A/N This fic is AU in terms of the Suicide Squad universe.

Here's my spin-off of my June and Rick fic, 'With The Lights Out'. It is not necessary to read that story to understand this one, but this one-shot does deal with similar themes, such as freedom, love and control. I was inspired to write this after I wrote Chapter 31, in which Harley taunts Rick that he and June could be like Harley and the Joker. It got me thinking how fun it would be to write a oneshot where Rick and June were criminals, and the idea just wouldn't go away.

The only important information readers should probably know before going in, is that June retains the Enchantress's magic after the events of Midway City. The rest is explained throughout the story.

Story Rated T for some swearing, violence and sexual situations.

ONESHOT

HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

It is impossible to see the night sky outside the car window. The buildings are too high, lights gleaming an electric, alien blue. The colour shifts and refracts as they glide smoothly down street after street – the sidewalk wet and gleaming with the drizzle of earlier that day. The awning of grimy takeaway shops occasionally heave and cough up a deluge of rainwater.

Rick Flag feels no attachment to Gotham City. He was not born here. He arrived here a year ago searching to hide in amongst the lawless streets and blend in with the black-coated locals. No one who wasn't a criminal or hiding from something stayed in Gotham unless the city was in their blood. Rick watches a man walk past a hot dog cart and casually take a couple of crumpled twenties when the owner isn't looking. That kind of thing might have bothered him a year ago. He fiddles with an ugly, chunky gold ring on his right hand. His father's ring – Rick Flag Senior. Into the metal the unofficial Flag family motto has been engraved. Duty and Honour.

Rick still lives by those words. But he followed his own code now. He played his own game. Not Waller's. He wasn't her puppet anymore…they weren't her slaves anymore.

Rick glances across at June. She is sat on the other side of the black limo, her legs neatly folded – wearing a dress that seems to mostly be made out of black mesh. Normally, June would wear a suit (she is nothing, if not practical – even in the underworld) but their destination tonight requires something dressier. Her reading glasses are still perched on the bridge of her nose, however, as she scans the tablet in her lap. The glasses keep threatening to fall off, and she keeps having to push them back up her nose.

"Digger Harkness has been caught," she says, not looking up from the screen. Rick can tell she's trying to suppress the exasperation in her voice. She tries to be nice about the people that saved her life – but with Boomerang even June couldn't see past the douche-bag antics. "He lasted about four weeks."

"The rebel without a clue," Rick mutters, sarcastically, stretching out in his seat more comfortably. The limo is too low for his tall frame, and his head just brushes the ceiling. "What'd he do?"

"What do you think? He tried to rob a jewellery store in Soho."

"He couldn't lay low for a coupla months?" Rick asks, mild frustration permeating his voice. It wasn't like this was unexpected. The guy was pretty fucking dumb.

"Apparently not."

"Well, I ain't busting him out again," Rick grumbles, going back to staring out of the window. June reaches out and rubs his knee consolingly.

June and Rick had been the ones to break Captain Boomerang out of Belle Reve. It hadn't been planned. But, Rick reflects, none of this had been planned. It had all just kind of happened. A domino effect – each choice leading them both in a direction they hadn't foreseen.

He had just wanted to keep June safe. That's how this had started.

Rick watches a couple re-uniting on the sidewalk. Like most people in Gotham, they are both dressed in drab, muted greys, but there's something vaguely romantic about the embrace. Maybe it's the broken and flashing neon signs behind them. Maybe it's the rain puddles reflecting the light. Rick remembers how he had embraced June after Midway….he swallows. He thought she had died. He had promised himself he would never lose her again. But then they had discovered that June still had the Enchnatress's powers and life wasn't back to normal. June and Rick couldn't simply go off and buy a farm somewhere quiet. A.R.G.U.S had wanted to put June back under a microscope. Waller had wanted to keep her greatest asset on puppet strings.

And Rick had finally snapped.

He had taken June, and they had fled to Gotham and hidden.

That, if he is thinking straight, is where this all started. (Or maybe it had started when he had fallen in love for her. Fought through a city full of aliens for her. Realised he would do anything for her.) That's where the dominoes had started to fall. Knocking into the next one and the next. They'd had to lay low, and with Waller ruthlessly tracking their credit cards and alerting every minor police force and intelligence agency on the planet to pick them up, it wasn't long before Rick had had to resort to desperate methods. It had started as a means of making money that was untraceable and undetectable. Underhand dealings of illegal weapons – shifted at night. He knew a guy who knew a guy. And then with that money Rick had hired guards to keep him and June safe. To keep business afloat, they had had to mark out their own territory. They had to become more and more ruthless in exerting their influence. Before Rick knew it…they were criminals.

And then after months of problems with a third party dealer edging Rick's own products out, Rick had realised that he and June couldn't go this alone anymore. Their operation was still too small…they needed allies. And so four weeks ago they had gone to the one person Rick had least wanted to see. The person who could be hardly considered human…who made Rick's stomach feel like it had turned to battery acid.

The Joker.

Rick feels his mouth tug into a sneer just at the thought of the name.

No matter how bad things got for him – no matter what he did – he would never be anything like the clown. He would never break June the way he and broken Harley Quinn. If June was caught by A.R.G.U.S and locked in Belle Reve, Rick would fuckin' get caught or shot trying to save her.

The Joker must have been able to feel the extent of his loathing, because he had leaned across the table with his wide, Cheshire-cat grin. "Oh, a man with a code, huh?" he had drawled, practically purring the word. "Let me tell ya something Colonel: what use would you be to your….pretty little girlfriend dead, hmm?" he says, wiggling his fingers in June's direction. "What good would you be, locked in a cell next to hers? Oh…but you're just so noble. But noble doesn't save her. Noble doesn't get you a slice of the…cake."

"Don't bullshit me. You could've got Harley out of that cell any time you liked," Rick sneers.

Real anger flashes in the Joker's eyes. His men gathered behind him move just barely. One cracks his knuckles. The other squares his shoulders. Rick almost smirks at the cheap scare tactics. He and June sit together, completely relaxed – their comparatively small number of three men flanking them. All for show. Let the Joker's guys fire a bullet. June would destroy them all.

"I came for her," the Joker hisses. "I rescued her from that Task Force of yours."

"Except then she didn't want to be rescued," June returns quietly, straightening her glasses. "She didn't need you. Because she had us."

"That's because she's not right in the head…she's gone all fuzzy…my girl isn't thinking straight," the Joker mutters to himself feverishly, stroking his long cane propped against the table He glares up at Rick from underneath his lashes and Rick suppresses a smirk at the other man's animosity. His woman had chosen someone else over him. That had to hurt someone as egotistical as the Joker. To Rick's surprise, however, the man suddenly grins – displaying a gleaming row of metal teeth. "Look at you two…you're just so cool and calm sat there!" he says, looking between Rick and June gleefully. "But you're just small fish in a big pond, 'cause you need Dadddy Joker, don't you? Huh? Come on, what d'you need Daddy Joker for. Ya need some money to keep you afloat in this little…business venture the two of you have going? You need money from Daddy?"

