SPOLIERS FOR SUICIDE SQUAD (2016) ABOUND

Warning(s): Mentions of Domestic Violence, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Cheating, etc.

It was all over.

She fell to her knees on the roof, her eyes wide with disbelief as her Mistah J was swallowed in a mass of flames. The nano-bomb in her neck may have been disabled, but the 'Voice of God' had found a way to end her life more effectively than any explosion could...

Her Mistah J was her world. He was the one who defined her, who showed her the deranged lunatic that she was meant to be. Without him...

How was she supposed to face the rest of the Squad? Deadshot had thrown himself under the bus for her, had risked his own life so that she would have a chance to escape. And now she was right back where she started: alone.

She expected tears, but none fell. Instead, a bone-chilling cold settled over her, her mind going blissfully blank as she stared out at the horizon. The Midway City skyline had nothing on the velvety-black Gotham sky, the stars just barely visible behind a haze of smog. She missed the comforting scent of exhaust fumes and gasoline that filled the Gotham air, as opposed to the crisp, fresh scent of a city that had never seen blue-collar industry.

She couldn't remember how she'd made it back down to the deserted street below, or how she came to sit on the roof of a busted-up car that had been on the wrong end of a gun fight. In the end, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the smoldering remains of the chopper that had carried her Puddin' to his bitter end.

When the Squad came over, she plastered on a fake smile and gave them a little wave, "Hey guys! I'm back."

Her chest tightened when blue eyes met brown, the expression on Floyd's face conveying everything he'd never dare to say aloud. Strong arms wrapped around her, lowering her down to the ground, and if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine it was her Mistah J's arms around her...

She wished that he'd never pushed her out of the back of that chopper. Even if it meant that she would have died, at least they'd be together.

When she thought of how her Puddin' had always wanted to go out with a bang, she decided that Floyd had had the right idea - a stiff drink sounded wonderful right then.

The Joker had loved to tease her about her poor tolerance for liquor - she was such a lightweight it was practically laughable, especially compared to him. That man could drink his weight in liquor and still appear stone-cold sober, where Harley would be knocked on her ass by a shot of whiskey.

She listened as El Diablo recounted the story of how he killed his family in a fit of rage, but found it near impossible to force herself to sympathize. As her Mistah J would say, he needed to embrace his own special brand of crazy. Denying who, or rather, what he was would only delay the inevitable. He was like a ticking time bomb - it was only a matter of time before he lost control again and did some more serious damage.

"Yes." Deadshot said, seemingly answering a question that hadn't been voiced. Harley furrowed her brow, watching as he finished off his drink in one long swallow.

"All that liquor goin' ta your brain, hot shot?" Harley quipped, "Just spittin' out random words now?"

Deadshot rolled his eyes. "Nah. You asked me earlier if I'd ever been in love. I got a little defensive and didn't give you a straight answer." Harley shrugged, brushing off his comment easily. She hadn't been expecting him to answer at all, if she were to be totally honest. "So the answer's yes - I was in love, once."

Harley smacked her lips together, before flashing him a bright smile. "Oh? Care ta share?"

"Not much to tell. She was the kinda woman that always had the wrong taste in men, myself included. She didn't approve of my day job, and I didn't approve of her sleeping with the low-level drug dealer that lived down the hall." He sighed, "She got custody of our daughter after the divorce, and the rest... well, it's history."

"Ya have a daughter?" Harley asked, her voice suddenly much softer. It had lost the grating edge it had possessed earlier, her words softening from razor sharp to silk.

Deadshot nodded, "The light of my life. She's more than I could have ever hoped for... Much more than I deserve, at any rate."

In the beginning, she could still remember the delusions of granduer, where she'd craved normality to balance out the crazy. She'd wanted a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes to dress up in cute little outfits and have tea parties with - to pamper her in the way her mother never had with her. Or perhaps she'd have a Joker Jr. and she could buy him little suits to match his Daddy and give him toys, like gag guns or confetti grenades, to teach him the importance of a good punchline.

But normal was just a setting on the dryer. It wasn't meant for people like them.

Tears blurred her vision as she poured herself another glass and raised it in a silent toast to her late Puddin', before downing it all in one swallow. She was unsteady on her feet and even as she gripped the counter, she found that the room was spinning in lazy circles around her. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.

"You okay there, girlie?" Suddenly, Deadshot was behind her, steadying her.

She swallowed hard, nodding. In her head, she had an entire conversation mapped out, assuring him that she was fine, throwing in a snide remark or two about keeping his hands off the merchandise unless he meant business... but all that came out was, "I just want ta forget."

Deadshot was able to read between the lines and knew all-too-well what she was saying, "I don't think that's such a great idea, hotness. You're drunk -," Harley opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, "And in no position to actually consent to doing anything."

She cocked a blonde eyebrow at him, "I'm a lot more aware than ya might think..."

