A/N: Taking a quick hiatus from Chuck fics to dive into the world of Batman. I know, I know! Another Flower Shop AU. But don't tell me that if Batman wasn't about superheroes, a flower ship is not EXACTLY where you would find Pamela. I am also one of the few that had a good time with Suicide Squad, particularly the character designs. So I took the prompt and ran with it.

Thanks for giving this a shot, I hope you enjoy!


Gotham and Seattle weren't all that different, Pamela decided as she peered through the shop's window at the angry black clouds gathering above the city. In fact, it rained so often in Gotham that Pam sometimes felt she hadn't left home at all. But Gotham was a fresh start. An escape from her unassuming life in Seattle-and from the ghosts that seemed to be waiting for her around every corner. Things weren't much more 'assuming' here in Gotham, but that was the way Pam preferred it. She thrived on routine. And everyday, for three weeks, she'd risen with the sun, left her dingy-but affordable-apartment and walked the three blocks to the small shop she'd procured with the help of her parents. They hadn't been particularly supportive of her choice of residence, but even her emotionally distant parents understood that Seattle was no longer a safe place for her. After what had happened with Woodrue…the entire Isley family needed a fresh start. At least, that was how Pam's mother had phrased it.

Nonetheless, Pam loved her little flower shop, even if it was small and quaint. If she was honest with herself, Pamela would rather live in the flower shop than her dank apartment, but at the moment, the backroom was barely large enough to hold her office, let alone a makeshift bedroom.

Pamela pulled herself out of her thoughts and continued through the shop, hefting her watering can with her as she gave each plant inside the store dedicated time and attention. She stopped in front of the Trailing Ivies , her favorite, and ran her fingers along the vines, smiling when they swayed towards her touch, almost as if they could feel her.

The doorbell chimed and Pamela turned around to see Mrs. Pembroke hobbling into the store, leaning heavily on her cane. Pam hurried to help her inside, just as the steady pitter-patter of raindrops on the window panes began.

"Good morning, Pamela." Mrs. Pembroke greeted the red head with a warm, slightly toothless, smile.

"You made it in just in time," Pam said, nodding to the rain outside with one hand while supporting Mrs. Pembroke with the other. She led the old woman into the store towards the shelf of Magnolias that she knew were her favorite. Mrs. Pembroke came in almost every afternoon like clockwork to buy fertilizer, or seeds, or tools for her garden and often stayed around for hours, content to spend the day chatting with Pamela. At first, Pam had found it slightly off-putting. But it was impossible not to warm to the old woman's charm, and now Pam looked forward to her visits.

"A little rain won't stop me from visiting my favorite florist," Mrs. Pembroke said, gently removing Pam's hand from her shoulder. Pam was almost certain she was the only florist in Gotham-not exactly a city suited for life and growth-but she decided to accept the compliment without argument.

"Can I help you find something special today?" Pam asked, watching the old woman peruse the shelves of Magnolias.

"Oh don't worry about me, dear. You go about your business; I'm just browsing today. I'll holler if I need you." Pam smiled and nodded. Most days, Mrs. Pembroke was the only customer the shop ever saw, and while that wasn't the most conducive to business, Pam didn't mind not having to deal with people that often. On the days that she did receive new customers, she tended to stay behind her desk, instead of wandering the shop tending to the plants.

Pam began her rounds again, offering the occasional murmured reply to Mrs. Pembroke as she chattered away animatedly. The rain continued falling outside, the pitter patter creating a drowsy atmosphere inside the tiny flower shop.

"It's always so peaceful here, Pamela," Mrs. Pembroke commented. "A shame more people don't know about this place."

"I don't mind so much," Pam shrugged.

"Oh I know you don't, dear. But a store like this deserves more attention. Gotham could certainly use the change in scenery. Instead of the pubs on every corner. You've even got one next door, see? Every corner."

Pam knew the store next to hers wasn't a pub, but a tattoo parlor. One that tended to attract the rowdier citizens of Gotham. Sometimes, on weekends, the music they played-or rather, blasted-could be heard through the shop's thin walls. Luckily, it was often just Pamela who was subjected to the noisy next door shenanigans. But if the day ever came where she ever had more customers coming in….Or even Mrs. Pembroke for that matter…

"Obnoxious," Mrs. Pembroke said, as the booming bass began to throb through the air right on cue. "A horrible way to run a business," she continued, almost to herself. "This is a public city block; you'd think that they'd have the common decency to observe some peace and quiet!"

