Just a note here for the people who've been reading since way back when I first posted this: I went back and fixed the second conversation between Digger and Tamry, because when I wrote it I hadn't yet seen the movie and wasn't aware that our boy Boomer had a triple life sentence. lol. Oops.

Flag drew everyone to a halt, half turning back to the group as he pointed up ahead. "See that building?"

"Oh, you mean the one with the friggin' halo?" Sheer asked, hating how they'd just stopped in the middle of the road with no cover. Directly ahead, maybe quarter of a mile away, stood what would have once been considered a sky scraper. Something big was on fire beyond it, wreathing the upper third of the building in otherworldly amber. There was line of signage large enough and bright enough that even at that distance, she could see the silent proclamation that this was the John F. Ostrander Federal Building. She didn't know why that sounded so familiar.

"That's the one," Rick confirmed. "Our body's at the top. We get up there; pull 'em out the vault they're hiding in; helos extract us off the roof. It's Miller Time."

"Sounds so easy when you put it like that," Floyd nodded, deceptively reasonable. "Wonder why you even need us."

Flag said nothing to that comment, only motioned the group forward once more. Tamry shared a look with the assassin and saw her own suspicion and anxiety mirrored back at her. The man was a precise killer and wasn't comfortable unless he knew every angle, could quantify every variable. Nothing put Deadshot on edge like not having all the information. She knew just how he felt.

There was a ragged military blockade set up just before the doors of the building and it only took Sheer a heartbeat to realize that it had been set up long before any tac teams arrived in Midway - it had been meant to keep the bubble-headed creatures out. It had failed. Flag brought them up short on the offensive side of the slapdash fortifications, taking a knee behind a concrete highway divider and contacting Waller to let her know their position.

"Get that chopper ready," he told her, his voice hushed. The entire support unit- or what was left of it, because they never had met back up with the group that split off before the creatures engaged - was squatted down behind the colonel. The squad members stood separate from the military personnel, scattered, but clearly on the same page. One thing they all had in common - even Tatsu, if she'd ever admit it - was a distinct lack of patience and maybe more than a little difficulty with impulse control.

Floyd broke first, because of course the big dog would, and leaned down to jab at Flag's manhood - metaphorically speaking. "What do you say we get this over with?"

He walked right by their commanding officer and pulled open one of the glass doors that led to the lobby. The handle came off in his hand, the already shattered glass crumbling into a sparkling shower across the tops of his boots. Their trigger man didn't even pause, strolling in through the opening as if it had been there all along. The rest of the squad followed suit, with Flag's other team hurrying to catch up.

Rick quickly fell in step beside Deadshot, both men moving so in stride it looked choreographed. "You mind if we tag along?" he quipped, the silent promise of violence the building presented focusing his inner soldier and, counter intuitively, making him seem more at ease.

The support team outpaced the squad, who all but sauntered through the lobby, clearing the open space with practiced efficiency. Flag and Lawton stepped into the little square corral of a reception/security station and checked the fortunately still operating camera feed. The building looked as deserted as the rest of the city, but, of course, looks can and often do prove to be deceiving.

"Looks like we have a spot a' luck, eh?" Digger cooed with the brightest of playful sarcasm. "Be a walk in the park. Easy peasy."

Floyd and Rick leveled twin dead-eyed glares at the man, but they really should have been expecting it. The Aussie hadn't been obnoxious in over twenty minutes, after all. He was well past due.

"Don't make me shoot you," the assassin warned. That sort of comment was the closest Lawton ever seemed to get to joking and Boomerang grinned widely in victory, cackling softly as his gold tooth glinted in the dim lighting of the deserted lobby.

The gentle chime of a bell drew everyone's attention and they all watched as a glass walled elevator rose up and away towards the higher levels, taking Harley with it.

"God dammit!" Flag barked. Everyone on the squad lacked patience and self control, true, but none more than the doc. Everyone rushed for the stairs, feet pounding urgently to catch the carelessly cavalier murder pixie.