June wrinkles her nose as the Joker slips a hand into his silk purple shirt to retrieve a cheque-book. She's good at keeping her cool, but Rick can tell that the Joker is unsettling her. They're both new to this – new to this world. Rick's wearing a mask, too. Underneath it, he'd like to lean across the table and punch the other guy in the face. Mess up that grill again.

"We don't need your money. We need you to push someone else out. Our competitors. They've got more turf than us. They're taking our business, our clients." Rick forces himself to stop twisting the ring on his right hand and places his palms flat on the table. The dull thumping of music from the Joker's nightclub on the floor below permeates the room. "You get rid of them for us, and you get 70% of their territory – and all their stock. In return we get 30% of all territory and all contracts."

One of the men behind the Joker snorts. "Why should you get anythin' if we're the ones doing all the heavy lifting?"

"Because," Rick replies, calmly. "We're throwin' something else into the mix. We'll get Harley out of Belle Reve. I know you can't get past Waller's security."

"But you can?" the thug sneers.

Rick settles back in his seat, throwing an arm round the back of June's chair casually. "She can," he says, looking at June pointedly.

The Joker is quiet for the first time, and it's the most unnerving thing he's done so far. His gaze is black – like two, dark holes in his white skull. His fingers continue to stroke the cane as he considers Rick's deal. Rick knows he must have heard stories about June's abilities. They've been on the streets for almost a year now and rumours like that tend to travel fast. They've had to rely on her magic more times than Rick would have liked to get them out of tough spots, but even he has to admit it's handy.

"I…I like this plan," the Joker grins slowly, combing a hand through his green hair. Rick resists the urge to roll his eyes – the guy was such a preener. "I always did like a good magic trick."

A small smile touches June's mouth as she raises one hand – palm facing upwards. Automatically, a joker card materializes between two of her fingers. "Then…I guess you're going to love me," she replies, so lightly her voice is almost polite.

Rick turns the Joker card between his fingers as he sits in the limo. Their calling card. Four weeks is too soon to be going back into that tacky club…but the job's been done and Rick still hasn't seen hide nor hair of the Penguin's weapons contracts. He should've known the clown would try to screw them over.

"Hey –" June squeezes his knee to get his attention. "When we go in there, don't be all…Mr. Antagonistic, okay?"

He looks at her, raising both eyebrows defensively. "What do you mean 'antagonistic'?"

"Well…you're pissed, and when you're pissed you get an attitude. You steam roll."

Ricks rubs at his upper lip, the movement jerky with irritation. "Damn right I'm pissed," he grinds out, eventually. "We should've never trusted that scumbag in the first place."

"We did what we had to do…like always."

He looks at her sharply. June's tone is neutral…but is there a hint of resignation behind her words? He can't tell. "Look, if you want out, I've always said we can walk away, June. Anytime. The whole point of all this was not to feel…trapped. If you feel –"

June's mouth quirks in amusement. Her hand moves from his knee to his thigh – pushing his thick coat to one side - and Rick's muscle reflexively tenses beneath her fingers. "- I like this," she assures him simply, massaging his leg. "I like being free. I like doing whatever I want. With you." Her voice has become husky and Rick smirks. He can't help but shift slightly at her touch, widening his legs. He reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves a lighter and a cigarette, lighting up smoothly as she continues to rub his thigh.

"I'll be good," he tells June, cranking down the window to blow a line of smoke out. "I promise."

"We need him. The Joker. We're not big enough to take him on yet."

Rick takes another drag, considering her words. "Yet?" he asks, eventually.

June takes her glasses off and folds them neatly, stowing the tablet and her glasses in a small clutch bag. "I'm strong. You have experience in the Special Forces. You know how to run covert operations. You know how to take down an entire building with ten men." Her cat-like eyes fix on him. They're mesmerising – the colour of a blue gas flame. The lights of Gotham slide across June's face as she speaks. "It's only a matter of time, Rick."

He shrugs indifferently, taking his time with finishing his cigarette and then flicking the butt-end of his smoke out the window. Honestly, he didn't care either way. All that mattered was June. "…If that's what you want, I can deliver. You know I can."

"All I want…" June insists, glancing at their stoic driver before sliding across the back seat closer to him. "Is you by my side…" she murmurs, close enough that her lips brush his as she speaks. "I only want us…to be together. I want to be strong enough that nobody can tear us apart. Not even Waller. I want a fortress around us…an empire." She hesitates, combing both hands through his hair, which has been slicked back. "I'm not afraid of the shadows anymore, Rick. I'm not afraid of the dark corners - of the nightmares. We live in them now."

Rick's arms loop round June's waist and he intertwines his fingers behind her back, pulling her against him until she's practically in his lap. He tilts his chin upwards slightly, regarding her through hooded eyes.

June rushes on, blushing. "I mean…I know it's a lot to ask, and we're only just starting out. But it could work…probably. Maybe?"

"You're babbling."

"You're doing that…staring thing," she replies, wrinkling her nose.

"Uhuh? Do I make you nervous?" Rick smirks, leaning in to nip at her earlobe playfully.

June scoffs, but holds still as he worries the bit of flesh between his teeth. "You're not as intimidating as you think you are. Not to me, anyway."

"Good," he exhales, against her cheek, skimming his nose slowly across the plane of her cheekbone. "You're not supposed to be scared of me. I want you to trust me…I want you to trust that there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for you."

"I do trust you," June says, seriously. She shifts her head enough to peck him on the lips. "I trust you to keep us safe…" she scoots off his lap, ignoring his protesting grunt. " – and I trust you're not going to shoot the Joker five minutes into this meeting."

Rick grumbles as June straightens and smooths her dress down next to him. The car turns down another street. The weather outside is clearly chilly and damp, but the inside of the car is warm; the leather seats rich and soft and now smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. June's dress is revealing, and he knows that before the end of the evening she's going to need his coat. He reflexively slides a hand inside his suit jacket to feel the Glock strapped to his body holster. There are habits Rick's picked up in the military that a year in Gotham hasn't eliminated – that have probably been irrevocably conditioned into him. There is a reason on the streets he is known as 'The Colonel'. Rick still always wears a wire in his ear. It's comforting, being able to hear the low-level chatter of his men. He likes to know what is going on constantly; to be aware of every detail at all times. He is careful to a fault – and it is probably this caution that has prevented he and June from being shot in the back of the head already.

Right now, three black SUVs snake after their car in a dark cavalcade. Most of his hired men are ex-military. He's hand-picked them himself. They have been given thorough instructions tonight to be ready should dealings with the Joker turn sour – and to also keep them one step ahead of Amanda Waller. A.R.G.U.S were liable to show up at the most inconvenient of times. They were tightening their net…it was only a matter of time before they made another attempt on June.

Rick glances at his girlfriend as she plays with an earring absentmindedly. He understood why Waller could not give up on June. A meta-human on the streets as strong as June – a criminal meta-human at that – had to be taken in. Whilst June wasn't as strong as the Enchantress had been, she still had some pretty useful parlour tricks up her sleeve. They wouldn't have been able to get into Belle Reve to get Harley without her.

