Story: Crazy For You

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama/Hurt&Comfort/Humor

Relationship (s): Harley Quinn/Deadshot, (Past) Harley Quinn/Joker

Summary: One trip wouldn't kill him. Or her. He hoped. - Harley and Deadshot go on a road trip to Gotham. Muilti-chaptered. Quinnshot.


While he was sleeping, Harley went out and got a little too carried away when trying to score a good deal on a pistol. She didn't go into any specific details but he came to the conclusion that it involved her baseball bat and a drug dealer's body being used as a punching bag.

Floyd loved her badassery. It suited her.

But every now and then, he couldn't help how his thoughts wandered into unknown territory. Well, not unknown. Everyone knew. They just never had the audacity to be upfront about it. He wasn't an upfront person yet for her he'd drop his act. He cares, goddammit. He cares.

Sitting cross legged atop a RV trailer roof, Harley chided, "Make me remember why they call you Deadshot."

He stared at her.

She sighed, handing him a Glock 47. "I also set targets for you to shoot while you were out like a light. Wasn't too difficult." She glanced out towards the rows of trailers, eyes squinting into the distance. "Can you see 'em? I hope you see 'em."

He's touched. If they were normal people, he would kiss her good and slow and this trip would be never ending.

Reality is a bitch.

The targets were easy to remove. It wasn't a challenge. The gun felt strange in his grip. He itched to toss it down below. He lived for moments like these, just him and a gun and nothing but the sound of gunfire. He still enjoyed it; maybe less so now, but all the same. Maybe she was the reason. He kept calculating his moves and walking on eggshells and felt shitty if he was offensive. He hated it, hated how in such a short amount of time she managed to change him.

(Floyd can't hate her, though. He couldn't.)

"Harley?" he sat beside her, placing the gun far away from him, near the edge of the RV.

"What?" she replied, biting her nails. It was obvious something was troubling her.

"You always go back," he said. When she didn't answer, Floyd said, "I don't get it. What you see in him, I mean. I'm not saying it's a bad thing-"

Harley sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, he supposed. The look she threw him was one of accusatory. "You are. That's exactly what you're saying. That's what everyone keeps saying."

Misery struck him and it struck him good. "Dollface-"

"No!" Harley was a raging ball of fury. "I'm gonna be real with you, okay? I. Am. Not. A. Victim."

He's had enough of her sugary bullshit to be honest. If she's truthful, then he could be truthful too.

Floyd places a hand on her shoulder, head bent down close to her face as if there were other people around them, like they were together in their own little bubble. "Harley, you might have loved him, but he didn't give two shits about you. Tell me what the fuck happened on the helicopter that gave you a different idea."

Her voice is above a whisper. "He isn't dead. No use in speakin' like he is. And for your information, Floyd, he pushed me out the helicopter to save me. He saved me."

The Joker wasn't dead? Floyd didn't trust it for a goddamn minute. "Joker's gone. Waller said so."

"And I guess you believed her when she said the same thing about me, huh?"

He glared. He found it difficult to hide his anger. It took everything he had to keep his emotions under wraps. "Those were two completely different situations. He's not you. We're in a group. When you get harmed, we call it a loss. You know that. Also, in case you've forgotten, he only looks out for himself. So what you thought was an act of...heroism," he put quotes around the word heroism, talking to her the same way he would talk to Zoe, "was just him trying to kill you."

She gasped, removing his hand off her like he was poisonous. "J loves me! He wouldn't kill his best best girl!" Harley turned away and he got the impression that he shut her down completely. "I know what's he's capable of and if he can get away with faking his death, he can. He's out here somewhere. I know it. I feel him.

"You shouldn't listen to rumors, Floydy," she said, letting out a cackle.

Strange couldn't describe her in that moment. Upon closer inspection, Floyd saw her sunken eyes and how sheen her skin was. But he didn't let it show on his features. If she wasn't alright, he figures she would mention the details on her own time. Until then, he would keep his worries at bay. People like Harley didn't need people like him frantic over her condition.

(But he watches her just in case. Because that's what friends do. What friends that kiss do. What friends that hug do. What friends that love each other do.)

Floyd can't miss her limp as she rushes to stand. Harley shrugs it off. It's nothing. It's always nothing with her.

She says, "I got my fair share of hits too, so don't you worry 'bout me."

Harley jumps off the roof.

Floyd doesn't bother going after her.


A/N - Do you guys like how this story is going so far? Is the pacing slow? Are Harley and Floyd in character? I'd love to hear what y'all think. If it can help me improve my writing, let me know. Anyways, I hope y'all have a good day!