Tamry felt a flare of anger towards her so-called friend. They were all on edge, more than usual with this mindfuck of a job, but Harley knew better. It wasn't just that Quinn was putting herself in danger by rushing off alone, she was dragging the whole team there with her. As deadly as she was, the doc couldn't handle more than one or two of those things on her own; if she ran into a whole mob of them she was done for and the rest of them were more focused on getting to the rogue blonde than thoroughly checking for threats, leaving them wide open to a blitz attack.

When they finally reached the point where the elevator stopped, the pasty bitch had the gall to sashay out of the car, stepping over the two bubblehead bodies heaped on the floor, and throw an impertinent, "Come on, let's go," over her shoulder. Sheer seriously considered 'accidentally' breaking off one of Harley's ridiculous six inch stiletto heels, just to impede the other woman from sauntering properly for the rest of the night.

The path Flag and GQ had mapped out for them led the team through a floor of office space, weaving them amongst debris ridden cubicles, papers still fluttering under the wind of the climate control system. The artificially near-silence of the world outside was nothing compared to the oppressive crush of soundlessness that surrounded them now. It was like Sheer could hear each individual breath of each individual person around her, could feel the heat and damp on the back of her neck.

Rick suddenly stopped, signaling the crew to freeze. Every breath was held and the only sound that reached Tamry was the rapid pounding of her own pulse against her eardrums.

"I don't like this, Flag," Floyd spoke what they all felt. There was something… something. Someone just walked over their graves.

"I don't like it either," the colonel admitted. Deadshot tugged his signature mask from his belt and pulled it on, a signal to every one of them that had spines straightening and hands gripping guns tighter.

Except for the suicide cheerleader, who remained as relaxed as ever, her favored bat resting casually across hers shoulders like a yoke. She only smirked at her compatriot and sneered, "Pussy."

Deadshot's head whipped towards her and he flicked on the eyepiece that narrowed and focused his vision. "I will knock your ass out," he growled back at her. "I do not care that you're a girl."

To Tamry's right, Croc suddenly snarled, pushing the detective roughly away. Not a blink later and a bubblehead crashed down from the ceiling, landing in the exact spot where Sheer had been standing. The ubiquitous white panels rained down upon the team all over the room, vicious creatures dropping from above in a surprise attack none of them had seen - or heard - coming.

It was madness again, worse than the street because they were enclosed, surrounded by desks and partitions and walls. Friendly fire was as great a threat as the creatures themselves. The room was a death trap.

"They're after Flag again!" Lawton shouted amidst the bedlam. Again?

The squad converged as one, chasing down the hostiles that were trying to snatch away their leader. They dropped the trio that had been attempting to drag the colonel out of the room and to god knew where, but more came. Then more, singularly focused on getting ahold of Rick and carrying him off like monsters in the deadly night of a campfire story.

As abruptly as it began, so it stopped. All the creatures were down, their heads scattered across the floor like so much gravel. Two more of their own number had fallen, never to rise again, but - and as ill as it made the detective to think it - they were only support staff. All of her scumbags were still breathing just fine, if heavily.

"Everybody move out!"

The route led them out to where hip-high, glass panels served as safety barriers along walkways and bridges over the empty space that ran up the core of the building. It must have been a lovely atmosphere to work in every day, all the natural lighting filtering down from the rooftop skylight, glinting off the pristine glass and steel. What it wasn't good for, however, was cover against the gunfire that rained down on them as soon as they stepped into the open. There was no where to retreat to, no place to fall back out of the line of fire, because all the walls were glass.

Tamry was thrown to the floor, crushed beneath a heavy bulk that blew the smell of beer and mint against her cheek. She struggled, trying to roll her very human, very vulnerable shield over, to put herself between the unguarded flesh and the hot lead that would tear straight through it. Her vest would offer at least some protection. The sting of broken glass digging into her breasts through her clothing reminded her that her body armor was no more, an early casualty of this madcap war they'd walked into. Still, her body between the guns and Digger's was better than the other way around. The big Aussie disagreed.