They had been standing on a helicopter with the Joker and his men. Everyone was dressed in the Belle Reve guard uniform – except Rick knows that the prison guards didn't usually carry wicked-looking automatic rifles and a chainsaw. The last time he had been to the Lousiana prison he had been an employee of A.R.G.U.S. Now he was the accomplice in an illegal prison break. The irony isn't lost on him.

Sometimes it surprises Rick how easy it had been to become a criminal. If anyone had told him Colonel Rick Flag would become one of Gotham's rising mobsters, he would have called them insane. But then again, it wasn't like this was in his DNA. He had been pushed to this. So had June. Being Waller's puppets…being slowly and subtly blackmailed and manipulated until they had no freedom of choice left…that was what had moulded them into the people they were now.

He would give anything – become anyone – to preserve their freedom.

And also, if Rick's being honest with himself, it was the Squad that had made him realise that bad guys weren't the scum he thought they were. They were people who had been driven to extremes. Somewhere along the way, instead of controlling and coercing the team, he had begun to feel sympathy for them. And in that sympathy…he had become them.

Rick grits his jaw. No. He was still different. There were still lines he wouldn't cross. Things he wouldn't do. His eyes land on the Joker.

The man's gaze is fixed intently on Belle Reve as the sprawled, grey prison comes into view. The swampy landscape stretches for miles below them – they have only seconds before the chopper is seen.

"Ready?" June turns to Rick, as he triple-checks the magazine in his rifle. The guard uniform is bulky on her – as is the bullet-proof vest he's forced her to wear, despite the fact that she can't die. He slots the magazine back into place with a click. June must know he's stalling, because she smirks. "The sooner we get this over with –"

"Yeah – yeah –" he mutters as she places both hands on his shoulders. "Just do it."

With a sharp jerk, June teleports. Gravity around them warps and abruptly becomes crushing. For a split second, Rick is aware of a force that could possibly crush his skeleton in on itself – leaving his body resembling a crumpled tin can – before he and June appear in the grimy security office of Belle Reve. He has a split second to register that they've been here before. He's pretty sure they made out once up against that filing cabinet.

There are four security personnel in the room, examining CCTV footage – and they all jump to their feet in surprise, gaping at the two people who have just materialised out of thin air. Rick raises his rifle and chooses to take out the two staff members closest to the doors first – the crack of the rifle loud in the small room. He pivots, and fires at the second two – who are clearly reaching for some kind of emergency button.

When they're dead, Rick abruptly lowers his weapon and braces his hands on his knees. "Fuck," he grunts, fighting back a wave of nausea.

"Still not used to teleporting?" June asks, quickly striding over to a computer terminal and over-riding the lock on the roof door. One of the security feeds shows the Joker's chopper landing on top of the prison. " – you told me next time to warn you, so I –"

"Yeah - didn't make a difference," he mutters, straightening back upright. His eye-sockets feel sore, as if someone has tried to push them into his head. He doesn't understand how June isn't affected by it. "C'mon –" he says, grabbing her by the elbow and assuring her out of the room.

They meet with the Joker and his men on an empty stairwell.

They still have the advantage of surprise, but their operation is running against the clock; they need to get Harley out – and fast.

"Where is she?!" the Joker demands, jumping the last few steps. He looks twitchy – on edge. He's canted a shotgun over his shoulder that has gold implanted in the barrel and Rick raises an eyebrow at the weapon.

"In some cage at the center of the prison. Sector A. She's the only one in there," he replies, coolly. Time constraints weren't an issue for him and June. June could teleport them out if things got hairy. The Joker, on the other hand, would be stuck down here if he didn't move fast. The thought doesn't exactly cause Rick any grief – but then again, he needs the guy's help in edging the Penguin out…so he figures it's in his interests to help him.

The Joker's nostrils flare. "They put my baby…in a cage?" he hums, rolling his neck on his shoulders as if to fix a crick. "Oh…stupid…stupid…" he bares his teeth, launching down the stairs once more. The look on his face tells Rick that the guards in this place don't stand much of a chance. He can't bring himself to care; he'd seen what those guys had done to the inmates. Shoving tubes up their nose. Humiliating them, degrading them. In his book, the guards were as bad – if not worse – than the prisoners. His one true hope is that he bumps into Grigg's.

At the center of the prison, the Joker's men race forwards to tape a small bomb to the thick steel door. The bodies of the Belle Reve prison guards litter the corridor, along with a significant amount of shell casings. Whilst they wait for the bomb to detonate, the Joker turns to June.

"How do I look?" he purrs, expectantly, pushing his green hair out of his eyes.

"Er –" June's brows furrow and the bomb detonates with a bang, saving her from replying. She and Rick share a look as they charge out into the room where Harley Quinn is kept.

She looks better than the last times Rick saw her here. He figures that fighting for Task Force X meant that she is now allowed a few perks. Her hair is no longer bedraggled and knotted, but carefully coloured and styled into two chid-like buns. She's wearing fluffy pink slippers and Rick even thinks he spots an expresso machine in one corner of her cage. Typical. Deadshot asks for visitation rights for his daughter and Quinn gets a four-hundred dollar coffee grinder. You know, the things that mattered in life.

"Puddin'!" Harley gasps, the moment her eyes land on the Joker.

Rick winces slightly when she gets out of her cage and her gaze eventually lands on him and June.

"Am I…seein' things?" she asks, as the Joker bundles her out of her cell. "Or am I lookin' at Mr and Mrs Goody-Two-Shoes?" her gaze falls to Rick's gun and her eyes widen. "No way, did you kill people? What are you guys doin' here? I mean, don't you work for that Waller lady?"

Rick resists the urge to roll his eyes, leading the front of the team as they make their way out of the prison. There is still every chance they are going to bump into more guards, but Harley merely jogs after him as if they're going on a stroll through Midtown. "A coupl'a things changed," Rick mutters, keeping his rifle ready and braced into the crook of his shoulder. " – this way –" he throws over his shoulder to June, turning right down another tunnel. She nods brusquely – nothing if not practical – a sharp contrast to Harley shuffling after him in pink fuzzy slippers.

"Clearly," Harley replies – too loud. "I mean, seriously? Of all the people, I wouldn'ta pegged you to become a bad-guy. This is, like, Twilight Zone level stuff, you know? And I'm crazy. I can handle a lotta weird shit."

"Can you shut up?" Rick snaps at Harley. He'd developed a certain fondness for the girl – would have probably busted her out of prison even if the Joker hadn't asked at some point. He is only just remembering what a monumental pain in the ass she was.

"So – who're we getting' first?" she asks chirpily, ignoring his request.

"What?" Rick grunts, distracted, as he scopes another corridor with his gun.

"The team," Harley spells out – like it's obvious. "You're getting us all out…right?"

And, of course, after that, they had to.

Rick grits his teeth. Unable to say no, but irritated to be wasting time. It is clear that the Joker would also love to simply knock Harley over the head and forcibly carry her to the chopper on the roof.