Her lips were soft and smooth and suddenly pressed against his just so... Tiny hands gripped the front of his uniform with near inhuman strength, their chests pressed so tightly together he could feel each breath she took.

She drew back slightly, "And I know what I want." She took his hand and led him away from the bar, the other members of the Squad turning a blind eye to their actions.

But he wasn't the only that she really wanted. Even if it had only been a ruse to get the Enchantress to let down her guard, her first instinct had been to find a way to be reunited with her Puddin'.

When it came down to it, a fling could never replace true love.

Even if he was dead, there was still an undeniable feeling of betrayal that had settled low in her belly. She'd let another man have her, and since coming to be with Mistah J any man that had even come close had gotten his brains splattered across the wall. But what unsettled her the most was that things were fine between them - having sex hadn't changed the dynamic of their relationship at all, and she didn't understand it.

With Mistah J, sex was like a reaffirmation of love. He'd beat her six ways to Sunday, and then tenderly make love to her, kissing every bruise and nuzzling every cut. It was his way of saying that he didn't really mean the things he did, that it was merely his way of showing affection.

But with Floyd, it had been... different. No strings attached, no relationship to potentially ruin... they were bad guys that were looking for an outlet for all of their pent-up stress, and happened to find mutual relief in each other. At the end of the day, they were teammates with a shared goal of walking away from their mission alive.

She was thrown back into her cell, now with the addition of an expresso machine, and he was allowed to visit with his daughter. He'd been so excited when he'd found out that the request had been approved, it had been difficult not to be happy for him. But her real desire - to be back with her Mistah J - couldn't be fulfilled by earthly means. It would take a miracle to bring him back. So why did the professional hitman get his happily ever after, and all she got was a coffee machine?

She thought about rewiring it into a bomb, and setting it off when that creep-o guard came back with her dinner one night. If she went down, she wasn't going alone.

The sudden blast caught her off guard, and she let out a tiny squeal as she hid behind her novel, using it to defend against the debris flying through the air.

Heavily armed men began pouring into her cell, gunfire erupting in the enclosed space as the few guards unfortunate enough to be standing watch went down in a rain of bullets. Amidst all the confusion, a saw came down on the bars, breaking into her enclosure with ease.

When one of the men stepped into her cell, the name on his breast reading 'Joker', she hardly dared to hope. That was, of course, until he lifted his face plate and grinned at her, "Puddin'!"

"Come to Daddy, Harley girl!" She didn't even hesitate to throw herself into his arms, the tears finally falling when he pulled her into a passionate kiss. How could he have survived such a horrific crash? Was he hurt at all? She made a mental note to give him a proper once-over once they returned home.

Once he released her, she beamed at him happily, "Oh, Mistah J!"

He grins at her, "C'mon baby girl... let's go home." His laugh is the most beautiful sound she's ever heard, and she can't help but join him.

She knows that she has the opportunity to get away scott free, that the bond she formed with Deadshot while on the Squad means that he'd never betray her. But still... she felt the need to pour gasoline on the fire...

"I owe him, Puddin'." Harley said, her red lips pulled into a lazy smile. "He's the best shot alive. If he'd really wanted to kill me, I'd be six feet under right now."

The Joker scowled, "Ya don't owe him shit, dollface. In fact, I'm gonna have that bastard's head on a silver platter for even thinking about taking a shot at my little girl." It would seem as if his little girl had forgotten the cardinal rule of villaindom: it was a dog-eat-dog world, where it was every man for himself.

Harley rolled her eyes, "He was just followin' orders, Mistah J. If he didn't take that shot, the head bitch woulda made him into a Jackson Pollock painting and we both know it." And then she frowned, "If there's anyone worth worryin' about, it's her."

"And who the hell do ya think ya are, to tell me what is and isn't worth worrying about?" The Joker snapped, "Ya weren't throwing yourself all over her like a fucking harlot, were you? Nah." He began approaching her slowly, a menacing glint in his eyes. "Nah, that's just every other guy in Gotham."

Blue eyes widened in shock, "Mistah J... I'd never -," She choked back a sob, "It was only one time, I swear -,"

She didn't even realize what was happening until she landed on the ground with a soft thud, her cheek stinging with the force of his slap. "Ya don't owe him shit."

After a moment, Harley grinned. Her lipstick had smeared on her teeth, or perhaps that was blood. "Are ya jealous, Mistah J?"

A/N: So this is gonna be a two-shot. This was originally gonna be much shorter, but I ended up combining two story ideas into one. Next chapter, the Joker finds out about Harley and Floyd and Harley finds out the consequences of betraying the Joker's trust.

Was it just me, or did anyone else feel like the Joker was way more obsessed with Harley than she was with him? Like she was upset about him dying for about thirty seconds, and then it randomly came back up again to save the day... Meanwhile every scene he is in, he is either trying to save her, protect her, or defend her honor.