"Where you been, homie?" Lawton shouted, furious in a way Sheer had never heard before. "Just gonna let this go down? You don't stand for shit; you ain't about shit!"

Sheer couldn't see what was happening, but heard Chato yelling, "Don't touch me!" and Lawton mocking him, "Oh, I'm touching you!" like a stereotypical older brother. It would have been comical if they weren't in the middle of a firefight, if there wasn't only one person to have touched an angry Chato Santana in the last five years and remained above ground.

With an unearthly roar, the world lit up like midday. Tamry could feel the heat against her arms and Digger's hiss against her temple. The attacking creatures shrieked and squealed as El Diablo lived up to his name, blasting them to ash with hellfire. When it was over, when Harkness finally lifted his weight off the detective and helped her up from the floor, two of the bridges were aflame. The glass and steel had melted, compromising the integrity of the structures so they drooped cartoonishly in the middle.

Harley bounded up to the shaking former gangbanger and threw her arms around his shoulders in sunshiny elation. "I knew you'd come through!" she declared, planting a loud smooch to his skull-inked cheek.

"Fuck the long way, GQ," Flag ground out the words through simmering fury that was getting close to boiling over. "These bastards know we're hear. We're switching to the most direct route. If they attack at us on the stairs, at least we'll see 'em coming."

As the team moved on, Digger roughly brushed off the glass that clung to Tamry's clothes, scowling at the smaller woman. "Where's ya' bloody vest?" he demanded.

"It's useless with that big slash in it. The weave lost all tension; it wont stop a bullet," she explained. He scoffed angrily.

"It've stopped the fuckin' glass, though," Boomerang pointed out, gesturing at her torso where half a dozen little red spots could be seen through the slice in her over shirt, blossoming like little roses on the white tee beneath. "And what about ya' fuckin' back?"

"Apparently, I've got you to cover my fuckin' back!" she snapped at him, irritated that he was making a fuss. More irritated that he was making her feel guilty by worrying over her. She was the cop, it was her job to protect people. George ground his teeth and glared at her with blue eyes that were almost ethereal with the fire reflecting in them.

"Reckon I do love the view from behind you," he conceded, with a tight smirk. Tamry could easily see he hadn't let any of the anger go, but he was dropping the argument, and for that she was thankful. Less so when the great goon dropped back half a pace and landed a solid - and very audible - smack on her ass.

"You're gonna pay for that later, Diglett," Sheer warned.

"Oh, darl', I can't wait."

Either Chato had finished off or scared off the last of the bubbleheads in the building or the creatures were spread out and waiting anywhere but the stairwell, because the Taskforce didn't encounter a single one for the rest of their trek to the top floor. The stairwell opened up directly onto a small sitting area and a large, steel door adorned with signage declaring it a secure area and an electronic keypad access point to match.

There were only four support unit members left, including Lt. Edwards. That was nice, Tamry thought; the man was kind of growing on her. Flag sent them on up to secure the roof. When the rest made to follow the colonel to the secure access door, he held up a hand for them to stop.

"Whoa, just wait here, please?" he half ordered, half begged. "I don't want to give this dude a heart attack. Okay?"

"Awe, he's embarrassed of us!" Quinn cooed with acidic scorning playfulness.

"Have you seen us?" Tamry chuckled and the blonde stuck her tongue out at the detective.

"Hey, Flag," Floyd said, pulling off his mask as the colonel went to punch the access code into the keypad. "This dude better cure cancer after all of this shit."

Sheer couldn't say she disagreed. Waller's Taskforce X wasn't supposed to be an infiltration unit, nor a search and rescue crew. They were strictly seek and destroy. And inhuman, glass-craniumed monsters were not what any of them had signed up for. The game had changed and none of them were prepared. They were lucky to still be alive at this point. The majority of the support unit could attest to that on their gravestones.

Shaking her head, the detective moved to peer out the spread of floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. It was a hell of a view. The fire that had haloed the Ostrander from behind was in full view here. The top ten floors of the building just across the street were engulfed in a raging inferno. The glowing yellow-orange flicker was mesmerizing. Here, where they were safe from the flames, where no sound or smell could reach, the conflagration was eerily beautiful.