"- but sweetheart," he pleads with her, his hands braced on her shoulders. "You've got to be smart about this. We've gotta go baby. You and me. We've been planning this for so long -"

"No way! Not without the squad," Harley replies, stubbornly.

To Rick's surprise, it is June who comes to Harley's aid. Maybe out of some twisted sense of gratitude to the team after they had rescued her in Midway City. "She's right. We can't just leave them in here," she interjects, quickly, throwing a significant look at Rick. They are stood at a corner before another corridor. Left would take them to the stairs and up to the helicopter. Right would take them towards another sector – closer to where Deadshot, Boomerang, Santana and Croc were being kept.

"Hey, Flag, what's life without a little fun!" Harley wheedles, in what she clearly thinks is a winning tone. She nudges him in the side with her elbow.

"Okay. Fine," Rick grinds out – almost instantly. The sound of her voice is grating enough. "But only the Squad. No-one else."

The other woman rolls her eyes. "Alright Grandma."

Of course, Rick's landed with the task of finding Deadshot. He hesitates for several moments on the other side of the cell door, gritting his jaw so tightly he's sure he'll crack a tooth. This shouldn't be so hard. He shouldn't care what Lawton thinks of him, and yet for the first time, Rick feels ridiculously self-aware. For a fleeting moment, he feels panic. This wasn't him. He didn't bust criminals out of jail. He put them there. Him and Deadshot, there had been a line between them…and now that line didn't exist anymore.

Rick glares at the thick, steel door before squaring his shoulders. He uses a security pass lifted from a dead guard to open the cell, and an electronic current whirs through it, unlocking the door with a click.

The cell is small and cramped and dark. A panel stretching across one wall lets in a shaft of dreary, grey light, illuminating Deadshot, who is sat on a threadbare bed. The bald man looks up expectantly. It is clear that he is aware that something is going down in the prison – he just clearly didn't expect Rick to be involved in it.

Lawton's brow furrows as he takes in Rick's guard costume and the rifle clutched to his chest. "Uh – what are you doing?"

"Getting you out of here," Rick replies – more blunt than he would have otherwise been, but he's still feeling kind of antsy. He thrusts a handgun into Lawton's hands unceremoniously. "Here."

Deadshot inspects the gun incredulously for a moment before standing from the bed and squaring up to Rick. "Just hold up a second…This is…a jailbreak?" He's looking at Rick as if this is all some kind of trap. He figures the man has good reason. Up until a year ago, when Rick had disappeared, he had effectively been Deadshot's parole officer.

"Yeah," Rick replies, not blinking. "Me and June. We're with the Joker – there's a chopper on the roof." He jerks his head towards the door impatiently. "Let's go."

"Yeah – okay – that basically explained nothing," Lawton shoots back, though he follows Rick out of his cell, the hand clutching the gun still hanging at his side. When they get half-way down the corridor and they have to skirt around the body of a dead prison guard, belief begins to dawn on his face.

"Man, you are such a hypocrite," Deadshot informs him, eventually tearing his eyes away from the lifeless form on the ground. He's staring so hard, you would have thought he hadn't seen a dead body before. He re-fixes his gaze on Rick, matching him stride for stride. "What did you say to me? That I'm a serial killer who takes credit cards? And look-at-you – just one year in and batting for the bad guys. There's a word for people like you, Flag: they call you snakes."

Rick's jaw tenses, but he rolls his eyes. It's not like he hadn't seen this reaction coming. "Yeah, get it all out."

"Man, you actually thought you were better than us," Deadshot continues, accusingly.

Rick shrugs, heading down another corridor – the sound of gunfire coming from nearby. "I guess I realised you guys weren't the pieces of shit I thought you were," he responds, dryly – not looking at the other man as he scouts out the next turn.

"Poetic," Lawton returns, not missing a beat. "See – you're still just as nice as ever."

"Yeah, well, June was always the nice one," Rick mutters under his breath. He had never been in the Task Force to play happy families and make friends. He had been there with a job to do, and had had to try to make sure his squad didn't shoot him in the back when he wasn't looking. Somewhere along the way, the friendship had just kind of crept up on him.

"You do this for June?"

"How'd you figure?"

Deadshot shrugs, ignoring Rick's caution and striding out across the intersection between two corridors. If there had been any guards on either side, he would have been shot to pieces. Then again, Rick had seen Deadshot fight. There was every possibility the man would have sensed five guards in a split second, and shot them all dead in a clean heartbeat with just a handgun. "It's always something to do with love," the other man throws back over his shoulder, by way of explanation. He looks left and right, then back at Rick. "Where's Harley? 'Cause I'm guessin' this whole thing was her idea."

"You're feelin' perceptive today," Rick comments – heading right, towards the main stairwell.

"You getting the others out, too?"

"Wasn't my idea," he grunts, by way of answer.

Deadshot snorts at that, plucking at the neck of his orange jumpsuit. "Well, obviously…So you, uh, wanna bet on how long Boomerang stays outta jail for?" he asks, as they continue walking "'Cause my guess is like five days."

Rick pauses, considering this. The Aussie was dumb, but he also had a strong sense of self-preservation. He had been smart enough to avoid getting caught until he had racked up ninety-eight counts of burglary. It had taken the Flash to bring him in…but, again, he was really fucking dumb. "I give him a month," he replies, eventually.

"Uhuh - prepared to bet money on that?"

Rick shrugs. "Twenty dollars?"

"Deal."

"I'm guessin' you ain't planning on goin' back to prison any time soon?" he checks, raising an eyebrow.

Deadshot makes a sound in the back of his throat. "Oh hell no. You get me out of here, and I am getting as far away from this place as possible. Me and Zoe are gonna move to Hawaii or some shit. I'm going to do a juice cleanse…Like - you can't see it - but there are toxins in this place all around – in the air and shit – I just need to de-toxify all that stuff out of me, like those rich white women do."

"Right."

"…Where they just drink lemon juice for seven days straight and just, like, pee all of the time."

If they've wasted too much time getting the rest of the squad out, and A.R.G.U.S show up, Rick thinks he's going to shoot himself in the head.

Rick glances up as the limo finally pulls up outside of the Joker's club, pulling himself out of the memory. He's not sure where Lawton is now. He and June received a postcard a week back with a picture of a white sandy beach and palm trees on. There had been nothing written on the back, and Rick still wasn't convinced Deadshot was sipping Pina Coladas in Hawaii or wherever. The guy just didn't seem to suit retirement. Also, as far as he was concerned, it was a national tragedy when a guy who was that good with a gun decided to hang up his weapon.

Still, if Deadshot was living closer to the equator line, maybe he had the right idea. Rick steps out of the car and his breath immediately turns to a visible, white fug in the cold. On the sidewalk, he can already hear the music coming from the Joker's club. Women in leopard print fur lounge against the walls, smiling alluringly at passers-by. Huge-looking bouncers guard the entrance. Already, a few flakes of snow are beginning to fall from the sky.