"I could talk with them," Pamela said, setting her watering can down and untying the gardening apron she wore. Pam didn't enjoy any sort of confrontation. Not for lack of confidence on her part, or course. But when arguing with people of lesser intelligence, Pamela often found herself subjected to nothing more than petty insults. In Pamela's opinion, it was better to ignore and abstain than confront and bicker. But Mrs. Pembroke had made a fair point. The noise was obnoxious as were the people playing it without regard to the neighboring shops. She'd dealt with the noise for three weeks. It was about time she spoke up.

"Why bother with thugs like them, Pamela? Would they even listen?" Mrs. Pembroke muttered, glaring angrily at the shop through the window.

"Couldn't hurt to try," Pam shrugged, trying to ignore how badly she didn't want to speak with the people next door. "I'll be right back."

The door swung open with a ding, and Pam stepped out into the rain. It was a brief walk to the tattoo parlor, the main door just a few yards away from her own. Still, the rain was coming down harder now, and Pam quickly realized that she should have brought her jacket with her. She would probably be taken a bit more seriously if she didn't look like a drowned rat when she approached the parlor's owner.

Too late now, she mused, pushing open the large wooden door and stepping into the tattoo parlor. The shop was much larger than hers, filled with tables and chairs, tattoo guns, inks and mirrors. There were dozens of designs decorating the walls around her and a large sign that said 'Welcome to Squad INK' hanging off an ornate wooden desk just inside the door. Pam approached the desk, raising her hand to ring the golden bell on its surface when a woman popped up from behind the desk, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hiya!"

Pam's heart nearly leapt out of her chest and she stumbled backwards a few feet, unable to hide her shock. The woman giggled at the startled expression on Pam's face and offered her hand.

"Sorry, didn't meant to scare you. Name's Harley. Harley Quinn," Pam eyed the girl's hand warily, taking in the red and black chipped nails and spiked bracelets. Carefully, she took Harley's hand, surprised by how soft and warm her skin was.

"Pamela." She cleared her throat, releasing Harley's hand and electing to smooth down her jumper instead. Harley cocked her head, her pink and blue tipped pigtails swaying with the movement. She narrowed her bright blue eyes and pursed her lips as if deep in thought. Pam was just beginning to squirm under Harley's scrutiny when suddenly her eyes lit up and she beamed widely.

"I know you! You run the flower shop next door! I've seen you lockin' the place up sometimes." Harley paused and squinted, tapping her chin with a red tipped finger. "Ivy's…uh..em—"

"Ivy's Green Garden," Pamela finished for her, a little impatiently. Harley snapped her fingers.

"That's it! Say, why do you call it 'Ivy's' when your name is 'Pamela'? Shouldn't it be Pam's Plant Emporium? Pam's Plants?"

"That's-I…." What? No. "Look, I'm not here to talk about my shop."

"Right!" Harley agreed, planting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward, her blue eyes boring into Pam's. "So, how can I help ya?"

"I need to talk to someone about the," Pam lifted her hand and gestured to the air around them where the bass was still throbbing loudly, "the noise." It was louder inside the shop, but Pam had been too distracted by Harley to notice, until now.

Harley glanced over her shoulder, her demeanor suddenly a little nervous. "Ah, the music. Yeah, that's just the way Mistah Jay likes to relax during his lunch breaks."

"It's disturbing my customers," Pam said resolutely. My one customer.

Harley's lips thinned into a grim line, her fingers drumming nervously against the desk. She opened her mouth to respond when a tall, muscular black man with a carefully crafted goatee and beard approached the two of them.

"Harley, you got a problem here?"

Harley waved a hand and shook her head, her pigtails bouncing. "No, no, Floyd. No problem at all. Pammy here just wanted to see if she could talk to Jay."

Pamela.

Floyd looked Pam up and down once and then grunted. "Good luck, lady. Jay doesn't talk to anyone without an appointment. The guy's an asshole."

Pam smirked and Harley gasped, punching Floyd's arm.

"Floyd!"

"It's the truth and stop calling me that," Floyd grumbled, shoving Harley's hand away and moving back into the shop. Pam watched him go, catching a glimpse of a young woman organizing her tools at a far corner seat. She looked up, locking eyes with Pamela for a moment underneath her dark bangs. She looked away when Floyd approached and Pam returned her attention to Harley.

"So," she said, clasping her hands behind her back casually. "May I speak to Mister Jay?"

Harley chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and then relented, gesturing for Pamela to step around the desk. She led her into a cramped hallway with a single door set at the very end. The bass throbbed louder with every step they took toward it.

"Jay doesn't really like unexpected visitors," Harley explained loudly over the music. "Like Floyd said…But since you're our next-door neighbor, I'm sure he won't mind making an exception." The smile Harley forced didn't exactly serve to reassure Pamela. Harley knocked quietly on the door when they approached. So quietly in fact, that Pam wasn't sure Jay would be able to hear it over the music.