Two breaths and a heartbeat later, Digger was by her side, staring silently out at the blaze. Tamry wondered if he was struggling to hold in a snide comment about marshmallows or some such thing for the benefit of the quiet moment or if he was as struck by the spectacle as she was. His large hand brushed against the back of her smaller one. The tip of his index finger traced the side of hers and Sheer would never admit that it made her heart thump against her ribs. It was such a little thing and shouldn't mean so much. Or should it? Was it supposed to feel like a gift every time they touched? She lifted her fingers and curled them around his. They weren't holding hands, it was just the first two digits hooked haphazardly together. So how could it be anchoring her so securely?

Sheer wanted to know. She needed to know if there was something off about her or if George was even half as affected as she was. She could ask, just a whisper the others wouldn't hear and either a nod or a shake of his head was all the confused woman would need in return. But the door opened before she could work out just what it was she was asking and out stepped HVT-1. That's why it sounded familiar.

Tamry had only met Amanda Waller once, when she'd been called into Gordon's office and found the woman there waiting, having heard of Sheer's desire to join the rumored Taskforce. It had struck the detective as very Faustian, selling the meager remnants of her soul to an icy demeanored serf of the hory netherlord. Waller wasn't the devil, but they might be kissing cousins. Now, the squad being called in for extraction made sense. Their less than beneficent benefactor would want her first string game winners there to pull her out of whatever sticky spot she'd found herself in.

The sense of tired half-relaxation that had fallen over the team as they waited for their charge to emerge, knowing they were one floor and a chopper ride away from the finish line, evaporated. A band of tension running through and connecting each squad member whiplashed tight with a near-audible snap. As one entity, they stood or turned, drawn to face their true warden like compasses pointing north.

"No way," Quinn breathed, for once quiet and sincere, as dumbstruck as the rest of them.

The air was heavily weighted, crushing as the pack of predators scented blood. Flag stepped closer to his boss as the collection of murderers, thieves, and monsters wordlessly converged on their keeper.

"Let's go home," the colonel told them in an even tone, showing no weakness to feed the cusping mutiny.

"Yeah, let's go home," Digger agreed in a deadly soft shush of a voice that made Tamry's hair rise. For the first time since meeting him, the detective was scared of the convict. "That sounds good. Y'guys wanna go home? Or do y'wanna go back to prison?"

"Who wants to go back to prison?" Harley asked with quiet incredulity, her eyes never flickering away from where they'd locked on Waller. Her shoulders were tight and she wove sinuously from side to side ever so slightly, like a snake ready to strike. She'd picked up the movement from Croc, whose needle-sharp teeth were bared and waiting - the whole team had, Tamry realized. Rocking uneasily from foot to foot, they were so on edge it wouldn't take more than a word, a wrong look to set them off.

Sheer's brain raced as her body readied for the fight. Harley would break first, swinging that bat of hers straight for Waller's head. Flag would pull Amanda back, putting himself between her and the threat and two quick rounds into Quinn's chest. Tatsu would draw her cursed katana and cut down the first convict in her path, which was Digger. Croc would launch himself at Flag and no matter how many shots the colonel could pop off, the beast would take him down. Then Floyd would put a bullet right between Waller's eyes, another through Katana's skull, and maybe one to put Flag out of his misery as Croc literally devoured him.

Tamry was shaking, her palm sweating where it gripped her sidearm. How could she stop it? How could she stop them? In defiance of the scenario Sheer's mind supplied, Tatsu's patience gave out first and the diminutive samurai growled a warning none of them needed to speak Japanese to understand. She moved to protect her patron, her namesake blade half drawn already, but Waller pushed the tiny death-knight back again.

"I got this," the head of the snake hissed. "You all made it this far," she told the squad, meeting each hateful, salivating gaze in turn. Her voice was pure condescension and unshakable confidence, devoid not only of doubt, but anything resembling humanity. "Don't get high-spirited on me and ruin a good thing."