Rick holds the passenger door open for June and she steps out smoothly. She waits patiently as Rick raises a hand to his ear-pierce, determined to meticulously go through every aspect of their security before they head inside. He has arranged for five of his men to accompany them in the club; but a further twenty were posted in a perimeter around the area – a virtually unheard of precaution, even for paranoid mobsters. But Rick had good reason to be careful. He and June have two possible cars waiting for them should they need to escape and five snipers posted in the windows of buildings flanking the street. A response team of ten men are waiting in a nearby white van, dressed and trained to the skill of a particularly ruthless SWAT team. Rick's fourteen years in the military had come in handy.

"You know I can just teleport us out of here if things go wrong, right?" June asks, quietly, as she slips a hand into the crook of his elbow – pressing herself into his side in an effort to get warm.

"I know, but I don't want to rely on it," Rick replies, under his breath, as he starts walking towards the club. His face is set – determined. "I'm not goin' anywhere 'til we get what we're due."

"We'll get it," she reassures him, soothingly.

Not for the first time, Rick wonders how – even as criminals – June has an innate ability to see the best of every situation.

"Colonel," one of the bouncers greet him, his voice so neutral Rick can't tell if it's sarcastic or respectful. Rick shrugs out of his coat before handing it over. He's not patted down before entering the club, which is stupid. He wonders if the Joker thinks its all part of the thrill, if his enemies carry weapons. If this was Rick's place, he would have had his men search the guests about four times.

He actually squints as he and June descend the stairs into the club. The contrast between the outside and indoors is jarring; in here, everything is a mixture of bright gold and dim, questionable shadows. Buckets full of ice and champagne glint in the light and too many chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The bar is so polished it seems to gleam, rows upon rows of expensive-looking alcohol standing on the shelves – the liquid such varying and violent colours, they look like they could be toxic. Every surface is so polished, it's reflective, and the glass partitions that dot the space are slightly mirror-like, so that it is impossible to escape your own reflection. Large, gilded mirrors hang from every inch of wall space.

And it's not just the club itself that seems to emit its own glow, but the guests themselves. On the dance-floor below, Rick can see people positively dripping with gold chains, watches and jewellery. Velvet, fur and animal-print is in abundance – it's like stepping back into the seventies – and he likes to think that he and June, at least, introduce a little more class into the joint.

June had picked out Rick's suit of course. Its royal blue, and slightly too tight across the shoulders (although he has a suspicion she gave his measurements wrong on purpose). Rick isn't used to dressing fancy: he's used to wearing a uniform. It would be far more comfortable to walk round with all his gear on – but he had soon learned in the mob that you didn't walk round dressed like you were looking for a fight. Even if you were. That kind of thing tended to put a target on your back. Besides that (Rick forcibly reminds himself) he wasn't a soldier anymore, even if it felt like it was engrained into his DNA. He doesn't take orders from anyone anymore.

June seems to slip from shadow to shadow – black, alluring and mysterious. If the guests had questionable taken their fashion cues from the seventies and eighties, then Rick shrewdly guesses June has drawn inspiration from the old Hollywood glamour of the 1930s. When they'd first gone on the run, June had cut her hair short and dyed it a dark brown and had never changed it back. It now falls in tight waves to her slim shoulders and Rick finds he can't properly look away from her mouth – her lips coloured neatly with bright red lipstick. Watching her move – the beads sewn into her black dress catching the light - Rick realises that June is right. She isn't afraid of the dark places anymore – because she owns them.

He makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat as he guides June across the dancefloor. Too many men are looking her up and down with too much interest. He grits his jaw in annoyance. He thinks mutinously that if anyone came a step closer to her, it would practically be an invitation to rip them limb from limb. Slowly. Hell, he'd probably enjoy it.

For her part, June looks merely exasperated with the pulsating bodies of the dancers around her who simply refuse to clear a path for them.

"Excuse me," she repeats, to one woman, and Rick almost snorts at the polite – albeit weary – request. When the woman doesn't move, he watches June flick her wrist. The girl is abruptly tugged out of the way by an invisible thread…right into a waiter carrying a silver tray of drinks. The tray tips and glasses shatter into a million pieces on the ground, looking like shards of broken diamond. The accident draws the attention of those standing within a four foot radius and heads turn. Nobody suspects June.

"I saw that," Rick whispers in her ear, wolfishly.

She tilts her head to look up at him, her eyes sparking mischievously. "Oops," she murmurs, innocently.

Rick's eyes travel June's figure lazily. If he had felt possessive or protective of her before, he now merely watches her covetously. His gaze shamelessly falls to the swell of her breasts where the neckline of her dress plunges between her cleavage, and Rick imagines all the places he would rather be with June right now than in the Joker's club on business. He almost wishes she'd worn one of her neatly ironed skirt suits, just so she wouldn't be so distracting.

June pushes aside a gaudy row of beads to reveal a private VIP area at the back of the club. It's small, only accommodating a round, leather sofa and table. The Joker is sat waiting for them along with five of his men – a tall long island iced tea with a mini umbrella sitting half-finished in front of him.

"Hello," June smiles, warmly – as if this is some kind of scheduled afternoon tea and not a visit in which Rick is going to tear the Joker down if he doesn't get what he wants. Or die trying.

"June Moone!" the Joker purrs, a sickly smile spreading across his face. "...always a plea-sure. Sit down. Let's get a drink. Let's…catch up – it's been a while."

"Actually," Rick replies, bluntly, too wound-up to sit. Instead he stands behind June as she slips into the booth, his hands braced on the back of the couch. Rick knows it's his weakness. He's too easy to get a rise out of, and he can't control his emotions when he's angry. "Let's play a game. It's called I talk, and you listen…Where the hell are the Penguin's contracts?"

"Mmm, I forgot you were a man of few words…You know, you joined the dark side, Rick…but you are still so…painfully self-righteous," the Joker replies, rubbing at his temples as if to ward off a headache. "It's no fun – you gotta loosen up a little. Come and sit down with your lady. You'll get what you want – I'm a man of my word."

But he isn't in the mood for messing around. "You wanna have some fun, huh?" he asks, shrugging out of his suit jacket. His voice is dry, but he rolls the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows as he speaks. He debates taking his family ring off before he remembers that sucker-punching the Joker will probably hurt a lot more if he leaves it on. The wire in Rick's ear calmly relays a report from the van outside.

" -We're all-clear outside, boss –"

Rick really wasn't messing around. This business - they were just starting out. And it was all that stood between him and June and capture. He wasn't about to let someone like the Joker ruin this for them.

"Boys, boys – can't we all just play nice, huh?" There's a rustle as Harley spreads the curtain of golden beads, an exaggerated pout on her face. She's wearing a ridiculously short dress of metallic gold and about ten metal bracelets encircle her bicep. She slings an arm around Rick's shoulder, a grin braking her face. "C'mon, tough guy, have a drink with us. What d'you say?"

"I'm not fuckin' around here, Harley," Rick snaps, shrugging her arm off of him. "You're clown needs to deliver on a deal he made us."

