself.
Twenty-two- he kicks her.
Twenty-three- he kicks her.
Twenty-four- “Sir! We have to go NOW!”
Twenty-five- “Don’t forget, you’re mine forever.”
Twenty-six- Harley knows the sound of his shoes as he walks away from her.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two-
“Hey girl, what’re you counting for?” The voice speaking is familiar and soft, and Harley raises her chin from her chest to see Deadshot crouched in front of her, completely ignoring Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc climbing through the hole the Joker’s men had left.
Harley stops her whispered marking of the seconds and scrubs the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand as she sits up, flashing him a weak smile and preparing to pretend like everything’s okay. She’s all ready to quip about them needing a woman’s touch in this prison, and then Deadshot very carefully reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. His touch is warm, and if not for that heat Harley might not have been able to feel it, it’s so light.
“It’s okay, Harley, we’ve got your back.” Deadshot’s voice is soft, and Harley feels something within her crumple. Fresh tears begin to fall, and she launches herself forward without a second thought, wrapping her arms around Deadshot’s neck and sobbing into his shoulder. There’s only a heartbeat of hesitation before he wraps his arms around her, and the hug is warm and comforting and doesn’t hurt at all. It feels weird, but not bad weird, and Harley clings to him tighter.
“H-h-he hurt me,” Harley sobs, and she feels Deadshot’s hands form into fists against her back. “I-I just w-w-wanted you guys ta come with us and he hurt me.”
The reality of it threads through Harley’s veins like toxic smoke, making them curl within her. Sure, he’d hurt her before, but he’d never really meant it. He loved her, didn’t he? This time, though, she saw what he looked like when he was hurting her. She’d seen that look before - she’d watched as he’d killed and tortured - she’d just never thought he would turn that smile on her. She shivers in Deadshot’s grip despite the warmth of the room, and her sobs trail to pathetic sniffles.
Harley can feel Deadshot’s hand stroking her hair, and he’s making soft shushing noises next to her ear. It doesn’t help the ache in her ribs, but it does help another wound within her, a tiny bit.
“Like puttin’ a bandaid on a bullet hole,” Harley mumbles against Deadshot’s now quite damp shoulder.
“What was that?” Deadshot asks, his voice a quiet prompt.
“This hug, compared to… that.” Harley ruefully raises her head from his shoulder and leans back, giving him a tear stained smile, “Bandaid on a bullet hole.”
Deadshot doesn’t respond immediately, simply looks at Harley, and she can’t understand the look on his face. One of his arms leaves her back, and she misses the warmth and support, but he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over her cheek. She wonders if the pain there has made itself visible yet, if it’ll form the same patterns the bruises on her arm will. For some reason, she doesn’t want him to know how well she knows the bruises, doesn’t want Deadshot to know what her Pudd- no, what the Joker had done to her.
“You know, there are some big bandaids out there.” It’s a pretty sad excuse for a joke, but Harley laughs at it anyway. Not her ‘screw the world, we might die today’ laugh that adheres to no one’s standards for decency, her ribs hurt too much for that. Just a weak chuckle, but it’s better than nothing.
“You’re not a bad guy,” Harley muses, her arms still around Deadshot’s neck, and he raises an eyebrow at her.
“I thought we were the bad guys.” Harley snorts at his response.
“Sure, you’re a Bad Guy, but you’re not a bad guy, ya know?” Harley emphasises the very important capital letters to get her point across.
“Nah, not even a little bit,” Deadshot smiles as he says it with a slow shake of his head, and Harley smacks his shoulder lightly. Her smile feels more genuine on her face now. It’s amazing how a good cry and a bandaid can do that for a girl. Deadshot matches her, grin for grin, and he puts his arm back around her. Unfortunately, he brushes one of her wounded ribs and Harley can’t conceal her wince. His face immediately falls, and Harley rushes to explain. She wants his smile back, doesn’t want to see that guilty look on his face.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got more places on me that are sore than not right now,” she brushes away the flinch with a falsely bright smile, but Deadshot only frowns more.
“You want me to kill him?” He offers, as casually as only an assassin could. Harley holds impossibly still for a moment, thinking of all the times the Joker had murdered people to please her. It only takes her a second to decide, and she shakes her head slowly.
“Nah, I’ve had enough of people killin’ for me, I think.”
“You sure? Friend and family discount, first hit is free.” Deadshot sounds like someone offering food samples at a mall, and Harley smiles at the peculiarity of the situation as she looks past him to see Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc clambering back through the hole in the wall with empty hands. Croc catches her eye and shakes his head with a low growl, and Captain Boomerang follows Croc’s gaze to see Harley staring at them.
“No luck, he’s a slippery cunt,” Boomerang calls to her, and Harley nods. She had known the Joker would get away, of course. She’d been counting the seconds, and she knows the man like no one else does. Seven second head start before the doors were even unlocked, no chance they were going to catch him.