Waller lifted her hand and in her hand was a cell phone and on that cell phone were displayed five mug shots. Her thumb hovered bare millimeters over the pictures, a fraction of a second and a twitch of muscle the only thing between skin and touch-sensitive glass - between life and death.

It had been so long since Flag had threatened any of the squad with the nanite explosive imbedded in their necks, it had been easy to forget their existence. The squad functioned because it needed to, because they'd allowed themselves to rely on each other, to trust each other, and to become people they never would have otherwise. Tamry had been desperately trying to think of a way to stop the others from killing Waller. Seeing the woman literally holding her scumbags' lives in her hand and the unrestrained willingness to take those lives without a moment's hesitation or regret, the detective couldn't think of a single reason why she should stop them at all.

Aside from their aforementioned lack of patience and impulse control, another trait shared by a majority of the team was an incredibly strong instinct for self-preservation. When Waller showed her hand, they froze, and no one so much as lifted a finger to stop her as the icy woman walked through the center of the group and towards the stairwell. Flag followed after her, unable or unwilling to meet anyone's eye as he went, Tatsu close at his heels. The remainder of the team looked at one another, practically vibrating with poisonous energy. They'd come so close, so close to freedom and just as close to death.

Sheer took Digger's hand then, squeezing tight to remind both him and herself that he was still there and she was still there with him. She knocked her shoulder against the giant beside her and Croc snarled, but they both knew he wouldn't hurt her.

"C'mon, guys," Tamry said, forcing some lightness into her tone that she didn't feel, but they all needed badly. "Let's go. I bet I can talk Flag into some strippers after this bullshit."

Floyd snorted, but his knuckle-crackingly tight grip on his rifle eased. "After this bullshit, Flag should be the stripper."

"Ow, I didn't know y'two had got so close," Digger grinned as the group finally started moving.

"I didn't say I'd enjoy it, just that his ass should do it," the assassin insisted in his customary deadpan.

"Naughty soldier or dirty fireman?" Harley wondered, a little bit of bounce back in her step. Lawton made a sound of disgust in reply that set the others to laughing. It wasn't entirely genuine, not yet, but it was enough to give Tamry some relief.

"Maybe if we're lucky, Waller'll fall off the roof," George offered. "Get blown over the edge by the downdraft, yeah?"

Floyd shook his head. "Man, when the hell have we ever been lucky?"

By the time the reached the roof, the helicopter was already hovering at the edge while GQ tried to raise them on the radio. It should have been Flag making contact, but the colonel seemed far more interested in the tarpaper beneath his feet and the tiny specks of glass glittering on his bootlaces. Maybe he was feeling guilty, maybe that was why he was slow to grasp what it only took Tamry a moment to comprehend - something didn't smell right.

"Boss, they're not talking to me," Edwards told his CO. Rick perked, looking over at the man, then at the chopper, which was slowly spinning its ass-end towards the roof.

"Our bird's been jacked!" he declared, raising his rifle. "Light it up!"

The soldiers only managed four rounds before the tail of the copter began spouting fire at them all. Not fire, but so many bullets so fast it looked like a white hot line of light spraying death at them all. Tamry shoved Boomerang with all her strength, knocking the big man down behind one of the large electrical transformer boxes on the rooftop. He grunted as he slammed against it and Sheer immediately tried to curl herself around him. As far as she was concerned, this was her place. She was a police officer and the most expendable member of the squad, she belonged between her teammates and the bullets whizzing by them. The Aussie had other ideas and superior strength to make them reality; he hauled her around to his other side and tucked her between himself at the steel.

Above the sound of the rotors, above the sporadic rifle report and the unceasing deep sputter of the Gatling gun, rose a sound that more than anything else that night made Sheer's blood run cold. Any Gothamite would know that laugh and in its presence proceed to piss themselves - and rightly so. There was only one reason that laugh would have found its way to Midway City on this night of all nights.

"Harley!" the detective shrieked, struggling to push her way from under the man determined to keep her safe. "Harley, don't!"