"But even if he doesn't we're still buddies, right?" the blonde woman checks. When Rick glowers, she rolls her eyes, sauntering around the table towards the Joker. It's not until she moves that Rick realises she's carrying a small, metal briefcase. "Jeez, I'm kidding. That was a joke. Mister J'll give you what you want – he's a man of his word, you know." She moves to stand behind the Joker – mirroring Rick's stance – before deliberately and slowly bending over him and placing the briefcase on the table. June reaches forwards and flips the lid, revealing a thick wad of paper. Account records. She looks over her shoulder at Rick, giving him a small nod. "After all," Harley continues, straightening upright. "We're all friends here, right?"

"Of course we are, sugar," the Joker smiles, using his forefinger to twirl his umbrella stick round his glass. The way his black eyes are fixed on Rick – radiating animosity – tell a different story, however. Rick's mouth twists into a grimace. Harley was one of the smartest people he knew…but she was unbearably naïve when it came to the Joker.

June shuts the case lid with a snap and the man's eyes flit from her back to Rick. "One more thing –" he says, his hand stilling above his cocktail glass. "I'm an opportunist. I like to…seize opportunities when I see them - and you doll face…" he nods to June. " - Well, your powers are just too good to pass up on. You need allies in Gotham, Colonel, and I could use a woman of her skill set – what d'ya say?"

There is a pause of complete silence. Harley's smile flickers – suddenly, she doesn't look like she's having fun anymore.

June's eyes have become flat and icy – utterly devoid of their usual warmth and compassion. It is a cold, dead look Rick had seen on her face so many times when A.R.G.U.S had been performing tests on her – when her body had been a vessel for the Enchantress. It is an inhuman, desolate expression he swore he would never see on her face again. "…I'm not a bargaining chip," June replies eventually, smoothly getting to her feet – the briefcase clutched securely in one hand. "I'm not a weapon. I'm not a tool to be used. I can't be pimped out, like the rest of the whores in this place." Her lips curves into a sneer. "I was someone's puppet before – I'm not ever doing it again."

"No, that's good – that's good –" the Joker hums, appreciatively. "You know, I respect that – I like a girl with a bit of spunk. But you see, darlin', you're just too strong –" Suddenly, the Joker is resting his arm on the table, levelling a small pistol at Rick's chest. Behind him, his men draw their own weapons. " -and at the end of the day, what you and your boyfriend are, are bad for business."

"Puddin' –" Harley censures, tugging at his arm. "Puddin' you said you wouldn't –"

But Rick cuts across her, raising an eyebrow indifferently. "Go ahead," he smirks at the Joker – glad the slimeball is finally showing his true colours. "Try. You can't kill her, and she'll kill you before you can pull that trigger to shoot me."

June is still hovering at Rick's side, alert and ready. "Wanna bet?" the Joker asks, flicking the safety off with an audible click – not taking his eyes off of Rick.

"Puddin' -!"

"Ah, you're right – you're right," the Joker says, waving a hand by his head and dropping the gun onto the table abruptly. "That was…stupid! Stupid!" he says, slamming his palm into the side of his head, roughly. "Ya see - I'm not thinking things through."

"No, you aren't –" Harley interjects, furiously.

"What can a lowly fella like me do to a…goddess…like you?" he questions June, gesturing reverently to her. "I'm only human, after all…But, you see…the thing about meta-humans is that…everybody loves you! They just…can't seem to get enough of you guys, can they? People are so excitable. You make one little phone-call, and they'll just…drop everything and –"

Noise suddenly explodes in Rick's ear-piece. " - Boss we've got an incoming hostile at –"

There's an explosion at the doorway to the club – loud enough that it cuts across the deafening music. Armed men stalk out of the billowing smoke and some of guests begin to scream and panic – but a good portion are packing their own heat, and the sound of return gun-fire immediately fills the air. Rick turns to June, about to grab her so that they can teleport out of there. But one second June's wide, blue eyes are staring into his and the next moment she gives a small, surprised gasp. She falls limply to the ground before he can catch her – the briefcase dropping from her grip onto the ground with a clatter. When Rick looks, there's a small tranquillizer dart in her neck.

"SHIT!" he swears out-loud, rounding on the Joker, his gun drawn. But the man is giggling – already being assured towards another exit by his men.

"Toodles!" he calls back to Rick.

Rick tries to radio in to his men, but the links are crackling with static and ominously silent. "What the –?" he begins.

But when he turns back to face the club, Rick thinks he has his answer as to what happened to his guard. The Batman is pounding one of the Joker's bouncers through a wall. Swarming around him are a hive of men in helmets and navy-blue gear. A.R.G.U.S.

His heart beating rapidly, Rick turns back to June's lifeless form only to see Harley already hauling her body away from him across the floor.

"What are you doin'?!" Rick snarls at her, storming after them with his gun trained on Harley's head. "Let her go!"

"Hey-" Harley snaps indignantly, huffing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "I'm tryin' to help here!"

There's another loud scream and a crash of broken glass and they both turn to see the armed men shooting their way towards them through the crowd. The club is a mess. The walls pock-marked with machine-gun fire, glasses smashed. Smoke still partially obscures everything, but Rick can tell that the Batman has spotted them.

"Okay," he says, thinking fast. "Just take June – go! Get her some place safe where they won't find her."

"You're gonna try and take on the Bat? Are you crazy?" Harley protests, shifting June's weight in her arms. "You ain't gonna last five seconds against him!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Well it's true," she protests, waspishly and childishly defensive.

Still, as the chaos gets closer to them, Harley still looks visibly torn.

"Just go Harley," Rick snaps at her, casting around for another weapon. He has a feeling a Glock isn't going to be enough against the Batman.

"Okay – okay! I'm goin', I'm goin'." She drags June towards the exit the Joker had taken. "Jeez this girl's heavy."

Rick doesn't have time to fire back another exasperated reply. There's a whooshing sound and before he can do anything a fist is connecting with the side of his face.

It feels like being hit by ten tons of bricks. The fist is encased by what feels like solid, rubberised titanium and the force behind the punch is almost inhuman – Rick isn't prepared for that kind of strength; so strong it lifts him off his feet and sends him crashing onto the floor.

His brain is furiously re-assessing the situation even whilst he's seeing stars. If the gloves are made from that kind of material, chances are the Bat was wearing some kind of re-enforced chest-plate. As if to test his own theory, Rick pushes himself up onto his elbow and fires at the man's center of mass three times. The bullets actually ricochet off the suit – there's not even a dent in it. As if brushing away a fly the Batman strides forwards and rips the gun out of Rick's grip – kicking him across the face once more.

Rick grunts, his vision momentarily blackening. There's a crunch upon impact and he wonders if his jaw's shattered. He works it carefully, feeling for any pain – then spits a glob of blood out onto the ground.

This man…he couldn't be human.

"Give up now, Colonel," Batman rasps, taking a calculated step back from Rick. His black cloak swings around his feet. "…while you can still walk away from this."

