Opening her eyes, Harley looked around, allowing the bright white light to invade her vision. She could see a quaint coffee table in front of her, and the fabric of the couch was scratchy against her bare legs. Wiggling her toes, she allowed the cool air from the air conditioner to run over her bare feet-

Wait.

She looked down. Aside from her stockings, her feet were bare.

Her feet were bare.

"Huh…?" she whimpered, leaping off the couch in such a hurry that she almost knocked over the coffee table. If she had, it didn't matter. She had to find those shoes. They were her favorite shoes- a gift, in fact.

And he'd be so angry if he found out she lost them.

Dust tickled her nose as she peered under the couch. When she didn't see them there, she practically ripped apart the cushions, throwing the pillows this way and that.

Nothing.

Her reflection was dark in the glass of teh flatscreen television hanging on the wall, her feet thumping softly on the beige carpeting as she approached an elevated level, jumping over the two small steps to get to the bar.

She needed those shoes!

But as she threw open the cabinets to rummage amongst the bottles of whiskey and scotch, there was the realization that they had most likely been stolen from her.

Shit.

He was going to have a fit for sure. He was going to yell at her, his pale face turning beet red. He was grab her pigtails and pull until she screamed so much she cried. He was going to call her every insult in the book and worse. He was going grab at her clothes, push her down and-

"Good morning, Dr. Quinn."

Harley froze. No one had called her that for a while. Even she forgot about it, her working profession. She stayed like that, lowering her arms from the topmost cabinet, letting the door swing idly.

"Dr. Quinn?" the woman repeated.

"My shoes," was all she said.

Apparently, the woman didn't hear her, saying, "Dr. Quinn, I'm Pepper Potts. Tony told us you'd be sta-"

"My. Shoes."

The words were forced, her teeth clenched as she shook her hands. Slowly, Harley took the two steps to the lower level, twitching at the soft bites of carpet on the balls of her feet. The woman had red hair pulled back into a low ponytail, wearing a black dress suit. Harley glanced down at her feet, only a second long glance, but it wasn't fair.

The woman was wearing a pair of black kitten heels. Harley sneered at her. They were far too plain for her taste. Rather ugly, too.

Her Puddin' was going to have a fit, a real rager.

"Your what?"

"Shoes! My shoes!" Harley felt her voice rising, but she couldn't help it. She felt herself panicking, her hands trembling violently. Her vision began to blur, the woman in front of her turning into a slight haze. What had she called herself again? Petunia? Penelope? It didn't matter. Harley needed those damn shoes. Harley jumped at the window, a long wall lengh piece of glass and pressed her face up against it. The glass was cold against her cheeks, and she tapped her nails in time with the clock.

Click…. click…. click….

Oh, why couldn't she find them?! They couldn't have sprung up feet of their own and just left!

"Dr. Quinn, is everything alright?" the woman- she was going to call her Petunia for now- asked, raising an eyebrow at her, "We have lunch waiting downstairs for you, if you like."

It didn't occur to Harley that the sun was rather bright at the moment. If it was lunch time now… Harley shook her head. There was no way she would have slept that long. Her Puddin' didn't like when she slacked off, he would said so by now.

But she wasn't with her Puddin' at the moment. She was trying to find her shoes.

Right, she thought, shoes. Get back into, Harley!

"Not until i find my stinkin' shoes, Princess!" Harley snapped at her, and the woman glowered.

"Your shoes are in a cubby by the door, Dr. Qui-"

"Don't call me that!" Harley screeched, sending a fist into the glass. Crystalline pieces showered the carpet, and she could feel a familiar warmth dripping over her knuckles, into her palm and down her fingers. Harley ignored the blood, letting it dot the floor as she approached the woman, wagging a venomously red digit, "Don't ever call me that."

Her Puddin' didn't even call her that anymore. Well, only when she was in trouble. It was right up there with calling her by little pet-names.

The woman (whose name Harley didn't even want to remember at this point) looked appalled, spluttering out some excuse about ehr hand. Yes, it was bleeding, but ti wasn't important. What was important were her shoes, which she needed before he found out. Before he punished her so bad-

Harley glanced down at her hand. She often let her Puddin' draw blood, but it made him happy. She didn't mind it, as long as she saw him smiling his crazy old smile. Chest deflating, she smiled as she watched the rubies cling to her nails a second before falling to the floor at her feet. He said he liked that color on her, that she looked best when spilling it out at his whimsy.

"...Ms. Quinn?" the woman's voice was tiny, as she thankfully corrected herself, "Would you like to get that bandaged up and then we can get you something to eat?"

Harley looked at her. How long had she been here? The ex-con couldn't remember, although she knew she had been yelling at her.

Now she couldn't remember why.

"Alright, Princess," Harley agreed, her eyes twinkling with uncertainty, glazed over slightly, "let's go get some lunch, me 'n you."

Harley guessed her shoes would have to wait. Hopefully her Puddin' didn't find out about them too soon.