Floyd echoed Sheer's cry, but there was no response from the blonde.

"Kill her!" Waller shouted.

"Her nanite's disarmed!" Flag bellowed in return. With their prize in hand, the Joker and his minions lost interest in the occupants of the roof. The gunfire stopped as abrupt as someone shutting off the tap and the only sound was the retreating helicopter and the exuberant giggles of a giddy slaughter sprite winging her way to freedom.

Digger finally released her and Tamry scrambled to her feet, rushing forward as if there was still a chance to stop the doc. Quinn was dangling precariously, but fearlessly from a long cord the Joker had tossed down from the open bay of the chopper. She saw the detective and waved, blew a kiss, smiling with wide, manic glee. Tamry wanted to throw up.

"Deadshot, shoot that woman right now!" Waller commanded, stalking towards the assassin, furious and demanding blood. Floyd turned incredulous eyes on their sponsor.

"She ain't do shit to me," he declared, unperturbed.

"You're a hitman right? I got a contract," she pressed. Ichor seeped from her words. "Kill Harley Quinn. Do it for your freedom and your kid."

The two things Floyd would do anything for, the only things he wanted in the world, the only things that meant anything to the stonehearted killer. He didn't even blink.

"Oh, she dead."

Tamry felt as though her mind and body were trying to tear themselves in half. Harley was a killer, more of a monster than any of the others. Having her loose on the streets, back in the company of the Clown Prince of Crime would mean bodies - piles of them. Det. Sheer of the GPD knew this and knew taking her out now would save lives. Temerity of the Suicide Squad saw one life, her friend in the crosshairs of the man who'd never missed a shot. Croc and Digger were shackled by the nanite in their necks, there was nothing they could do. Tamry could stop it, she could stop Floyd, she could save Harley.

She never moved.

She was stone, she was ice. Even Harkness's warm hand laid supportive at the small of her back couldn't reach through the shroud of sick guilt that swathed her. The rifle fired and they all flinched. Harley tumbled down the length of rope before a coil caught her wrist and left her hanging, limp and lifeless. Sheer's heart lurched, though the rational, pragmatic part of her mind that was ever dominant told her this was the right thing - Quinn dead, innocents safe.

Then the still retreating spectre of death and fluff bounced back to vibrancy, kicking her heels up with impish delight at her little ruse. Tamry's shoulders sagged with relief. Relief. Her stomach rolled.

Floyd grinned down at Waller. "I missed."

He left Amanda there, shaking in rage and watching the chopper fade into the distance. He sauntered back to where the remaining squad stood, taking his place amongst the team.

"Good one, mate," Boomerang complimented softly.

Not about to have her rancor denied, Waller snatched the walkie from Rick's belt and raised it to her lips. "It's Waller; Savior 1-0's been hijacked. Shoot it down," she ordered.

"Roger that, ma'am," replied the air support leader. "Going hot."

Thirty seconds later - Tamry could tell, because she counted the heartbeats - and an explosion; twelve more and another.

"Target destroyed, ma'am," air support announced.

"Thank you. Now, get me off this roof."

"Yes, ma'am; we are inbound."

Waller turned around to face the others, handing Flag back his walkie without so much as flicking an eye in his direction. Her unnaturally calm, cold demeanor had been restored, the mask of aloof superiority pulled back into place. "The Joker and Harley Quinn are no more."

Tamry could feel Floyd sag beside her and was right there with him, though she knew she shouldn't be. Shouldn't she be? Was it not possible to mourn a monster? Wasn't that human?

"You couldn't save her." Digger's tone was uncharacteristically gentle, consoling, full of understanding and shared regret. He was talking to Lawton, she thought, but the hand rubbing her back said that the words were for her as well. As tears burned in the detective's eyes, her stomach roiled violently.

"I'm gonna throw up," she said, twisting away from the Aussie and shoving passed the rest of the squad, staggering to an empty corner of the roof to do just that.

Thank you for the lovely reviews/comments. They make me squeal with delight - and that is not hyperbole.