"Puddin?" Harley squeaked, pressing her mouth close to the door. The nickname surprised Pamela. It seemed strange for Harley to be so intimidated by someone she appeared to have a relationship with. Or maybe not, Pamela quickly corrected herself. She had first hand experience with awful, power hungry men. This 'Mister Jay' might not be too different than Woodrue.

There was no response. The bass continued to boom and Harley didn't look ready to risk knocking again. Pam stepped forward, pushing Harley aside and shoving the door open roughly. Ignoring the strangled noise of protest Harley made, Pam stepped inside the small office and strode up to the desk that sat in the middle of it.

The man, who must have been Jay, sat with his feet propped up on the old, beat up desk, his hands laced behind a head full of shocking green hair. His arms were covered in various tattoos all the way up to a gaping, toothy smile tattooed on his left hand. His green eyes shot open when the door opened, a snarl twisting his features. Pam straightened, raising herself to her full height and lifting her chin to meet Jay's sharp gaze. He glanced over her briefly, his eyes calculating, and then he looked over Pam's shoulder at Harley and his lips stretched into a dangerous grin.

"Harley," Jay's tone was light, welcoming, but there was a layer of thinly veiled fury laced in his voice. "Can you recall the conversation we had about inviting guests into my office without an appointment? Do you remember what I told you?"

"Course I do, Puddin," Harley replied meekly, the fear in her voice making Pam stiffen. "But Pam is from the flower shop next door! She just wanted to drop in and—"

"-And ask you to be more considerate of the other shops in this area," Pam finished, shifting slightly so that Jay was forced to look her in the eye. "The music you blast on weekends is so loud that we can hear it in my shop. It's disturbing my customers. It's not my place to decide what sort of music you play in your shop, but I do have the right to ask that it stays in your shop."

A slow smile spread across Jay's lips, growing so wide that his green eyes were forced into a squint. "You are absolutely right, Pammy. I've been incredibly inconsiderate."

"Pamela," she corrected out loud this time.

Jay ignored her and made a show of fumbling with the knobs on his stereo speakers. "You'll have to apologize to your customers on my behalf. To be honest, I hadn't even realized that someone had procured the building next door!" Jay laced his fingers underneath his chin. "So quaint. So unassuming. Just like it's owner."

He gave Pam another slow smile. Pam resisted the urge to claw the self-righteous smirk right off his face. He turned the knob on the speaker again until the music was hardly louder than a small thump. "Better?"

"Much," Pam said through gritted teeth. Jay clapped his hands.

"Wonderful! Harley dear, if you would be so kind as to show Pammy here the door," he gestured for Pamela to rejoin Harley who had practically folded inward on herself. "And then I would like to speak with you in private."

"Sure thing, Mistah Jay," Harley's voice quavered just slightly. Pam felt sick with the knowledge that her decision to confront Jay was likely going to lead to trouble for Harley. Although what kind of trouble, Pam couldn't say. Harley touched Pam's elbow to grab her attention away from Jay, who was still leering at both of them. Slowly, throwing one last hard glance at Jay over her shoulder, Pam followed Harley out into the hallway. Once outside the office she turned to Harley, who now stood sandwiched inside the doorway, one hand on the knob.

"Thank you, Harley. I hope I didn't cause any trouble." Sincerely.

Harley grinned so hard that the dimples in her cheeks stood out. "No trouble I can't handle, Red." She paused, her smiling softening a little. "It was good to meet ya, today."

"Yes," Pam replied slowly, as Harley took a small step back into the office. "It was."

Harley smiled again, gave a little wave goodbye and shut the office door, leaving Pam alone in the hallway. For a moment, she considered eavesdropping. But ultimately, she decided against waiting outside the door. She had no right poking her nose into Harley's business. After all, Pam hardly knew the woman past her name and the heart tattooed on her cheek, and her bright, baby blue eyes and wide smile and-Stop it, Pamela. Get a hold of yourself.

Straightening her already smooth jumper, Pam continued down the hallway to the front desk, where she waved goodbye to Floyd and the dark-haired woman, who just stared at her in response. The rain had begun to wane and, by the time Pam stepped back inside the flower shop, the sun was peaking through the heavy cloud cover.

"You're back in one piece," Mrs. Pembroke teased, watching Pam cross behind the counter to grab a towel from her office. "And it appears they listened to you."

But Pam thought the quiet in the flower shop felt heavy somehow. "Mmm," was her carefully thought out reply.

"Are you alright, dear?" Mrs. Pembroke asked. But Pam didn't hear. She stared out the shop window, her mind still spinning around the expressive blue eyes and cotton candy pigtails of one Harley Quinn.


Until next time...