“Hey,” Deadshot’s voice calls her attention back to him, and he reaches to brush tears she hadn’t even noticed from her cheeks, “We’ll get him.”
“I hope you don’t.” Harley can’t help but think of Deadshot catching up to the Joker, bent on some sort of masculine heroic revenge crap. She knows the smile the Joker would be wearing, the one that says he was ten steps ahead of you before you even started walking. She’d loved that smile, and now the thought of it sits in her stomach and churns in vile protest.
“Why not?” There’s a hesitation in Deadshot’s question, and Harley thinks she knows why. He knows so much, he’s got to have known at least a little about her and the Joker. If he knows even a rumour, he’s got to be thinking she’s protecting the man who left boot prints on her ribs. And maybe, at one time, he would have been right. But now, Harley shakes her head at the concept.
“It’s not for him. I can’t lose any more of my friends, okay?” Harley releases her arms from around his neck and holds his head between her hands, “He’s gone, and you guys are still here. I need you alive.”
Deadshot looks her in the eye for a long moment before nodding slowly, “Okay. Okay, we’ll stay alive.”
Harley smiles so brightly that her bruising cheek aches, but it’s more than worth it. When Deadshot smiles back it’s not an expression anyone would fear, no hint of threat about it. Harley likes it, she decides, the same way she likes the warmth of his hug, and the way he’d respected what she said. In that moment, even with her ribs shouting their displeasure at every breath, the taste of copper still in her mouth, and swelling pressing on her cheekbone, Harley could swear she’s in a dream.
“Aw hell, why not?” She thinks aloud, and before Deadshot can question her, Harley leans forward and presses her lips to his.
It’s a quick kiss, hardly more than a peck on the lips, and Harley pulls back from it grinning while Deadshot looks like he’d just been flashbanged. He blinks a few times and then looks at her the same way she’s seen him look at his guns, open admiration and affection.
“Didja like it?” Harley asks him lightly, and Deadshot clears his throat.
“Did I, uh, well,” he stammers for a moment before gathering his wits, “You know, maybe run that one by me once more, I’ll give you an answer then.”
When Harley leans forward, Deadshot meets her halfway, one of his hands creeping up to cup the back of her neck, the other remaining on her lower back. This kiss is definitely not stationary with shock as the other one had been, but it’s also not the possessive fighting that Harley’s familiar with. It’s slow, his lips moving against hers, the taste of blood curling across her tongue from her split lip, knowing he can taste it too as his tongue ghosts across her lower lip. When they break, their foreheads resting together, their smiles match.
“So,” Harley breathes into the air between them, “Didja like it?”
“You know, I think I didn’t quite catch all of that, maybe one more-” Deadshot’s teasing gets cut off by Waller’s echoing voice again.
“Inmates, return to your cells, the new guard detail will arrive in twenty minutes.”
Harley huffs in disappointment, and Deadshot shakes his head.
“No way, I ain’t going back ‘til they taze me out of here,” Deadshot calls to the microphones they know are listening, and Harley kisses him on the cheek for defying their boss for her.
“I could still blow your chip, Mr. Lawton. Do not test me.” Even without a video feed, Harley can see Waller’s thumb hovering over Deadshot’s picture in the kill app.
“Oh come on, we were enjoying the show!” Captain Boomerang’s voice rings out, and Harley twists to see him and Croc lounging against one of the far walls outside of the cell. She considers being offended for half a second before laughing, despite the shock it sends to her ribs, as Deadshot mutters something about ‘Assholes with no respect for privacy’.
“What if we all promise to play real nice with the new guys, huh?” Harley shouts her offer to the cameras, and she can hear Captain Boomerang mutter ‘I make no such promise’ to Croc, who laughs his unique amused growl.
“This is not a negotiation,” Waller’s voice warns from the speakers, but after a few seconds she continues, “You will all return to your assigned cells when the new guard arrives, without any trouble.”
“And we get five years off our sentence because I didn’t run, right?” Harley pushes her luck just that one bit further, as she always does.
“Of course, Miss Quinn.” Waller sounds slightly defeated, and Harley gives Deadshot another quick kiss, full of joy. She pushes away from him, and he lets her go as soon as she does. Aches and possible broken ribs make themselves known to her as she shifts so she’s sitting beside him, rather than basically in his lap, beckoning Croc and Boomerang.
“Come on guys, get in here! We’ve only got, like, eighteen minutes left to hang out.”
It doesn’t take more than that for the other two to join them, especially with her espresso machine acting a tempting lure, and Deadshot puts a careful arm around Harley’s shoulders as Boomerang immediately starts complaining Harley’s cell is bigger than his. Croc tears off some of Boomerang’s shirt to use as a cloth, much to the Australian’s dismay, and cleans Harley’s visible wounds, grumbling about how fragile and thin their skin is while completely ignoring Boomerang’s curse laden whining. Harley may be in pain, and she may have lost what she thought was the only important thing in her life, but in those eighteen minutes, she finds a mighty big bandaid for her bullet hole.