"Walk away?" Rick mutters to himself, half-laughing – because there's a kind of dark irony to that. An audacity. "You think, if we could walk away we'd be here?" he hurls at the other man, accusingly, looking up at him. The fight in the club is still raging on. Gun-fire blasting loudly. "We were driven to this – by your boss. By Waller. We can't walk away. We leave the Gotham and they just drug June up all over again and make her do whatever they want." His lip curls. "I don't think so."

"…You don't want this life for her. A life in the shadows…it'll destroy both of you."

Rick rolls his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. He's annoyed to see that the front of his crisp, white shirt is streaked with blood – his own blood – and dust. The left side of his face hurts, too. Rick checks the magazine on his gun. Two bullets left. He pulls a face, dropping it to the ground and fishing out a new pistol mag from his back pocket and jamming it into the gun, pulling the slide to lock it into place. "Yeah…well…born free an' all that," he replies, sarcastically.

Batman's eyes flit to the weapon in his hands. "You're not a killer. You were a soldier - once. You protected people. You served this country for fourteen years -"

" - And what did it get me? A girlfriend who was possessed by a witch. A job in A.R.G.U.S where they loaded me onto a Task Force of criminals. I am done following other people's orders…I mean, can't you see how fuckin' sick and twisted they are?! The – the Suicide Squad…? C'mon, friend. Whoever came up with that is evil. Not me," he says, gesturing to himself with the barrel of the pistol. "I just did what I had to. You'll see…in a few years time, they'll decide that it ain't worth havin' you policing the streets. They'll turn on you. Soon as you stop bein' their good little doggy, they'll dump your body in the Pacific."

Rick knows he's touched a nerve because the guy immediately lunges for him. Instead of firing, Rick allows the Bat to upper-cut him in the stomach. He grunts – feeling a rib possibly crack – and stumbles back towards the table.

" –you're her bitch…don't deny it. Waller's got you doin' her dirty work like a fuckin' errand boy –" He breaks off as the other man delivers another punch to his face – luckily the right side, this time. He follows it up by grasping him round the throat in a grip that threatens to choke him before throwing him onto the table. It cracks in two beneath Rick's body weight and he chokes out a gasp – winded.

"She'll use you –" he continues to taunt, with difficulty now, as the Bat strides forwards, rage clear on his face."- she'll use you like she used June –"

Rick's head is spinning and every part of his body is screaming in pain. His hand drifts to his side as the Batman leans over the wreckage of wood, kneeling over him.

"Where is Doctor Moone?" the Bat demands, raising his fist one more time.

But Rick thrusts a long, wicked-looking knife into the gap in armour at his waist – right where his liver should be. The man grunts in surprise rather than pain, looking down at the blade with actual shock.

"Somewhere you ain't gonna find her," Rick hisses by way of reply, twisting the knife. A sound like a cough is ripped from the Bat's throat. "Ever."

He pulls the knife back out with a forceful jerk and the Batman falls back, clutching at the wound that is now profusely spurting dark blood. Against the black of his suit, it is almost invisible.

Rick gets to his feet with difficulty, panting.

A.R.G.U.S men are storming up with steps from the dance floor towards him. He picks up his handgun and shoots the first two quickly – his responses made slightly wooden from the fog of pain settling in. He can hardly stand up straight, yet alone walk. When Rick looks down at the Bat – with all the gear and the armour – the man has to be twice as a big as him. And Rick isn't exactly small.

He staggers towards the exit that Harley had taken, praying that she made it out with June. He thrusts the knife into the chest of a soldier he meets on the stairs, aware of the irony in the role reversal. A year ago, that would have been him. He takes a good moment to look into the man's pained, wide eyes before he drops him to the floor unceremoniously. You were me.

Rick shoulders open the heavy fire door with a grunt and stumbles out onto the street. The alley is damp with a fine layer of snow, and the freezing cold air stings a split lip Rick didn't even know he had. He stands for a moment, trying to get his breath back.

"Alpha team?" he questions into his ear-piece. "Do you copy?"

But there is only silence on the other end of the line.

"Bravo team? Do you copy?"

Again, silence.

Rick grimaces with frustration. "Anybody? Report. Is anybody out there?...fuck!" he rips out the wire and throws it into the snow.

They were gone. Everybody. His men were dead or captured. The Joker had sold them out. A.R.G.U.S had managed to locate them for the second time in three months – and they were getting smarter. Whoever had thought to tranquilize June had been one step ahead of the game. They head been watching – had learnt their tricks. Rick combs a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that the movement causes a flare of pain around what he suspects is either a cracked or broken rib.

Forget it, he tells himself. All that mattered right now was finding June and making sure that she was okay.

He walks five blocks before hailing a cab. The driver glances in the rear-view mirror at Rick, but doesn't ask any questions. Gotham. Rick hands the man two hundred dollars when they stop.

It's past midnight by the time he climbs the stairs to his and June's apartment. Officially, the floor on this building doesn't exist – yet. It's hired out under a fake building agency, under the planning agreement that it will be divided into offices. He and June have been here three months; their most permanent place of residence so far. Rick holds his gun at the ready in front of him before turning the corner to see Rooster guarding their apartment. If A.R.G.U.S had found this place, he would be looking at a dead body.

"She's okay. She's inside," his second-in-command tells him instantly, catching the expression on Rick's face. Rick breathes out a perceptible sigh of relief.

Rooster taps the earpiece he is wearing beneath a knotted black bandana. With that and his rough, ginger facial hair, he looks like an aged rocker. He is the only one of Rick's old team of soldiers who followed him into the criminal underworld. "Sounds like they used enough bang there to blow you all to Jesus. Heard the whole thing over the radio. They take everybody out?"

"Yeah. They killed them and then they stormed the place. Joker told them where we were."

"Asshole."

Rick snorts weakly – barely able to keep himself upright. His vision is blurring and doubling, and he's only just becoming aware of how cold he is. The only warm parts of his body are those that are bruised and broken.

Rooster turns and enters a six-digit-pin into a key-pad on the wall. The apartment door slides open. "You should get inside. Get cleaned up," he says, looking Rick up and down. "You look like hell, man."

"Thanks," Rick replies, dryly, using the wall to support himself as he makes his way past his friend.

"You want me to stay out here, or -?"

"Nah, if they knew about this place, they'd be here already. Go home, get some rest."

Rooster nods, grasping Rick's forearm briefly by way of goodbye. Rick watches him go. There were very few people in his new life that he trusted…he was lucky that Rooster had made this transition with him. It hadn't been expected, but then again, the guy was such a wild card, it was hard to predict any of his decisions. Plus, the man had been about as bigger fan of Waller and A.R.G.U.S as Rick had been.

The apartment is dark when he enters, the blinds on the large windows pulled shut. He flicks on the lights to reveal an open-plan living space. Some of the walls are bare with exposed brick – the apartment still only half-built – but June has done a good job of decorating the place. It could feel like home if it felt permanent or safe.

Harley announces herself the moment he turns on the light. "Wow," she says, hopping down from her seat on the kitchen counter. "I thought you were a gonner for sure."

