Coda, or The Beginning of the End
By
Cold Nostalgia
Disclaimer: Don't own them.
Summary: B:TAS – Set after Girl's Nite Out but before ROTJ: Two's company, three's a crowd
Deep down she'd kinda suspected it was going to happen as soon that dumb ol' light bulb, Livewire had darkened their door again. By the time Harley had found herself standing outside The Gotham City Museum for three hours in the pouring rain as a lookout, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt…
The greatest girl-pal team in the history of the universe was now a thing of the past…
She'd been dumped. Deserted. Cast-off.
She'd been ditched like Jessie from Toy Story 2 except Ivy hadn't even bothered to put her in a box and place her in storage. She'd just left her there, standing on the sidewalk on a freezing November night looking like an idiot. That passer-by who'd stopped and asked her if she needed directions had been salt in an already stinging wound.
But she was fine. Just dandy. Whatever teeny-tiny, split-second of hurt she might have felt as soon as she realised that R-Poison Ivy and that dumb spark plug had abandoned her disappeared as soon as she'd gotten out of the rain and into this nice, cosy, ten-bucks-an-hour hotel room.
It had given her a chance to take stock. It had given her a chance to figure out where she going wrong, and she was, she was going wrong. The events of the evening had only proven that to her with all the force of a cream pie to the face. Not only that, in a weird way it had proven Ivy right too.
She was a doormat. She was weak.
Hadn't she let Livewire walk all over her, make her kinda nervous and scared during the first team up? Hadn't she let Batsy walk all over her that time Mister J was going to nuke the city? Hadn't she let the doctors at Arkham walk all over her, and talk her into reforming that one time? And hadn't she let that self-righteous, arrogant, tree-hugger walk over her time and time and time again?
Sure. Sure she had.
It was no wonder that Mister J got so mad at her at all the time. Now that the revelation had hit like a popgun, Harley could only marvel at her puddin's infinite patience when it came to her. Surely a lesser man would have had her killed by now.
She'd been soft. Weak. Too wishy-washy in her allegiances. She'd let herself get distracted to easily. Goofed-off too much.
Well no more.
She'd left her old life and put on a costume for a reason, but she hadn't dedicated herself to it, not really, not in the way she should have been. She'd been too busy trying to be everybody's friend, trying to hold their hand and sing kumbya; not realising that outside of Mister J she had no friends or allies.
Loving Mister J was a serious business, and she'd been treating it as if it were a laughing matter.
It was time to toughen up. It was time to focus. It was time to fully get behind her man, help him get rid of Batsy in whatever way he wanted, however he wanted, no matter the cost; maybe then he could finally move on with his life.
And as for Poison Ivy, she was persona non grata as far as Harley was concerned. Mister J had been right about her all along; that no-good vegetable lover would probably come crawling back to her full of false apologies, telling Harley she hadn't meant it as soon as the wheels of her mutual appreciation society with Livewire came flying off. But that didn't matter; she wasn't going to be a doormat anymore; she wasn't going to allow herself to be manipulated anymore…
Next time Harley saw her she'd treat Ivy like the manure that she loved so much…
And she wouldn't miss Ivy either; she wouldn't miss their crime sprees – Mister J's were better; she wouldn't miss talking to her – she had Bud and Lou, they were better listeners; she wouldn't miss going to Ivy's house when Mister J's torment became so great that he needed to be alone – there were hotels, there were doctors; neither of them nagged. Most importantly she wouldn't miss their friendship – a person couldn't miss what never existed.
Tomorrow was a brand new day, and tomorrow there would be a new Harley Quinn. A Harley Quinn that was more help than hindrance. One that was more pro-active. One that didn't have flashes of her Grandma's disapproving face each time she lifted a gun. One that made useful suggestions to Mister J; plans that aimed at the Bats weaknesses, not his strengths. She'd been a psychiatrist for god's sake!
Maybe make a joke about Robin going missing, she thought as she sat and listened to sirens wail from somewhere outside in the city below. Mister J's the smartest guy in the world; he'll know what to do. He'll know how to run with it.
Besides, what was the worst that could happen? Harley reasoned, suddenly full of calm and inner peace as a result of her epiphany, a cold smile cracked along a warmed face. The Bat throws a fit and we get tossed back into Arkham again? Puh-lease.
With her mind made up and a new plan of action laid out in front of her; Harley wondered if she wasn't being too hard on Ivy. After all, if Ivy had done what she had then Harley would still be the same useless goof ball she had been not only but a few hours ago. Maybe she should be grateful, not hateful.
And with that in mind, Harley reached over to the grubby telephone beside her bed, dialled the number of an local late-night florist and ordered a large basket of yellow roses, filled with potpourri, with a thank you card attached, to be delivered to her very former ex-best friend at Arkham in the morning.
Perhaps it was the least she could do since her anonymous tip-off to the police regarding the location of Ivy and Livewire's hideout, a few hours earlier, was what probably got them both captured in the first place.