Rick ignores her, walking forwards and setting his gun slowly and precisely down on the granite counter. He doesn't completely lift his hand from the weapon, however. He doesn't have to be done yet. "Did you know?" he asks her, quietly, looking at his finger on the trigger. The stinging feeling of betrayal in his gut is unexpected. "Did you know that he'd sold us out?"

"What? Of course not!" Harley says, looking at him. Like Rick, she looks distinctly dishevelled. He figures that, at only 5"5, it can't have been easy for her to drag June half-way across Gotham by herself. Rick sighs, relinquishing his grip on the gun to instead brace himself against the worktop surface. Harley was nothing if not loyal. "Why would you even think that?"

"I'm sorry. I just – I don't know what to think right now…" He mutters, bowing his head. "We're…screwed! Everything's gone. The contracts – my men. We did all this and we got nothin'!" He slaps a palm down on the bench violently.

"Hey – hey – easy there, tiger," Harley says, reaching for his shoulder, consolingly. "You and June, you're gonna be fine."

"Harley, we got half of A.R.G.U.S after us. Waller…she's not giving up. She's not gonna stop."

"So? You kill her. Problem solved."

He glances at her out of his peripheral. "Everything's that simple, huh?" he asks, dryly.

"Some things can be…you, uh, should really get…this…looked at by the way –" she adds, wrinkling her nose and gesturing to his face generally. "You're pretty messed up. Nobody's gonna kiss ya with a face like that."

Rick sighs, pulling himself together and turning to lean his back up against one of the cupboards. He looks at Harley, feeling a deep affection for her that he hadn't felt before. She had saved June's life. Without her, she would have been bundled up in a laboratory somewhere by now. Who knew someone so crazy and messed up and evil could be so…good? "You know –" Rick says, scratching at the back of his neck. "I'm gonna just come out and say it: I don't get it. Why are you with him Harley? The Joker. He's…he's a scumbag. You can do so much better than that guy."

Harley's answering smile is almost a little sad. She fusses a bit, smoothing her gold dress down before heading for the apartment door. She's actually swinging a small Gucci bag from one hand. Rick has no idea how she managed to juggle the leather purse and June half way across a city. "I tried to tell ya. Love and sanity don't go together." She pauses - her gaze flits to something over Rick's shoulder. "I left June on the sofa. She's pretty knocked out – I think there must've been, like, horse tranquilizer in that dart thing or somethin'."

Then the door opens and shuts behind her, and she's gone.

Rick moves quietly round to their living space - a couple of sofas collected around a TV and a large, Afghan rug. Sure enough, June is stretched out on the couch – her head propped at an awkward angle on an arm. Her chest rises and falls with deep, peaceful breathes.

Rick rubs at his jaw-line tiredly. He'll probably bust another rib just trying to move her into the bedroom, so instead he just lifts June's head carefully, slumping back onto the sofa and letting her torso rest across his lap. His brain is whirring with too many thoughts for him to contemplate sleep. So he sits, fiddling with the chunky, golden ring on his finger, and he waits.

Honour and duty, he thinks. It was the joke that every villain under the sun thought they had a good reason for doing what they were doing. They weren't evil…just misunderstood. The thought had always made Rick laugh. For him, there had been a line. You were good, or you were bad. It was that black and white. But then June had come along – and A.R.G.U.S and Amanda Waller – and suddenly all these shades of grey had been introduced into his life. The government - the people who called himself the 'good guys' - suddenly seemed to be doing more morally questionable things than the bad guys. The guards at Belle Reve prison seemed to get off on intimidating the prisoners. Somewhere along the way, that line had disappeared and blurred. Rick hadn't even realised he'd crossed to the other side until it had been too late – it had been that easy. No conscious decision. No determined act of will. Just the dominoes falling into one another.

A hazy stretch of grey streaks the dark horizon by the time June eventually begins to stir. She moans slightly, nestling her cheek further into his chest before her eyes flutter open blearily.

"Rick -?" June questions, her voice scratchy. She must then register the blood on his shirt, because abruptly she sounds a lot more alert. "What happened – are you okay?!"

She sits upright – taking his face between her hands as she examines him urgently. Rick tries not to wince at her touch. "You don't remember much of last night, do you?"

June frowns, clearly trying to piece memories together in her head. As if of its own accord, her hand reaches up to gingerly brush at her neck where the tranquilizer had been injected. "We were at the Joker's club…" she says, slowly. "I remember going in, but I – I –" she hesitates, still apparently unable to tear her gaze away from his injuries. "Why are you hurt? I should've been able to get you out in time…what happened to me?" Her voice drips with frustration and Rick sighs.

"It's not your fault. It was A.R.G.U.S. They were smart – first thing they did they stuck a tranquilizer in you. You were out cold the entire time."

The frown doesn't leave June's face. "You could've been killed and I was unconscious?!"

"June, it's out of your control - they took you by surprise –"

" – which isn't going to happen again," she assures him, tightly. "Who did this to you?"

He knows she isn't going to give up with the self-blame thing, so he indulges her by answering her question. "The Bat-man," Rick enunciates, sardonically. June's eyes narrow.

"Great," she spits out, bitterly. "I'll add him to the list of people trying to kill us."

"Nothing's goin' to come between us," Rick promises her, rubbing a hand up and down her back comfortingly. "Not even an army."

June's hands are still clutching his face, and she calms somewhat – looking at him levelly. "I'd kill them all if they tried."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it," Rick mutters, tiredly – trying to re-arrange June on his lap so that he can slump further down on the couch. She neatly straddles both of his legs as he rests his head back against the cushion.

He breathes deeply, relaxing as June preoccupies herself with completely unbuttoning his shirt – revealing ugly purple and red bruises across his rib cage. "We should get you to a doctor," she murmurs, quietly. "This looks bad."

"T's probably worse than it looks."

"Rick."

He cracks one eye open briefly. "June."

She sighs, probably realising she's not going to be able to talk him round and he feels her sit back on his thighs. "So…the Joker sold us out to Waller."

"Yep."

Her fingers slip underneath his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. "We're not going to let him get away with that, are we?"

"No."

"We're taking him down, right?"

"Yeah," Rick replies, as June completely divulges him of the ruined material, casting it onto the floor behind them. His hands move to rest on her hips. "We're goin' to kill him."

June smirks slightly, leaning in to kiss him teasingly. "You know…that would technically make you King of Gotham," she murmurs.

But Rick merely captures her lips with his own again before she can pull away. "I don't need to be a King of anythin'," he mutters back, deepening the kiss with an intense rawness as he tangles one hand in June's hair. "I've got you. And I'm gonna keep you. That's all I want."

A/N I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I had writing it!

When I got to writing from Rick's POV, I was actually really surprised by how easy it was to write him as the bad-guy or the anti-hero. It made me realise how many shades of grey Joel Kinnaman infuses in his portrayal of Rick Flag. He's not the straight-forward good-guy, even if he likes to present himself as the stereotypical soldier who 'bleeds red white and blue'. He's just this guy who would do anything (literally anything) for the woman he loves. And that makes him pretty dangerous.

Please leave a review, even though this is a oneshot. I'd love to know what you all think.

Last Of The Lilac Wine